We have an emergency officer
Whose job is to co-ordinate moves
During man-made or natural disaster,
To make sure we stay in the grooves.
He waves a big radiation scanner
That measures low levels as well
He's not worried by the peace movement banner
'Cause he knows that we'll all fry as well.

He hopes that it certainly will happen
That the bomb or reactor blast
Will reach Knighton when he's got his cap on
And he can issue instructions at last.
He'll be reading his Government booklet
And telling us where to lie down
Not to drink from Knighton's Cwm brooklet
The most contaminated sewer in town.

He'll tell us where to get victuals
And cardboard and brown paper bags,
There'll be no time for beer and skittles
But we might as well smoke all our fags,
For without an underground shelter
With stocks of all we might need,
One cancer's the same as another
So let's hurry it on with all speed.

When the nuclear fission is over
And emergency rations are gone,
No sheep left in fields full of clover
And no building remains but the Swan
And there's no more question of planning
Or conserving the best of the past,
He'll sit down and wait for his medal,
Recognition by Thatcher at last.

Islwyn Watkins 1987.