The Pointless Quest- my travels on the UK's railways

19 February 2010 Ebbw Vale Parkway

2010-03-09T22:32:00.003Z

For the moment, the last piece of the jigsaw. A rest day Friday and the hefty discount my new job gives me made this the ideal day to go to Ebbw Vale Parkway and thus finish my quest to travel on the UK's railways.

As ever, completion is an anti climax. The trip from London Paddington to Cardiff Central on my favourite, the 125, was much as it always is. Annoyingly I'd just missed the train to Ebbw Vale and had to wait an hour. I just wasn't in the mood to wander around so got some food and sat and watched the world go by. Or rather the trains. I was amazed how many trains come through Cardiff, it feeding all the Valley Lines and the local city lines also, not to mention trains to London, Swansea, Manchester, Holyhead, Milford Haven, the Marches, and once again places like Nottingham as it is back on the Cross Country network.

The 4 car class 156 leaves from the newish Platform 0, numbered because there was only room for it before platform 1! It's clearly been added as it appears very much an afterthought construction. I find now that I look at these travels with a driver's eye so I spend a few minutes nosing at the cab interior that can be seen where the two units are attached, note points of signalling such as a permanent distant, and the low speeds on part of the branch. It's a classical British project. Closed to passengers in 1964 it has been open for freight but when the steel works closed the line was redundant. Because it's not in England it was reopened by the Welsh Assembly but freight characteristics - low speeds, single track etc - are still there. It's been opened with the minimal fuss to keep costs low I suspect. The end of the branch from the main South Wales line is nearer Newport than Cardiff but the infrastructure does not allow journeys from the former - and this will only change when the money is spent I suppose.

The line is very much like the other Valleys Lines - winding, climbing and crossing lots of water. There's little at the destination, it being on the outskirts of the place (the line continues and will be extended to a Town station eventually).I don't dwell, coming straight back. I decide to go back via Salisbury as my ticket allows any route. Big mistake! I have to change at Bristol (though the trip there is on a loco hauled class 37 and mark 3 coach train which is of interest I suppose) and Salisbury and there is a longish wait at both due to timetabling and delays. I am so grateful to get home as I could have got there about 3 hours earlier had I gone the direct way. So the quest ends on a smallish down in some ways, I'm in mood to commemerate it!

But soon the quest begins again. In May the reopened East London Line starts operating from Highbury to West Croydon and Crystal Palace, something new on my doorstep. Watch this space!

Aylesbury Vale Parkway 13 February 2010

2010-02-13T21:25:00.003Z

After over six months since I last travelled new tracks, I finally got a spare day to complete one of the two remaining bits of the UK's railway (until the East London Line opens in a few months when I get a new place to go!). The background is that when the Great Central Railway was closed north of Aylesbury in around 1966, a single track section from there to a junction with the Bicester to Bletchley line was preserved for freight use. NB This was once part of the Oxford to Cambridge railway - of which the Oxford to Bicester and Bletchley to Bedford sections remain open - and there are plans to reopen the lot. However in this case a short stretch of the line has been renewed for passenger use to a new station to the north of Aylesbury to serve developments in the area, Aylesbury Vale Parkway. I covered Marylebone to Aylesbury some years ago but this new section reopened in 2008. Not much to say about the trip really! Both trips were via the same 2 coach class 168 Turbostar DMU. The new station was of Network Rail's new standard design - the same as the one I see at Mitcham Eastfields during life as a trainee driver. The next trip to Ebbw Vale Parkway (though I gather an application has been made to extend this reopened line to Ebbw Vale Town) should be slightly more epic. And then there is the East London Line, which will put my home on the tube map at last even though it's not the tube any more!

Strathclyde 20-23 May 2009

2009-05-24T23:56:00.006+01:00

Wednesday 20 May

A bumper trip and the last of my trips to Scotland for the quest. Planned for two days during my week off before I start working for the railway, I head for Glasgow on the sleeper on the night of Wednesday 20 May 2009. I have managed to get a first class return to Glasgow with a single berth for just £118, a miracle price that I can only assume I got because the overnight train is less busy mid week - I've usually been on a Friday. As an added bonus I am allowed to use the first class lounge at Euston. This is very useful as I do a fitness class before getting the train and it's great to be able to have a shower and change in the lounge, not to mention a few free cups of tea. There's no food though, so I head straight for the buffet when I get on the train and have a small meal before turning in. It's an uneventful trip, I sleep right through past Motherwell but don't dwell after breakfast as the day's quest starts just 15 minutes later.

