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rhythmaningTrains, Planes Trains and Automobiles Trains:
I have made the train journey to and from Edinburgh by the east coast mainline many, many times.
When I was a student, I used to make the journey at night. As well as the regular night trains, there were milk and mail trains. These weren’t sleepers; they left Waverley later, and stopped often. But they had one big advantage: they ran old carriages, lovely old compartment cars - they had compartments of eight seats, and corridors down one side; you could find an empty compartment, pull down the blinds, shut the door, and spread out across four of the seats down one side of the compartment. These trains weren’t busy, and it wasn’t difficult to keep a compartment to oneself. After an evening drinking with friends, I would get on the train, crash out, and wake up in London.
I didn’t always travel overnight. I can remember one afternoon in the autumn of, oh, it must have been 1985; I had just got my first walkman* (a late adapter if ever there was one). I stood on the platform at Waverley, out in the sunshine, waiting for the train, with New Order (Power, Corruption and Lies, perhaps; no - it was Low Life, I think) - I stood on the platform in the sunshine, starring in a movie with my very own soundtrack. (If you have grown up with walkmen, with your own music all the time, whenever you want it, you might not understand what a change, what a revelation this was.)
Last Monday, I took the train from Edinburgh to York. York is very convenient: almost exactly halfway between Edinburgh and London; when I stopped being a student (kind of), I only got halfway, stopping for a year in York. (I did have a reason; I worked at the university for an academic year. I didn’t do much other than discover how much I liked wine, learn to play the saxophone, and lament a failed affair.)
It was a beautiful morning - rather surprisingly, since it rained all night, heavy, torrential rain. This might explain why my train was cancelled.
This was more than annoying: I was travelling to York to meet with someone to discuss how we might work together - so I really didn't be late. The nice people at GNER - and they were nice - didn't tell me why the train was cancelled (it became "non-running train" in announcer speak); but they did tell me that I could get on the next train, which would get me into York just in time for my meeting.
So I sat around the station for an hour or so, waiting for the train.
I have travelled a fair bit: I have hitched around Britain, the USA and Tanzania; I have flown around the world on the wings of a plane; I have happily explored the back streets of Old Delhi by myself; I have wandered barren mountains in Scotland and Greenland and walk through the rainforests of Borneo.
I have travelled a lot; but I am not a good traveller. I worry I will miss planes and trains, that something will go wrong. So I always arrive at train stations (and airports) way too early. I always think train stations and airports are rather curious, sad places: very few people (aside from the ... erm, train spotting community?) actually want to be there: you only want to go to a train station if you are trying to get to somewhere else. (Or maybe meeting somewhere.) The whole point of a train station is not to be there.
So I sat in the station, annoyed at being cancelled, worried about being late, and wanting to be somewhere else.
The train I got was the 9.31 from Edinburgh to Kings Cross. This struck me as being strange, too: the 9.31? It seemed a curious time to for a train to leave. It wasn't as if it had come from anywhere else - it wasn't the 9.00 from Dundee; it was shunted from the siding into Waverley. So why wasn't it the 9.30 - wouldn't that have been simpler?
But it was the 9.31 I got. It was busy - everyone from the earlier train was getting onto this one too. But there were enough seats to go around; so I sat, looking out of the window, listening to music (Mike Westbrook's Art Wolf; Colin Towns' Another Think Coming [sic]), drawing out what I wanted to talk about, and reading.
And staring out of the window. The sun was low in the sky; the sky itself was clear, a limpid blue. There was a frost on the slopes of some of the hills. I noticed a large, three-winged house just before Dunbar; I must have been past it so often before, but I don't remember seeing it before. It was split in thirds - each wing set at 120 degrees - not a common design.
The ride was very relaxing; trains are so much more interesting than planes. I love flying - I love being in the air - but I find flying tiring and dirty and stressful. Sitting on a train, looking out of the window - bliss.
