THE TRAIN TO NOWHERE
Posted: Wed Jan 06, 2016 2:51 pm
The following poem is the story of a recent fateful trip on the Indian Pacific.
THE TRAIN TO NOWHERE
We’d listened to Slim Dusty sing “The Indian Pacific”
and thought the trip from Sydney to Perth would be terrific,
we joined the half a million who’d travelled on this train
to taste for ourselves the famed outback terrain.
Four thousand three hundred and fifty-two K
defined by any standards a heck of a long way,
this journey an adventure, much more than a trip,
surpassing all on offer from aeroplane or ship.
Sydney’s Central Station, the IP on the platform
serving drinks before departure, quite easy to conform,
how long’s this been going on, Qantas please take note,
travel looking good so far, passengers would vote.
Away on time at 3.00PM west bound toward Blue Mountains,
sun’s rays bouncing off the crags, kaleidoscopic fountains
that gently faded piece by piece as old Sol retired,
landscape of the ilk that always is admired.
A drink or two of finest red in lounge car before dinner,
from dietary restrictions we were each a shamefaced sinner
proceeding to enjoy a sumptuous three course meal,
boosting our impression this train was the real deal.
Early next morning crossing earth as dry as dust
we reached Broken Hill where the mines had scratched the crust
and toured the gallery made famous by the praiseworthy Pro Hart,
a legend in the town through his offbeat art.
On to South Australia through vast open red dirt land
slowly shifting to fields of wheat, from breezes lightly fanned
then, after lunch an off train visit to Barossa Valley
to sample nectar of the grape, a scene right up our alley.
A delicious two course dinner next at Maggie Beer’s farm shop,
this a day of entertainment, virtually nonstop,
train awaiting at Adelaide to convey us through the night,
peaceful slumber beckoning, no need for an invite.
Day three dawned with dry salt lakes midst miles of desolation,
harsh yet absorbing country despite its isolation,
drifting to the flat, treeless, eerie Nullarbor Plain,
four seventy-eight straight Ks for our transcontinental train.
The day’s first stop was Cook in the middle of Nullarbor
with temperature of forty-one when we stepped out the door,
refuelling point for the train, a ghost town, so to speak
yet, alive with history of the railway that’s unique.
Back to air conditioning we crossed the West Australian border
until a halt at Forrest threw our trip into disorder,
it seemed the line ahead of us was blocked by a derailment
causing for our journey an extreme lethal ailment.
Confusion reigned and saw movement toward the lounge car
to contemplate our fate with help from products of the bar,
conversation stemmed around what there was to do
when there was an announcement made by the train crew.
Communication with “Head Office” had, since our stop been made
and decision had been taken to return to Adelaide
where train would go no further, that would be finis the end,
to Perth no more Great Southern Rail its passengers send.
So, instead of Perth arrival at 3.00PM on Saturday
we reached Adelaide at 5.00, thirteen hundred Ks away,
as Ned said “Such is life”, I guess it could be worse,
our train could have been derailed which would have been a curse.
As transcontinental travellers we’ve thus not made the grade
but, a return trip to Forrest, I’d bet not a lot have made,
it’s a real contest candidate for the middle of nowhere,
that’s the honest truth because we have been there.
Jeff Thorpe © 05 January 2016
THE TRAIN TO NOWHERE
We’d listened to Slim Dusty sing “The Indian Pacific”
and thought the trip from Sydney to Perth would be terrific,
we joined the half a million who’d travelled on this train
to taste for ourselves the famed outback terrain.
Four thousand three hundred and fifty-two K
defined by any standards a heck of a long way,
this journey an adventure, much more than a trip,
surpassing all on offer from aeroplane or ship.
Sydney’s Central Station, the IP on the platform
serving drinks before departure, quite easy to conform,
how long’s this been going on, Qantas please take note,
travel looking good so far, passengers would vote.
Away on time at 3.00PM west bound toward Blue Mountains,
sun’s rays bouncing off the crags, kaleidoscopic fountains
that gently faded piece by piece as old Sol retired,
landscape of the ilk that always is admired.
A drink or two of finest red in lounge car before dinner,
from dietary restrictions we were each a shamefaced sinner
proceeding to enjoy a sumptuous three course meal,
boosting our impression this train was the real deal.
Early next morning crossing earth as dry as dust
we reached Broken Hill where the mines had scratched the crust
and toured the gallery made famous by the praiseworthy Pro Hart,
a legend in the town through his offbeat art.
On to South Australia through vast open red dirt land
slowly shifting to fields of wheat, from breezes lightly fanned
then, after lunch an off train visit to Barossa Valley
to sample nectar of the grape, a scene right up our alley.
A delicious two course dinner next at Maggie Beer’s farm shop,
this a day of entertainment, virtually nonstop,
train awaiting at Adelaide to convey us through the night,
peaceful slumber beckoning, no need for an invite.
Day three dawned with dry salt lakes midst miles of desolation,
harsh yet absorbing country despite its isolation,
drifting to the flat, treeless, eerie Nullarbor Plain,
four seventy-eight straight Ks for our transcontinental train.
The day’s first stop was Cook in the middle of Nullarbor
with temperature of forty-one when we stepped out the door,
refuelling point for the train, a ghost town, so to speak
yet, alive with history of the railway that’s unique.
Back to air conditioning we crossed the West Australian border
until a halt at Forrest threw our trip into disorder,
it seemed the line ahead of us was blocked by a derailment
causing for our journey an extreme lethal ailment.
Confusion reigned and saw movement toward the lounge car
to contemplate our fate with help from products of the bar,
conversation stemmed around what there was to do
when there was an announcement made by the train crew.
Communication with “Head Office” had, since our stop been made
and decision had been taken to return to Adelaide
where train would go no further, that would be finis the end,
to Perth no more Great Southern Rail its passengers send.
So, instead of Perth arrival at 3.00PM on Saturday
we reached Adelaide at 5.00, thirteen hundred Ks away,
as Ned said “Such is life”, I guess it could be worse,
our train could have been derailed which would have been a curse.
As transcontinental travellers we’ve thus not made the grade
but, a return trip to Forrest, I’d bet not a lot have made,
it’s a real contest candidate for the middle of nowhere,
that’s the honest truth because we have been there.
Jeff Thorpe © 05 January 2016
