From a Railway Carriage

From a Railway Carriage

Faster than fairies, faster than witches,

Bridges and houses, hedges and ditches;

And charging along like troops in a battle
All through the meadows the horses and cattle:
All of the sights of the hill and the plain
Fly as thick as driving rain;
And ever again, in the wink of an eye,
Painted stations whistle by.
Here is a child who clambers and scrambles,
All by himself and gathering brambles;

Here is a tramp who stands and gazes;

And here is the green for stringing the daisies!
Here is a cart runaway in the road
Lumping along with man and load;
And here is a mill, and there is a river:
Each a glimpse and gone forever!

- Robert Louis Stevenson

This is our old station, i think i took this picture I went away by myself for the first time.  I was exceptionally grown up and heading away for a Cadet related thing and had to travel down to Wales.  Now where this car park used to be is a very large coffee shop and some more shops, its a very big shopping mall and is probably much nicer to wonder around while waiting for the train to get going!

We're getting closer to our departure and we just can't wait to be away from the fuss, the rotten old weather we've been having and the day to day grind.  Summer this year hasn't been that great, we've had an awful lot of 'rubbish' thrown in our way and wading through it gets a bit tough after a while.  So to get away from it for two lovely weeks-and not to mention see my family-is going to be great.

We'll rise early one morning to get the train to our airport, we'll stock up on lots of coffee and lots and lots of sandwiches and nice little snack things and head off on our own teeny tiny adventure.

Bed in Summer

Bed in Summer



In winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candle light.
In summer, quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.

I have to go to bed and see
The birds still hopping on the tree,
Or hear the grown-up people's feet
Still going past me in the street.

And does it not seem hard to you,
When all the sky is clear and blue,
And I should like so much to play,
To have to go to bed by day?

-Robert Louis Stevenson

The Selkirk Grace

The Selkirk Grace

Some hae meat and canna eat,

And some wad eat that want it;

But we hae meat, and we can eat,

And sae the Lord be thankit.


Remember to say this before your Burns supper!

Address to a Haggis

Address to a Haggis

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,

Great chieftain o' the pudding-race!

Aboon them a' ye tak your place,

Painch, tripe, or thairm :

Weel are ye wordy o'a grace

As lang's my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,

Your hurdies like a distant hill,

Your pin wad help to mend a mill

In time o'need,

While thro' your pores the dews distil

Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour dight,

An' cut you up wi' ready sleight,

Trenching your gushing entrails bright,

Like ony ditch;

And then, O what a glorious sight,

Warm-reekin', rich!

Then, horn for horn, they stretch an' strive:

Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,

Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve

Are bent like drums;

Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,

Bethankit! hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout

Or olio that wad staw a sow,

Or fricassee wad make her spew

Wi' perfect sconner,

Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view

On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre his trash,

As feckless as wither'd rash,

His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash;

His nieve a nit;

Thro' bloody flood or field to dash,

O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,

The trembling earth resounds his tread.

Clap in his walie nieve a blade,

He'll mak it whissle;

An' legs an' arms, an' heads will sned,

Like taps o' thrissle.

Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care,

And dish them out their bill o' fare,

Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware

That jaups in luggies;

But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer

Gie her a haggis!

Robert Burns

(25 January 1759 – 21 July 1796)

I give you Dorothy Parker

Résumé

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live

Just what i needed!

For the Fallen-Remembrance Day

For the Fallen


With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill: Death August and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted:
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the starts that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end they remain.

Laurence Binyon (1869-1943)

I am inspired!

I am completely and utterly inspired by Rudyard Kipling’s ‘IF’. Although I have known of this poem for a long time, it has only recently got into my soul and I would love to memorise it. Although I love it so, I am not too sure how long it would take me to remember all of those lines!