The undated poem quoted below turned up in a box of memorabilia from a
Connecticut (USA) home. It is printed on card stock, so it was
originally a stand-alone piece, perhaps used by Ford car dealers. The
poem is credited to the American Field Service Bulletin of Paris, and
its illustration shows a soldier being bandaged on a battlefield strewn
with barbed wire, a Model T ambulance and stretcher bearers with a load
in the background. I make no claims for its quality, but the pre-_Brave
New World_ swearing on Ford’s name is interesting.
Hunka Tin
***
You may talk about your voitures
When you’re sittin’ ’round the quarters,
But when it comes to getting’ “blesses” in,
Take a little tip from me;
Let those heavy motors be,
Pin your faith to Henry F.’s old Hunka Tin.
Give her essence and “de l’eau,”
Crank her up and let her go,
Your back firin’, spark plug foulin’
Hunka Tin.
The paint is not so good,
And no doubt you’ll find the hood
Will rattle like a boiler shop enroute;
The cooler’s sure to boil,
And perhaps she’s leakin’ oil,
Then oftentimes the horn declines to toot.
But when the night is black,
And there’s “blesses” to take back,
And they hardly give you time to take a smoke,
Then it’s might good to feel
When you’re sittin’ at the wheel,
She’ll be runnin’ when the bigger cars are broke.
Yes, Tin, Tin, Tin,
You exasperating puzzle, Hunka Tin,
I’ve abused you and I’ve flayed you,
But by Henry Ford, who made you,
You are better than a Packard, Hunka Tin.
With best regards (and apologies for the American ability to shape
everything toward sales),
Peter Havholm
Department of English
The College of Wooster
Wooster, OH 44691
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