A re-post celebrating the numerous times we have travelled on the North Yorkhire Moors Railway.  And played with a bit of elementary slide guitar.

 

I hear the train guard’s whistle

The slamming of the doors

The fireman stokes the furnace

For the haul across the moors;

The driver lets some steam off

And sees the train guard’s flag

Then gets those big wheels turning

For the Goathland Drag.

 

You’re leaning from the window

As the platform eases by

There’s thunder ringing in your ears

There’s cinder in your eye;

The sun beats down from Heaven

The clouds then burst with rain;

You’ll witness all four seasons

As you ride the Moorland Train.

 

You smell the smoke and oil

You close your eyes and then

Forget the years of passage

And your twelve years old again;

The sun beats down from Heaven

The clouds then burst with rain;

You’ll witness all four seasons

As you ride the Moorland Train.

 

She’s heaving up the incline

Just hear those pistons sing

We’re due next stop in Goathland

Then on to Pickering;

The sun beats down from Heaven

The clouds then burst with rain;

You’ll witness all four seasons

As you ride the Moorland Train.