I want to be a Train Driver – by John Barber

Standing on the platform wide

We watch the people sat inside

She holds my hand against the throng

It belches steam but hasn’t gone.

Is this our train, is this the one?

She pats my head, be patient son.

The wheels so big, how do they move

Stay on the track between the grooves?

Why does it smoke and let out steam

Who cleans the paint and makes it gleam?

The guard is ready, flag in hand

The driver waits for his command.

Oh how I want to drive this train

No car for me, no ship ,no plane.

To stand upon the footplate proud

To wave at any passing crowd.

It starts to shunt, it gathers pace

I bet he’d win in any race

The rhythm of its belching smoke

Increasing with each piston’s stroke

The boiler working overtime

Creating steam for every climb

Up hills and inclines through the snow

What e’er the weather it must go

I stand in awe of what I’ve seen

That grand leviathan of steam

Now in the distant puffing still

Its whistle faint, its pitch quite shrill

My mother gives my hand a squeeze

Here he comes, she looks so pleased

And waving from the lofty cab

The driver, yes, you’ve guessed, my Dad.


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