Loco

spotters called it the loco

a bridge we straddled

to get bathed in coal 

smoke and steam

playing chicken

whilst patiently waiting 

for the signals to change

down for south, up for north

oh! the keen anticipation,

known as 15A in those days

it was nothing special,

we’d buy a 2d ticket, 

squeeze through the fence 

behind platform 6, 

skirt the sidings trying

not to get caught

slip through the roundhouse

then cross over to the sheds,

we thought nothing of it

back then, all of us kids did it

Spud, Nelly, Josh and me,

dog-eared Ian Allen book 

tucked in our back pockets

duffle bags, Tizer, sandwich

and a chocolate yo-yo

if it was pocket-money day,

these days the bridge is no-go,

too busy, too narrow, mad traffic,

never any kids there now

and they’re building a new road

and excavating the roundhouse

razed to rubble in the ‘70s,

and then all these years later, 

a lifetime in a blink,

in the local news

Wellingborough sheds become

an archaeological dig, 

even the new relief route

is named Roundhouse Road,

alas, nowadays not a kid in sight

no steam, no grime, no grease

just the crackle and hum

of electricity in the wires

and Time-Team scratching

the earth to rediscover

my childhood

*

© Graham Sherwood 02/22