of cut flowers. A heart felt
act. Beauty in death
Coming Home
The four yearly cycle ticks 'round
and a country builds up it's hopes
we've qualified,
we're in the mix,
we're good enough,
it might be coming home!
Flags appear on cars
that song is now being endlessly played
the thought that we might get out of the group stages
and school kids will get to watch matches on school telly's in school halls
and that we might hit the quarter finals - it has to be coming home; doesn't it?
Ministers wishing the squad good luck in parliament
and we...
...but; we might be getting ahead of ourselves...
and it might not happen
so let's leave the spirit of '66 to rest once more
as we might get knocked out
and the pub gardens
the social clubs
the city fan zones
and the kids allowed to stay up - fall silent
and many shed a 'manly' tear - with the thought that; maybe
far far away
in a different universe
under a different sun
on a different lump of spinning rock
trillions of light years away
a team in white shirts hang on
to a one goal advantage
as a final whistle blows
the crowds cheer!
But; as a sleepy 5 year old opens an eye
and focuses it on the rays of sunlight
lighting the swirling dust through his football teams printed curtains
it hits him
and he realises
it was just a dream
and it's not coming home!
But we must believe...
No, wait!
We did hang on
we did hold on to that prescious one goal advantage
maybe it is...
coming home!
Stogumber Station
Stogumber station,
calm amidst calm,
nestled amongst the Quantocks.
No reason to still be there -
a station preserved by enthusiasts,
maintained by volunteers,
rarely busy,
with long periods of nothing
disturbed by blasts from a distant whistle.
This popular stop along a charming time-capsule,
a preserved railway line
known for its tranquil, old-fashioned charm.
A place where once the produce of the area
was taken out into the world;
where once a goods shed stood;
a goods shed bigger than the main station building itself.
A building now busy serving cream teas and refreshments
to the dedicated supporters who come to the station.
Its once-short, single platform stood testiment
to the main reason for the station's being:
Goods over Passengers.
The Victorian mania for the railways,
the construction of lines with tiny; remote stations,
often many miles from their village namesakes.
The hopes and aspirations of landowners and investors
to link ports to businesses,
the hopes of great futures.
"To the brewers,
The farmers and landowners,
The weavers and industries:
The railways will connect you
To markets for your produce -
Prosperity through connectivity!"
This place,
now its own little heaven.
A place to sit,
to be briefly disturbed by the occasional steam train -
a cream tea interrupted by a heritage diesel loco
calmly pulling a rarely seen goods train.
Then, the return to silence,
and your cup of tea.
A silence you can't often find these days,
this is genuine silence.
The genuine peace that is found at Stogumber station.
This place - somewhere you just need to be!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)