Thursday 21 May

First trip is a return on the Paisley Canal branch on a four coach 156 DMU. I stay on at the terminus as there is no turnback. It's a fairly busy commuter service on the return to the city. Then it's the East Kilbride branch on a two coach 156 DMU, another straightforward return out and back. All's well so far.

Next I head down to Glasgow Central Low Level to pick up the Lanark train. Low Level is through platforms running at right angles to the terminating platforms, rather like the Circle Line runs under several London termini. It's a three coach 318 EMU. Then I hit a problem. A fire has caused the Wishaw loop to close and this means the next leg of the journey can't be completed. The train should have run via Blantyre, Motherwell, then round a loop to Holytown and Wishaw, rejoining the line south of Motherwell before spurring off to the Larnark branch. Instead it goes to Motherwell then reverses, cutting out the loop and heading straight to Lanark. At Lanark I stay on the train and return to Cambuslang, hoping I can complete the loop later. At Cambuslang I change on to a three coach 318 EMU to the slightly edgy Hamilton Central. Then it's a three coach 334 EMU along the Larkhall branch. This was the first of the Scottish Parliament's re-opening schemes in 2005. Again, there's no turnback so I just stay on the train and return to Central. I'll be spending a lot of time backwards and forwards from Motherwell!

At Central there's time to grab a sandwich and coffee then it's back on the trains, another 3 coach 318 EMU to Neilston. Another out and back. Then out to Whifflet on a 2 coach 156 DMU. Interestingly there is a lot of overlap of electrification around Strathclyde, so there are a lot of DMUs travelling under the wires. It makes sense that the Scottish Parliament wants to electrify as much as possible. It also proves that transport is better provided locally. Electrifying to Aberdeen or Perth doesn't matter much to a London-based DFT but in the context of Scotland alone these are big cities worthy of a more efficient electric service. And it benefits London too - if Edinburgh to Aberdeen is electrified there's no need for HSTs to run under the wires for hundreds of miles as they do now before doing a short final run to Aberdeen. Rant over.

Whifflet is actually on the line between Motherwell and Cumbernauld, itself on the line between Glasgow and Falkirk. The line from Glasgow curves in from the north to join it and the train continues south then returns on the opposite platform. As the rain starts to hammer I get on the service coming north from Motherwell, another 3 coach 156 DMU. At Cumbernauld, I stay on and head back to Motherwell. It's a weird arrangement there, there are four platforms with the station buildings and a car park stuck in the middle of the central island platform with a bridge to take you to the exit and the other two platforms. The Wishaw loop is now open but a quick read of the timetable reveals that there is a four hour hole in the timetable for the loop! I decide to leave it until tomorrow morning. Meanwhile I clamber on to a six coach 334 EMU, already quite full, and, as we are entering the evening rush hour, is standing only by the time we head past Central Low Level. Because it's underground the line can travel under the city to join the lines running east to west in the north of the place, neatly connecting South East Glasgow with the areas north of the conurbation. There is no corresponding link from the South West but there are plans to re-open a freight only link to achieve this. If it's going to happen anywhere it will be here!

The train I'm on travels out of the underworld and up on to a viaduct, giving a vision of the impressive view of the Clyde and some of the developments springing up there. I get off at Partick, which has a huge clean new station which is an interchange for the underground and buses - very smart. I cross to the other platform and head back to Central. From here I get a train out to Drumbreck on the Paisley Canal branch - this time it's to go to a fitness class that I do in London that has branches all over the place! It's a nice way to finish a day dashing about.

I just make the return train to Central after the class, then walk to Queen Street. There I pick up a 3 coach 170 DMU (none of the High Level tracks are electrified, though the east west line running in the Low Level station is) to Springburn. Whilst Springburn is a through station on the line to Falkirk, it's also a terminus on a separate branch from Queen Street Low Level. I get on a three coach 320 EMU from the branch from Springburn to Alexandra Parade, the nearest station to my hotel. And there the day ends.

