A final meeting with an old acquaintance. Rhyme. Fiction.
Old Friend at the Preserved Railway.
He crossed the border, New Years' morning, had to see it through.
The drive to Yorkshire, was to him, a giant task to do.
He had to see the old survivor, had to fill his quest.
Arthritis paining, tired eyes straining, wheezing from his chest.
When he arrived, the fence was high, it filled him with dismay.
A gaping hole, he struggled through, then saw her far away.
Remembered back to times together, screaming through the night.
Smoke trail flowing, whistle blowing, sheep running in fright.
The dreadful walk that seemed like miles, but got there full of pride.
It seemed so high, he had to try, he had to get inside.
His weak arms held, his movements slow, he knew he mustn’t fail.
He made it, chest pains, clammy hands, face in pain and pale.
He thought of all the sweaty firemen, where were they all now?
Chest now crushing, feeling dizzy, hard to breathe somehow.
He took the whiskey from his pocket, took a little sip.
Then lowered gently to his knees, his heart began to skip.
He looked into the gloomy firebox, cab started to spin.
Putting the bottle through the hole he tipped a nippy in.
He rested on the loco floor, despite the cold that day.
Then drifted off to times gone by, and sadly passed away.