The Guardian of Hell

In Norway for a holiday
I chose to take a train.
I found a railway manager
Standing in the rain.

I asked him how I’d get a train
From here to Tromso town.
He looked at me askantly,
Then put his flag and whistle down.

Pausing a while, he sighed a sigh,
“Just go to Hell ” he muttered.
I thought how rude, how quite uncouth,
Such harsh words to have uttered.

I didn’t like his acid tone
I felt so hurt, and, sadly,
Wondered what I’d done to him
That made him treat me badly.

But then he started telling me
About a town called ‘Hell’,
Sitting on the Tromso line
A place where many dwell.

How the long-suffering railway chief
Had laboured to dispel
The reputation he’d acquired –
‘the Stationmaster from Hell.’

So at last I understood
I repented feeling badly.
Now I’d love to go to Hell,
Pay respects quite gladly.

Then standing by the station sign
I’d take a snap as well,
To show how I admired him,
This Guardian of Hell.