written and posted by members of Lancashire Dead Good Poets' Society

Thursday, 26 March 2026

Wednesday, 25 March 2026

Enjambment

I was surprised when looking into the history of enjambment to discover that its use went back much further than I had expected. I was getting prepared for a bit of a rant about contemporary poets cutting lines and rolling them over to the start of the next line for no apparent reason. However it seems, for instance, that Homer used the technique and it is used in the 32nd Psalm of the Hebrew Bible.

I’d better explain what the technique is before going any further:

‘Enjambment is when a sentence or phrase spans over more than one line of poetry. Because of this, a thought or idea carries on from one line to the next without a pause or punctuation mark at the end of the line’.

And thanks to Kassiani Nikolopoulou at QuillBot for that simple but clear definition. So many of the other definitions I looked at included words like syntax or couplets which can mean that someone then has to go and look up their meanings.

After finding that definition I was going to go on to my original idea but got stopped in my tracks by references to scholars such as Goswin König and A. C. Bradley who have estimated approximate dates of undated works of Shakespeare by studying the frequency of enjambment. How on earth does that work?


An example quoted is this from Romeo and Juliet from around 1595:

A glooming peace this morning with it brings.
The sun for sorrow will not show his head.
Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things.
Some shall be pardon'd, and some punishèd.

Each line is complete in itself and the argument goes that this is an example of his early works.

Then there are these lines from The Winter's Tale, from about 1611, which use enjambment comprehensively:

I am not prone to weeping, as our sex
Commonly are; the want of which vain dew
Perchance shall dry your pities; but I have
That honourable grief lodged here which burns
Worse than tears drown.

The point is that the reader's eye is forced to go on to the next sentence. It can also make the reader feel uncomfortable or the poem feel like ‘flow-of-thought’ with a sensation of urgency or disorder. It is said that this is a measure of Shakespeare’s development as a writer.

I should mention that the use of computer technology has confirmed this analysis. And how does that work? I got this from the AI overview to the question ‘How Computer-Aided Analysis Works’.

Stylometry & Machine Learning: Scholars use machine-learning algorithms to "train" a computer on a known, chronologically arranged corpus of Shakespeare's work (e.g., training on Coriolanus and The Tempest to analyse Henry VIII).


Quantifying Enjambment: Computers allow for rapid, precise counting of enjambed lines, pause patterns, and "weak" endings (endings that cannot pause) across thousands of lines, which would be labour-intensive to do manually.

Pause Patterns: Analysis shows that the distribution of pauses within iambic pentameter lines serves as a reliable chronological marker, allowing computers to place plays in a chronological sequence that largely matches the established scholarly consensus.

I found confirmation of the points in articles such as in MIT Technology Review.

But instead of a play let’s choose a sonnet.

Sonnet 116

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixèd mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
  If this be error and upon me proved,
  I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

                                                      William Shakespeare
                         
Thanks for reading, Terry Q.

Saturday, 21 March 2026

Illustrating Fairies

Two words: Arthur Rackham. He was probably the pre-eminent illustrator of children's books in Edwardian and Georgian England, during the golden age of British book illustration. His instantly recognisable pen-and-ink with watercolour fantasy artwork was reproduced in glossy plates in a host of the most popular titles of the era. 

The quintet of 'Rip van Winkle ' (1905), 'Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens ' (1906), 'Alice's Adventures in Wonderland ' (1907), 'A Midsummer Night's Dream ' (1908) and 'Gulliver's Travels ' (1909) got Rackham's illustrious career off to a flying start, no puns intended, a fabulous streak which continued right through to 'The Wind in the Willows ', which set of illustrations he actually completed in 1939 just before his death, though the book didn't get published until 1950, because of wartime paper rationing. 

detail from 'The Serpentine' in Peter Pan In Kensington Gardens, Arthur Rackham, 1906
Rackham's illustrations for Kenneth Graham's 'Wind in the Willows ' was my introduction to his work, when I was given a copy for my seventh birthday. The 'Peter Pan...' and 'A Midsummer Night's Dream ' volumes followed.

