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The Train to Glasgow

Yesterday I alluded to this poem, a favourite of our childhood, that was the final entry in paperback collection of stories and poems that were read to us at bedtime.  So far as I recall the collection was entitled Tell Me Another Story and I htink it it was published by Penguin; alas I've never managed to find a copy*, though I did find a lovely illustratred book version of the poem a few years back.

I guess we loved it because our grandparents lived in Glasgow, a far away place shrouded in mystery and romance.  Who'd have thought I'd one day live here?!  Enjoy.

Here is the train to Glasgow.

Here is the driver,
Mr. MacIver,
Who drove the train to Glasgow.

Here is the guard from Donibristle
Who waved his flag and blew his whistle
To tell the driver,
Mr. MacIver,
To start the train to Glasgow.

Here is a boy called Donald MacBrain
Who came to the station to catch the train
But saw the guard from Donibristle
Wave his flag and blow his whistle
To tell the driver,
Mr. MacIver,
To start the train to Glasgow.

Here is the guard, a kindly man
Who, at the last moment, hauled into the van
That fortunate boy called Donald MacBrain
Who came to the station to catch the train
But saw the guard from Donibristle
Wave his flag and blow his whistle
To tell the driver,
Mr. MacIver,
To start the train to Glasgow.

Here are hens and here are cocks,
Clucking and crowing inside a box,
In charge of the guard, that kindly man
Who, at the last moment, hauled into the van
That fortunate boy called Donald MacBrain
Who came to the station to catch the train
But saw the guard from Donibristle
Wave his flag and blow his whistle
To tell the driver,
Mr. MacIver,
To start the train to Glasgow.

Here is the train. It gave a jolt
Which loosened a catch and loosened a bolt,
And let out the hens and let out the cocks,
Clucking and crowing inside a box,
In charge of the guard, that kindly man
Who, at the last moment, hauled into the van
That fortunate boy called Donald MacBrain
Who came to the station to catch the train
But saw the guard from Donibristle
Wave his flag and blow his whistle
To tell the driver,
Mr. MacIver,
To start the train to Glasgow.

The guard chased a hen and, missing it, fell
The hens were all squawking. the cocks were as well,
And unless you were there you haven't a notion
The flurry, the fuss, the noise and commotion
Caused by the train which gave a jolt
And loosened a catch and loosened a bolt,
And let out the hens and let out the cocks,
Clucking and crowing inside a box,
In charge of the guard, that kindly man
Who, at the last moment, hauled into the van
That fortunate boy called Donald MacBrain
Who came to the station to catch the train
But saw the guard from Donibristle
Wave his flag and blow his whistle
To tell the driver,
Mr. MacIver,
To start the train to Glasgow.

Now Donald was quick and Donald was neat
And Donald was nimble on his feet.
He caught the hens and he caught the cocks
And he put them back in thier great big box.
The guard was pleased as pleased could be
And invited Donald to come to tea
At Saturday, at Donibristle.
And let him blow his lovely whistle,
And said in all his life he'd never
Seen a boy so quick and clever,
And so did the driver,
Mr. MacIver,
Who drove the train to Glasgow

Wlima Horsbrough

* Since I typed that I looked on Ebay and of course there it was!  A copy will soon be mine.

Comments

  • I'm struggling with the idea of Glasgow being shrouded in mystery and romance! Shrouded in mist and rain, yes, but mystery and romance???

  • Hey, I was six years old, give or take, it was the late 1960s and I lived in Northamptonshire. I saw my grandmother once a year when finance permitted her to make the train journey south. She spoke with a strange accent (albeit an East London accent that had never been lost!) and used phrases I didn't know (a mixture of Glasgow and East London as it transpires). She would bring little boxes of Edinburgh rock and sometimes oatcakes too - it seemed quite exciting in my little world!!

  • Clearly anyone who thinks there is no mystery or romance about Glasgow has never been there.

    Note: the author of this comment was born in Glasgow.

  • Somehow that reminded me of another childhood connection... in a side street in Northampton was, and as far as I know still is, a building with the Glasgow St Mungo device carved into the wall. I loved the story of the 'fish that never swam, bird that never sang and bell that never rang'... that was mystery enough for me.

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