Thirlmere: At the train museum
If
this were a gathering
Of
old friends,
Imagine
the stories
That
would be exchanged –
Coal
tippers, oil tankers,
Cattle
carriers, Biscuit traders,
Even
prison movers, Queen heralders:
Stories
that made a nation
Built
its backbone, united the factions
(And
even the gauges)
Like
old brooding minds
Recalling
good times
Of
bygone days
The
sooty plumes of past
So
hard to bring back –
The
age of steam, then of fuel
Chapters
changing,
Over
a hundred years:
Now,
the old friends, wearied,
Wonder
what could have been different
The
senescence hangs heavy
As
you walk past
Yellowed
pages that somehow
Still
hold together in a musty portfolio
A
few wonder though,
What’s
the point?
Being
treasured in a reliquary
When
the outside world
Has
changed so much?
What
place there is for rusted past?
Until
a few visitors pass by
Some
amazed at the antiquity
Others
curious of the behemoths
Many
stopping to read the tales,
Relating
to their struggles
Of
coming from distant lands afar
To
fill a nation with hope
To
make that tiny change
That
one day avalanches beyond dusty plains
To
cities of dreams
Not
just engines of dusty steel
They
realise they were carriages of change
Bogies
holding broken bits -
Flanges
fusing a federation
Their
stories are not done yet
The
finale still unfolding
Whistling
tales of the distant past
Reminding
us what couldn’t have been
Without
the chug-chug of their wearied wheels
On
rail tracks across a land of red…
29th
December 2025
Images: Author's archives

Comments
Post a Comment