This one originated partly from wanting to see more of Cornwall, partly from the need to do more branch lines and partly from a wish to go on the sleeper again, the future of which was in doubt at this time. As part of the re-franchising process, the DFT had requested that the applicant costed the sleeper separately, in my opinion, a cynical gesture to float the idea of abolition and to expose its cost to make it easier to do so. So I thought I'd better use it before it went. It looks as if plenty of others thought the same. A campaign was launched to save it and this led to increased use, just as with the Settle-Carlisle story. To my mind, over any long distance journey a sleeper makes perfect sense. You don't waste waking hours travelling, fall asleep at the wheel, or have to wait for internal flight check in procedures. You can accomplish a great distance without effort, get a drink on the move, and it's better for the environment. Indeed, travelling by sleeper is an entirely different experience to a normal train journey. There is a curious drowsy atmosphere on board and though it can be difficult to sleep the first time you travel this way, you are subsequently lulled to sleep by the motion of the train. In the event the sleeper was saved, partly because so many other people thought the same as me and used it before it was lost. The concessions were that the last Motorail service that used to run with the Sleeper in Summer was finally killed off - another retrograde step - and the "slipped coach" at Plymouth was abolished. Interestingly no-one mentioned scrapping the Scottish sleepers - surely nothing to do with Scotland being Labour's strongest constituency in the UK while South West England is that of the Liberal Democrats? Hmmm. To my mind the question should never have arisen. While even Greece is building new sleeping cars with more facilities, ours are 30 years old and threatened with the axe. The DFT say that there is no case for sleepers in a country as small as Britain, but with 5 hours to Penzance and 8 hours to Inverness from London, this is a nonsensical argument. As recently as the 1980s, we had a much bigger network - with sleepers from London to the South West, up both east and west coasts to Scottish and English cities, South and North Wales, AND a cross country NE to SW route - the biggest loss of all, as there is no satisfactory way of doing Inverness to Penzance now. Happy days.
So after work on the Thursday, instead of going home, I take a wander down Oxford Street to get something to read for the trip, then head to Paddington. I meet a friend who gets the train to Ealing there for the last hour at the station pub, then wait patiently for the sleeper to open for business, it having been there for some time. It's a curious feeling waiting for a train this late that isn't going home, though once somewhat more common - see the Wales bash!
I arrive at Penzance at around 8.30, having been woken at 7.30 with coffee. It's a strange feeling sitting on the berth waiting for your destination - like a private train almost. With a fantastic view on this occasion as you can see St Michael's Mount looming in the bay as you approach. Last time I was here I saw it shrouded in mist, but this time its beautifully clear and I'm going to visit too. After a really good breakfast in the cafe at the station, which I heartily recommend, I head off along the coastal path to Marazion, which passes the sidings where my recently vacated bed is now stored until this evening. This once had a station and the building is still in situ. At low tide there is a causeway you can use to get to the Mount but as the tide is in I have to get the ferry - of which there are a FLEET, this being such a big tourist attraction. I always enjoy boat trips, especially if they're a bit choppy and bracing, so I'm quite disappointed when the skipper pulls a cover over me and the dozen German visitors, the blue skies having suddenly been replaced by sheets of rain.
St Michael's Mount is a fascinating place. It's one of those strange corners of the country that seems to have a bit of everything - countryside, cliffs, beach, harbour - from afar it seems astonishing that so much is packed in there. There is a winding path up to the house perched on the top, which has been a monastery and a stately home in its history - and sadly this is the dullest part of the experience for me. I've come to realise that trips to houses, however impressive, are not for me. Castles, yes, even gardens. But not houses. From the gardens I can now see the causeway appearing as the tide falls, though sadly not in time for me to cross on foot.
Anyway this is about trains. I get the boat back to the mainland, and after a pasty for lunch, get the bus back to Penzance and jump on a train (err 158?) to St Erth, where the branch to St Ives terminates. It's a half hour wait for the train, a two coach Sprinter. But the trip is worth the wait. As we head through Carbis Bay, the beautiful coastal landscape starts to unfold around us. I haven't been to the Caribbean, but the view of St Ives is like that of pictures I've seen of the West Indies. There are almost white sands, azure blue seas and even palm trees. Even the sky is a deep blue today. The town is not overwhelming but very pleasant. It's an arty sort of place with winding streets leading up to an unusual sea front which hugs a peninsula. On one side is the harbour and on the other is the beach, surfers atop the white-tipped waves. Unfortunately I do encounter a few scummy elements, out of place here, and just hope THEY aren't getting the train for a change. When I do get it, it's incredibly crowded, and I can't help but think this is a woefully under-resourced service.