Friday 22 May

A pleasant night in a clean guest house is followed by a huge but welcome breakfast. Then I head back to Alexandra Parade, where I pick up where I left off and get another 320 along the rest of the branch to Queen Street Low Level. From here the amount of time I have left to me, the long period of daylight up here, and the relatively high frequency of trains allows me to pretty much make it up as I go along today. So I just travel according to what is available.

First up is a 320 EMU to Anniesland. As part of the Larkhall re-opening, the spur from Anniesland to Maryhill was also brought back into use with a new station opened at Kelvindale. I've travelled most of this branch before as the West Highland service uses it as far as Maryhill. But as there are stations on the re-opened bit, I have to travel it. A class 170 DMU takes me round the branch and back into Queen Street High Level. Then it's time to walk down to Central Low Level and complete the Wishaw loop. It's actually pretty rural and as I have done much of the route aside from the loop a few times now (!) I take the chance to relax and read. Once we get to Carluke I leap out and tear over the footbridge where I can see the return train - both were 318 EMUs again - and this saves me a bit of time in not having to do the Larkhall branch again.

The return train is actually going all the way to Milngavie so I stay on it beyond Central Low Level to complete another branch. On the return I change at Hyndland and tear over to a waiting 323 EMU that is going to Dalmuir via Yoker - mopping up another line in the process - there are two routes from Queen Street to Dalmuir and I travelled the other one on the way to the West Highland routes previously. At Dalmuir there's a bit of a wait for the next onward service so after helping a lady with a loaded pram over TWO footbridges, I head out to find a up of tea. Frankly it looks like the sort of place English voices get their heads kicked in but I stride out anyway to a sucessful mission.

From here it becomes a real head down affair. There are two more branches to the west side of the city north of the Clyde and I tackle each methodically. First is a 321 EMU to Balloch - the station that serves Loch Lomond. Then it's back to a rural Dalreoch - the landscape changes from rural to urban quickly here - and on to the Helensburgh Central branch on a 321 EMU.

At the large terminus this train becomes a service to Drumgelloch. Perfect! The last branch in Strathclyde. I stay on it all the way back through the city and out to the east to the slightly run down looking Airdrie and Drumgelloch. There's just time for me to look beyond the buffers where the line is being reinstated to Bathgate, providing a fourth route between Edinburgh and Glasgow. Not much work is going on this end, though I gather electrification and station rebuilding is going on at the Bathgate end. Two platforms are to be reinstated at this end as it will no longer be a terminus. This will definitely help the area as it will provide through links for so many more places to Edinburgh that could do with regeneration. After a quick look round it's back into the city centre. I get off at High Street to get some fresh air as I've a big gap before the last trip of the day and walk across to Queen Street.

The final line...the recently re-opened Stirling to Alloa line. The Glasgow - Stirling trains now extend beyond to Alloa, which when I get there I can see really needs the boost that a line re-opening gives. How could they have ever closed the line to a place of this size in the first place? Some of the closures beggar belief. The way it was re-opened was quite neat. Thanks to the deliberate run down of the coal industry and the dash for gas that followed, now that gas is running out we have to import the coal needed for power generation. There has been a massive rise in coal trains in recent years. Up here it comes in at Stranraer and had to travel via the Forth Bridgde to Longannet Power Station in Fife, and was taking up capacity on this obvious bottleneck. By re-opening the line from Stirling to Kincardine, the coal trains can travel through Glasgow and Stirling instead, staying away the bridge. Alloa just happens to be on the route. There is also talk of extending passenger trains to Kincardine and Dunfermiline eventually the same way, which would be useful, but it is just talk at present. After some chips it's back on the class 170 DMU to Queen Street.

And that's it. Scotland is completed. Amazing considering my first trip was Easter 2008, I never thought it could be done so quickly.

