Clouds on the horizon...

At one of the dramatic moments in yesterday's The Gathering Storm, Winston Churchill turns and recites lines from a poem to underscore the danger of the course of appeasement pursued by Britain in the 1930s. I remembered only a snippet, but Google did the rest:

Who is in charge of the clattering train?
The axles creak and the couplings strain;
And the pace is hot, and the points are near,
And Sleep has deadened the driver's ear;
And the signals flash through the night in vain,
For Death is in charge of the clattering train.

The poem is apparently unattributed to an author, and Churchill apparently notes, in his memoir, that they were lines he learned as a boy.

It was interesting, then, to have found them quoted on a page where their intent seems to underscore the danger of nonappeasement... or something. The poem is the only thing on the page, attributed to that most well-known writer, Anonymous, and given a title that has something to do with the "home front."

* * *In one of the few non-verbal political statements of my life, I decided yesterday to buy an Australian Cabernet Sauvignon instead of a bottle of anything from France. Over the years, I have been able to overlook quite a bit of what passes for opinion coming out of France, because I've traveled in the country and have met some truly decent people. But for a little while, at least, I'm not going to go out of my way to support them. Someday, perhaps...

* * *I had dinner and watched the last 40 minutes of Hunt for Red October over at the kids' place. Huntur has learned to say "thank you" every time someone gives her something or places a plate in front of her, and everyone was very assiduously replying "you're welcome" to every such utterance. She is such a cutie.

Cheers...