Back at Penzance I go to the neighbouring bus station to catch the bus to Land's End. Luckily the last return bus is at 8pm, so there is plenty of time to see this most famous of landmarks. It's an amazing place. The landscape is incredibly varied - rocky cliffs like jagged teeth, great lush green rolling sweeps of land down to the edge, the sea seemingly a different colour in every direction. And slap bang in the middle of it all, a load of stupid tacky shops selling all the usual tat that have nothing to do with the attraction except its name written across it. Luckily these are all closing, so I can enjoy the landscape unhindered. This is a lonely place, there is such a feeling of nothing between you and North America such a long way west. It's not quite the feeling I expected, certainly surrounded by so many people taking photographs of the sign pointing to London, New York, John O'Groats etc. Amusingly, the sign is inside an enclosure, and if you want to stand next to the sign inside it, you have to pay. Even though you can stand just outside it and be photographed for nothing. I should think they have fleeced a few rich tourists with this, whoever they are. I head back to possibly the most westerly bus stop on the mainland. The bus is about 15 minutes late but as my train doesn't go until 10 I'm not too bothered.
At the Penzance Wetherspoons I have the inevitable beer and burger, before heading back to the waiting overnight train. For this leg I have booked an ordinary seat on the basis that a) I will be tired and b) most people on there will want to sleep. Wrong!!! Given that it's only ten, this is just a late local train for many people. It fills up, and up, and up. There is a family of simpletons behind me eating the smelliest burger I've ever known, a symphony of beer cans opening every couple of minutes, and at every stop the conductor wakes me to check my ticket. Before we have reached Devon I crack and ask for a cabin. To my joy there is one spare and I willingly pay the upgrade. I'm asleep in minutes, and can only really remember waking up as we arrive at Paddington. Originally I'd intended to get off and get one of the first trains back home, it being 5am, before getting in my own bed. However I'm happy to sleep for the extra two hours you get in the sleeping car - sleeping in the station back home in London being a strange notion - and then by the time I get home I'm actually ready for the day, which is an unexpected bonus. A good trip, and I hope, not my last on the Cornwall sleeper.
New lines this trip:
St Erth-St Ives
Saturday 24 September 2005
Thursday 31 March 2005
Cornish Branches No.1: March 2005
This one started as a visit to the Bodmin and Whatsit railway in Cornwall. I thought it would be fun to go by sleeper as I'd never done this and always wanted to, so I booked through to Bodmin Parkway, leaving on Friday night and arriving VERY early, 6.45am in fact, on Saturday. Realising that being a Parkway, there would be little going on there, or in Bodmin itself at such a sensitive hour. Also I had four hours to the first train. I cancelled and booked all the way to Penzance instead. It didn't cost any more, it arrived at the somewhat more civilised time of 8.30am, and then I could get a train back to Bodmin at a more convenient time. I couldn't get a sleeper so booked on the ordinary coach.
Arriving at Paddington at around 9, I found a decent pub there, a rarity on stations, called the Mad Bear and Bishop, and settled until I could board the train. I thought it was worth asking the attendant if there were any spare solo berths, and luckily there was, for a reasonable £30. I sat on the bed until about the train moved off, not really knowing what to do, then headed for the buffet car. It was almost empty, most people choosing to sleep I suppose, and I got very comfortable there, the combination of beer and the lateness of the day making me drowsy. At Reading we were entertained by the British Transport Police assisting a large slightly abusive besuited man off the train, but we were little delayed. We were hardly likely to be late, given that the train has over 8 hours to reach Penzance. I wonder how, given that it normally takes 5 hours, how the extra 3 are filled. I know it sits at Plymouth for an hour while they detach a couple of coaches, and it goes the long way round through Bristol, so I guess it must have a lot of stops and goes more slowly anyway. As we pass through Swindon I decide to wrench myself out of my comfy repose, as since I've paid for a berth, I ought to use it. Also, I am actually tired! Sleep takes a while to come but once it does I sleep well. It's an odd place to sleep until you get used to it.
