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circle : central
: jubilee :
piccadilly :
northern :
hammersmith &
city
: metropolitan
: district
Interesting how the signs
say
“Eastbound” or “Westbound”
When departing from Paddington
On a line that goes round and round.
Westminster, from Paddington,
Is due East; that I know.
Yet “Westbound” is the route to take
To go where I wish to go.
Is this perverseness of nature
Born out of yellow jealousy?
Jealousy of the other lines
With a clear identity?
Fed up going round and round?
No stops to call your own?
Poor Circle Line. But you must know
I'd miss you if you were gone.
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Central Line. Harry Beck
Made you the artery
Of the whole system
On his iconic map.
A very good reason
For you to be red.
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Silver (masquerading as
grey)
For the twenty-five years
Of Elizabeth the Second's
Reign.
She's put in another twenty-five
Since -
And you're not that long
Completed.
So maybe you should now be
Golden.
But maybe not. Your clean-cut
Stainless steely-grey stations
Would look silly in gold now,
Wouldn't they?
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Deep down, truly under
ground,
The old tiles say “Gloucester Road”,
“Covent Garden”, “Russell Square”.
Then, of course, there's
Knightsbridge – not in tiles, alas,
But a name redolent
Of opulence and grace.
Then, out in the suburbs,
There's Hounslow Central,
Hatton Cross,
Hillingdon and Holloway Road.
And Heathrow.
Houses, flats, shops and streets,
And aircraft, low-flying,
Overhead.
But who sees the opulence
Of Harrods or Harvey Nicks,
Deep down beneath the great
Capital City?
For Hounslow and Hammersmith,
Hyde Park and Holloway
Are united, and as one
With the rest,
By a royal blue line,
Where every station is equal,
And all are of equal station.
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Black on white
Like newsprint.
Eyes look right
And squint
At the next person's paper.
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Cross the road in the rain
From the shopping centre
(And what I thought
Was Hammersmith underground station)
To the sign opposite, which says
“Hammersmith Station”.
Enter another world -
A world of wrought iron
And red brick,
Victorian red brick,
A world of space, and a sense of
Railway Station.
The barriers are new,
But not the aura.
We're on the pink line,
Though I know it wasn't
Always thus, and it is
Uncomfortable.
For pink does not suit
This solid piece of history,
This palpable taste
Of London's transport
Heritage.
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Into the farthest reaches
Of Metroland -
Way out beyond London,
Metropolitan your name,
Cosmopolitan your nature.
You mix with Yellow,
Pink and Royal Blue.
You branch out so much more
Than most other lines do.
And Baker Street's the best
Place to see you interact
With all the rest.
Yes, majestic mauve suits you
Down to the Underground.
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Names suggesting leafy
suburb,
England's green-ish, pleasant land:
Richmond, Wimbledon, Kew Gardens -
Green for you was surely planned.
Yet you pass through many places
All across the world well-known:
Tower Hill, Westminster, Temple,
Paddington, South Ken and Sloane.
But your heart is in the country
(Though built up and suburb-bound) -
So the rail tracks rarely take you
Really, truly Underground.
January & February 2005
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