I now have a couple of hours to kill so take a long route back to Central via Partick rather than walk it. After a couple of drinks I get a fish supper and get on to the waiting Class 90 and MK2 coaches that comprise the sleeper to London. One more trip to Motherwell as it's the first stop. Then, aside from one interruption when the fire alarm goes off - false alarm! - it's back home - when I next wake up and head to the loo we are passing Carpender's Park. With a slight sense of regret I realise my trip is over. I now have just two lines to complete - ironically both have which have re-opened since I started the quest - one in England and one in Wales. Watch this spot.

Lines covered this time:

Central-Paisley Canal
Central-East Kilbride
Central Low Level-Newton-Hamilton-Motherwell-Lanark
Lanark-Bellshill-Cambuslang
Cambuslang-Hamilton-Larkhill
Larkhill-Central Low Level
Central-Neilston
Central-Whifflet
Whifflet-Cumbernauld
Cumbernauld-Motherwell
Springburn-Queen Street Low Level
Queen Street Low Level-Anniesland via Hyndland
Anniesland-Queen Street via Maryhill
Central Low Level-Newton-Hamilton-Motherwell-Holytown-Carluke
Carluke-Milngavie
Hyndland-Yoker-Dalmuir
Dalmuir-Balloch
Dalreoch-Helensburgh Central
Helensburgh Central-Queen Street Low Level-Drumgelloch
Queen Street-Stirling-Alloa

Strathclyde/SW Scotland 1-2 May 2009

2009-05-02T11:36:00.001+01:00

Another trip to Scotland, this time the first of two to tackle the couple of lines in SW Scotland and a chunk of the massive Strathclyde railway system. It begins late on Thursday 30 April 2009 when I arrive at the Lowland Caledonian Sleeper at London Euston. I'm booked in the seated coach but, aware of the long days ahead of me would prefer a berth. Luckily there is a spare berth. I have to share but luckily there's no snoring from the bunk below! Also he is only only going as far as Motherwell which is handy because finding room for two people to struggle into clothes and sort out baggage at the same time in a sleeper compartment is a tall order. Anyway, I must be getting used to the sleeper because I sleep really well, waking up just twice, the second occasion being when we arrive at Carstairs and the train is divided into two portions, and I would be very surprised to sleep through being shunted. I step on to the platform at Glasgow Central at 7.20am and the quest continues.Before the main event I fit in three suburban lines. The first is out to Newton via Maxwell Park and back via Queens Park. Then on to the Cathcart Circle (called Inner and Outer to reflect the track used). All three trips are on 3 coach class 314 EMUs. It's very much being at home as I join the Glasgow rush hour, especially sitting on the Clyde bridge just outside Central station queuing for a platform - it's like going into Charing Cross to work.The first of three more epic trips then ensue. Epic because of the sheer length of time rather than distance! The first is back over the border to Carlisle via Kilmarnock. It's single track for a large chunk of the route and thus we sit waiting to pass at one point. I have a wander around Carlisle up to the castle and look around its many charity shops. It's a much smaller city than I remember and frankly, the station is possibly the most impressive sight there, despite it boasting a cathedral and a castle! Indeed, the station was originally called Carlisle Citadel. The incessant rain does not help the place.Next step is to catch one of the rare Carlisle to Stranraer services (in fact it has come all the way from Newcastle, and while publicised as a Northern Rail train, is run with Scotrail stock and crew). The journey almost backtracks the entire journey from Glasgow but splits off to the west after Kilmarnock and heads south west. When we reach Stranraer Harbour we are almost at the same latitude as Carlisle, ie, twice the distance as separates the two as the crow flies! It's a scenic trip through empty green sheep country. Hardly a road in sight and the odd signal box where driver and signaller swap tokens for the next stretch of line. Stranraer Harbour station is a massive affair, built chiefly to serve the Belfast ferry (which may well move to another port!) and has a feel of having hosted more traffic in the past. Indeed there was a London sleeper to conenct with the ferry as recently as the 1980s. Anyway, I have less than two hours before the return trip and so get myself a drink in a very Irish feeling bar and a haggis and chips to follow.Then it's back on the same train (a three coach class 156 DMU as the first one out to Carlisle was), but this time all the way to Glasgow Central. The rain is mostly gone and it's a beautiful evening. Ayr and Kilmarnock are the major towns on the route, but they have nothing on the amazing sprawl of Strathclyde that extends way beyond Glasgow itself. The night is a vista of blinking lights pretty much all the way after Ayr is passed. I head through the rowdy crowds around Central station for the youth hostel, only to discover I've cocked up the booking and got the wrong day. Needless to say they are full but call another place for me where I head next. It's not an ideal billet, shall we say, but it's 11pm and I need a bed for the night. I get off to sleep without trouble and depart shortly after 7am the next day.Back to Central and a quick breakfast. Then it's off to Ardrossan Harbour on the first 6 coach Class 334 of the day - the next four lines all being serviced by these. At Adrossan I track the line back to Saltcoats - 3 stops back but they are very close together - to get the Largs train. The stretch from Adrossan South Beach to Largs is very picturesque. At Largs I have no time to do anything other than get the return EMU to Paisley Gilmour Street - where the other Clyde Coast line diverges. This one takes me out through the very poor looking Greenock to Gourock, at the western fringe of the Clyde estuary. A quick turnaround later back to the somewhat depressed Port Glasgow - the junction for the Wemyss Bay branch. This branch seems considerably more attractive than the Gurock line, including a massive well preserved terminus feeding directly to the Bute Ferry and a halt seemingly built by and for an building IBM. At the end of the line it's another fast return and we're heading back to Glasgow. I wonder how these four coastal branches have managed to get electrified - as well as the line to Ayr - as it seems almost impossible to get much electrification in England full stop.Back at Central I grab lunch then jump on yet another two coach 156 DMU to Edinburgh Waverley via Shotts. This is the route back to London today due to engineering works on teh West Coast main line after Lancaster, and its handy because it mops up the last of the three routes between the two cities for me to cover (the others being via Carstairs and Falkirk). It seems to take forever because it stops everywhere but eventually the Forth bridges come into view and then the vista of Calton Hill and Arthur's Sear ahead of us. I just have time to get a drink in my favourite Edinburgh pub, the Half Way House, then I'm on to a class 43 hauled service - otherwise known as the High Speed Train Inter City 125 - that has come from Aberdeen and wil return me to London King's Cross for 10.20pm. To my delight I discover I've booked 1st class - a very cheap ticket that I'd completely forgotten about - a nice surprise as it means peace and free coffee!Back home via the Piccadilly line and Charing Cross, a satisfying trip including suburban, coast and inter city routes. In two weeks I am off to Scotland once more to mop up the remainder of the Strathclyde lines - watch this space.

