I have been meaning to do the Marches Line for ages. This is the crucial line that links South Wales with North Wales, the Midlands and the North. It tiptoes along Offa's Dyke on the Welsh border and thus goes through some very scenic countryside (and towns come to that) before passing through Shrewbury and dividing into routes to Crewe and Chester.
This could all be done in a day - no hotels needed - so at 5.45am on Saturday 21 April 2007, I left the house for New Beckenham station. The train for Charing Cross left at 6.07am and seemed remarkably full compared to other times (of which there have been many) when I've caught this train. I'm in town by just gone half-six, with an hour and a quarter before the train. I decide to walk it, it's a pleasant morning and without the hordes it will be much quicker than it would be during the day. I feel my way to Paddington, it's only in Marylebone that I know the exact route. It takes 50 minutes, which gives me time to get all my tickets, buy a bacon roll, and find a nice seat on the train. We leave on time. My favourite train - the Inter City 125 - speeds us to Newport in under two hours. I marvel at the new refurbished locomotives - hardly any noise or exhaust - known as clag - nowadays. A great advert for the engineers and the railway's environmental credentials, though I can't help agree with others that there is something more exciting about a screaming smoky diesel train!
At Newport I watch the world go by while I wait for the Manchester train - due at 10.04. The contractors are rebuilding Platform 1 which has been of use for years - part of Network Rail's improvements package. There is also a gaggle of elderly trainspotters keenly noting 6 locomotives coupled together easing through the station. Unfortunately there is also a group of teenagers at the other end of the station, which I choose to keep away from as they're bound to annoy me. Right enough, they have to start kicking a bottle around getting in everyone's way, even going down on to the track to retrieve it at one point. I really want these kids to disappoint me one day and not live up to their modern image but they never do! Various trains come in and out, including a Holyhead train, which I contemplate getting on as it will take me as far as Shrewsbury, but as it's a short train I decide to stick with the original plan. A 3 coach 175 train comes in from Milford Haven to take me to Crewe. I find a decent seat, and despite being frozen by the air conditioning, enjoy the views. Some of it is familiar to me from last year's week on the west coast of Wales, but it was very early on that occasion! I'm in a better state to enjoy it this time. Ludlow is the picturesque town that I was expecting, though Leominster (pronounced Lemster) looked a dump. Shrewsbury was pleasingly free of manky concrete modern buildings, and boasted a signal box the size of a football terrace. We plough on through the Shropshire and Cheshire countryside, through several dubious urban-looking stations, then suddenly the overhead lines of the West Coast appear - we are at the famous railway centre of Crewe.
At this point my careful plans unravel slightly. The next train to Chester is a few minutes, but due to the size of Crewe and allowing for delays, I'd assumed I had no hope of getting it. In the event though, I make it walking. It's a one coach job, WHY do they throw away the train's ability to carry hundreds by wasting track space with a bus on rails? Anyway, this trip is one I've done a few times now, and seems quicker each time, nearly half an hour through pleasant but unremarkable countryside, a contrast to the mountains I've passed on the earlier journey. So I arrive at Chester about half an hour early. I like Chester station; it's a sprawling place, with lines heading in and out in all directions - including some 3rd rail electrics heading to Merseyside, something I usually only see in the south. The arches between the different areas of the station evoke the Roman heritage of the city and somehow the buddleia sprouting from the crumbling brickwork seems to be appropriate in these surroundings. I nip outside to find a pub and there are a couple of okay looking ones opposite. Sadly all the local brews are off and one of the perennials - John Smiths - has to suffice. I grab a sandwich at Smiths and head back to the waiting Shrewsbury train - a two coach 158 - but because I'm early it's actually a Birmingham train. The plans unravel - if I get this all the way to Birmingham, I'll be far too early for my train home, and I don't wish to be stranded there for hours. Also if I wait until I get there, I'm too far south, and it will cost me a fortune to get back to the north. I could maybe fit some of the Wirral lines in now? I grab available timetables and get on the train to think about it.
After seeing the famous APT in its final resting place, I work out that I can just about fit in the Wrexham to Bidston line, unfortunately I realise that I should have got off at Wrexham General just as we are pulling out! I don't know when the return train runs or how far apart the connections at Wrexham for Bidston are, so decide that I might as well stay on until Shrewsbury which at least is a vaguely known quantity. This line is another scenic one, passing an aqueduct at Chirk at a higher level, allowing you to see the boats passing from above. At Shrewsbury I have about 3 minutes to get my extra ticket and get to the Chester train going back to Wrexham. I also discover that to get to it I had to go through the barrier, outside the station entirely then up a staircase, which is a new one on me. I also have to explain that I am deliberately breaking my journey and I don't want the Birmingham train to the staff!
So back to Wrexham hoping that the connections will work out okay. Wrexham to Bidston is an awkward one from a line basher's point of view. The line from Bidston doesn't terminate at General, but splits off from the main line and terminates at Wrexham Central, two minutes along. I need to cover that extra stretch, but if the connection times between the two lines at General are short, I may not get the chance as I don't have time to hang around in case I miss the Bidston train. I need not have worried. There are 15 minutes to wait when I get back to General, time for me to leave the station and find Central station, to ensure that I have covered the "branch" section right at the start of the journey. It doesn't take long; just have to cross a couple of roads and down some steps. I can hardly believe that the branch has survived given that you can practically spit between the two stations. But as Central is now at the heart of a shopping centre, having two stations to serve two lines does balance the passenger volumes as well as help people carrying shopping back on the train – not used to experiencing such regard for rail travellers in the UK! Unfortunately Wrexham lives up to its reputation – a doyen of chavdom. I choose to wait outside as the platform is faintly threatening. A two coach Sprinter arrives – better than I expected – so I go right to the front, most of the local neds having got in the back coach.
This is an interesting line. After passing the famous Wrexham football ground we pass through suburban stops, where most of the shoppers get off, and quickly emerge into scrubby countryside. Shotton is quite a large town and the interchange for the North Wales line. Shortly after that we pass over a grand iron bridge over the Dee, from which I can see two other such bridges, and thus back into England not long after. I notice that most of the passengers now have scouse accents, and I reflect this is one of the amazing things about my travels. I've gone from Cockney to Welsh to Midlands to Scouse in the course of the day and its one of the things that stands out as marking out that you have actually moved away from your own postcode, so to speak. This is to be cherished in a country increasingly full of clone high streets. We hug the coastline as we travel across the Wirral peninsula and join up with the 3rd rail Merseyside Electrics at Bidston – a curious reminder of home, the south having the only other such electrification in the UK. It's strange to think of Liverpool being so close. Now that I've practically travelled the old Great Western route to Liverpool – through Birmingham Snow Hill, Shrewsbury and Birkenhead – I can see that it was a perfectly reasonable alternative to the West Coast – maybe something we should have thought of while it was being refurbished?
