POETS  CORNER

                   ENGINEMAN'S REMINISCENCE

    Well Mate, I've been in this old job for nigh on thirty years And 
 I've seen a lot of changes in my time From the old steam locomotives
 hauling trains with sweat  and tears To the modern Diesel speeding
 down the line.
    The years have passed as tho' on wings, since first I joined the Job,
 For I started at Mile End in '42 When the Mountain types were roaring as
 they struggled up the knob And I was then a lad as young as you. Sure, 
 I've worked the RX on the Loop, the 'P' Class  thro' the Port and shunted 
 all the wharves at Birkenhead  , Dollies on Suburban, and the pilot jobs 
 I've caught, And a bit of cleaning time there, in the shed.
    Then a transfer to the Country, to the bottom of the State, Where the
 winter cold would make a fellow freeze Where the rain falls from the Heavens
 for nine months  without abate, For the other three,
   drips quietly from the trees.
     I've fired the 'Y' to Beachport, which I tell you is no lark And the 
 'T' and 'Z' on trains up Wolseley way Tho' the narrow gauge has Finished,
 you'l find there in the Park Old Eighteen on which the kiddies love to play.
     Thro' my time in different parts, I've met some mighty  blokes From 
 office, yard and shed, or on the line , There are some of whom their names
 will bring the thought of many jokes, Old Nugget, Jim and Knuckle-busting
 Brian Hey, we'd better get her rolling for our Crib time now is  done
     Keep a lookout Lad, don't miss that waving light For we have the 
 'Staff, and moving to the end of one more Run , He's on my side Mate. 
 He's O.K. Second Right
      By       'D. Zell'            Railway Inst Magazine 1997


                               THE TRAIN


    The lines of steel and strength, cragged, They began to quiver,
 Stretching,Trying to free themselves.
    From a long way off came the high-pitched whine.
    The speck approached.Quickly it grew, Faster, faster.
 The diesel careared past,Casting crazy and mysterious shadows Over
   the rugged ground.
 The smell of oil,The feeling of heat,Then,Onwards to the horizon.
                  ALAN HINTON.