Railway poetry

[Ferrybridge Flyer]

You make that sound so good-gimme the bloody TARDIS!!!

[chaz harrison]

There was a young lady from Chard,
who rode on a goods with the guard,
she danced in his van,
with no clothes, just a fan,
no wonder he found work so hard.

that's the last limerick - promise!

[Flamingo]

that's the last limerick - promise!

Hurrah! for that I'm so so glad
Those awful limericks were bad
No more we'll hear
Of them in here
And none of us feel really sad.

Let's get back to some decent verse now.

[mr B]

No more Manna jumping for joy,
Nor Ferrybridge Flyer with his new toy,
Or even Chaz or 52 D,
For without the hummor where would we be?
Just watching the trains like any normal boy!

Mr B ,,, No bus today- Sunday service!

[kudu]

On a lighter note, I quite like:

Once, an engine attached to a train,
was afraid of a few drops of rain,
it went into a tunnel,
and squeaked through its funnel,
and never came out again.

Now then, that sounds like what happened to one of the Rev. Awdry's character engines. Can't remember which one but it had just been repainted and didn't want to get wet.

Either that or you may just have stumbled on the origin of the strategic reserve myth.

Henry, the green...?

Henry's excessive preciousness over his paint was the least of his problems.

Study the illustrations and you will realise Henry couldn't decide whether he was a 4-6-0 or a 4-6-2!

(Another mis-spent childhood.)

Kudu

[kudu]

Surely this is poetry?

"No more will I go to Blandford Forum and Mortehoe.
On the slow train from Midsomer Norton and Mumby Road.
No churns, no porter, no cat on a seat
At Chorlton-cum-Hardy or Chester-le-Street.
We won't be meeting again
On the Slow Train.

I'll travel no more from Littleton Badsey to Openshaw.
At Long Stanton I'll stand well clear of the doors no more.
No whitewashed pebbles, no Up and no Down
From Formby Four Crosses to Dunstable Town.
I won't be going again
On the Slow Train.

On the main line and the goods siding
The grass grows high.
At Dogdyke, Tumby Woodside and Trouble House Halt.

The sleepers sleep at Audlem and Ambergate.
No passenger waits on Chittering platform or Cheslyn Hay.
No-one departs, no-one arrives
From Selby to Goole, from St Erth to St Ives.
They've all passed out of our lives
On the Slow Train.

They've all passed out of our lives
On the Slow Train."


posted but not written by
Kudu

[Flamingo]

That was a song by Flanders & Swann. I think they were wrong about St Erth to St Ives, still open when I was there in the late 1980s. But yes it reads well as poetry. By including songs then there are many more similar examples especially from North America.

[Ferrybridge Flyer]

Most songs by Johnny Cash for a start.

[Flamingo]

And the great Boxcar Willie, who does (or rather did) the most realistic train whistle sounds.

[giner]

There's two "train songs" that I regularly perform with my duo. Arlo Guthrie's 'City of New Orleans', and a real old one by Hank Snow that I think Lonnie Donegan once recorded, 'The Wreck of the Old 97'. I usually start my introduction/preamble to these songs by telling the audience that I've always had a love of trains and spent a lot of my youth sitting beside the main line that runs between London and Edinburgh. Audiences love that 'personal touch' and they listen intently to the lyrics.

Riding on the City of New Orleans,
Illinois Central, Monday morning rail
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders,
Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail.
All along the southbound odyssey
The train pulls out of Kankakee
An' she rolls along past houses, farms and fields.
Passin' trains that have no names,
Freightyards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles.

Good morning, America, how are ya?
Don't you know me? I'm your native son!
I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans
And I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.

Dealin' card games with the old men in the club car.
Penny a point, ain't no one keepin' score.
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
Feel the wheels rumblin' 'neath the floor.
And the sons of pullman porters
And the sons of engineers
Ride their father's magic carpets made of steel.
Mothers with their babes asleep,
Are rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel.

Good morning, America, how are ya?
Don't you know me? I'm your native son!
I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans,
And I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.

Nighttime on The City of New Orleans,
Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee.
Halfway home, we'll be there by morning
Through the Mississippi darkness
Rolling down to the sea.
And all the towns and people seem
To fade into a bad dream
And the steel rails still ain't heard the news.
The conductor sings his song again,
The passengers will please refrain
This train's got the disappearing railroad blues.

Good morning, America, how are ya?
Don't you know me? I'm your native son!
I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans.
And I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.


WRECK OF THE OLD 97
They give him his orders at Monroe, Virginia
Sayin', "Steve you're way behind time
This is not Thirty-Eight, but it's old Ninety-Seven
You must put her in Spencer on time"

Then he looked 'round and said to his black greasy fireman
"Just shovel in a little more coal
And when we cross that white oak mountain
You can watch old Ninety-Seven roll"

It's a mighty rough road from Lynchburg to Danville
In a line on a three mile grade
It was on that grade where he lost his airbrakes
So you see what a jump he made

He was goin' down grade makin' ninety miles an hour
And his whistle broke into a scream
He was found in the wreck, with his hand on the throttle
And scalded to death by the steam

Now, ladies, you must all take warning
From this time on and learn
Never speak harsh words to your true lovin' husband
He may leave you and never return

[L&Y Man]

And the great Boxcar Willie, who does (or rather did) the most realistic train whistle sounds.

Boxcar Willie, alias The Singing Hobo, sang many railway songs. His rendition of "Waiting for a Train" knocks Jim Reeves's into a stationmaster's top hat.

L&Y Man

[L&Y Man]

That was a song by Flanders & Swann. I think they were wrong about St Erth to St Ives, still open when I was there in the late 1980s. But yes it reads well as poetry. By including songs then there are many more similar examples especially from North America.

If anyone were to ask me who my favourite singers/entertailers from my younger days were, I would unhesitatingly answer, "Flanders & Swann". Their gentle satire epitomised Englishness for me.

Whilst Hinge & Bracket (have I spelt their names correctly?) were amusing in their own way, they weren't a patch on Flanders & Swann.

L&Y Man

[giner]

I haven't seen any of their shows in full (they've never appeared on TV here in Canada), but Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie are somwhat similar, aren't they. I've heard that Laurie is a very good pianist. We did get "Fry in America" - excellent. I wish he'd come up here, though.

[Ferrybridge Flyer]

Yes,so do i.I can't think of anyone better to do a series on your beautiful country.

[Flamingo]

I haven't seen any of their shows in full (they've never appeared on TV here in Canada), but Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie are somwhat similar, aren't they. I've heard that Laurie is a very good pianist. We did get "Fry in America" - excellent. I wish he'd come up here, though.

I think you are right about Hugh Laurie as a pianist, there are one or two moments in the 'Jeeves and Wooster' 1990s TV series where he plays and sings, I don't think it was faked. Stephen Fry was Jeeves and they made a good pair. First worked together in the Blackadder era I think.

Canada has featured in one or two recent TV programmes here. Outdoor survival expert Ray Mears made a series on the exploration of northern Canada, and last week we had ex-skier Graham Bell and his snowboarding mate travelling from the far north to the winter Olympics. They did part of the journey by rail from Prince Rupert.