I was almost on time for my meeting; and it was a good, though not wholly satisfying conversation.
After lunch, I had a couple of hours before the train back: I had left myself a lot of time, rather than constrain any conversation. So I went to the National Railway Museum. I walked through York station - a beautiful structure, lots of curves (the station is built on a curve, so the curves in the roof are echoed in the curve of the rails). The museum was free - much to my surprise - and it was wonderful. It is about ten years since I was last there (and last in York, too); and it seemed a lot bigger than I remembered.
And it is full of locomotives: large, shining beasts; beautiful steam engines, lovingly restored. I have memories of travelling on steam trains - commercially (rather than special trains - there are several steam railways in Scotland, and the Harry Potter effect has rejuvenated the steam trains on the West Highland line - the Glenfinnan Viaduct features in the Potter movies); and my brother and I used to go down to Euston and Kings Cross to see the Flying Scotsman and Mallard, although they weren't operating commercially by then.
These machines are just beautiful; just beautiful. I felt like a boy with a trainset, a real life train set. I wandered around with a broad grin on my face.
There was so much to see - or rather, to look at: I am not an expert on trains, and I wouldn't say I am interested in them: but I love looking at them. Steam engines are so much more beautiful than diesel and electric locomotives. I can't quite say why: perhaps it is some twisted romantic myth I have bought into. (The restaurant at the museum is set out on a platform; it is called Brief Encounter.)
There are carriages there, too - shining lacquered wood. Some of these are opulent Royal carriages; one was the private train of the Duke of Sutherland; but many are ordinary carriages, the third class seating looking luxurious in comparison to today's trains.
I wandered around the museum for a couple of hours, looking back and forth; the Flying Scotsman was away being refurbished. Where it usually stood, there was what seemed like a stock room of rail bric a brac. When we were younger - a lot younger! - my brother and I went to rail sales; I think there was salesroom in Euston, or around the back of Kings Cross. We bought old rail signs - I think my brother still has a large "Exit" sign in British Rail claret; and I remember buying a set of oil-stained guard's flags, for waving the trains out of the station.
The train back to Edinburgh was fine. It was dark by then, and the train sped on to Edinburgh, barely stopping.
* That is - a walkman cassette player. This is before the widespread use of CDs…
I have made the train journey to and from Edinburgh by the east coast mainline many, many times.
When I was a student, I used to make the journey at night. As well as the regular night trains, there were milk and mail trains. These weren’t sleepers; they left Waverley later, and stopped often. But they had one big advantage: they ran old carriages, lovely old compartment cars - they had compartments of eight seats, and corridors down one side; you could find an empty compartment, pull down the blinds, shut the door, and spread out across four of the seats down one side of the compartment. These trains weren’t busy, and it wasn’t difficult to keep a compartment to oneself. After an evening drinking with friends, I would get on the train, crash out, and wake up in London.
I didn’t always travel overnight. I can remember one afternoon in the autumn of, oh, it must have been 1985; I had just got my first walkman* (a late adapter if ever there was one). I stood on the platform at Waverley, out in the sunshine, waiting for the train, with New Order (Power, Corruption and Lies, perhaps; no - it was Low Life, I think) - I stood on the platform in the sunshine, starring in a movie with my very own soundtrack. (If you have grown up with walkmen, with your own music all the time, whenever you want it, you might not understand what a change, what a revelation this was.)
Last Monday, I took the train from Edinburgh to York. York is very convenient: almost exactly halfway between Edinburgh and London; when I stopped being a student (kind of), I only got halfway, stopping for a year in York. (I did have a reason; I worked at the university for an academic year. I didn’t do much other than discover how much I liked wine, learn to play the saxophone, and lament a failed affair.)
It was a beautiful morning - rather surprisingly, since it rained all night, heavy, torrential rain. This might explain why my train was cancelled.
