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A Poem

This poem is written by member Ivor King.


There used to be a steam-train running down to Portishead,

it began in 1864 and went full steam ahead.

It lasted nigh-on a hundred years, through countryside it sped,

then along came Dr. Beeching and pronounced our railway dead.

It ran from Bristol Temple Meads to Portishead and back

and in between were other stations all along the track.

There was Bedminster and Parson Street but alas and alack,

they suffered under Dr. Beeching's cowardly attack.

Then we came to Ashton Gate the 'City' for to see

and down the line was Clifton Bridge, by the woods of Leigh.

We travel then along Avon Gorge and halted at Ham Green,

when Beeching closed the railway he was very very mean.

From Ham Green we go through the tunnel underneath the hill

and when we exit the other end through the smoke we see Pill.

Over the viaduct, a view of the creek gave everyone a thrill,

when Beeching made his mind up, he went straight in for the kill.

Reluctantly we leave and on to Portbury we go.

By then of course we're nearly at the sea-side don't you know.

We alight at Portishead and our eyes are all aglow,

but by shutting down our railway Beeching made himself our foe.

Most of the stations on the line are now in disrepair,

they do look such a sorry state it does seem so unfair

and one or two have disappeared as far as I'm aware,

Dr. Beeching stopped our trains from going anywhere.

Now our line's been resurrected and there's everything to gain,

but it's only 'goods' at present and for some that is a pain.

Remember that this line was laid in Queen Victoria's reign,

so it's up yours! Dr. Beeching , it's open once again.

Ivor King