The train turns round in two minutes and back we go. We get back to Wrexham General and I have a chance to look around. The station has been refurbished recently and is a pleasant place to be. The driver of the Bidston train goes off shift and gets out a big Suzuki bike on to the platform, preparing it for the off. I feel a pang of envy as he roars off. The Birmingham train arrives on time – a two coach 158. I get a seat but it fills to bursting by the time we get there. The I-Pod comes into its own at such times!
At New Street I sort some food for the journey home and stop for a drink in the bar. There is one moderate sized bar at New Street – astonishing considering the size of the place – and it has just been refurbished so it's not as unpleasant as I remember. There are bouncers on the door which I presume are because of the hordes of football fans milling around, a couple of whom are refused entry because they are swigging from cans. It amazes me that people don't just follow the rules under these circumstances when you are clearly not going to win! I leave earlier than I want because it gets pretty rowdy in there but the train comes in a few minutes earlier than its scheduled time anyway
.
It's a Pendolino, the coaches dimly lit for some reason though this gives it a pleasant feel. I grab a seat in the Quiet Coach and it is largely observed all the way back. For some reason it is timetabled to take two and a half hours – why I don't know as it seems to goes along at a fair tilt. I manage to get some sleep after Milton Keynes which gives me some energy to do the final schlep home – a rush across the hideous new Euston to the tube, Victoria line to Victoria, and a train to Penge East. So keen to get to my bed that I didn't even get past the stairs – forgot to feed cat – ooops – and don't remember anything else!
New lines covered this trip:
Newport-Shrewbury-Crewe
Chester-Shrewsbury
Wrexham Central-Bidston
Shrewsbury-Birmingham
Saturday 21 April 2007
Saturday 14 April 2007
Lincolnshire 13/14 April 2007
Lincolnshire was a really difficult one to complete. As well as one line that has trains only on Saturdays, most of the other lines in the county are served infrequently and irregularly - a deadly combination! Doing this on a Sunday was completely out as the service level drops to non-existent at times. I'd already worked out a way of covering all the lines bar one annoying bit between Grantham and Sleaford. And as I was on the earliest train up to Peterborough, I couldn't see any way of fitting it in, even if I stayed overnight in Peterborough (a place I was happy to spend as little time in as possible). Then I worked out that if I was already in Skegness on the Saturday morning, I could travel there via Grantham on the night before. And Skegness is one of those famous British resorts that I wanted to see - the poster promoting the place as "bracing" is one of the most striking advertisements of the last few decades. My chance came. I'd taken Friday 13 April off to wait in for British Gas, so I had the afternoon free. There were no engineering works, reasonable fares to and from the county were available, and I'd found a suitable hotel in Skegness. So off I went to Kings Cross on Friday afternoon.
I had an open ticket so could travel on any train but getting one to Grantham at 4.10pm meant I would reach the hotel by eight and have time for a wander, food and a couple of drinks. I managed to get a Thameslink train at London Bridge that got me to Kings Cross by four - just time to collect the tickets before clambering on a Leeds train. I'm very familiar with the East Coast journey but I always marvel at the speed at which you can cover it these days, flying along on the superb 225 trains - built by BR for electrification 20 years ago and still looking and feeling the business.
Grantham is reached in an hour. I have a twenty minute wait for the Skegness train. I've never been at Grantham in daylight before. It's quite a nice station, four platforms arranged in an odd way. The bay platform where my train was due to leave from looked very short, and I anticipated a one coach train, my heart sinking when seeing the number of people waiting to get on. To my surprise a three coach Central Trains train squeezed into the bay which allowed me to find a decent table seat in the right direction. The ride was rather slow - could not have been more than 50mph, even after we had cleared the main line by means of the new spur that means the local trains don't hold up the East Coast expresses. This was to be a theme for the weekend - there are a lot of slow lines in Lincolnshire! We cover the line to the coast in about 90 minutes, through beautifully desolate Fenlands. The landscape is covered in rape seed in vivid yellow now, and criss-crossed by dykes and drains. Then something weird happened - the light changed from the azure skies we'd had recently to a stark slate-like blue - as if someone has switched it on. A few minutes later it switched again - this time, an opaque mist had descended, hanging in the air like static smoke. Not quite what I was looking forward to on the coast! Still, it gave us a very atmospheric view of the famous Boston Stump church tower as we passed through this town. Beyond Sleaford and Boston there were no more towns until we arrived at Skegness at sevenish. In my desire to get to the hotel I didn't notice much other than there being an orderly queue of people behind a closed platform gate, not being allowed to get on the train until the ticket collector had seen all of us off the platform. This was a scene from the past - I hadn't seen people queuing for the train for years - London is a bit more of a scramble these days!
I checked the map and headed off towards the sea front. The mist didn't help, but the place had the usual miserable mix of chain shops, seaside tat and chavs. I decided I didn't want to go out in the town that night and walked the mile and a half or so to the North Shore Hotel. At the end of the road that the hotel was in was a proper chip shop, so I thought that would probably be as far as I would be going before morning. I decided not to follow the beach path as the mist made a strange place even more difficult to navigate! The hotel was very nice, a golf hotel. My room was clean and comfortable though it did look out on a fire escape. A collar and tie was needed for the restaurant but the bar was serving food. However it was the standard burgers and curry menu, so I decided to go to the chip shop at half the price. This time I do follow the beach path. Didn't see a soul which was nice, and it was mysterious walking in the enveloping fog. The beach looked beautiful - miles of dunes - but the amount of dumped rubbish was a bit depressing. Rubbish and graffiti are truly the scourge of the modern age. After a couple of pints of a local beer I enjoyed a good night's sleep, followed by Lincolnshire sausages at breakfast, then wandered down to the station.
The queue for the first train was building again - still amazing to me - so I bought the Lincolnshire Day Rover ticket that would cover me for most of the day's travels. A rather battered 158 two coach train took me back out of the mists - just like a switch being thrown again - to Sleaford. Another station that has seen better days, despite being manned, information was thin on the ground and it was difficult to know which train was which as the screens bore no resemblance to what was on the platforms! For an area of so few services, a surprising four trains came and went while I waited; I guess they concentrate them to make it easy to change.
Hardly anyone is on my train when it arrives - a two coach Sprinter. The line to Peterborough is rather better than the one to Skegness, it's dual track and has a much faster running speed, really don't understand why there are not more services. Loads of people get on at Spalding, and when we turn round at Peterborough, loads get on bound for Spalding in the other direction. I would have thought there would be demand for the commuter Peterborough trains from London to be extended to Spalding - or maybe even Lincoln. The conductor asks me if I am just travelling around when he checks my ticket again, usually they don't seem to notice when I just stay on like this.