I wake early and want the loo, and it's a new experience padding down the corridor (like a sort of compressed hotel!) to the WC and looking out as we fly across a very high viaduct - no idea where! At 7.30 I get up as they bring coffee round just before 8. It's only possible to have a perfunctory wash in the basin which I suppose is one of the downsides of the thing these days. In an ideal world these berths would be like miniature hotel rooms with a shower, tea and coffee making, and maybe even a TV or internet access. Maybe we'll see a new set of sleeper cars one day, though my hopes are not high. As we wind down to the final stop, St Michael's Mount is almost completely shrouded in mist as it homes into view, but I expect I'll be able to see it properly later. I have a small pang at the thought of not visiting it today, but I suppose it's not going anywhere. My mind turns to more mundane things when I get off the train. First, I'm sort of disappointed by the small scale of Penzance station. It has a high arch over the trainshed, but there seems to be so little there. I had been warned that Penzance was a much smaller city than I'd thought, and I suppose the station reflects that. It's not as if the place is a junction or the trains can even go any further! Secondly, I'm hungry and have a while before the train back to Bodmin. So I do a quick circular walk around the town. It's got a busyish shopping street, plenty of sailing clubs and the like, nice seafront pubs and restaurants, and the seemingly obligatory studios and galleries. Vowing to come back for a proper look, I head back and have a very good breakfast in a cafe on the station.
I board a Glasgow Voyager, not as full as they usually are because it's the start of the route, and enjoy a proper view of the Mount, the rising sun having scorched off the early morning mist. In this respect arriving by sleeper is a bit like going camping or caravanning, the morning feels more raw because you haven't slept in a bed, and it only perks up when the dew and mist vanish. It takes a surprisingly long time to reach Bodmin. From what I can tell by the burble of conversation, most people are heading for Truro, some way beyond my destination. At Bodmin Parkway I have less than half an hour to wait for the first train up to Bodmin General and nothing to do. I watch the B&W people arrive with the train and do the points etc, giving every impression of playing with a big trainset, once every boy's dream? I don't know what I was expecting, but unfortunately there is not much to do at Bodmin, and as the railway is one of the newer ones, no extensive bar with local ales or even a guide book, which is the one souvenir I like to collect. This is definitely one for the true enthusiast, an opportunity to see locomotives up close, photograph them etc, whereas I tend to like the museum aspect of preserved railways, and the chance to visit places they serve that otherwise I wouldn't be able to get to. I shall have to visit in a few years I think.
Wondering what else to do, I go back to Bodmin Parkway, having a token hang out of the window, and then decide to go to Looe. For three reasons. One, I've never been to a Cornish seaside resort, and they are quite distinctive landscapes. Two, Looe is divided into two by a river estuary with an arched bridge across the river mouth, which seems quite interesting. And three, the branch to Looe, is completely separated from the main line, the platform for it being at a right angle AND a different level, which is intriguing. I buy a ticket and wait for a train to Liskeard. A bloke in a pony tail asks me in a West Country accent if I've seen the Western go through yet. So I must look like an enthusiast, which I suppose I am of sorts, but I'm not keen! Got enough problems without being regarded as a trainspotter. What's worse is that I know what a Western is, and if he thinks I knew, he must have thought I looked as if I knew! Hmmm. Faintly interested in seeing the Western, though not enough to wait in the middle of nowhere all day, I get on the Exeter train that arrives (Sprinter I think) and head for Liskeard.
Having not been here before, I'm prepared to sprint if necessary, not knowing how far apart these platforms at different levels are. I needn't have worried, it being one or two steps down to the branch platform. You only really see the gradient change once you depart. The track loops round back on itself almost, under the viaduct carrying the main line, overcoming the height difference between the main line and the ground. Even more bizarre, it loops back again to a little used station, then reverses (the driver changes ends) before heading to Looe on the coast. On the main line you actually pass over it twice before it is actually pointing towards its destination. Why it's like this, who knows.
