Station Road

Station Road

I live in a village with a Station Road.
It has houses with low walls
the village hall, community library
no shops, a couple of bus stops
the Parish Council office
and a Station Drive coming off it.

What it doesn’t have
is a station.
Not any more, anyway.

It used to have one, but
Dr Beeching saw to that.
He brought his axe
and chopped it, lopped it
closed it, disposed of it
shut the door
along with thousands more.
Over half the stations in the country
in fact.

There are nearly two thousand Station Roads.
That’s loads of locations.
It’s the second most numerous appellation
beaten only by High Street.

The next village along from ours
has a pub called The Railway.

It’s nowhere near a railway.
Not any more, anyway.
It used to be, but …
I think you know where I am going with this.

There are nearly three hundred pubs
called The Railway –
including Railway Inns, Taverns and Hotels
and The Railway Arms
one of which, in Clapham
was immortalised by Squeeze
in Up The Junction.

There is also a smattering
of Locomotives, Engine Sheds
Terminuses – or should that be Termini? –
a Whistle Inn, Ye Olde Stationmaster
an Engine and Tender, a Signal Box Inn
an Amalgamation
and yes, The Station.

Our Railway Inn isn’t near a railway.
Our Station Road doesn’t have a station.
But it does have isolation
traffic congestion
air not as clean as it could be
and the occasional flood or road accident.

You see, pondering the loss
of stations and lines
wondering why
wanting their return
is not a journey back in time
a wistful yearning
for a steam-powered past.

It’s about the future.
Save it. Fast.



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