At Lincoln I have a 50 minute wait, time for a pint of the local beer. On my way back to the station I end up on another ring road and marvel yet again at how cars have wrecked everywhere in some way. The beauty of the cathedral rising magnificently is ruined by a streaky concrete flyover packed with speeding cars, able to save a few minutes over driving through a town - and for what? This is as much of a scourge as the litter and graffiti that I also see in every town now.
I cheer up as the Grimsby train turns up almost as I set foot on the platform - another Sprinter. It's about half full and most people get off at Market Rasen, the only intermediate stop before Barnetby, a junction of three lines. The same conductor from Sleaford is on again, and makes a wry remark about me getting around. I feel better about the spartan map of Lincolnshire's railways - there are really very few settlements in this agricultural county - unlike the regular small towns I am more used to in Kent or Cambridgeshire - and I can see that in terms of routes, not many more are needed. Though of course for walkers, the railway is perfect for dropping you at appropriate spots - and your chances of finding a rural station are low out here. But that doesn't justify the appalling frequencies - surely Lincoln needs a proper London service at least? We need a Hull Trains-like company to offer this.
I wasn't prepared for how large Barnetby was, though it is managed by Trans Pennine Express which is an inter-city operator of sorts. Lines come in from Lincoln, Gainsborough and Doncaster, and go out to New Holland and Cleethorpes, as well as being passed by several freight lines. A man and his grandson watch three coal trains making their way past, debating the locomotives, signals etc. It's refreshing to know there are kids still interested in such things. I get one of the new shiny 185 trains to Doncaster. For a new train it is VERY noisy though the heavy air conditioning is welcome as it's hot today. Though it's nice being able to open the windows on an old train, aside from the nice breeze, it covers the noise of personal stereos and mobile 'phones.
It all goes wrong just before Doncaster. I presume due to emergency engineering (there are three orange jacketed blokes checking the line gauge a few feet at a time on the bridge just before Doncaster) our train is halted then crawls into the station. I miss the connection going back to Cleethorpes as a result. I should still be able to make the train that I must get there at 6pm by catching the next one, but it does reduce the margin for errors somewhat. It slides further from then. I decide to get an earlier stopping train going to Scunthorpe rather than hang around on the miserable Doncaster station. They announce a change of platform, so I get on to a train that says Scunthorpe on the front there. It doesn't move when the time comes. The display board doesn't change. Then loads of people move to another train which has parked itself in front of my one - apparently this is now the Scunthorpe train, I have been sitting on a Hull train. So I change trains, and it waits and waits and waits. It's getting fuller and hotter. A drunken psycho is patrolling the platform and testing my patience further! The train I was originally waiting for is now less than 20 minutes away, so I get off into the fresh air. They change its platform as well and with a sinking feeling I realise that my margin of error is slipping further and further. We leave nearly ten minutes late and I decide it's probably best to change at Grimsby, even though we gain a few minutes en route. One of those families who you imagine usually go by car take ages to sort themselves out, putting their bags everywhere and hogging the corridor, with no self-consciousness at all.
Grimsby looms and I change, against my wishes as I see a pack of chav teenagers on the platform messing around with a basketball. It really winds me up as I don't expect to see the sort of kids I try to avoid in London in this east coast outpost! They move off after a few minutes having not got off the train or are waiting for another one - WHY do they do it? They think they're the cool ones yet they hang around on stations for no reason! I have twenty minutes so have a quick wander. It's another clean TPE station in what I suspect is a tatty town and find a sparkling new Wetherspoons - just time for another local beer before getting the Gainsborough train.
The Gainsborough Central train - a manky Pacer - comes in late - not good because I will later have to cover the 1.3 miles between the Gainsborough stations in just 34 minutes! This line is only served on Saturdays, so in a sense the whole day has been leading to this journey(!). All goes well until we get delayed by a freight train occupying a single track section ahead. We limp into Kirton Lindsey ten minutes late and I fear that I will miss my connection at Gainsborough. The conductor thinks I should be able to make it if I walk fast. We get to the destination just four minutes late - apparently the UK's least-used station - and I start to make for the town centre. I pass some grubby kids playing with a ball who look like they've walked out of a scene from the past, past the inevitable flash new flats of the sort going up everywhere, before seeing a cab park up. I wait for the passengers to get out, and see if I can book the cab without calling, explaining that I have to get to the station within 15 minutes. Luckily the driver will take me, and I check the route as we go. Some of the roads I would have negotiated seem to be closed, and it's just as well I've found the cab. I was uneasy about navigating across a strange town that seems (again!) to be riddled with flyovers and junctions that are so anti-pedestrian.
I've been through Gainsborough Lea Road before, but I was not prepared for the spider's web of ramps for wheelchairs that greeted me by the boarded up station building. There are no platform signs to indicate which is which, and no screens to give running information. It amazes me how they can find money for the razor wire around a closed booking office and miles of ramps but not to actually open up the building or install some screens on the platforms. The view from the high level platform is of wastelands and rubbish dumps, with more unsavoury teenagers amongst them, and I remember that London had plenty of sites like this in the early 1980s - all built on now I suspect. The train is late - galling after my efforts - and it occurs to me that I will not know if it gets cancelled anyway! It eventually turns up - a single coach Sprinter - and I embark on the final new line of the day to Doncaster, enjoying the view of the sunset.
The train to London is of course late and its platform is changed. I have a cheap ticket which means I can't upgrade to first class and I instantly regret it. The train is packed and noisy and I could really do with some peace just now! Someone is feeding their child from a bowl and the child is standing on the seats blocking the corridor - the total lack of awareness of the difference between a public and private space that people have now never fails to amaze me. Matters are not helped by us being held at Peterborough for ages due to a train fault that thankfully, is rectified. I'd already been imagining the horror of the fleet of replacement coaches needed to get us all home.
When I get back, London plays its marvellous transport trick that it always does, ie, makes a short quick journey turn into an expedition. The tube platforms are hot and crowded and the trains are getting less and less frequent as midnight approaches. I watch the clock and see the chances of me getting my intended train first at Charing Cross, then at Victoria, fade away. I marvel inwardly at the day of contrasts, ie, I can travel hundreds of miles on infrequent trains across a whole county; but back home despite having to go less than a mile and a half using trains that go every few minutes, it's impossible to do it in half an hour! Struggling against the endless corridors and crowds is the problem I suppose. Eventually I have to wait half an hour at Victoria for the weird last train that doesn't stop everywhere, having bought a chicken burger I can't afford a newspaper, which is faintly irritating. At 12.50 on Sunday morning I arrive at home and look forward to bed, another part of the quest complete.