Looe is a pleasant little place, every bit the typical Cornish fishing village of myth. The houses tumble down the surrounding cliffs, the harbour is full of bobbing boats tied up, the sands are soft and golden and the seas blue. It helps that we are having a warm spell that makes it feel like summer, something of a contrast from the morning murk. I have a wander around, climbing the cliff path and wishing I could keep going rather than having to remember the train times, a common theme on my trips. One day I will actually base myself in an area and have the time to explore properly. Seeing as this was nearly two and a half years ago I can't remember much else of it. On the train back to Liskeard most of the passengers on the (same?) single coach Sprinter are the same ones who came down, which is unusual. I also remember that the train seemed to hug the river all the way back - almost next to it. Railways are often built in valleys because most of the civil engineering has already been done by nature, but this seems very close!
At Liskeard I pop across the road to a reasonably pleasant pub, in which most of the punters seem to have Southern accents and swear a lot, then get back on the train home - at this time, the longest waking train journey I've done. There's a few things to look for - the Tamar Bridge that marks the border between Devon and Cornwall, most notably. Of course I've already crossed it, but I was asleep. Now I get a chance to see this engineering miracle. It lives up to its reputation, and I would like to see it from a better vantage point some day. Then there is still one of my favourite stretches to cover - along the river Teign, then through the amazing sandstone tunnels at Dawlish, and the river Exe estuary - where you feel like you're skimming the water when the tide is in. And for any reading enthusiasts, this is all on a 125, which always seems like an old friend, I suppose because it was the state of the art train when I was 7, and I always wanted to go on it. Now it's commonplace to me, but I still like to see a 125 round the corner when I'm ready for home. And in a miraculous five hours, I'm 300 miles away from Cornwall and back home.
New lines this trip:
Plymouth-Penzance
Liskeard-Looe
Arriving at Paddington at around 9, I found a decent pub there, a rarity on stations, called the Mad Bear and Bishop, and settled until I could board the train. I thought it was worth asking the attendant if there were any spare solo berths, and luckily there was, for a reasonable £30. I sat on the bed until about the train moved off, not really knowing what to do, then headed for the buffet car. It was almost empty, most people choosing to sleep I suppose, and I got very comfortable there, the combination of beer and the lateness of the day making me drowsy. At Reading we were entertained by the British Transport Police assisting a large slightly abusive besuited man off the train, but we were little delayed. We were hardly likely to be late, given that the train has over 8 hours to reach Penzance. I wonder how, given that it normally takes 5 hours, how the extra 3 are filled. I know it sits at Plymouth for an hour while they detach a couple of coaches, and it goes the long way round through Bristol, so I guess it must have a lot of stops and goes more slowly anyway. As we pass through Swindon I decide to wrench myself out of my comfy repose, as since I've paid for a berth, I ought to use it. Also, I am actually tired! Sleep takes a while to come but once it does I sleep well. It's an odd place to sleep until you get used to it.
I wake early and want the loo, and it's a new experience padding down the corridor (like a sort of compressed hotel!) to the WC and looking out as we fly across a very high viaduct - no idea where! At 7.30 I get up as they bring coffee round just before 8. It's only possible to have a perfunctory wash in the basin which I suppose is one of the downsides of the thing these days. In an ideal world these berths would be like miniature hotel rooms with a shower, tea and coffee making, and maybe even a TV or internet access. Maybe we'll see a new set of sleeper cars one day, though my hopes are not high. As we wind down to the final stop, St Michael's Mount is almost completely shrouded in mist as it homes into view, but I expect I'll be able to see it properly later. I have a small pang at the thought of not visiting it today, but I suppose it's not going anywhere. My mind turns to more mundane things when I get off the train. First, I'm sort of disappointed by the small scale of Penzance station. It has a high arch over the trainshed, but there seems to be so little there. I had been warned that Penzance was a much smaller city than I'd thought, and I suppose the station reflects that. It's not as if the place is a junction or the trains can even go any further! Secondly, I'm hungry and have a while before the train back to Bodmin. So I do a quick circular walk around the town. It's got a busyish shopping street, plenty of sailing clubs and the like, nice seafront pubs and restaurants, and the seemingly obligatory studios and galleries. Vowing to come back for a proper look, I head back and have a very good breakfast in a cafe on the station.
