Railway poetry

[chaz harrison]

This limerick form's so infantile
but it may raise the ghost of a smile,
it's easy to rhyme
but what takes the time?
Scansion! one hell of a trial.

....and now back to the railway..........

Chaz

[chaz harrison]

They're fixing The Scotsman" I hear,
and that's worth a big, hearty cheer,
but it's taking so long
I hope nothing's wrong,
Let me know when its first run is near.

Chaz

[Flamingo]

My idea of trying to spread a little culture among you heathens seems to have backfired a little, after an initial decent result it seems we dont have a Keats or a Browning among us.

Keats you say? I've posted my version - the responses were all about young ladies from places like Reading and dirty old drivers from York.

As for Browning - you haven't been misled by titles like 'My Last Duchess' have you? It has nothing to do with copping LMS Pacifics. I know - I've checked it.

What about some Service - the Robert sort? Here's a taster:

'There were strange things done around midnight, son,
By the men who searched for steam.
The Northern rails have their secret tales
That are not quite what they seem.
Those long dark nights have seen strange sights,
But the strangest they ever did see,
Was that night by the edge of a Scottish shed
When I cleared my last A3'.

Left for continuation by the friends of Mr Sam McGee.

[Ferrybridge Flyer]

Getting better-love the limericks Chaz!!

[mr B]

one for ferrybridge...

The flyers camera was lopoking cool, It even had a extra zoom, He never thought before he clicked, Though now he seems to have it licked.

Taking photos is realy hard, Especially with a little card, He saved all his money without a snigger, Now the card he's bought is eight times bigger.

He keeps on photographing the tail end switcher, Hoping that he'll get a better picture, 10000 chances its ex LMS, Sorry mate its EWS!!!

[L&Y Man]

Yes, Night Mail and McGonagall's classic Tay Bridge are two of the best.
Sorry it's not from the LNER but this one by Edward Thomas is my favourite:

Yes, I remember Adlestrop
The name, because one afternoon of heat
The express train drew up there
Unwontedly. It was late June.

The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.
No-one left and no-one came
On the bare platform. All I saw
Was Adlestrop. Only the name.

And willow, willow-herb and rye,
And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,
No whit less still and lonely fair
Than the high cloudlets in the sky.

And in that moment a blackbird sang
Close by, and round him, mistier,
Farther and farther, all the birds
Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.

"Adlestrop" is particularly poignant as it was written in 1917, shortly before Edward Thomas was killed in World War I. The station itself is no more, I understand.

L&Y Man

[L&Y Man]

Although I'm not biased, the poem about the L&Y's "1400" has to be the best!

L&Y Man

[Flamingo]

"Adlestrop" is particularly poignant as it was written in 1917, shortly before Edward Thomas was killed in World War I. The station itself is no more, I understand.

L&Y Man

Yes the station has gone, but I believe an important part of it still survives in a local bus shelter:

That relic might even be the nameboard which prompted Edward Thomas to write the poem. I don't know the date he wrote it, but I believe the actual incident when the GWR express made its unscheduled stop at Adlestrop has been dated as June 1914 - the poem mentions 'late June', when Thomas was travelling from Oxford to Malvern where he lived atthe time. So it is even more poignant to recall that it was in late June 1914 that the incident which is said to have led to the start of the Great War in which Thomas was killed, occurred in Sarajevo.

It may have been the unusual name of Adlestrop that attracted Thomas's attention. Until recently I always thought the name was pronounced with the first letter A rhyming with 'hay', but when it came up on Radio 4 recently it seems that the locals say it as 'Addlestrop', with the Add rhyming with 'bad'. Well, fashions can change so perhaps both ways are right.

[Ferrybridge Flyer]

Hey,mr B-excellent!!Very good.Should hopefully get my camera the day before i go to the winter gala at the KWVR.That should be fun!!

[mr B]

Hi Ferrybridge, sorry about the camera jokes, but believe me after my trusty Zenith EM, I went in at the deep end and forked out for a Cannon SLR digital. After a couple of years it went bust, then told it would cost as much to repair as replace. So now every year I treet myself to Canons latest point and shoot,usualy on offer around fifty quid, the grandkids inherit the old one and every one's happy. The new one boasts 10 pic, the Zenith is still with me. Also the little Canon takes good movie, and the Quartz supper eight is now redundant...By the way Canon only gaurantee their 'big' stuff for 10,000 click's ! Keep up the good work.


