Affectionate yet not sentimental words by Stanley Accrington. A lovely song.

LAST TRAIN

I can close my eyes sometimes and still smell the smoke
As old Fred the porter slams doors
There's a glance at the clock and a nod to the guard
And the train is in motion once more

Down the Rossendale Valley on a sultry warm day
The clanking of wheels echoes on
But it's all in my mind, when I wake up I find
That the last train from Bacup is gone

I can stand in the car park, remembering old tales
Of a station that's long since pulled down
Of fly-shunted wagons that ran off the rails
Ending up in the centre of town

Now the juggernauts carry what's left of the trade
With the cotton bales piled high upon
And where I worked with me mates is now a housing estate
And the last train from Royton is gone

And at three in the morning when I used to sign on
I lie awake half in a dream
I'm a guard on a special that's bound for the coast
With a 4-6-0 getting up steam

We've got packages for printers and pigeons to release
Spare seats after Heywood not one
Now they jump on a plane for a fortnight in Spain
The last train to Fleetwood is gone

And at Measurements Halt the track has been lifted
The platform is all overgrown
There's a willow and scrub where the Delph Donkey ran
And the valley has claimed back its own

In the Saddleworth hills on a crisp autumn day
A plume of smoke still lingers on
But I'm dreaming out loud, sure it's only a cloud
The last train for Dobcross has gone

Down the Rossendale Valley on a sultry warm day
The clanking of wheels echoes on
But it's all in my mind, when I wake up I find
That the last train from Bacup has gone