Rackham was born in Vauxhall, London in 1867, one of twelve children. (Just imagine that!) Aged seventeen, he got a job as an insurance clerk while also studying part time at Lambeth School of Art. Within a few years he had changed jobs and was working for a Westminster newspaper as a reporter and illustrator. As his skill as an artist developed, so did demands for his somewhat gothic fantasy artwork. By the turn of the century, when his illustrations graced an edition of 'Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm ', his reputation was firmly established. He was able to buy his own studio property in a gated artists' community in Belsize Park (one such recently sold for £7 million) and he married his neighbour, the Irish-born portrait painter Edyth Starkie.

His fanciful depictions of fairy folk in particular seem to have seized the public imagination, both children and adults alike, and in addition to those titles already mentioned (and as illustrated above and below) Rackham also accepted commissions to produce colour plates and black and white drawings for 'The Allies' Fairy Book ' (1916), 'English Fairy Tales ' (1918), 'Irish Fairy Tales ' (1920), 'The Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Anderson ' (1932), Christina Rossetti's 'Goblin Market  ' (1933) and his own 'The Arthur Rackham Fairy Book ' (1933). He must have drawn and painted hundreds of fairy scenes.

detail from 'Titania' in A Midsummer Night's Dream, Arthur Rackham, 1908
Many children wrote to him via the publishers after reading books with his illustrations in. They were delighted by his work and wanted to express their appreciation or ask him questions and he always responded courteously to their letters and queries.

Recently, some Freudian analyses have remarked that his male fairy folk (including pixies, goblins and their like) are often swarthy, even ugly, quite often small of stature and usually dressed in quasi-medieval attire, whereas his female fairies are slender and graceful nymphs wearing diaphanous robes or sometimes nothing at all. They seek to destroy the magic of innocence by suggesting something improper in Rackham's depictions of female fairy folk, almost as if they were a form of child pornography. But his own daughter Barbara was his model for many of them, and by all accounts she was his best friend and keenest critic, so I think we should just accept that he genuinely liked children, and liked illustrating the classics for them. He is after all on record as saying "I firmly believe in the greatest stimulating and educative power of imaginative, fantastic, and playful pictures and writings for children in their most impressionable years".

It worked for me. By the by, my very first acting part (aged eleven) was as Mustardseed, one of the fairies in 'A Midsummer Night's Dream '.

There's no poem this week. I've just got back from a long day-trip to Cardiff to see Blackpool play (up at 4.30am, home by 9.30pm). It was no fairy tale, but at least we secured a point in a very watchable 0-0 draw in our attempt to avoid relegation. Keep believing, Seasiders.

Thanks for reading, S ;-)

Wednesday, 18 March 2026

Fairies

By way of YouTube I’ve just had a look at Cottingley Beck as it still flows over rocks and is overshadowed by trees. Back in 1917 it was the favourite spot of two cousins, who regularly got into trouble for returning home wet and untidy after playing in and around the stream. Most kids would make some sort of excuse but the one made by 9 year old Frances Griffiths and her cousin 16 year old Elsie Wright was an absolute belter.

Cottingley Beck
When told off they said they went there ‘to see the fairies’. I’d loved to have seen the expressions on the faces of the families. I think I may have been quite impressed by such a tale. Anyway, Elsie borrowed her father’s camera and went in search of proof. It didn’t take long.

Elsie’s father Arthur was a keen amateur photographer with his own darkroom and all the equipment required to develop the image which shows Frances in front of several winged fairy figures. Elsie was interested in photography with a talent for art and experience in retouching photographs. Arthur Wright was suspicious. Even when the girls came back months later with a plate showing Elsie holding out her hand to a small winged figure, Arthur was unconvinced. He knew the girls had been up to something, he just wasn’t sure how they’d done it.

the Cottingley Fairies (i) 1917
Elsie’s mother Polly took the photographs along to a meeting of the Theosophical Society in nearby Bradford and the images appear to have caught the imagination and the enthusiasm of the society’s supporters, and of one of its leading members, Edward Gardner. The photographs were examined by photographic expert Harold Snelling, who confirmed them as authentic images of ‘what was in front of the camera’, a smart move. Gardner used the images in his lectures. Copies appeared in a spiritualist magazine where they caught the eye of Sir Arthur Conan-Doyle, a believer in spiritualism himself. He was about to write a piece on fairies for the Christmas edition of the Strand magazine, and asked Arthur and Elsie for permission to use the images.
The Strand Magazine, March 1921
It seems incredible now to think that such a person would be taken in by such a trick because the Cottingley fairies were fakes, probably created by Elsie and staged and photographed by both girls. They had been copied from images in “Princess Mary’s Gift Book”, published in 1914, and then had wings added to them. Three more fairy images were taken, the final one, “Fairies and their Sunbath”, in 1920.