New lines:
Grantham-Skegness
Peterborough-Lincoln-Doncaster
Lincoln-Barnetby
Doncaster-Grimsby
Barnetby-Gainsborough Central
I had an open ticket so could travel on any train but getting one to Grantham at 4.10pm meant I would reach the hotel by eight and have time for a wander, food and a couple of drinks. I managed to get a Thameslink train at London Bridge that got me to Kings Cross by four - just time to collect the tickets before clambering on a Leeds train. I'm very familiar with the East Coast journey but I always marvel at the speed at which you can cover it these days, flying along on the superb 225 trains - built by BR for electrification 20 years ago and still looking and feeling the business.
Grantham is reached in an hour. I have a twenty minute wait for the Skegness train. I've never been at Grantham in daylight before. It's quite a nice station, four platforms arranged in an odd way. The bay platform where my train was due to leave from looked very short, and I anticipated a one coach train, my heart sinking when seeing the number of people waiting to get on. To my surprise a three coach Central Trains train squeezed into the bay which allowed me to find a decent table seat in the right direction. The ride was rather slow - could not have been more than 50mph, even after we had cleared the main line by means of the new spur that means the local trains don't hold up the East Coast expresses. This was to be a theme for the weekend - there are a lot of slow lines in Lincolnshire! We cover the line to the coast in about 90 minutes, through beautifully desolate Fenlands. The landscape is covered in rape seed in vivid yellow now, and criss-crossed by dykes and drains. Then something weird happened - the light changed from the azure skies we'd had recently to a stark slate-like blue - as if someone has switched it on. A few minutes later it switched again - this time, an opaque mist had descended, hanging in the air like static smoke. Not quite what I was looking forward to on the coast! Still, it gave us a very atmospheric view of the famous Boston Stump church tower as we passed through this town. Beyond Sleaford and Boston there were no more towns until we arrived at Skegness at sevenish. In my desire to get to the hotel I didn't notice much other than there being an orderly queue of people behind a closed platform gate, not being allowed to get on the train until the ticket collector had seen all of us off the platform. This was a scene from the past - I hadn't seen people queuing for the train for years - London is a bit more of a scramble these days!
I checked the map and headed off towards the sea front. The mist didn't help, but the place had the usual miserable mix of chain shops, seaside tat and chavs. I decided I didn't want to go out in the town that night and walked the mile and a half or so to the North Shore Hotel. At the end of the road that the hotel was in was a proper chip shop, so I thought that would probably be as far as I would be going before morning. I decided not to follow the beach path as the mist made a strange place even more difficult to navigate! The hotel was very nice, a golf hotel. My room was clean and comfortable though it did look out on a fire escape. A collar and tie was needed for the restaurant but the bar was serving food. However it was the standard burgers and curry menu, so I decided to go to the chip shop at half the price. This time I do follow the beach path. Didn't see a soul which was nice, and it was mysterious walking in the enveloping fog. The beach looked beautiful - miles of dunes - but the amount of dumped rubbish was a bit depressing. Rubbish and graffiti are truly the scourge of the modern age. After a couple of pints of a local beer I enjoyed a good night's sleep, followed by Lincolnshire sausages at breakfast, then wandered down to the station.
The queue for the first train was building again - still amazing to me - so I bought the Lincolnshire Day Rover ticket that would cover me for most of the day's travels. A rather battered 158 two coach train took me back out of the mists - just like a switch being thrown again - to Sleaford. Another station that has seen better days, despite being manned, information was thin on the ground and it was difficult to know which train was which as the screens bore no resemblance to what was on the platforms! For an area of so few services, a surprising four trains came and went while I waited; I guess they concentrate them to make it easy to change.
Hardly anyone is on my train when it arrives - a two coach Sprinter. The line to Peterborough is rather better than the one to Skegness, it's dual track and has a much faster running speed, really don't understand why there are not more services. Loads of people get on at Spalding, and when we turn round at Peterborough, loads get on bound for Spalding in the other direction. I would have thought there would be demand for the commuter Peterborough trains from London to be extended to Spalding - or maybe even Lincoln. The conductor asks me if I am just travelling around when he checks my ticket again, usually they don't seem to notice when I just stay on like this.
At Lincoln I have a 50 minute wait, time for a pint of the local beer. On my way back to the station I end up on another ring road and marvel yet again at how cars have wrecked everywhere in some way. The beauty of the cathedral rising magnificently is ruined by a streaky concrete flyover packed with speeding cars, able to save a few minutes over driving through a town - and for what? This is as much of a scourge as the litter and graffiti that I also see in every town now.
I cheer up as the Grimsby train turns up almost as I set foot on the platform - another Sprinter. It's about half full and most people get off at Market Rasen, the only intermediate stop before Barnetby, a junction of three lines. The same conductor from Sleaford is on again, and makes a wry remark about me getting around. I feel better about the spartan map of Lincolnshire's railways - there are really very few settlements in this agricultural county - unlike the regular small towns I am more used to in Kent or Cambridgeshire - and I can see that in terms of routes, not many more are needed. Though of course for walkers, the railway is perfect for dropping you at appropriate spots - and your chances of finding a rural station are low out here. But that doesn't justify the appalling frequencies - surely Lincoln needs a proper London service at least? We need a Hull Trains-like company to offer this.
I wasn't prepared for how large Barnetby was, though it is managed by Trans Pennine Express which is an inter-city operator of sorts. Lines come in from Lincoln, Gainsborough and Doncaster, and go out to New Holland and Cleethorpes, as well as being passed by several freight lines. A man and his grandson watch three coal trains making their way past, debating the locomotives, signals etc. It's refreshing to know there are kids still interested in such things. I get one of the new shiny 185 trains to Doncaster. For a new train it is VERY noisy though the heavy air conditioning is welcome as it's hot today. Though it's nice being able to open the windows on an old train, aside from the nice breeze, it covers the noise of personal stereos and mobile 'phones.
It all goes wrong just before Doncaster. I presume due to emergency engineering (there are three orange jacketed blokes checking the line gauge a few feet at a time on the bridge just before Doncaster) our train is halted then crawls into the station. I miss the connection going back to Cleethorpes as a result. I should still be able to make the train that I must get there at 6pm by catching the next one, but it does reduce the margin for errors somewhat. It slides further from then. I decide to get an earlier stopping train going to Scunthorpe rather than hang around on the miserable Doncaster station. They announce a change of platform, so I get on to a train that says Scunthorpe on the front there. It doesn't move when the time comes. The display board doesn't change. Then loads of people move to another train which has parked itself in front of my one - apparently this is now the Scunthorpe train, I have been sitting on a Hull train. So I change trains, and it waits and waits and waits. It's getting fuller and hotter. A drunken psycho is patrolling the platform and testing my patience further! The train I was originally waiting for is now less than 20 minutes away, so I get off into the fresh air. They change its platform as well and with a sinking feeling I realise that my margin of error is slipping further and further. We leave nearly ten minutes late and I decide it's probably best to change at Grimsby, even though we gain a few minutes en route. One of those families who you imagine usually go by car take ages to sort themselves out, putting their bags everywhere and hogging the corridor, with no self-consciousness at all.
