Westbury White Horse
Winter in Somerset. No trains from Frome.
They sit in the engine sheds, boilers frozen.
Clare drives me to Westbury, in Wiltshire,
the neighboring county. She leaves me there
and I stand on a platform as white with snow
as Westbury White Horse towering above.
People arrive, flapping their arms, stamping
their feet, walking around trying to stay warm.
Finally, to shouts, cheers, and laughter, a train
arrives, its boiler successfully thawed. People
rush forward, open doors, claim their seats.
It’s a corridor, not a compartment train.
“Is this the eight-fifteen to Temple Meads?”
I ask the porter. “Nope,” he says. “That’ll
be arriving later.” “When?” “About ten
or eleven, I expect.” “What train is this?”
“Ah, now this is the six-thirty to Bristol.
Running about two hours late. Better be quick.
The guard’s waving his flag. She’s about to leave.”
I open a door, climb on the train. All
the seats are taken. I stand in the corridor,
shivering, all the way to Temple Meads.
rogermoorepoet 
On Thu., Sep. 19, 2019, 1:24 a.m. rogermoorepoet, wrote:
> rogermoorepoet posted: ” Westbury White Horse Winter in Somerset. No > trains from Frome. They sit in the engine sheds, boilers frozen. Clare > drives me to Westbury, in Wiltshire, the neighboring county. She leaves me > there and I stand on a platform as white with snow as Westbu” >
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This vignette is lovely! I would have enjoyed even more description, but what is here is lovely. Well done. Chuck
On Thu., Sep. 19, 2019, 1:24 a.m. rogermoorepoet, wrote:
> rogermoorepoet posted: ” Westbury White Horse Winter in Somerset. No > trains from Frome. They sit in the engine sheds, boilers frozen. Clare > drives me to Westbury, in Wiltshire, the neighboring county. She leaves me > there and I stand on a platform as white with snow as Westbu” >
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Thanks, Chuck. I hope the col white horse didn’t start you shivering. I know: there’s always room for More Moore.
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I’m very familiar with that little section of the UK’s railway network!
A great piece that evokes the chill of strangeness in a mundane setting and the frozen un-jindness of strangers.
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Hello, Polly. I haven’t heard from you for a long time. So happy to see you back. I am just finishing a book of short stories about my childhood in Swansea. It’s been great fun writing it. Stirred up lots of memories. Oh yes, and I am learning to speak Welsh (!) at long last, an online course for seventy-five year old beginners: “Sut mae hi’n y tywydd yn Abertawe heddiw? Mae hi’n bwrw glaw yma ond bydd hi’n well yfory.”
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Wonderful stuff Roger! I’m not writing so much and definitely not reading enough! Working so hard, hence absence… I too want to get round to learning Welsh…right now may not be the time but I’m very impressed with your work there! All I can work out is something along the lines of how are things in Swansea today. It’s raining here… And then something about tomorrow… My kids would do a vastly better job! They learn it at school
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I am using duolingus … highly recommended. well / better. It will be better tomorrow! I grew up hearing (street), but not speaking (home or school), the language. It really was an awakening for me. Such a rich heritage lost and then re-discovered.
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When is the book predicted to be out?
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Good question. I am self-publishing as usual so anytime. I am waiting for some line drawings from my artist friend. I’ll publish when he produces! Should be soon, this month or next.
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