I board a Glasgow Voyager, not as full as they usually are because it's the start of the route, and enjoy a proper view of the Mount, the rising sun having scorched off the early morning mist. In this respect arriving by sleeper is a bit like going camping or caravanning, the morning feels more raw because you haven't slept in a bed, and it only perks up when the dew and mist vanish. It takes a surprisingly long time to reach Bodmin. From what I can tell by the burble of conversation, most people are heading for Truro, some way beyond my destination. At Bodmin Parkway I have less than half an hour to wait for the first train up to Bodmin General and nothing to do. I watch the B&W people arrive with the train and do the points etc, giving every impression of playing with a big trainset, once every boy's dream? I don't know what I was expecting, but unfortunately there is not much to do at Bodmin, and as the railway is one of the newer ones, no extensive bar with local ales or even a guide book, which is the one souvenir I like to collect. This is definitely one for the true enthusiast, an opportunity to see locomotives up close, photograph them etc, whereas I tend to like the museum aspect of preserved railways, and the chance to visit places they serve that otherwise I wouldn't be able to get to. I shall have to visit in a few years I think.
Wondering what else to do, I go back to Bodmin Parkway, having a token hang out of the window, and then decide to go to Looe. For three reasons. One, I've never been to a Cornish seaside resort, and they are quite distinctive landscapes. Two, Looe is divided into two by a river estuary with an arched bridge across the river mouth, which seems quite interesting. And three, the branch to Looe, is completely separated from the main line, the platform for it being at a right angle AND a different level, which is intriguing. I buy a ticket and wait for a train to Liskeard. A bloke in a pony tail asks me in a West Country accent if I've seen the Western go through yet. So I must look like an enthusiast, which I suppose I am of sorts, but I'm not keen! Got enough problems without being regarded as a trainspotter. What's worse is that I know what a Western is, and if he thinks I knew, he must have thought I looked as if I knew! Hmmm. Faintly interested in seeing the Western, though not enough to wait in the middle of nowhere all day, I get on the Exeter train that arrives (Sprinter I think) and head for Liskeard.
Having not been here before, I'm prepared to sprint if necessary, not knowing how far apart these platforms at different levels are. I needn't have worried, it being one or two steps down to the branch platform. You only really see the gradient change once you depart. The track loops round back on itself almost, under the viaduct carrying the main line, overcoming the height difference between the main line and the ground. Even more bizarre, it loops back again to a little used station, then reverses (the driver changes ends) before heading to Looe on the coast. On the main line you actually pass over it twice before it is actually pointing towards its destination. Why it's like this, who knows.
Looe is a pleasant little place, every bit the typical Cornish fishing village of myth. The houses tumble down the surrounding cliffs, the harbour is full of bobbing boats tied up, the sands are soft and golden and the seas blue. It helps that we are having a warm spell that makes it feel like summer, something of a contrast from the morning murk. I have a wander around, climbing the cliff path and wishing I could keep going rather than having to remember the train times, a common theme on my trips. One day I will actually base myself in an area and have the time to explore properly. Seeing as this was nearly two and a half years ago I can't remember much else of it. On the train back to Liskeard most of the passengers on the (same?) single coach Sprinter are the same ones who came down, which is unusual. I also remember that the train seemed to hug the river all the way back - almost next to it. Railways are often built in valleys because most of the civil engineering has already been done by nature, but this seems very close!
At Liskeard I pop across the road to a reasonably pleasant pub, in which most of the punters seem to have Southern accents and swear a lot, then get back on the train home - at this time, the longest waking train journey I've done. There's a few things to look for - the Tamar Bridge that marks the border between Devon and Cornwall, most notably. Of course I've already crossed it, but I was asleep. Now I get a chance to see this engineering miracle. It lives up to its reputation, and I would like to see it from a better vantage point some day. Then there is still one of my favourite stretches to cover - along the river Teign, then through the amazing sandstone tunnels at Dawlish, and the river Exe estuary - where you feel like you're skimming the water when the tide is in. And for any reading enthusiasts, this is all on a 125, which always seems like an old friend, I suppose because it was the state of the art train when I was 7, and I always wanted to go on it. Now it's commonplace to me, but I still like to see a 125 round the corner when I'm ready for home. And in a miraculous five hours, I'm 300 miles away from Cornwall and back home.
New lines this trip:
Plymouth-Penzance
Liskeard-Looe
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