Grimsby looms and I change, against my wishes as I see a pack of chav teenagers on the platform messing around with a basketball. It really winds me up as I don't expect to see the sort of kids I try to avoid in London in this east coast outpost! They move off after a few minutes having not got off the train or are waiting for another one - WHY do they do it? They think they're the cool ones yet they hang around on stations for no reason! I have twenty minutes so have a quick wander. It's another clean TPE station in what I suspect is a tatty town and find a sparkling new Wetherspoons - just time for another local beer before getting the Gainsborough train.
The Gainsborough Central train - a manky Pacer - comes in late - not good because I will later have to cover the 1.3 miles between the Gainsborough stations in just 34 minutes! This line is only served on Saturdays, so in a sense the whole day has been leading to this journey(!). All goes well until we get delayed by a freight train occupying a single track section ahead. We limp into Kirton Lindsey ten minutes late and I fear that I will miss my connection at Gainsborough. The conductor thinks I should be able to make it if I walk fast. We get to the destination just four minutes late - apparently the UK's least-used station - and I start to make for the town centre. I pass some grubby kids playing with a ball who look like they've walked out of a scene from the past, past the inevitable flash new flats of the sort going up everywhere, before seeing a cab park up. I wait for the passengers to get out, and see if I can book the cab without calling, explaining that I have to get to the station within 15 minutes. Luckily the driver will take me, and I check the route as we go. Some of the roads I would have negotiated seem to be closed, and it's just as well I've found the cab. I was uneasy about navigating across a strange town that seems (again!) to be riddled with flyovers and junctions that are so anti-pedestrian.
I've been through Gainsborough Lea Road before, but I was not prepared for the spider's web of ramps for wheelchairs that greeted me by the boarded up station building. There are no platform signs to indicate which is which, and no screens to give running information. It amazes me how they can find money for the razor wire around a closed booking office and miles of ramps but not to actually open up the building or install some screens on the platforms. The view from the high level platform is of wastelands and rubbish dumps, with more unsavoury teenagers amongst them, and I remember that London had plenty of sites like this in the early 1980s - all built on now I suspect. The train is late - galling after my efforts - and it occurs to me that I will not know if it gets cancelled anyway! It eventually turns up - a single coach Sprinter - and I embark on the final new line of the day to Doncaster, enjoying the view of the sunset.
The train to London is of course late and its platform is changed. I have a cheap ticket which means I can't upgrade to first class and I instantly regret it. The train is packed and noisy and I could really do with some peace just now! Someone is feeding their child from a bowl and the child is standing on the seats blocking the corridor - the total lack of awareness of the difference between a public and private space that people have now never fails to amaze me. Matters are not helped by us being held at Peterborough for ages due to a train fault that thankfully, is rectified. I'd already been imagining the horror of the fleet of replacement coaches needed to get us all home.
When I get back, London plays its marvellous transport trick that it always does, ie, makes a short quick journey turn into an expedition. The tube platforms are hot and crowded and the trains are getting less and less frequent as midnight approaches. I watch the clock and see the chances of me getting my intended train first at Charing Cross, then at Victoria, fade away. I marvel inwardly at the day of contrasts, ie, I can travel hundreds of miles on infrequent trains across a whole county; but back home despite having to go less than a mile and a half using trains that go every few minutes, it's impossible to do it in half an hour! Struggling against the endless corridors and crowds is the problem I suppose. Eventually I have to wait half an hour at Victoria for the weird last train that doesn't stop everywhere, having bought a chicken burger I can't afford a newspaper, which is faintly irritating. At 12.50 on Sunday morning I arrive at home and look forward to bed, another part of the quest complete.
New lines:
Grantham-Skegness
Peterborough-Lincoln-Doncaster
Lincoln-Barnetby
Doncaster-Grimsby
Barnetby-Gainsborough Central
Saturday 7 April 2007
The North East and Derbyshire 6-7 April 2007
One of the more epic trips, covering two chunks of the map in one weekend. It's Easter so I can start on Friday and still have some time off at home before going to work. Derbyshire was worked out ages ago and I was awaiting the right moment; for some reason I thought that the North East was difficult to do but it transpired that it was chiefly comprised of Newcastle-Sunderland-Middlesbrough-Saltburn then Middlesbrough-Darlington-Bishops Auckland - relatively straightforward. I did the Whitby branch last year so I don't have to worry about that - and that is a LONG one to fit in. Trains were reasonably frequent on weekdays, though not Saturdays, so the North East fitted nicely on Good Friday. I'd already planned a day on Derbyshire railways for a Saturday, so this could be slotted in on Easter Saturday. I could go on Cross Country from Newcastle to Derby, arriving late, but then found a cheap (but hopefully not nasty) hotel very close to Derby station. I booked all the tickets and the hotel, but then a snag appeared. Alone of all the train operating companies in the UK, Southern and South Eastern trains were running Sunday services on the two bank holidays. This really winds me up. There seems to be a concerted effort by South Eastern to stop people enjoying Sundays. First trains at gone 7, last trains before midnight, and an HOURLY service in the evenings on the local line that I use most. They seem to have no recognition that people might be using their trains to connect into other services early in the morning, especially when there's a holiday, and this can make it tricky to use the full day. Then a colleague who has a Central London flat offered me its use as he was away on Thursday night anyway. Perfect. After work on Thursday 5 April I took a slow saunter westwards to his flat, via M&S and a couple of shops, and enjoyed the rare pleasure the next day of being within walking distance of a London terminus!
Next morning, walked to King's Cross and found my seat - carriage very busy and noisy so I moved to an emptier one. I missed the interesting sign that I was looking for at the trackside that reads "London-Edinburgh:Half-Way" which always amuses me. I think I managed to be in the loo when we passed the Angel Of The North too! Oh well. Noticed a load of men in desert camouflage gear getting on the train, and realised that these were genuine squaddies returning from Iraq. For most of my life soldiers have been banned from wearing uniform for fear that it made them easy targets for the IRA, but now the ban is lifted, it's still an unusual sight. As camo is popular for casual wear you tend to think people aren't soldiers generally! We get into Newcastle on time. The many bridges over the Tyne are an impressive sight, though the city still seems a gritty place, despite the inevitable overhaul of shops and penthouses that all the major cities are receiving nowadays.