This was more than annoying: I was travelling to York to meet with someone to discuss how we might work together - so I really didn't be late. The nice people at GNER - and they were nice - didn't tell me why the train was cancelled (it became "non-running train" in announcer speak); but they did tell me that I could get on the next train, which would get me into York just in time for my meeting.
So I sat around the station for an hour or so, waiting for the train.
I have travelled a fair bit: I have hitched around Britain, the USA and Tanzania; I have flown around the world on the wings of a plane; I have happily explored the back streets of Old Delhi by myself; I have wandered barren mountains in Scotland and Greenland and walk through the rainforests of Borneo.
I have travelled a lot; but I am not a good traveller. I worry I will miss planes and trains, that something will go wrong. So I always arrive at train stations (and airports) way too early. I always think train stations and airports are rather curious, sad places: very few people (aside from the ... erm, train spotting community?) actually want to be there: you only want to go to a train station if you are trying to get to somewhere else. (Or maybe meeting somewhere.) The whole point of a train station is not to be there.
So I sat in the station, annoyed at being cancelled, worried about being late, and wanting to be somewhere else.
The train I got was the 9.31 from Edinburgh to Kings Cross. This struck me as being strange, too: the 9.31? It seemed a curious time to for a train to leave. It wasn't as if it had come from anywhere else - it wasn't the 9.00 from Dundee; it was shunted from the siding into Waverley. So why wasn't it the 9.30 - wouldn't that have been simpler?
But it was the 9.31 I got. It was busy - everyone from the earlier train was getting onto this one too. But there were enough seats to go around; so I sat, looking out of the window, listening to music (Mike Westbrook's Art Wolf; Colin Towns' Another Think Coming [sic]), drawing out what I wanted to talk about, and reading.
And staring out of the window. The sun was low in the sky; the sky itself was clear, a limpid blue. There was a frost on the slopes of some of the hills. I noticed a large, three-winged house just before Dunbar; I must have been past it so often before, but I don't remember seeing it before. It was split in thirds - each wing set at 120 degrees - not a common design.
The ride was very relaxing; trains are so much more interesting than planes. I love flying - I love being in the air - but I find flying tiring and dirty and stressful. Sitting on a train, looking out of the window - bliss.
I was almost on time for my meeting; and it was a good, though not wholly satisfying conversation.
After lunch, I had a couple of hours before the train back: I had left myself a lot of time, rather than constrain any conversation. So I went to the National Railway Museum. I walked through York station - a beautiful structure, lots of curves (the station is built on a curve, so the curves in the roof are echoed in the curve of the rails). The museum was free - much to my surprise - and it was wonderful. It is about ten years since I was last there (and last in York, too); and it seemed a lot bigger than I remembered.
<
And it is full of locomotives: large, shining beasts; beautiful steam engines, lovingly restored. I have memories of travelling on steam trains - commercially (rather than special trains - there are several steam railways in Scotland, and the Harry Potter effect has rejuvenated the steam trains on the West Highland line - the Glenfinnan Viaduct features in the Potter movies); and my brother and I used to go down to Euston and Kings Cross to see the Flying Scotsman and Mallard, although they weren't operating commercially by then.
These machines are just beautiful; just beautiful. I felt like a boy with a trainset, a real life train set. I wandered around with a broad grin on my face.
There was so much to see - or rather, to look at: I am not an expert on trains, and I wouldn't say I am interested in them: but I love looking at them. Steam engines are so much more beautiful than diesel and electric locomotives. I can't quite say why: perhaps it is some twisted romantic myth I have bought into. (The restaurant at the museum is set out on a platform; it is called Brief Encounter.)
There are carriages there, too - shining lacquered wood. Some of these are opulent Royal carriages; one was the private train of the Duke of Sutherland; but many are ordinary carriages, the third class seating looking luxurious in comparison to today's trains.