Unbelievably, a debate on the authenticity of the Cottingley fairies continued until well into the 1960s. However, they were not entirely debunked until the 1980s, when Geoffrey Crawley, the editor of the ‘British Journal of Photography’, undertook a major investigation, concluding they were fakes. Extraordinary.

the Cottingley Fairies (ii) 1917
Elsie actually admitted to the trick in 1983. The cousins themselves were astonished at how readily people like Conan-Doyle had accepted the images. Perhaps not wholly wanting to relinquish the story, Frances maintained all her life that “Fairies and their Sunbath”, the fifth and last image, showed real fairies, not fakes.

Some of the information above is from Miriam Bibby (Historic UK) and from Meg Warlow (National Science and Media Museum).

As for a poem to suit the theme how could it not be this:

Fairies

There are fairies at the bottom of our garden!
It's not so very, very far away;
You pass the gardener's shed and you just keep straight ahead --
I do so hope they've really come to stay.
There's a little wood, with moss in it and beetles,
And a little stream that quietly runs through;
You wouldn't think they'd dare to come merrymaking there--
     Well, they do.

There are fairies at the bottom of our garden!
They often have a dance on summer nights;
The butterflies and bees make a lovely little breeze,
And the rabbits stand about and hold the lights.
Did you know that they could sit upon the moonbeams
And pick a little star to make a fan,
And dance away up there in the middle of the air?
     Well, they can.

There are fairies at the bottom of our garden!
You cannot think how beautiful they are;
They all stand up and sing when the Fairy Queen and King
Come gently floating down upon their car.
The King is very proud and very handsome;
The Queen--now you can guess who that could be
(She's a little girl all day, but at night she steals away)?
     Well -- it's Me!

                            Rose Fyleman, Punch Magazine, May 1917

            













Thanks for reading, Terry Q,


Tuesday, 17 March 2026

Fairies - Tinker Bell v Titania


Long before I’d ever heard of Shakespeare, I was introduced to ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ through excerpts in story board style in an annual for girls. I was only about eight and thought the illustrations peculiar – who would go about wearing a donkey’s head? That was just one oddity. I wish I still had that book and I wish I knew the proper title. It contained a wealth of information and subjects more interesting at the time, than ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’. I did like the fairies, though.

I’m not alone. My sister-in-law collects all manner of fairies made in various materials. Some live outside, some indoors. I think Tinker Bell was in charge, certainly in the dining-room, until I gave my sister-in-law a special gift. At the time, I was still able to do cross stitch and it was usually big projects that would take forever and a day. When I saw a pattern for Titania, I was compelled to make her. I collected everything she needed and couldn’t wait to start. It was a learning experience, too. I hadn’t included sequins or seed beads on anything I’d done before, so I was excited to see those take shape in enhancing Titania. Another new thing, I was working on linen instead of familiar aida. It took many hours to complete and I enjoyed every minute. The end result was stunning. This photo is all I have and it doesn’t do it justice. Titania lives in Scotland with my sister-in-law, pride of place on a wall where she is loved and admired. As Queen of the Fairies, she is in charge, pushing Tinker Bell into second place.

Fairies live at the bottom of my garden and I wish they would tidy it up. When my children, and later on, grandchildren came along, I would send them outside to see if they could find any. I would tell them that the fairies sometimes disguised themselves as pixies or even squirrels, so look out for monkey nuts. I don’t think they believed me.

A fairy they definitely believed in, or didn’t dare deny in case they missed out, was Peggy, the Tooth Fairy. Not only did Peggy leave a generous reward under the pillow, but also a letter of thanks for a perfect, well-cared for tooth.

My chosen poem,

Fairy Song

You spotted snakes with double tongue,
Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen;
Newts and blindworms, do no wrong;
Come not near our Fairy Queen.

