Hymn To St. Pancras Poem by C Richard Miles

Hymn To St. Pancras



Hail, soaring spires, with pink-tipped prow,
Strong, stone cathedral, built to bow
To gods of smoke and steam and steel
And piston-powered, whirling wheel,
Where whistle’s whining, yammering yell
Shrieked out loud locomotive’s spell
That smote the air with thunder’s thrall
Beneath broad, vaulted ceilings tall.
When you first ventured on their view,
Victorian voices worshipped you.

As Empire’s powers grew less and less,
You wandered in the wilderness
As time and traffic passed you by,
Beneath broad London’s smoky sky,
You mouldered, smudged by smog’s dark stains
In shame above suburban trains,
So nearly sacrificial lamb
In Beeching’s rail-reducing plan
Till architects with visions bright
Revived again the crumbling site:

Where gleaming glasswork, fresh installed,
In ancient nave, now overhauled,
Can contemplate soft, sweeter hymns
From whispering, whistling, silver strings.
Hung high to bless, with current’s boon,
New gods of zip and zing and zoom
Where lovers locked in burnished bronze
And Betjeman, Poet Laureate once,
Stand still beneath broad clock’s cleaned face
And breathe their benediction’s grace.

Our prayers are answered, like a dream,
As travel centre’s service team,
Beneath broad arches, in the crypt
Help plan our pilgrimage, our trip.
Whilst waiting coaches coast aloft,
In aisles of echoing undercroft,
We offer up our cash, which drops
In tills of chic designer shops
And then take wine, or sup our ale
At champagne bar’s communion rail.

In check-in’s cramped confessional,
Those practised eyes, professional
Beneath broad frowns, so fixed and firm.
Peruse our passports, while we squirm
And X-ray beams expose each sin
Which bulging baggage bears within.
Relieved, we pass their tiresome test
And struggle on to take a rest
In waiting room, in limbo stark,
Before the call comes to embark.

Since Europe’s shrunken to a span
By caverns carved by mining man,
We hustle, crossing in a flash,
Where feebler ferries stall and splash,
Beneath broad Channel, bastion breached.
So destinations swift are reached.
As railway’s new religion reigns
In Eurostar’s electric trains,
We praise you, revamped prodigal,
St. Pancras International.

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