I wandered around the museum for a couple of hours, looking back and forth; the Flying Scotsman was away being refurbished. Where it usually stood, there was what seemed like a stock room of rail bric a brac. When we were younger - a lot younger! - my brother and I went to rail sales; I think there was salesroom in Euston, or around the back of Kings Cross. We bought old rail signs - I think my brother still has a large "Exit" sign in British Rail claret; and I remember buying a set of oil-stained guard's flags, for waving the trains out of the station.
The train back to Edinburgh was fine. It was dark by then, and the train sped on to Edinburgh, barely stopping.
* That is - a walkman cassette player. This is before the widespread use of CDs…
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no subject
Date: 2006-12-21 12:10 pm (UTC)My Dad was a bit of a trainspotter in his day and I think he has a huge soft spot for York (preferring to travel that way on his way South, even though I'm sure it's no quicker). The trains look so very shiny!
no subject
Date: 2006-12-21 01:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-21 02:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-21 05:13 pm (UTC)In some countries - Italy springs to mind - they don't have platforms (or at least, not to the same height as we do in the UK): instead, there are several steps up to the carriage. Not so good for the elderly (and others), I guess.
no subject
Date: 2006-12-21 09:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-14 07:55 pm (UTC)I know you liked the pictures I took of York station a while back - I was there recently and took some more ... http://rhythmaning.livejournal.com/245630.html
no subject
Date: 2006-12-21 12:16 pm (UTC)I have flown around the world on the wings of a plane
Do tell.
no subject
Date: 2006-12-21 01:58 pm (UTC)But also, I have - I flew around the world in 1984, because I did some field world in New Caledonia, and it was cheaper to get a round-the-world ticket than it was to get a return!
no subject
Date: 2006-12-21 12:21 pm (UTC)Some things avoid scheduling things on the hour, deliberately, for a variety of reasons, some spurious. I know that the military types dislike scheduling things to happen at midnight, it'll be 00.01 or 23.59, then you get no confusion over which day it is.
I think I recall reading something to do with perceptions; 0931 is a precise time, 0930 is a vague, about half past, time, so people perceive it's less important. I forget where, when or how I came across that theory. It sounds sort of good.
no subject
Date: 2006-12-21 01:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-21 02:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-21 02:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-21 05:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-21 02:12 pm (UTC)All I know for sure is the military midnight thing, the rest is half remembered from something I may have read.
Nice pictures though, haven't been to York for years.
no subject
Date: 2006-12-21 05:15 pm (UTC)BTW, I followed your journal to one of your other sites and thence to Chris Dillow this morning - he writes better in his blog than in his column in Investors Chronicle! So thanks for that, too.
no subject
Date: 2006-12-21 05:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-21 02:54 pm (UTC)When I was a boy (cue comments about which part of Gondowalnd I stayed in) the transport museum in Glasgow was in an old railway yard at Albert Road. As well as trains it had old cars, a gyrocopter, a model of the suspended railway that had been built, I believe, in Milingavie (wonderful, science fiction cars, silver cigars with a propellor at each end - I wish it had caught on). It was one of those places with its own unique smell. My grandad worked in the railway engineering works at St Rollox for 40 years, and he took me to one of their open days - it had the self-same smell, except with more swarf and swarfega.
When the new museum opened in the refurbished Kelvin Hall it was much smarter and bigger, but it never had the smell of the old place. It reopened as The Tramway a couple of years later, and was a great venue for Mayfest. I saw Peter Brooke's version of "The Man Who Mistook His Wife For a Hat" there.
no subject
Date: 2006-12-21 05:04 pm (UTC)I'll add it to my list of things to do in Glasgow!
no subject
Date: 2006-12-21 05:11 pm (UTC)Every Christmas while I was growing up the Carnival and Circus, (although we never called it anything other than "The Shows") came to the Kelvin Hall, and it became a magical venue full of sparking electricity, screams, and the smell of elephants.
Deacon Blue have a lovely song about it, complete with elephants, called "Christmas in Glasgow", which is much in my mind right now.
I think I'll have to post about it now!