Philomel with melody,
Sing in our sweet lullaby;
Lulla, lulla, lullaby; ulla, lulla, lullaby.
Never harm nor spell nor charm
Come our lovely lady nigh,
So good night, with lullaby.

Weaving spiders come not here;
Hence, you long-legged spinners, hence;
Beetles black, approach not near;
Worm nor snail do no offence.

Philomel with melody,
Sing in our sweet lullaby;
Lulla, lulla, lullaby; ulla, lulla, lullaby.
Never harm nor spell nor charm
Come our lovely lady nigh,
So good night, with lullaby.

                             William Shakespeare 1564 – 1616

Thanks for reading, Pam x

Saturday, 14 March 2026

Chicanery

Chicanery: clever, dishonest talk or behaviour that is used to deceive people. It is derived from the French 'chicanerie', meaning trickery, (not that the French were/are inordinately deceptive).It's also my word of the week as another war wages.

George Orwell (not his real name) first anticipated life in a 'post-truth' world in his mid-20th century dystopian political satires 'Animal Farm ' and 'Nineteen-Eighty-Four '. The latter, in particular, examines the role of truth and facts within societies and the ways in which by cynical chicanery both can be manipulated. He has bequeathed us such deeply disturbing terms as Big Brother, Doublethink, the Ministry of Truth, Newspeak, Thoughtcrime and Thought Police.

A journalist by trade and a democratic socialist by nature, Orwell had the terrifying models of totalitarian rule in the Soviet Union and the rise of fascism in Nazi Germany close to hand to inform his frightening visions. His inspiration for writing 'Nineteen-Eighty-Four' in particular came in 1943 with the Tehran Conference between the three allied superpowers of Russia, the USA and Great Britain.

Stalin, Roosevelt and Churchill, Tehran 1943
Fast-forward eighty-odd years and the key personnel have changed. We have Putin, Trump and Xi Jinping, their countries no longer allied, with Starmer ("no Winston Churchill") trying to manage Airstrip One's decline with a modicum of dignity.

And surely anyone who has read Orwell's  dystopian parable of a world in which three superpowers of Oceania, Eurasia and Eastasia all fight each other in a perpetual war in a disputed area mostly located around the Middle-East might surely concur that "living in Orwellian times" has become apposite shorthand for the world today..   

Right now we have the 'leader of the free world', the man who considers himself most worthy of the Nobel Peace Prize, being coerced by the Israelis into embarking on an illegal war of choice against Iran. Chicanery is manifest. Netanyahu's clever, dishonest talk has duped the most powerful nation into turning its back on diplomacy and joining forces to do Israel's will in the region against all conscience and common sense. Two weeks into the conflict, the war which Trump has already claimed "is already won" and is "very complete" now sees him demanding on his propaganda channel Truth Social that NATO members should send warships to the region "or it could be very bad for them". Fake news is swirling round from all quarters in an attempt to obfuscate what is really going on. Ironically, Putin seems to be the biggest beneficiary of this global turmoil right now. Nice one, Donald.

Just to add...In the wake of his cheap jibe about Starmer being "no Winston Churchill" for not sending warships and planes to help in the latest assault on Iran, I don't know if  Trump knows (and if he does, even cares) that in 1939 Churchill asked for American support in the fight against Nazi Germany and was politely refused, only to meet with the same uncooperative response in 1940 and 1941. And that even after the USA entered the war following the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbour in December 1941, they charged Britain (under the lend-lease deal) for the assistance they provided in the eventual defeat of the Axis powers, a war debt (with interest) that this country only finally finished paying off in 2006! 

Who knows how it will end. In the meantime, here's a new poem of sorts. I was going to call it Fuck Knows, but I've rowed back on that. 

Rudolph Knows
They used to laugh and call him names,
they wouldn't let him join their games.
He vowed one day he'd have revenge,
he'd make them pay. He'd know he'd won
when truth was all undone.

More rabid than eagles his coursers came
as raving and drooling he called out their names:
Now Lancer! Now Dancer! Now Prancer and Cancer!
Epic Fury unleashed to the woe of the world,
dash away, dash away, do it for fun.

And grinning madly at the after party,
a celebration of mendacity, he has them
wheel in the AI deepfake cake
sugar-coated to disguise the taste of death.
Eat your slice and keep your mouth shut.
Rudolph knows that his race is run.






