04/06/2026
County School Station
The gravel stirs where thistles grew, and modern shovels gleam,
To wake a sleeping valley from a fifty-year-long dream.
The volunteers are back in force to right a historic wrong,
And stitch the broken pieces where the iron roads belong.
From County School to Elmham, the silver ribbons run,
A bridge across the ages, catching glints of morning sun.
Oh, listen to the cutting, hear the whisper on the breeze,
The Wensum Line is breathing back to life beneath the trees!
Beside the track, in bowler hats and waistcoats made of wool,
The phantom stationmasters watch the heavy wagons pull.
The ghostly milk-maids wait in vain, the spectral guards look on,
Smiling at the sudden dawn that rights a dark day gone.
From County School to Elmham, the silver ribbons run,
A bridge across the ages, catching glints of morning sun.
Oh, listen to the cutting, hear the whisper on the breeze,
The Wensum Line is breathing back to life beneath the trees!
They court the wild with gentle hands, they do not wish to scar,
They clear the path for badgers and the bright-eyed avatar;
The nesting birds are undisturbed, the mossy banks are spared,
For Nature is a partner here, her sacred kingdom shared.
From County School to Elmham, the silver ribbons run,
A bridge across the ages, catching glints of morning sun.
Oh, listen to the cutting, hear the whisper on the breeze,
The Wensum Line is breathing back to life beneath the trees!
Old Morton Peto looks aloft, the man who shaped the clay,
Who raised the Victorian embankments that still survive today.
While Marples, with his swinging axe and cold, financial scheme,
Is vanquished by the stubborn hearts who held onto the dream.
From County School to Elmham, the silver ribbons run,
A bridge across the ages, catching glints of morning sun.
Oh, listen to the cutting, hear the whisper on the breeze,
The Wensum Line is breathing back to life beneath the trees!
And if you stand quite still tonight, when standard tools are still,
A phantom drub comes echoing from high upon the hill.
The heavy beat of pistons, and a whistle sharp and clear—
The ghosts of Norfolk steam are telling all who care to hear:
From County School to Elmham, the silver ribbons run,
A bridge across the ages, catching glints of morning sun.
Oh, listen to the cutting, hear the whisper on the breeze,
The Wensum Line is breathing back to life beneath the trees!