I had half an hour to kill before the train to Middlesbrough came. Managed to lose £20 in a cash machine cock up as it debited my account but did not give me the money - that will be fun to rectify. Had a bottle of Newcastle Brown in the reasonable station bar which really did have a feel of "Get Carter" about it. It still amazes me that I've travelled to the other end of England so swiftly. I then get on the Pacer train to Middlesbrough, I suspect I'm going to ride on a lot of Pacers today. It's pretty scandalous that so many long distance routes in the North have to put up with these bone-shakers. They're not great on short trips either, come to that. However if they've helped save these rural routes we should be grateful I guess. It bounces us through rather grey countryside, following the Tyne and Wear Metro. Sunderland looks a wee bit grim, where the Metro heads north and we continue on to Middlesbrough. It's a very few minutes before the Saltburn train, though I have a chance to look around me a bit. The town seems nearer than I remembered last year during my Whitby trip, and I'd forgotten that the station itself was a fusion of old and modern - something I always like.
The ride out to Saltburn is a nicer trip. Saltburn is a lovely place, the original huge station now converted to various businesses - a la Whitby - and there are breathtaking views of the North Sea when I work my way down to the beach. Unfortunately there is a high chav-surfer element roaming the streets, it's inevitable that the sport will start to attract the tracksuits I guess. I get lunch from a baker - I love Northern bakers, they invariably seem better in terms of range and taste than the ones in the South - then hop back on the train - another Pacer.
This train takes me all the way through to Bishop's Auckland. I've done the Middlesbrough to Darlington section previously, but it's always interesting to go to Darlington. It does have that bit of railway heritage for a start - the first locomotive-hauled railway in the world - but also Darlington is a pleasant station, with a huge overall roof and a spacious airy feel. We career right across the East Coast line tracks (must be a bottleneck) then off towards the North West. The route is like a microcosm of railway lands - sweeping countryside, tatty post-industrial countryside, manky towns, graffiti-covered out of town estates, and finally a grotty chav-ridden terminus that has definitely seen better days. I'm a bit depressed by the experience though it's hardly new to me. One bright point is the National Railway Museum overspill site at Shildon, which I intend to visit properly one day - there is also another museum at Darlington that I must see. Anyway, back we go, through Darlington and back to Middlesbrough.
This time at Middlesbrough I have a half hour's wait. I decide to go and look at the famous transporter bridge. I remember seeing a picture of it as a child in my Ladybird Book of Bridges, and then on BBC2's Coast last year. It's one of just two left in the country - the other is in Newport which I have seen from the train a few times down there. The walk to the bridge is weird. It's through an industrial estate that looks derelict but seems to be mostly active, past a scary looking pub, then past some pleasant-looking playing fields and council houses, though some are boarded up despite being new and in good condition. It does look like the sort of place where you get beaten up by drug dealers, yet I don't feel too nervous. There are several people admiring or photographing the bridge, as well as a fair bit of traffic crossing. I'd like to have a go on the bridge but know that it's too slow for me to guarantee getting back over for the train. Another day! Just as I think I won't see it working, the cradle starts to inch over the Tees. It's a fantastic sight. After that I head back to the station and climb aboard a new 185 Trans Pennine train to York It takes no time as it speeds through the spectacular and empty North Yorkshire countryside. I get to see Northallerton and Thirsk properly too, having only sped through these on GNER previously.
Having deliberately allowed time for contingencies, I have lots of spare time at York. So I have a pleasant walk up to the Minster, then back along the Ouse, across the bridge that carries the York to Scarborough branch, around the city walls and back to the station. There I have dinner before the Virgin Voyager to Bristol arrives to take me to Derby.
I've got a cheap first class seat and I am the only person in the carriage - a very rare event these days. I relax and watch the sun setting as we pass from one Shire to the next. At Derby I look for the hotel and almost miss it because I'm not expecting it to be that close. It's right opposite the station. The room is very pleasant, accessed via a grand staircase or a quirky lift with a manual door. There are radio stations on the TV which is such a nice change. I'm not disturbed by noise from outside once the trains stop running and bringing people to the street outside; or from inside for a change, and I sleep very well. Breakfast is decent though the restaurant is stuffy and dim because it has no windows. Before my train to Matlock I wander into town but am discouraged when I realise it's the usual set of flyovers, roundabouts and shopping centres. I head back to the station. It's a relatively tasteful modern building, and I am delighted to see the words "Derby Midland" above the doors, harking back to the days when this was Derby's station on the Midland Railway, the other being Derby Central on the Great Central Railway. I wonder if the Central station was closer to town and lament the loss of the Great Central so relatively recently.
The Matlock train is a two coach 170, nearly completely full, unsurprising given the popularity of the Peak District. This makes the closure of the central section of the line in 1968 seem even stranger - one of those arbitrary closures that seems designed to reduce rail revenue rather than save money overall - because it's just the relatively short stretch between Matlock and Buxton that's gone. In a more enlightened age that may come someday I can imagine this will be one that is reinstated. In the meantime we pass through the incredible beauty of the north Peak District, just before it becomes the Peninnes, over rivers and valleys, before terminating at Matlock. I just have time to look around the Peak Rail bookshop only to hear an evident Londoner complaining about Ken Livingstone giving kids free travel on the buses - typical! One day I shall get to ride on the preserved Peak Railway but for today it's the quest. I hope back on the train and head back to Derby.
At Derby a three coach 158 waits to escort me to Crewe. This is a relatively pleasant journey through the Derbyshire and Cheshire countryside, though some of the towns near Crewe are a bit manky. There's a lot of football fans around but I can't identify them. I used to be much better at recognising the team strips, it's another of those aspects of travelling that reminds you that you're in another part of the country, but I am a bit out of touch at the moment. One of the saddest things is seeing hordes of Chelsea fans heading south or Liverpool fans heading north - the big teams are just franchises that people pick to support because they do well now.
At Crewe I encounter a new-fangled self-service coffee machine there - you place the cups etc yourself then take it to the counter in Smiths to pay for it - doesn't seem a very good idea! I hop on to an electric train to Manchester, it reminds me of the ones I go to work on, except that it picks up power from the overhead line. It's a reasonable jog through some of the famous Cheshire suburbs - Wilmlsow and Alderely Edge - before I get off at Stockport, one of the many towns I've changed trains at but never seen!
The Buxton train is a bit late but as I'm doing the round trip it's not a problem. It's a tatty two coach Sprinter. Another trip across the north of the Peak District on what would have been a through line to Matlock and Derby once, though this line looks as if it passes through some rather down at heel areas, Buxton is definitely more run down than I was expecting. There are junctions with various other lines along the way, mostly freight I think but we do meet the branch from Guide Bridge on the Woodhead line that eventually becomes the end of a tiny branch in Marple. I covered this one over New Year and am quite pleased about it - branches are a pain, especially short ones. You either have to do a round trip or hope that there is a junction or another line nearby.