I leave you with these words from a silent witness:
"Truth is a fundamental virtue. Without truth, there is no knowledge, no understanding. A society built on lies and deception cannot function. Without truth, there can be no harmony, no peace."

Thanks for reading. Stay wise, S ;-)

Wednesday, 11 March 2026

Chicanery

When I first saw Chicanery as the word of the week my immediate thought was to twist it a bit and have a look at the way chicanes are used in motor racing to slow speeds and add some technical difficulties to the track. Well, that thought lasted 0.13 seconds as I realised that I’d have to be thinking about F1 for about 650 words which is beyond my comprehension.

So it’s back to chicanery. According to the website Wordfoolery:

‘the word history of chicanery is enshrouded in enough mystery to suggest subterfuge. It entered English in the early 1600s in a legal context. It referred to quibbling and sophistry and came from the similar French word chicanerie and the Middle French verb chicaner (to quibble or to pettifog).

How it reached French is a little more debatable. It may be from the Middle Low German schikken (to arrange) or may even be from a golf-like game once played in the Languedoc region of the south of France. Perhaps early French lawyers liked to quibble over points of law as they got in a round before court?’


It is not a commonly used word these days and when it is used it can refer to what I’d call sharp practice in areas such as politics or finance. Clever, often legal manoeuvres designed to gain an advantage, sometimes at the expense of fairness or transparency. It’s not necessarily outright fraud, but definitely on the fringes.

To take things a bit further you could ask yourself:

‘Have you ever encountered a situation where things just felt… off? Not outright illegal, perhaps, but certainly not straightforward or honest?

At its heart, chicanery is about deception, but it’s a specific kind of deception. It’s not the blunt force of outright lying, but rather the artful, clever, and often dishonest talk or behaviour used to trick people. Think of it as a sophisticated form of trickery, often involving wordplay, legalistic loopholes, or subtle manipulation to get what one wants.

What makes chicanery particularly insidious is its subtlety. It often relies on the victim not quite realizing they’re being deceived until it’s too late. It’s the difference between a direct lie and a carefully constructed narrative designed to mislead. The investigation into political corruption, for instance, might reveal not just outright bribery, but a web of political chicanery that obscured the truth for years.

So, the next time you feel like something isn't quite adding up, or someone's arguments seem a little too clever by half, consider the possibility of chicanery. It’s a reminder that while honesty is the best policy, not everyone adheres to it, and sometimes, the most effective way to understand deceit is to recognize the subtle art behind it.’


Now the next question is to what extent can chicanery be acceptable? Because all of the above answer to what you were asking yourself was, in fact, what came out when I entered the words:

“The difference between chicanery and dishonesty AI 300 words” into a website entitled Create AI Blog.

So have I been dishonest or used chicanery in this week’s blog?

I should add I’ve never used AI before.

I think this classes as chicanery:

Epitaph On A Tyrant

Perfection, of a kind, was what he was after,
And the poetry he invented was easy to understand;
He knew human folly like the back of his hand,
And was greatly interested in armies and fleets;
When he laughed, respectable senators burst with laughter,
And when he cried the little children died in the streets.

                                                                                           W. H. Auden


Thanks for reading, Terry Q.

Saturday, 7 March 2026

On Coffee And Cafés

Not such a lengthy blog for a change, this Saturday night. Having written essays in recent weeks about curry and kings and tangerines, this post will be as short and stimulating as a shot of Greek coffee.

The coffee tree was first cultivated commercially in the Yemen, having been introduced there from the rainforests of Ethiopia where it grew wild. For a long time the  Yemenis had a world monopoly on the export of coffee beans. From 1538 to 1636 the Ottoman Empire controlled the southern coastal region of the Yemen, notably its famous coffee port of Mocha. Egypt was the richest province of the Ottoman Empire at that time and the chief commodity it traded was Yemeni coffee. 

Cairo merchants were responsible for moving it from the Yemen to markets throughout the Islamic world - the Arabian peninsula, Persia, Syria and Türkiye. Cities like Cairo, Damascus, Istanbul and Tehran all contained coffee houses by the middle of the 16th century and coffee drinking became a staple feature of Muslim life.

