The folks in the camp used to say you could walk to Buncrana faster than the train. In reality that was sometimes possible, but as soon as we could ride bicycles we proved we could bike there as fast as the puffing billy. There was a song we used to sing about the train. Nobody knew who wrote it, or where it came from, but we all knew the words and the chorus:Ben Clingain

“For Crockett is the driver and Bonner is the guard
If you have your ticket all your troubles you discard.
Be you fop or summer swell, to them it’s all the same
For every man must pay his fare on the Buncrana train.

Under the bridge at springtown the whistle gives a blast
As the men and women of the camp wave as we go past
Their children jumping wildly some naked in the rushes
the driver picks up speed to save its passengers blushes

we pass Bridgend, reach Burnfoot and there we give a call
To view that ancient city and its Corporation Hall
The King of Tory Island is a man of widespread fame
His royal carriage is attached to the Buncrana train.

We go to Fahan to have a dip and stroll along the sand
The up the dunes to have a cup of coffee at the stand
The barmaid she is charming, with her you can remain
Until it’s time to go back on the Buncrana train.”