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.

The Doorkeeper – Let Me In

Ancient Buddha, set in stone,
Guardian of the door,
Tell me will you let me in,
What else is Heaven for?
Oh, I am weak but well-meaning,
Given to wishful thinking.
Perhaps you’ll promise me the earth
If I give up my drinking.

But I’d have thought that one like you
Would be among the godly.
Not lumbered with a job like this
And behaving very oddly.
For when you came into my view
I saw you in a trance,
Looking as though you’d rather be
On holiday in France.

If you will stretch a minor point
And let a sinner in,
I’m sure you’ll feel a moment’s thought
Will save you from considering
Why it is that I, poor wretch,
with no more to my blame
Than one unproven parking fine,
Should play a waiting game.

I’m pretty sure you could forgive
A few mistaken words,
Those acts of careless rectitude,
Those songs in minor thirds.
Perhaps just now you are best placed
To do a pal a favour.
I am your friend, one of your best,
So please do be my saviour.