From the Middle East, the Mediterranean trade route soon took coffee to Greece and Italy and from there on to Germany, France, the Netherlands and England. Coffee houses were well-established in many major European centres by the end of the 17th century. 

The French were initially responsible for taking coffee plants to the West Indies and from plantations there it eventually spread to Mexico and then South America. Today Brazil is the world's leading producer of coffee beans, closely followed by Colombia Guatemala, Indonesia, Nicaragua, Venezuela and Vietnam.

a Greek café
My favourite place to drink coffee (not that I do it so much anymore) is in a Greek καφενείο (coffee house). In truth, it's really Turkish coffee, thick and black (from that Islamist tradition narrated above), but the Greeks stopped calling it that for political reasons in the 19th century. 

A good café, coffee house or kafeneio should be a restful place to read, socialise or just watch the world go by while enjoying an invigorating shot of caffeine. Coffee houses are civilised and hospitable institutions, a kind of universal oasis in the maelstrom of life, and that's all there is to it really.

coffee with my grandson recently
For a café related poem, I have turned again to my favourite Palestinian-American poet, Naomi Shihab Nye. This is from her 1998 collection, 'Fuel'

My Uncle's Favourite Coffee Shop

Serum of steam rising from the cup,
what comfort to be known personally by Barbara,
her perfect pouring hand and starched ascot,
known as the two easy eggs and the single pancake,
without saying.
What pleasure for an immigrant—
anything without saying.

My uncle slid into his booth.
I cannot tell you—how I love this place.
He drained the water glass, noisily clinking his ice.
My uncle hailed from an iceless region.
He had definite ideas about water drinking.
I cannot tell you—all the time. But then he’d try.

My uncle wore a white shirt every day of his life.
He raised his hand against the roaring ocean
and the television full of lies.
He shook his head back and forth
from one country to the other
and his ticket grew longer.
Immigrants had double and nothing all at once.
Immigrants drove the taxis, sold the beer and Cokes.
When he found one note that rang true,
he sang it over and over inside.
Coffee, honey.
His eyes roamed the couples at other booths,
their loose banter and casual clothes.
But he never became them.

Uncle who finally left in a bravado moment
after 23 years, to live in the old country forever,
to stay and never come back,

maybe it would be peaceful now,
maybe for one minute,
I cannot tell you—how my heart has settled at last.
But he followed us to the sidewalk
saying, Take care, Take care,
as if he could not stand to leave us.

I cannot tell—

how we felt
to learn that the week he arrived,
he died. Or how it is now,
driving his parched streets,
feeling the booth beneath us as we order,
oh, anything, because if we don’t,
nothing will come.
                                                   Naomi Shihab Nye





Thanks for reading. Have a good week, S ;-)

Wednesday, 4 March 2026

Cafés

Writing about cafés is a bit of a problem because I don’t really know where to start. There are so many places I love going to and a few I wouldn’t go within two hundred metres of again (especially that one in Middlesborough).

So as I said choosing one particular café for this blog seemed a bit unfair to all my other favourite cafés. Then I had an idea. I could choose one that I can visit at any time and why not make an actual visit today. So I strolled up to the station and got the 0903 to Carnforth, or Milford Junction, as it is known in Brief Encounter. I have visited the café, or Refreshment Room, by way of the film many times over the years. I have also had many a cheese scone or bun there in person as well.

Milford Junction today
I presume most people have seen Brief Encounter but here are a few reminders:

The 1945 film stars Celia Johnson and Trevor Howard in lead roles, alongside Stanley Holloway, Joyce Carey, Cyril Raymond, Everley Gregg and Margaret Barton. It tells the story of two married strangers living in pre-World War II England, whose chance meeting at a railway station leads to a brief yet intense emotional affair disrupting their otherwise conventional lives.

It received three nominations at the 19th Academy Awards for Best Director (Lean), Best Actress (Johnson) and Best Adapted Screenplay. Many critics, historians, and scholars consider Brief Encounter as one of the greatest films of all time. In 1999, the British Film Institute ranked it the second-greatest British film of all time. (The Third Man was the greatest and I’m not arguing with that).


