It’s about time the evocative stations of the Docklands Light Railway were given a proper showcase, argues Frank…
In a cupboard comment a fortnight ago, Worm noted that the Shipping Forecast on BBC radio long ago ceased to be of any real use to boating people. We all know that it is kept on air because it has become one of those peculiar British traditions, adored by those who listen to it simply for the poetry of the names of all those shipping areas. The majority of listeners have no idea what the information given actually means, nor do they care.
It occurred to me that another source of evocative names is London’s Docklands Light Railway (DLR). It, too, ought to have its own forecast, the station names followed by abstruse and possibly meaningless information, thus:
Shadwell : locusts, bandage paste : 57, 12 : pining
Poplar : mordant starlings, catafalque : 6, 22 : clattering
West India Quay : dirigible, Marmite : 82, 98 : flapping
Canary Wharf : peanuts, macadamia nuts : 6, 10 : galumphing
Heron Quays : coathanger, pot : 52, 11 : pinging, grinding
Mudchute : pagans, whirling things : 14, 14 : looming
All Saints : gas canisters, birdseed : 5, 36 : clucking
Pudding Mill Lane : savagery, nesting habits : 8, 70 : flickering
Custom House : pomposity and flags, a cup : 16, 84 : abseiling
Cyprus : Yoko Ono, farm buildings : 63, 71: choking
Gallions Reach : plastic cutlery, monitor lizards : 43, 7 : muttering
Cutty Sark : bevels, creosote : 19, 90 : preening
Limehouse : muck, night soil : 2, 107 : mucking about
And that concludes today’s DLR Forecast.
brrrr… as soon as I hear that in my mind I’m thinking of storm-tossed pigeons up the Mudchute
and why not, in an age of immaterial information, from false fracking figures to DFS percentages (did you know that, this week, they are offering fifty percent off) the country is sinking in a miasma of data. Don’t you long for that day, in the not too distant future, post information overkill, when we switch on the telly and are greeted with nothing more than a picture of Mr Mole whitewashing his living room.
You’re right, Frank, even amongst tube lines the DLR has the most evocative station names.
I like the DLR, especially around Canary Wharf – I think of it as a very slow rollercoaster.
But can you make poetry or a prayer out of it? I love the sound of Carol Ann Duffy’s Prayer:
Darkness outside. Inside, the radio’s prayer –
Rockall. Malin. Dogger. Finisterre.
Dazzled and dumbstruck, we are blind and mute
Heron Quays, Limehouse, Poplar, Mudchute
Excellent!
DLR, DLR, DLT , DLT, DLR, DLR, DLT, DLT
The law as ever, descends upon thee
DLR, DLR, DLT, DLT, DLR, DLR, DLT, DLT
Canaries all sing –
the wharf it do ring –
with the song of the wind thro’ yonder Yewtree.
There’s a short story by Will Self called Scale about poetry of motorways specifically the M40. I’m paraphrasing some of it:
‘Narrow lanes, narrowing, narrowing
Ker-chunk ker-chunk – ker-chunk Watlington’
Something like that. It’s a very funny story. Also set in Bekonscot model railway which is always good.
‘Scale’ is brilliant – probably still the best thing Will Self has written.
Flanders and Swann did something wonderfully similar with the names of the stations closed by Doc Beeching. Needs a good actor.