‘Phone Home’: A Poem on the Jodrell Bank Observatory, by Jeff Eardley

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Phone Home

I often talk to radio astronomers,
The kind of guys who like to stay anonymous,
Who chew on reams of stellar data every day
From objects, many million, zillion miles away.

In England’s fields, we have the famous Jodrell Bank;
This mighty dish could hold a thousand Sherman tanks.
The quest: to find the Guardians of the Galaxy,
Just like it’s done for over half a century.

Now, every Friday night its boffins head for home,
And leave the mighty telescope out there alone.
It never sleeps, the constant stream of data fed
From nebulae and planets passing overhead.

Now, on a dark and starry, cold November night,
It picked up on a signal that was clear and bright.
Out from a vast cacophony of background stars,
A mobile phone was messaging from distant Mars.

“Please book your next vacation on Olympus Mons,
Or cruise our red canals, we care for everyone’s
Enjoyment in our Martian land of rust and dust.
Come on, what are you waiting for? You know you must.”

Well, back on Earth, there’s many folk who have a dread
Of guys of green antennae sticking from their heads,
Those harbingers of doom and gloom with tales to tell,
Respecting now the memory of H.G. Wells.

And so, the mob with pitchfork, sword and dynamite,
Descended on old Jodrell Bank that fateful night.
The mighty dish came crashing down, the mob now flew,
Out to the local Inn to share a pint or two.

The moral of this tale is clear for all who roam,
There really isn’t any place as good as home.

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boffins: scientists
Olympus Mons: the tallest mountain on Mars and in the solar system.

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Jeff Eardley lives in the heart of England near to the Peak District National Park and is a local musician playing guitar, mandolin and piano steeped in the music of America, including the likes of Ry Cooder, Paul Simon, and particularly Hank Williams.