I’m glad the steam rally won’t be here again.

I can ride past on the 85 with no reminder.

Nothing to make me dwell on those three days each year

When you were so engrossed – in steam!

 

Although we had the ancient taxi – off  the plate -

You had to go there on your bike - I bussed it.

It seemed so romantic, meeting up

as you removed your cycle clips

while I forked out the £2 for the programme.

 

We had to take a flask and sandwiches,

you wouldn’t pay for tea or things to eat.

That was a given. But for those three days

we were in heaven.

 

Sometimes a funny friend of yours would turn up,

all the way from London.

I would wish we had those three days to ourselves,

but never mind.

 

Each year I’d wonder if I should find myself

a stationary engine to play with

but I never did. And now you’re gone

what would I do with it?

 

A wondrous pall of smoke slithered over Aggie,

a smell of coal and oil, a lovely smell.

And, most moving moment of them all,

about two hundred engines in the field

as one, piped up and belted out a PEEEEEP

that always made me cry.

A defiant  memory of all their years of toil

in such a far off time.

 

And now, in my far off time I am glad

the rally won’t be at St Agnes anymore.

One less memory to avoid

One more thing, once happiness, that now

would only make me sad.

 

And as I ride by, coming home from Truro on the bus

the field is full of silky golden corn.

No smoke, no crowds, no memories of us.

It's love not dirty coal that keeps me warm.

 

for Murray