|Picture: Peter Higginbotham|
Sunday, 27 July 2014
Yes, I remember Adlestrop --
The name, because one afternoon
Of heat the express-train drew up there
Unwontedly. It was late June.
The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.
No one left and no one came
On the bare platform. What I saw
Was Adlestrop -- only the name
And willows, willow-herb, and grass,
And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,
No whit less still and lonely fair
Than the high cloudlets in the sky.
And for that minute a blackbird sang
Close by, and round him, mistier,
Farther and farther, all the birds
Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.
A hundred years ago Edward Thomas wrote his famous poem Adlestrop. It was June 14, 1914 and he was on the train to Ledbury to visit the American poet Robert Frost. The train stopped briefly and in that moment Edward scribbled ''…thro the willows could be heard a chain of blackbird songs at 12.45, and one thrush and no man seen, only a hiss of engine letting off steam.” The beginnings of his life of poetry. He enlisted in 1915, even though at 37 he didn't need to and was unfortunately killed on
April 9th, 1917 at the Battle of Arras.
The train station was closed in 1966 part of the Beeching cuts. Apparently men were sent and they totally burnt and demolished all signs of the station...all Adlestrop could keep was one sign...the one in the bus stop.
The village of Adlestrop had a poetry competition but I was too late too enter...probably a good thing because I'm no poet but I tried....and here it is....
There was a young lady called Kate,
Whose train was incredibly late,
She’s waiting for Mother
They’d missed one and other,
So for news they hardly could wait
What a fool, there isn't a station,
Kate was sat at the wrong location,'
Adlestrop has a sign,
But hasn't a line,
Just a bus stop with ornamentation
Ring ring, went her mobile phone
Mum says she’s already at home
The train arrived early
It was a good journey
And now she was sat on her own.
Winchcombe town was not very far,
Twenty mins in Kate’s little car,
After kisses and hugs
And tea in big mugs
They ate cookies from out of a jar.
Edward Thomas wrote the poem I‘d read
That night while sitting in bed
I’ll go there again
No, not ever by train
But by car, bus or moped instead.