The Slow Train

This song was written by Michael Flanders and Donald Swann, as a lament for the passing of the branch line, as Dr Beeching did his dirty work in the 1960s. Flanders and Swann's songs may seem something of an over-droll anachronism at times, but behind the humour lay acute social observation. What the Beeching cuts did, in the name of economy, was to rip the heart out of a way of life which had held together the fabric of rural England for nearly a century. It can be argued that the rise in car use made changes inevitable, but when the branch lines were destroyed, so was a chain which had helped build communities and keep them together. Now, in the early years of the 21st century, with our roads choking and reduced to virtual car-parks in places, we can only look back in amazement at how short-sighted planners were. In this matter, as in so many others, we have surely lost more than can ever be replaced.

Click the play button to hear 'The Slow Train'(sung by David Prestidge)

		No more will I go to Blandford Forum and Mortehoe.
		On the Slow Train from Midsomer Norton and Mumby Road.
		No churns, no porter, no cat on a seat
		At Chorlton-cum-hardy or Chester-le-Street.
		We won't be meeting again
		On the Slow Train

		I'll travel no more from Littleton Badsey to Openshaw.
		At Long Stanton I'll stand well clear of the doors no more.
		No whitewashed pebbles, no Up and no Down
		From Formby Four Crosses to Dunstable Town.
		I won't be going again 
		On the Slow Train.

		On the main line and the goods siding
		The grass grows high.
		At Dogdyke, Tumby Woodside and Trouble House Halt.

		The sleepers sleep at Audlem and Ambergate.
		No passenger waits on Chittering platform or Cheslyn Hay.
		No-one departs, no-one arrives
		From Selby to Goole, from St Erth to St Ives.
		They've all passed out of our lives
		On the Slow Train.
		
		They've all passed out of our lives
		On the Slow Train.