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STEAM DAYS

A romantic affection for the past.  Which begs the question: "Why don't girls go train-spotting?"

...............................................................................

The diesel train is cleaner

And glides on silken rails,

But give me the age

Of the steam pressure gauge

And those desolate whistle-wails.

 

The electric train is quieter,

Driven by hidden power,

But give me the haze

From those faraway days

And the coal sparks' golden shower.

 

The turbine train is faster,

Its speed is a sign of the day;

But my memory turns back

To the "clickety-clack"

Of my boyhood's permanent way.

 

The billowing cloud from a boiler,

The hiss of escaping steam;

The smell and the feel

Of coal, oil and steel,

When man and machine were a team.

steam

◄ KNOWING THE DIFFERENCE

THE PRIMROSE ►

Comments

<Deleted User> (10185)

Sun 18th Mar 2012 20:16

I too miss those days of clickity clack.

<Deleted User> (6895)

Sun 18th Mar 2012 19:51

Oh! the smell
from those 'soot throated funnels'
as homely to me as are
the great lines(no pun intended)
in this puff-puff poem.

Cheers M.C.xx

Philipos

Sun 18th Mar 2012 19:39

You capture the scene so well here. Excellent in fact.

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Yvonne Brunton

Wed 14th Mar 2012 01:40

The format really fits the subject. I enjoy reading this one out loud.
I so love the pace of this poem It echoes the rhythm of the trains rattling along.
Any objections to my setting this to music?


I slipped away as a youngster
To Longsight's marshalling tracks
And watched the engines chug by full
Then, empty, hurry back.

I watched the signals changing
In the maintenance depot
Then, home again, I played the same
On my Hornby Double-O.

( well actually it was my brother's but I couldn't get that to scan.)

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M.C. Newberry

Tue 13th Mar 2012 11:51

I spent many a happy day (and evening) at Bath
Spa on the London-Bristol line (GWR) and at my
own village station - Box in Wiltshire, sadly
long gone, in the days before the dreaded
'elfn' safety. Standing near the edge of Box
down platform as Bristol-bound expresses roared past...leaning in towards my twelve year
old self in a blur of power and light...is a
memory to treasure!

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John Coopey

Tue 13th Mar 2012 00:06

Ah, MC. You've really gone for the jugular with this.
I cannot resist railway poetry (I too was a fellow train nerd). I can here the pistons in this.
A bit out of your way, I know, but the Wartime Weekend on the North Yorks Moors Railway is enchanting.

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M.C. Newberry

Mon 12th Mar 2012 16:19

The restoration of steam is one of the proudest achievements of our time. The dedication & enthusiasm reached its highest form with the building from scratch of "Tornado", with plans rescued from oblivion, and the rest a result of sheer skill and a love for the project. Good luck indeed to you and your other half. You make us old train-spotters proud!
Oh - glad you liked the poem.

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Lynn Dye

Mon 12th Mar 2012 16:10

Wow, really appreciate this one, MC.

My other half is part of a local restoration railway which will soon be introducing a couple of old steam trains.
Oh, and in my long distant past, aged about 12, I did go trainspotting with a couple of tomboy mates...

Brilliant flow and rhyming pattern too.

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