Night Train

[davywavy]

Back in 1935, the poet WH Auden wrote his famous poem "Night Mail", about the mail train carrying the post north. Its rhythm catches the titumtitum of the train as it travels, and the tone is one of mystery and romance of both the letter and of a world still enchanted by the possibilities of rail travel.
Things change. People don't really write letters any more, and the nation is no longer enchanted by rail. In my experience, there are two sorts of people who oppose rail privatisation; firstly, those too young to remember British Rail in the 1970's & 80's, and secondly the sort of people who, intellectually speaking, can look at cellular division through a microscope and then smugly declare that Intelligent Design is a really good idea because it really must be said that the railways used to suck mightily.
Rail travel has improved in the last decade or so but travelling at night on trains can still be a harrowing experience, especially when, say, heading North to visit one's parents late on a Friday night after the pubs have chucked out.
So, with this in mind, I've updated Audens poem for the modern era.


This is the Night Train crossing the border,
Filled up with neds who are well out of order,
First class for rich, cattle for poor,
The toilets are blocked and there’s piss on the floor.
Pulling past Hatfield in a proper old state:
The gradient's against her, she’s two hours late.
Ticket inspector with greasy black collar
Hundreds of Sun readers crammed into squalor,
Somebody wakes you from taking a nap
By spilling hot coffee into your lap.

Here comes the night train filled up with chavs,
Haven’t bought tickets so they hide in the lavs.
Ticket inspector orders them out;
The scrunchie-haired girl and unshaven lout.
The male half swiftly threatens to fight,
While she says she’s done nuffink, alright?

Dawn freshens, the trip is done.
Should’ve arrived at a quarter to one
Spilling out passengers yelping complaints,
Towards the bookies, the arcades and the pub
Set in Doncaster like oases of life.
My family waits for me:
With demands of being driven to Wath.
I long for bed.

Comments

[jonnyargles.livejournal.com]

The other objection, though, is that as part of an isolated network, the end results are defined only by internal performance. As a nationalised industry, then the benefits to increased investment in the railways can be seen through society and the total infrastructure as a whole through lack of traffic and pollution on the roads. However, it's unlikely that Richard Branson will be able to stick his hand out and say "Less pollution in Birmingham - that'll be a hefty bonus for me, please."
There are also many reduced services since privatisation, to a degree that hadn't been seen since Beeching; non-profitable in many cases, but essential lifelines to those who live on those branch lines.
British Rail was crap, but it was crap because of OUR underinvestment, not because it was being told "here's some money to sort out the trains; whatever you've got left you can keep," Under civil control, there wasn't a constant stream of directors coming into the system, producing short-term gains, creaming off a bonus and then leaving someone else to clear up the mess from their "downsizing and optimisation."

Ah, that feels good.

[davywavy.livejournal.com]

Ah, that feels good.

Wipe the keyboard when you're done, then.

[new-brunette.livejournal.com]

The second verse in particular is inspired.

[davywavy.livejournal.com]

I does me best, that I does.