Steam Is Dead, Long Live Steam
No more holding hands out of the window with a tearful lover on the platform.
No more leaning out to accept a last-minute red rose.
No Brief Encounters.
No jumping off the train for one last heroic kiss.
No hide and seek among the carriages.
No buffet car with white linen tablecloths.
No smart uniform on the conductor.
No conductor at all, mostly.
No dearly beloved looming up through the clouds of steam as the train pulls in.
When the ‘Fifteen Guinea Special’ breathed its last plume of coal steam, romance died. That’s my opinion anyway.