At the South end of St Pancras station stand the parting couple, embracing, a stolid sculpture based on Brief Encounter. Normally I enter on the lower level, so had not before noticed the plinth:
It is full of life. The faces are ordinary and heroic and beautiful, sometimes worn or old but unbowed.
Around them the tunnels and arches of the station swoop, in foreshortened relief.
What text distracts her from her hug? Or is the hug an imposition?
Commuter trains are as crowded as ever.
So crowded, so noble and determined they make me think of refugees.
A Sikh among the workers laying the track.
Further on is John Betjeman, standing on the floor not a plinth, hurrying for a train, but in this light he is too dark for a photograph. There are texts in the stone along the walk-way, quotes from Betjeman:
Here where the cliffs alone prevail
I stand exultant, neutral, free
And from the cushion of the gale
Behold a huge, consoling sea
A gentle guest, a willing host
Affection deeply planted-
It’s strange that those we miss the most
Are those we take for granted.
