POEM: Flying North
The Flying Scotsman, tears through Crammy station
With cries of hurray, and a sense of elation
She speeds through our lives, with a thunder of steam
Cutting through air, with the help of slipstream
Resplendent in colour, of National railway green
Polished by her crew, to a lustrous sheen.
She’s taken on water, at Heaton depot
For the journey to Scotland, she’s got far to go
The people she passes, all take her photograph
The news of her coming on bush telegraph
They’ll never forget, this moment in life
Forgetful of bills and government strife.
Picking up speed, she streaks for the heather
Flashing through Morpeth, it’s all hell for leather
The driver has got the throttle full on
As Edinburgh’s promised, the end of the song
Acklington, Alnmouth, and Chathill too
All witness the toil of the hard-working crew.
To Berwick and Dunbar, she flies like a swan
Taking on water, from track troughs along
People are waving, from houses she passes
Sheep look on puzzled, while munching on grasses
Soon she approaches, Waverley junction
In a great cloud of steam, she ceases her function.
From Kings Cross, through York and Newcastle was the mission
Edinburgh’s reached, through powerful piston’s unison
The crew can relax, with a pint and a meal
Steeling themselves, for return journey’s zeal
Until then, they wearily climb from the train
In three days, they’ll be doing it all over again.