A Holiday Poem

(Authors unknown. From our shack to yours, Happy Holidays.)


‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the shack
The rig was turned off and the mike cord lay slack.

The antenna rotor had made its last turn,
The tubes in the linear have long ceased to burn.

I sat there relaxing and took off my specs,
Preparing to daydream of armchair DX,
When suddenly outside I heard such a sound,
I dashed out the door to see what was around.

The moon shone down brightly and lighted the night-
For sure, propagation for the low bands was right.

As he flew past my tower, his hair like a mane,
He reined in his chargers and called them by name:
“Whoa, Anode! Whoa, Cathode! Whoa, Zener! Whoa, Diode!
Stop, Heater! Stop, Grid leak! Stop, Bias! Stop, Triode!”

I peered towards the roof where I heard all the racket,
And there was some guy in a red, fur-trimmed jacket.

I stood there perplexed in a manner quite giddy.
Just who was this stranger – di  di  dah  dah  di  dit(ty)?

I shouted to him, “OM ! QRZ ?”
“Hey you by the chimney, all dressed up in red !”
I suddenly knew when I heard sleigh bells jingle,
The guy on the rooftop was jolly Kris Kringle.

He had a big sack full of amateur gear,
Which was a big load for his prancing reindeer.
Transmitters, receivers, for cabinets and racks,
Some meters and scopes and a lot of co-ax.

His clothes were all sooty, from his shoes to his vest;
I felt like a novice taking his test.

His fingers were calloused, and from what I could tell,
This came from a straight key that I’ll bet he used well.

He said not a word ’cause he’d finished his work.
He picked up his sack, then he turned with a jerk.
As he leaped to his sleigh, he shouted with glee,
And I knew in a moment he’d be QRT.

I heard him transmit as he flew o’er the trees
“Merry Christmas to all, and to all seven-threes.”