You can go by PLANE, take the TRAIN. One’s very fast, the other so SLOW. Hearing that lonesome whistle BLOW, for some is the only way to GO.
One’s so FAST, I like to make things LAST. From Toronto to the Pacific, there’s a feeling of at least a good chunk of our LAND. Some modern folk, just don’t quite seem to UNDERSTAND.
Sitting there in economy, coach, dining, or up in the dome on the RAILS. ‘Chewin’ the fat’, sharin’ all kinds of nostalgic TALES. From politics to grandchildren and what used to BE. Sleepin’ in coach or going LUXURY. As the lakes, wheat fields and Canadian Rockies ‘WHIZ- BY.’ For goodness sakes all that HISTORY and GEOGRAPHY. A hold of you, it TAKES. You never lose your train of THOUGHT. Perhaps even remember those old National Film Board 16mm. Projectors grinding away and what the classroom teachers about our history once TAUGHT. There’s still nothing like that good old choo-choo to set you FREE and reprise many a MEMORY.
For me, the return trip from Toronto was supposed to begin the following Saturday at ten in the evening. Because of a change in Federal legislation, freights now take priority over human train travel so departure was delayed until four Sunday morning. Instead of arriving in Vancouver Wednesday morning, we came in Wednesday evening, around 7:30.
However, the staff on board were ever courteous, apologetic, complimentary meals were provided, and passengers remained upbeat! The extra treat of seeing the Thompson River and the mighty Fraser during daylight turned the delay into a happy bonus. The scenery was breath taking! To really cap things off, a lady in her mid thirties across the aisle, just as we were coming into New Westminster said, “You look awfully familiar.” It took awhile and then slowly it all came back, I used to teach her Grade 7 Social Studies. I asked, what do you remember? Well, she replied, I remember a joke. What was the joke? She took her finger, bent it back and forth and asked me what that represented. I smiled, because it referred to the then latest technology: a ‘micro-wave’.
In closing, I still marvel how the Turner Channel reprises so many great memories as one lugs a couple of accordion cases to a senior home and prepare to do a show while the TV screen was flickering. Thus these lyrics also evolved with the sway and rhythm on the train somewhere between Kamloops and Jasper.