Mr B ... Enjoying the bus rides.

[L&Y Man]

I'm not Scottish so I can't claim any ironic appreciation of it, but this one is more LNER (well NBR):

The Tay Bridge Disaster

Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.

'Twas about seven o'clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clods seem'd to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem'd to say-
"I'll blow down the Bridge of Tay."

When the train left Edinburgh
The passengers' hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers with fear did say-
"I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay."

But when the train came near to Wormit Bay,
Boreas he did loud and angry bray,
And shook the central girders of the Bridge of Tay
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.

So the train sped on with all its might,
And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sught,
And the passengers' hearts felt light,
Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year,
With their friends at home they lov'd most dear,
And wish them all a happy New Year.

So the train mov'd slowly along the Bridge of Tay,
Until it was about midway,
Then the central girders with a crash gave way,
And down went the train and passengers into the Tay!
The Storm Fiend did loudly bray,
Because ninety lives had been taken away,
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.

As soon as the catastrophe came to be known
The alarm from mouth to mouth was blown,
And the cry rang out all o'er the town,
Good Heavens! the Tay Bridge is blown down,
And a passenger train from Edinburgh,
Which fill'd all the peoples hearts with sorrow,
And made them for to turn pale,
Because none of the passengers were sav'd to tell the tale
How the disaster happen'd on the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.

It must have been an awful sight,
To witness in the dusky moonlight,
While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray,
Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay,
Oh! ill-fated Bridge of thSilv'ry Tay,
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.

Last week's "Mastermind" included the question, "Which 19th Century Scottish poet is often described as the World's worst?" The answer was William McGonagall, (1830-1902), who wrote the above, but when you are on a quiz show you say the first thing which comes into your head, so the contestant, hearing, "Scottish", came out with the only Scottish poet he could think of, answering, "Robert Burns" (!), who lived from 1795 to 1796.

I could almost hear the claymores rattling, the sporrans shaking, the blue bonnets being put on and the skirl of the pipes from here!

The late William Rushton read a parodied version on TW3 in the 1960s, but unfortunately I can't remember the subject.

L&Y Man

[richard]

I suspect he lived longer than that (1795 to 1796)!


Richard

[L&Y Man]

I suspect he lived longer than that (1795 to 1796)!


Richard

Sorry, Richard, I meant to type 1759. There was much celebration in Scotland last year, I hear, with a Homecoming to celebrate 250 years since Robert Burns's birth.

L&Y Man

[richard]

Well, the plan was to have a big celebration, but the best laid plans of mice and men...


Richard

[locojoe]

Not exactly poetry but poetry to me.

This is taken from a topic written by a Robert Crosby

High Shed, or to give it its proper designation, Greensfield Locomotive depot, was the high temple of such sheds in the North Eastern Railway Complex. Situated at Gateshead, adjacent to those engineering marvels the King Edward and High Level Bridges, and serving Newcastle Central Station with the locomotive power to haul trains both north and south.


To enter the locomen's messroom at High Shed was an education in itself. It was a hotchpotch of men and diverse tongues. Professor Higgins would have had the proverbial field day in listening to the Babel that held permanent session day and night. There were Gateshead vernaculars vying with Tweedmouth Scotticisms, brash Cockney
inflections, colourful Carlisle lilt, broad Yorkshire gruffness, such a cacophony as to bewilder any ear. The translated talk was of fog in the Vale of York, restrictions at Waverley and the Border Bridge, of "slipping" and "sledging" on a carpet of damp rail to Carlisle,
The merits of one class of engine, the faults of another. Signalmen in particular, fitters en bloc, were characters assassinated with one brusque word, and so it went on. Yorkshiremen yapped, Scotsmen snarled and Geordies, garrulously, insisted on having the last word.
Nevertheless, there was a warmth of feeling, no animosity, which made for a pleasant atmosphere of camaraderie.
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