To the north of the line to and from Manchester I can see another line snaking across viaducts etc. I guess this is the Hope Valley Line to Sheffield, another of the transpeninne routes. I'll be travelling on that next, though I have done a chunk of it before when Midland Mainline were offering London to Manchester services that ran along here (without stopping of course) and am looking forward to the scenery. At Manchester because the train from Buxton is actually going to Blackpool, we stop on the one of the through platforms which is MILES from the terminus - so far that a travelator is needed to move people around. I wonder whether to get the next Hope Valley train but then I see how many people are waiting - the next one will be much busier given that the shops will be closing by then. I hop on.
It's ANOTHER Pacer, totally unsuitable for a journey of this length, but the view makes up for it. This is easily one of the most scenic trips I've had - after Settle to Carlisle and Batersby to Whitby. The countryside of the Peak District is simply stunning. At Edale and Hope plenty of walkers get on, but it's surprising to me how many people have made the whole journey from Manchester. There are quicker fast trains that go via Hazel Grove instead. Maybe they like the view too.
I've arrived early at Sheffield so decide to go and look at the cathedral. I'm aware from a previous visit to the city that there's a horrific ring road just outside the station - sadly not unusual - so leave the station and go out to the tram station. It amazes me how few of these city's stations have barriers - the amount of fare dodging must be huge. There are conductors on the trains but if the train is busy there is no way they will reach everyone. I familiarise myself with the tram fares and map, and get on the next tram going to Halfway. It terminates at the Cathedral stop. It's nice finally seeing a bit of the city though as expected it's pretty much like all the other cities these days. The steel works are in dereliction and much of the place is still awaiting a Leeds or Manchester style regeneration. There are some horrible looking 60s flats high up on the hills that the city is built on, though I gather some of them have been demolished already. Unfortunately the cathedral is closed, so I get back on the train and go for a 15 minute ride towards Meadowhall, the giant shopping complex out of town, making sure I leave enough time to get back to the station for the London train.
The London train is a 125, I'm pleased to say, though I'm not happy that there is no quiet coach, so I'm treated to a presumably deaf woman's portable DVD all the way home. I moan with another passenger who agrees that she only bothers with a personal stereo to block out other such noise! I wish people could just read a bloody book! Anyway, it's fast from Leicester and I do enjoy the scenery - not sure I've ever done the midland mainline in daylight - so it's a comfortable enough trip back to London. After that it's the tedium of the trek on the Victoria line and SE Trains back to Penge. It gets harder to return to London every time I go away. This is partly the impact of speeding through the countryside one minute then being rammed on a hot tube surrounded by drunken tossers the next. I don't even remember getting home!
New lines covered this trip:
Newcastle-Hartlepool-Middlesbrough
Middlesbrough-Saltburn
Darlington-Bishop's Auckland
Middlesbrough-Northallerton
Derby-Matlock
Derby-Crewe
Crewe-Stockport
Stockport-Buxton
Chinley-Sheffield
Next morning, walked to King's Cross and found my seat - carriage very busy and noisy so I moved to an emptier one. I missed the interesting sign that I was looking for at the trackside that reads "London-Edinburgh:Half-Way" which always amuses me. I think I managed to be in the loo when we passed the Angel Of The North too! Oh well. Noticed a load of men in desert camouflage gear getting on the train, and realised that these were genuine squaddies returning from Iraq. For most of my life soldiers have been banned from wearing uniform for fear that it made them easy targets for the IRA, but now the ban is lifted, it's still an unusual sight. As camo is popular for casual wear you tend to think people aren't soldiers generally! We get into Newcastle on time. The many bridges over the Tyne are an impressive sight, though the city still seems a gritty place, despite the inevitable overhaul of shops and penthouses that all the major cities are receiving nowadays.
I had half an hour to kill before the train to Middlesbrough came. Managed to lose £20 in a cash machine cock up as it debited my account but did not give me the money - that will be fun to rectify. Had a bottle of Newcastle Brown in the reasonable station bar which really did have a feel of "Get Carter" about it. It still amazes me that I've travelled to the other end of England so swiftly. I then get on the Pacer train to Middlesbrough, I suspect I'm going to ride on a lot of Pacers today. It's pretty scandalous that so many long distance routes in the North have to put up with these bone-shakers. They're not great on short trips either, come to that. However if they've helped save these rural routes we should be grateful I guess. It bounces us through rather grey countryside, following the Tyne and Wear Metro. Sunderland looks a wee bit grim, where the Metro heads north and we continue on to Middlesbrough. It's a very few minutes before the Saltburn train, though I have a chance to look around me a bit. The town seems nearer than I remembered last year during my Whitby trip, and I'd forgotten that the station itself was a fusion of old and modern - something I always like.
The ride out to Saltburn is a nicer trip. Saltburn is a lovely place, the original huge station now converted to various businesses - a la Whitby - and there are breathtaking views of the North Sea when I work my way down to the beach. Unfortunately there is a high chav-surfer element roaming the streets, it's inevitable that the sport will start to attract the tracksuits I guess. I get lunch from a baker - I love Northern bakers, they invariably seem better in terms of range and taste than the ones in the South - then hop back on the train - another Pacer.
This train takes me all the way through to Bishop's Auckland. I've done the Middlesbrough to Darlington section previously, but it's always interesting to go to Darlington. It does have that bit of railway heritage for a start - the first locomotive-hauled railway in the world - but also Darlington is a pleasant station, with a huge overall roof and a spacious airy feel. We career right across the East Coast line tracks (must be a bottleneck) then off towards the North West. The route is like a microcosm of railway lands - sweeping countryside, tatty post-industrial countryside, manky towns, graffiti-covered out of town estates, and finally a grotty chav-ridden terminus that has definitely seen better days. I'm a bit depressed by the experience though it's hardly new to me. One bright point is the National Railway Museum overspill site at Shildon, which I intend to visit properly one day - there is also another museum at Darlington that I must see. Anyway, back we go, through Darlington and back to Middlesbrough.
This time at Middlesbrough I have a half hour's wait. I decide to go and look at the famous transporter bridge. I remember seeing a picture of it as a child in my Ladybird Book of Bridges, and then on BBC2's Coast last year. It's one of just two left in the country - the other is in Newport which I have seen from the train a few times down there. The walk to the bridge is weird. It's through an industrial estate that looks derelict but seems to be mostly active, past a scary looking pub, then past some pleasant-looking playing fields and council houses, though some are boarded up despite being new and in good condition. It does look like the sort of place where you get beaten up by drug dealers, yet I don't feel too nervous. There are several people admiring or photographing the bridge, as well as a fair bit of traffic crossing. I'd like to have a go on the bridge but know that it's too slow for me to guarantee getting back over for the train. Another day! Just as I think I won't see it working, the cradle starts to inch over the Tees. It's a fantastic sight. After that I head back to the station and climb aboard a new 185 Trans Pennine train to York It takes no time as it speeds through the spectacular and empty North Yorkshire countryside. I get to see Northallerton and Thirsk properly too, having only sped through these on GNER previously.
