Song

Flanders and Swann wrote a very lovely serious song about the disappearance of Britain's small railway stations, with their wonderful evocative names. I have already filked this song once, and it might seem a bit much to do it again, particularly since the piano part is utterly beyond my ability...but just a few days ago I learned of the disappearance of an entire rail network, axed at a stroke by lawyers representing London Transport, and this high-handed and arbitrary act seemed to me to demand a response. This is mine.

Tall Man Watchtowers...
Watery Towage...
Absorbancy & Neural Android...

I never will go from Prerecord Hanky to Fabric Larks
On the Tate Bruin from Foldaway Rhumba to Jetsam Sparks.
No stairs, no tunnels, no buskers to croon
At Queerer Elastics or Humanise Soon.
These joys will never be mine
On the Taut Brine...

I never will trot to Equal Reasons or Eldest Rot.
At Womb Portents there might have been service, but now there's not;
No garbled announcements, no three minutes late,
At Ogre Awarded or Puny Estate.
We wait forever in vain
For the Tute Brain...

On the Rent Horn and the Lemon Patriot
The air is still
At Imp Coil, Burn If Sparky and Snowmobile Thud
The lights go down at Heath Gig and Phantom Larch...

They're locking the doors at Barley Omen and Slender Gorge,
The lawyers have spoken, they've banned the Pute Bam,
From Ragweed to Modern, Pig Pen to Mare Sham,
And only we give a damn
For the Utter Bain...
For the Brie Taunt...
Lambency Welter...
Third Hollow Son...
For the Tuna Tribe...
Shallow Nocturne...
North Coasts and Anger Perk...
For the Turban Tie...
Good Hard Walk...