The Last Train Poem by Martin Ward

The Last Train
(Friargate Railway Station, Derby)

Memories
from the sidings
of this old
young boy's mind:
steam trains
on the Friargate Line.

Policemen
with Custodian hats
and uniforms to match,
watch and form
a guard of honour,
on the platform
where they stand forever.

Enthusiasts
filled the carriages;
whilst spotters
from nearer home,
filmed and snapped
the memories to come.

I play and replay
this sad, yet
glorious sight,
captured on celluloid,
in black and white;
indelibly printed
on my mind.

Black from
five hundred years
of Derby smoke,
the great Cathedral Tower
stands glowering down.

No passing years
can take away
the smells
of smoke and steam:
no cuts of Beeching
could cut these rushes.

Friargate still stands,
amidst the dereliction of time.
Nature has shunted in,
and I recall it in semi-rhyme.