Having deliberately allowed time for contingencies, I have lots of spare time at York. So I have a pleasant walk up to the Minster, then back along the Ouse, across the bridge that carries the York to Scarborough branch, around the city walls and back to the station. There I have dinner before the Virgin Voyager to Bristol arrives to take me to Derby.
I've got a cheap first class seat and I am the only person in the carriage - a very rare event these days. I relax and watch the sun setting as we pass from one Shire to the next. At Derby I look for the hotel and almost miss it because I'm not expecting it to be that close. It's right opposite the station. The room is very pleasant, accessed via a grand staircase or a quirky lift with a manual door. There are radio stations on the TV which is such a nice change. I'm not disturbed by noise from outside once the trains stop running and bringing people to the street outside; or from inside for a change, and I sleep very well. Breakfast is decent though the restaurant is stuffy and dim because it has no windows. Before my train to Matlock I wander into town but am discouraged when I realise it's the usual set of flyovers, roundabouts and shopping centres. I head back to the station. It's a relatively tasteful modern building, and I am delighted to see the words "Derby Midland" above the doors, harking back to the days when this was Derby's station on the Midland Railway, the other being Derby Central on the Great Central Railway. I wonder if the Central station was closer to town and lament the loss of the Great Central so relatively recently.
The Matlock train is a two coach 170, nearly completely full, unsurprising given the popularity of the Peak District. This makes the closure of the central section of the line in 1968 seem even stranger - one of those arbitrary closures that seems designed to reduce rail revenue rather than save money overall - because it's just the relatively short stretch between Matlock and Buxton that's gone. In a more enlightened age that may come someday I can imagine this will be one that is reinstated. In the meantime we pass through the incredible beauty of the north Peak District, just before it becomes the Peninnes, over rivers and valleys, before terminating at Matlock. I just have time to look around the Peak Rail bookshop only to hear an evident Londoner complaining about Ken Livingstone giving kids free travel on the buses - typical! One day I shall get to ride on the preserved Peak Railway but for today it's the quest. I hope back on the train and head back to Derby.
At Derby a three coach 158 waits to escort me to Crewe. This is a relatively pleasant journey through the Derbyshire and Cheshire countryside, though some of the towns near Crewe are a bit manky. There's a lot of football fans around but I can't identify them. I used to be much better at recognising the team strips, it's another of those aspects of travelling that reminds you that you're in another part of the country, but I am a bit out of touch at the moment. One of the saddest things is seeing hordes of Chelsea fans heading south or Liverpool fans heading north - the big teams are just franchises that people pick to support because they do well now.
At Crewe I encounter a new-fangled self-service coffee machine there - you place the cups etc yourself then take it to the counter in Smiths to pay for it - doesn't seem a very good idea! I hop on to an electric train to Manchester, it reminds me of the ones I go to work on, except that it picks up power from the overhead line. It's a reasonable jog through some of the famous Cheshire suburbs - Wilmlsow and Alderely Edge - before I get off at Stockport, one of the many towns I've changed trains at but never seen!
The Buxton train is a bit late but as I'm doing the round trip it's not a problem. It's a tatty two coach Sprinter. Another trip across the north of the Peak District on what would have been a through line to Matlock and Derby once, though this line looks as if it passes through some rather down at heel areas, Buxton is definitely more run down than I was expecting. There are junctions with various other lines along the way, mostly freight I think but we do meet the branch from Guide Bridge on the Woodhead line that eventually becomes the end of a tiny branch in Marple. I covered this one over New Year and am quite pleased about it - branches are a pain, especially short ones. You either have to do a round trip or hope that there is a junction or another line nearby.
To the north of the line to and from Manchester I can see another line snaking across viaducts etc. I guess this is the Hope Valley Line to Sheffield, another of the transpeninne routes. I'll be travelling on that next, though I have done a chunk of it before when Midland Mainline were offering London to Manchester services that ran along here (without stopping of course) and am looking forward to the scenery. At Manchester because the train from Buxton is actually going to Blackpool, we stop on the one of the through platforms which is MILES from the terminus - so far that a travelator is needed to move people around. I wonder whether to get the next Hope Valley train but then I see how many people are waiting - the next one will be much busier given that the shops will be closing by then. I hop on.
It's ANOTHER Pacer, totally unsuitable for a journey of this length, but the view makes up for it. This is easily one of the most scenic trips I've had - after Settle to Carlisle and Batersby to Whitby. The countryside of the Peak District is simply stunning. At Edale and Hope plenty of walkers get on, but it's surprising to me how many people have made the whole journey from Manchester. There are quicker fast trains that go via Hazel Grove instead. Maybe they like the view too.
I've arrived early at Sheffield so decide to go and look at the cathedral. I'm aware from a previous visit to the city that there's a horrific ring road just outside the station - sadly not unusual - so leave the station and go out to the tram station. It amazes me how few of these city's stations have barriers - the amount of fare dodging must be huge. There are conductors on the trains but if the train is busy there is no way they will reach everyone. I familiarise myself with the tram fares and map, and get on the next tram going to Halfway. It terminates at the Cathedral stop. It's nice finally seeing a bit of the city though as expected it's pretty much like all the other cities these days. The steel works are in dereliction and much of the place is still awaiting a Leeds or Manchester style regeneration. There are some horrible looking 60s flats high up on the hills that the city is built on, though I gather some of them have been demolished already. Unfortunately the cathedral is closed, so I get back on the train and go for a 15 minute ride towards Meadowhall, the giant shopping complex out of town, making sure I leave enough time to get back to the station for the London train.
The London train is a 125, I'm pleased to say, though I'm not happy that there is no quiet coach, so I'm treated to a presumably deaf woman's portable DVD all the way home. I moan with another passenger who agrees that she only bothers with a personal stereo to block out other such noise! I wish people could just read a bloody book! Anyway, it's fast from Leicester and I do enjoy the scenery - not sure I've ever done the midland mainline in daylight - so it's a comfortable enough trip back to London. After that it's the tedium of the trek on the Victoria line and SE Trains back to Penge. It gets harder to return to London every time I go away. This is partly the impact of speeding through the countryside one minute then being rammed on a hot tube surrounded by drunken tossers the next. I don't even remember getting home!
New lines covered this trip:
Newcastle-Hartlepool-Middlesbrough
Middlesbrough-Saltburn
Darlington-Bishop's Auckland
Middlesbrough-Northallerton
Derby-Matlock
Derby-Crewe
Crewe-Stockport
Stockport-Buxton
Chinley-Sheffield
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