In Memory of James Evans (original poem: John Murray - adapted Paul O’Brien)


Now lay by his chisel and hammer,

His spanner, his rule and his square,

For Jim could use them in a manner,

Which oft caused his shop-mates to stare.

For fifteen long years he attended

To all the machines in the place,

Broken bevel and cog-wheels he mended,

‘T was a ‘crooked job’ Jim would not face


Was any machine misbehaving,

Showing she was inclined to play tricks,

One had only to send for Jim Evans,

He would put things all right very quick;

To his duty he paid strict attention,

Had a joke and a smile for each chum;

A defect one had only to mention,

And Jim he would willingly come


One dinner meal-hour he was working,

Repairing a planeing machine,

And Death near the place had been lurking,

Though Jim his grim face had not seen;

Somehow the plane had got started,

How it happened no one can relate,

But his soul from his body was parted,

One moment had sealed his sad fate.


Then his shop-mates did quickly assemble,

To remove him our efforts seemed vain-

Some shed bitter tears and some trembled-

While we raised the bed of the plane.

On the stretcher we gently laid him,

And carried him into the store,

A lasting farewell there we bid him,

His face we shall look on no more.


Heaven help his poor widow, she’ll miss him,

And so will his children all,

But we trust the Almighty may bless them,

And guide them whatever befall;

Now lay by his chisel and hammer,

He never shall need them again;

He met death in such a sad manner,

But died without one moment’s pain.