Posted in Poems

The Railwayman

autumn

A Railway township built early 1900s.
With Railway quarters provided.
The workshop to repair trains.
The railwayman’s job awaits.

My father the blue-collar worker.
A Railwayman from before marriage.
The workshop his place of work.
A railwayman his whole life long.

Tracks leading into the workshop.
Train engines, carriages and caboose.
As far and wide throughout the country.
To be repaired; to be serviced.

The whistle blows in the morning.
Sounding the start of a workday.
You hear the shrill for lunch and day’s end.
It resonates the heart of Railway life.

A Railway township during the sixties.
You’d see children outdoor in play.
Railway brats we called ourselves.
We, the children of tough railwaymen.

This Railway township long since gone.
My childhood home is no more.
It’s workshop a Theatre now.
The shrill of that last whistle a memory.

The railwaymen of an era long gone by.
My father, one such railwayman.
Strong and hardworking his whole life.
A railwayman right to the end.

By C.E. Pereira
(19-10-2015)

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Author:

I'm a Eurasian of Portuguese, English, Scottish and Malay heritage. And my extended family are of Chinese and Indian heritage. In recent years, the younger generation have added on to include spouses from the Philippines, Nigeria and Russia. My world is made up of different colours like the rainbow. And like the rainbow I am unique. Reading is my form of relaxation, to escape from the drudgery of daily life and enter into a world of the imagination. It is the love of reading that has led me to try my hand in writing short stories and poems. I hope that in some way my stories and poems will take you for a little while away from the drudgery of the present into the pages of imagination. To new friends found, I bid you, Welcome. Sincerely, C.E. Pereira

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