Lucy Vickery

Spectator competition winners: poems about HS2

The idea to ask for poems about HS2 came to me as I was listening on YouTube to W.H. Auden’s poem ‘Night Mail’, which he wrote to accompany a section of the terrific 1936 documentary about the London to Glasgow Postal Special directed by Basil Wright and Harry Watt (who described Auden as looking like a ‘half-witted Swedish deckhand’). Not altogether surprisingly, the tone of the entry was less celebratory than Auden’s, with the notable exception of Carolyn Thomas-Coxhead’s prize-winning submission, written in the finest MacGonagallese. Her fellow victors are rewarded with £30 apiece and George Simmers snaffles the extra fiver.

George Simmers There’s a thunder down the line at eleven fifty       nine, And there’ll be another due at twelve o-six. Yes, several times each hour a train of massive       power Is hurtling busy townies through the sticks, And leering through the glass of a window in       first class (At meadows trashed and woodlands bulldozed       flat) Is a vicious tabby gent claiming dubious descent From Skimbleshanks, the famous Railway Cat. His moggy grin is mirthless, mocking dwellings       rendered worthless By the track that’s scarred the centre of the       nation. Skimble Junior (‘Call me Skimby!’) hisses scorn       for every nimby Who’s inclined to sob at rural devastation. There’s no mercy in his features for otters or       such creatures Who have lost their fine and ancient habitat. ‘Businessmen demand a beeline!’ mews this       hard efficient feline, Skimble Junior, the modern high-speed cat.

Basil Ransome-Davies It’s as pointless as cheating at patience, As cuckoo as ironing the cat, A businessmen’s scheme, a commercial wet       dream In the shape of a formal diktat.

Though the magic words ‘northern’ and       ‘powerhouse’, Pronounced like a mystical spell, Are combined to inspire, setting all hearts on       fire, They exude a pestiferous smell.

Prepare for those time and cost overruns As it links cities already linked But at much greater speed, like a junkie in need, All reason and judgment extinct.

Perhaps in some dim, distant future A drone locomotive will zoom Through environments grey with exhausted       decay And a dreamlike, Ballardian gloom.

D.A. Prince This monster-clogging transportation with costs outstripping past inflation, loading despair on expectation across the whole mistrustful nation; this can’t be simply job creation to give a workless population something for hope and exultation instead of permanent stagnation; this hare-brained scheme is suffocation of countryside and preservation, revealing London’s concentration on rural life’s elimination; the HS2 is pure damnation from birth to final destination.

And what would bring us some elation? An end to this embuggeration.

Carolyn Thomas-Coxhead All success to the project HS2! It’s designed by Her Majesty’s Government for       people like me and you Who want to get very quickly from London to       Leeds And be able to do so in great comfort, all built       on the proceeds Of enormous private investment and revenue       streams (’Tis one of the Department for Transport’s       greatest dreams) Which is very good news since it looks as though       it’ll cost dear And George Osborne hopes that China will see       its way clear To stump up for some of those three hundred       and fifty one miles of new track Which will pass through, under or above several       beautiful places, to which some cry ‘Alack!’ These high speed trains are most beautiful to see And may possibly prove quite handy for people       like you and me.

Brian Allgar Well, here I am, in keen anticipation Of travelling on the splendid High-Speed train. Gone are the days of feckless cancellation Provoked by fallen leaves, or heavy rain, Or unexpected sunlight on the rails, Or snow, or fog. We’ll soon be setting off… But shouldn’t it be here? The speaker wails And crackles into life; a furtive cough, A disembodied voice: ‘Regrettably, For passengers who’ve booked with HS2, The train that was announced on Platform Three Is cancelled. We apologise. It’s due To fallen leaves and snow at Watford Junction And unexpected sun in Kentish Town, Which caused a massive system-wide       malfunction And brought our whole computer network       down.’

Your next challenge is to submit an acrostic poem containing some predictions for the next decade, in which the first letters of the lines read NOSTRADAMUS. Please email entries, wherever possible, to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 30 December.

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