Category: Locomotive Heart
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A far-off Whistle
Our railway is in the off season. A whistle in the distance is more likely a P-way kettle, fresh-brewed tea, a volunteer’s hard-earned salary. and if we dare risk it, a biscuit. We’re all tea rooms and no traction. But even so we have the miracle of steam, the regular metal clink as spoon stirs…
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Locomotive Heart
A check of the glass, a nod from the Fireman, and I eased the regulator wide open. Power flowed in perfect synchrony and we accelerated with a howl. A protest. Defiance against the night, against the rain that lashed the windows and ran rivulets across our flank, against every priest whose God never designed us to…