The Gluepot in the Railway Village in Swindon

The Glue Pot

I always like visiting the Glue Pot,

I like its position in the Railway Village:

A sentinel of Swindon’s heritage,

With open doors to the pavement

To welcome local and visitor alike.

I like visiting the Glue Pot in springtime:

Lengthening light around the Mechanics

Streams through the pub’s old draper’s windows,

With new hope for the Institute’s rebirth.

I like a summer pint in the Glue Pot,

With a choice of ten different ciders:

It’s like an infusion of Thomas Hardy,

With every novel you’ve ever read

Returning like a Native.

I like autumn drinking in the Glue Pot,

When mists and mellow fruitfulness

Greet a home win for the Railwaymen,

While others play chess or cribbage in the twilight.

I like a winter porter in the Glue Pot,
Imagining those glue pots simmering on the stove,

Until the factory hooter summons my family

Back to the carriage and wagon shop,

When this pub was called The London Stout House.

I like the seating in the Glue Pot,

The way the bar room echoes a railway carriage,

With the feeling of going on a journey

Through time and space on the Great Western Railway.

I like the book club and the library in the Glue Pot,

And I like the clay pipes and the saw mounted on the wall,

And the railway memorabilia and the pictures,

And I like the sale of postcards in the pub:

‘Money in the Guide Dog on the Bar, please’.
I like the sign above the bar:

‘An Oasis of Calm and Civility’.

It’s like the Orwell pub of his dreams,

The elusive Moon Under Water,

And it will always be the perfect pub for me,

Past, present and future all intertwined,

‘An Oasis of Calm and Civility’:

Welcome to the Glue Pot.