East Croydon Station 1962

East Croydon Station 1962

Trains, stopping trains and express trains,

Going to and fro even as it rains.

Occasionally stopping here and there briefly,

And to this busy place as is just seen rightly.

Cars, busses and lorries as if crushed together,

Weary looking people and exhausted in all weather.

Rushing about at the station like mad,

An old man, an old woman, a lass and a lad.

Worried faces of commuters, tired and dreamy,

Some fresh, some bewildered some drunk some barmy.

Yet others smiling and are full of joy,

Like the innocent children shy and coy.

A busy shopkeeper like a hard toiling bee,

Serving customers standing in the queue like me.

Time to toil hard and make the most of it,

And seize the golden opportunity and don't just sit.

To the busy pubs as long as the travellers are here,

They badly need your freshly brewed beer.

I too travel but only on stopping trains,

And manage to write a letter or two to my friends.

Both sitting on the carriage and leaving to go,

I finish the letter while walking to and fro.

A friend replies who can picture me walking like mad,

Holding in my hand a pen and a writing pad.

I work nearby in a soft drink factory,

A real mad place looking like a huge groggery.

Never saw so many people assembled together,

Walking, shouting and giggling to each other.

Busier and still going strong as it were needless to say,

This is East Croydon Station in the rich land of Surrey.

Very much attached then with East Croydon,

And now living in the maze of crowded London.

Forty years later, while writing about it now,

I see East Ccoydon Station as fresh in my mind.

Where I lived and worked and cared to bow,

As it is the one and only of its kind.

Lekhram.