THE CLOSING OF THE STATION.
 

The station now looks desolate,

A change from what I've seen,

The stir, the commerce that was there,

It now seems like a dream,

Weel I mind the horsemen,

Wi' their lorries and their cairts,

Plying up and doon the Rigg,

In frae a' the airts.

The various contractors,

Moncur and Biedge and Sim.

Collecting and delivering,

To those who weave and spin,

The siding full o' wagons,

With sand and coal and brick,

And I think I see the workmen there,

Wi' their shovel and their pick.

The woman for the hoisery,

Came off the early train,

To do their daily labours,

And at night go back again.

But times have greatly altered,

In a hundred different ways,

But many times I ponder o'er,

Yon merry far off days.

The motor car has altered this,

Now everything is speed,

And I very often wonder,

Just what is all the need.
There's no' the same contentment,

I have just been taking stock,

Of all that was prevailing then,

Among the common folk.

Aye, the station now looks desolate, T

hey've gone and shut "the shop",

The carriages are running by,

But they're no' allowed to stop.

It's a funny legisation,

No wonder folk complain,

And agitate for the privilage,

Of travelling in the train.

The casualties upon the roads,

I'm sure they would reduce,

For some are driving cars today,

Like savages let loose,

And here's my firm conviction,

The opinion no' just my ain,

There's safety and there's comfort,

When you're travelling with the train.

John Haining.