To sift the news, extract, refine,
We’ll start, they say, with nine, nine, nine,
The Fleet St. muttered: news comes late
Let’s get them down to eight, eight, eight.
The Treasury mildly swore to heaven
They’d soon reduce each eight to seven.
The Commons cried: confound their tricks,
They can’t need more than six, six, six,
And if they’re keen, alert, alive,
They ought to do with five, five, five,
The public shrieked: more news, much more,
Reduce your staff to four, four, four,
Lord Camrose spoke: leave this to me,
I’ll run it all on three, three, three.
The pundits wrote: Now this won’t do,
The right amount is two, two, two.
Their task was hardly yet begun
When lo, they dropped to one, one, one,
Before they’d done one half they ought
They quietly dwindled into nought.
Anonymous Ministry of Information official, 1939.
From Nicholas Cull’s “Selling War,” 1995, Oxford U Press.