Jenny Falcon took a bi-lingual French/English secretarial course with the avowed intention of becoming the first U.K. ambassador to France:  sadly, this did not transpire.  She loves travelling to places off the tourist wish list, and has long been a member of Ladies Circle, which has expanded her horizons even further. Jenny considers family and friends crucial to her life.  Happily married for decades with one married daughter, her single best achievement, Jenny is a poet and writer.

The Journey by Jenny Falcon

The dirty mainline station was functioning with its usual, organised frenzy
People criss-crossing the forecourt, focused on their own trajectories
Announcements – almost incomprehensible – feebly fought against the sound
Of multiple movement, competing noises of man and machine

My feet took me hastily through the barrier and along the platform
I stepped with wearisome tread onto the waiting train which crouched
Like an uncomplaining mammal, gently hissing and clicking
I found a seat, tucked at one end of a carriage, and sank into the corner

At the appointed departure time, the train moved off with a gentle tug
It had a heavy load, it was that time of the evening, so many assorted souls
Making their respective homeward journeys, some pale and exhausted
Others frenetically tapping at their electronic devices, mesmerised, unaware

But the movement of the lumbering train was beguiling, almost soothing
The enforced closeness of fellow travellers did not feel intrusive
But strangely comforting, locked together in a homeward goal
Leaving behind the tangled thoughts and worries of the day

Dusk was approaching, the occasional light drew attention
The suburban gardens pulled over their shrouds of grey
The fields and parks became secretive, waiting for the moon
The grubbiness of the trackside buildings disappeared in the gloom

No longer could one’s gaze rest on the world passing by
Just a jumble of shapes, confused with the reflections from within;
Eyes closed, listening to the sounds of the train as it sped on
Wishing to arrive, to be transported away to a familiar shelter

Finally, the sounds changed, the regular beat slowed, people shuffled,
Roused themselves to face again the world outside the large cocoon
The train gently stopped and at once, the relative calm was broken
As those within, hurried away without a backward glance.

The end of the line, so I paused – waited until all had gone
Viewed the empty cartons, crumpled papers, dirty tissues
Detritus of a daily, uneventful, homeward journey, one of so many
And then, stepped off the train myself and followed the crowd