I could hear London rattling in the rails long after
the train pulled out of Nottingham; west of Grantham,
impatient on a rickety diesel, I waited to catch
the sleeper north, away from Thatcher’s England.
© BH, 2024
I went south for the rag trade - a dizzying tour around establishments to find out where linen was going. All because of Dundee’s history of jute works.
These were entrepreneurial days but all I remember now was Thatcher’s reign and its undercurrents. London was brimming with it although I barely noticed. Even so, leaving for the north was a kind of relief.
No comments:
Post a Comment