That earnest lady with collection box? Mrs Good!
She’ll never make the honours list and yet she should.
Ever selfless worker, Mrs Good’s our treasurer,
Committee stalwart now these many years although her
Grown children, when babies, never used the clinic.
No-one wants her job. Though mothers with a child that’s sick
Bless the service, not a one’s prepared to pull some weight,
Take the reins. We’re tiring. Young blood we’d appreciate.
The services the clinic gives for free are not free.
They are covered only meagerly by gov’ment subsidy.
Money and more money is our never ending quest,
Activities to raise it are continued without rest.
A gala day, a wine and cheese, and constant raffles.
The parsimony of the mothers always baffles.
Ten cents in the clinic box and sky-high bills to meet!
Hence, Fridays, Mrs Good with box, out on the street.
Mrs Good? We’re shot of her. Boy! were we taken down.
The rumour came that years ago, in another town,
A group like ours was milked. We saw it then. We understood.
Their treasurer? No guesses who it was. Our Mrs Good!
Rumour isn’t proof though, we had still to catch her out:
To set a trap to demonstrate her theft beyond all doubt.
Two collection boxes, sealed, containing known amounts
Were given her. Less than half appeared in the accounts.
And what did we do? The question is, what could we do?
She swore it all a frame-up and threatened that she’d sue
If we spread our ‘wicked’ lies. We’ve no doubt what she’s done,
But where’s the sort of proof that stands in court? We’ve none.
There’s another factor comes in too. Our negligence
Has given to the townfolk some uncalled-for-expense.
That we’ve failed the public’s trust, we’re chary to admit.
On the bright side though, our finances look up a bit.