Much of the film was shot at Carnforth railway station on the London, Midland and Scottish Railway. Although it was a busy station, it was far enough away from major cities to avoid the blackout for film purposes, allowing shooting to take place in early 1945 before World War II had ended. At two points in the film, platform signs indicate local destinations such as Leeds, Bradford, Morecambe and Lancaster, even though Milford is intended to be in the home counties. Noël Coward provided the station announcements in the film.

The role of the Refreshment Room is key to the film as it’s where the couple share tea, conversation, and hidden moments. It represents a safe, yet public, space often contrasted with the mundane chatter of other passengers or the intrusive interruptions of acquaintances and that room is both the emotional beginning and final separation of the couple.

Carnforth station retains many of the period features from the time of filming and has become a place of pilgrimage for fans of the film. When I was there today it was packed and by chance a steam train was passing through when I was having a cup of tea. It was wonderful.

It has to be said that the Refreshment Room was recreated in a studio but it really does look like the real thing.

the Refreshment Room (studio recreation)
That place of pilgrimage now houses an award-winning Heritage Centre and the volunteers were just finishing off extensive refurbishment work ready for opening again the next day. It houses various exhibitions, a vintage mini Cinema (mainly playing Brief Encounter for free), a gift shop and a curios and railway collectables shop.

By the way, I actually think it is a happy ending.

As previously stated I have been going to Carnforth Station for ages.

Carnforth Station

Putting my gloves on the table
I was glad I’d made time for tea
The half past five’s always crowded
And not quite the right company
The bookshop in town was quiet
I spent more than I really should
But there’s just enough left over
For those buns that Ann says are good
There’s a nice couple sat in the corner
I think that I’ve seen them before
When suddenly out of nowhere
A steam train roars by the door
But the girl behind the counter
Just smiles as she gives me my tray
And didn’t mention memories
Which is worth the tip when I pay.

(First published in Purple Patch, 2007)

Stanley Holloway and Myrtle Bagot in Brief Encounter
Thanks for reading, Terry Q.

Tuesday, 3 March 2026

Cafes


I’m pleased to discover that one of our familiar cafes in Kirkcudbright has re-opened. I think it closed last year and the business was up for sale. It’s under new ownership with a new name and I look forward to visiting on our next time there. We know all the cafes in Kirkcudbright and Castle Douglas, some better than others. We have lunch out most days when we are there, or coffee and cake. Less often at home, but it’s nice when we do venture out.

On my birthday, a few years ago, we were having lunch in the Ashton Pavilion café in St. Anne’s. Someone began to play the grand piano, very accomplished and lovely to listen to as one tune seamlessly flowed into another. ‘Nights in White Satin’, perfectly played, filled me with emotion and reminded me of the time years earlier, when having lunch at the Waldorf Astoria in New York, a small group of us were entertained by Michel Legrand running through his playlist in preparation for the evening. He didn’t play ‘Nights’, but the feeling was the same. Amazing talent.

There’s a fabulous café at the Lowry in Salford. The gallery and theatre, not the hotel, though it might have one. My husband and I had lunch there after a pilgrimage to the paintings, where I can gaze at Lowry’s work and cry and sigh as I love them so much. It was a special day. We spent the afternoon in Weatherfield on a Coronation Street tour, where I cried and sighed again because I love it so much. I would have liked afternoon tea at Roy’s Rolls, but sadly, the door was locked and even more sad, it wasn’t real, just a street frontage. It would be fabulous to be an extra in Roy’s café. I would sit quietly reading, fully absorbed in the book, newspaper or whatever, ignoring everything and everyone around me. Maybe someone will let me.

Edward Hopper’s painting, ‘Nighthawks’ appeals to me. The subject is an American diner late at night, not quite a café, but something about it intrigues me enough to want to be there. The characters look glum, even stern, like there’s something awkward going on. Ok, I’m nosey.


Park’s Art Deco Café at Stanley Park is open after the winter break and we have just about completed our Rushton & Co. style painting and decorating at home. I think we’ve earned a lunch out.

My Haiku poem,

When in Kirkcudbright
There’s a nice, new café
To add to our list.

Lunch in the Lowry,
Spellbound in the galleries,
We should go again.

I went to New York,
The Waldorf Astoria.
Lucky, little me!

I’ll sit silently
When I’m an extra
On Coronation Street.

Let’s go to the park.
We’ve finished decorating,
The café is open.

PMW 2026

Thanks for reading, Pam x