Snaking round the winding track,
the Hillman Special, heading back.
Cutting through fields of crops,
thundering train never stops.
The whistle gives a deafening shrill.
as locomotive climbs the hill.
Smoke filters through the station canopy,
Timeless and nostalgic, this grand Lady
sweeps along the platform with such flair,
plumes of curling smoke fill the air.
The conductor's flag billows like a sail,
happy families eager to tell their tale.
Dusty oil lamps cast a faint glow.
meandering passengers come and go.
Loaded with trunks, cases and bags,
flustered porter waves his flage.
Bygone times of British Rail,
opens travel to the Fens and Dale.