The 7:06 train from Rye was cancelled on Thursday last week.
This was my journey to work – to the rhythm of an operating and moving train.
The train is cancelled, without explanation;
Nobody is coming, or leaving the station;
The platform is empty, no one is here;
Standing there, I stand . . . just stare;
Seconds tick by, on the sign at the station;
The display repeats the same information;
Over and over, the same information;
Repeating and repeating without explanation:
(Tone: getting increasingly exasperated)
CANCELLED! The train is cancelled again;
I can’t believe it’s cancelled again
Without warning it’s cancelled again,
Over and over: “CANCELLED” again.
And now at last, some time has passed;
The sign has changed, next train at last;
Passengers appearing, converging and nearing;
Gathering for the train’s imminent appearing;
Platform of plenty, overcrowded and full;
Not quite sure the train holds them all;
I was here first, now standing the last;
‘Cause I sat in the waiting room for time to pass!
Packed! The train is packed again;
I can’t believe it: it’s packed to the brim;
Now squashed inside: and packed in the tin;
Like sardines together, we ride on again.