Lines completed this trip:
Glasgow Central-Maxwell Park-Newton
Newton-Mount Florida-Glasgow Central
Glasgow Central-Cathcart-Glasgow Central
Glasgow Central-Dumfries-Carlisle
Carlisle-Troon-Stranraer
Stranraer-Ayr-Glasgow Central
Glasgow Central-Ardossan Harbour
Saltcoats-Largs
Largs-Paisley Gilmour Street
Paisley Gilmour Street-Gourock
Gourock-Port Glasgow
Port Glasgow-Wemyss Bay
Wemyss Bay-Glasgow Central
Glasgow Central-Shotts-Edinburgh Waverley

West Highland lines and err…DLR to Woolwich Arsenal 7-9 April 2009

2009-04-16T08:22:00.004+01:00

A strange contrast but all will become clear much later. A combination of the long Easter weekend and me needing to use up leave as I am working my notice meant that I had the perfect opportunity to start mopping up some more of the Scottish lines that I need to complete – now within the next 18 months! This would be a trip of surprises and firsts…

A late night on Tuesday was not a good idea as I had to be on the 5.47 to Glasgow on Wednesday but these things tend to happen that way. So having barely been to bed I went down to the bus stop in Penge High Street in the rain and darkness at around 4am to get the 176 to town. It arrived on time and delivered me to Tottenham Court Road about 45 minutes later. Then all I had to do was walk up the aforementioned road to Euston. Both roads were still quite busy I noticed. At 5am I joined the queue for the only source of coffee at the aberration that is London Euston and gratefully found my seat at the very front of the class 390 Pendolino that would take me far from home.

It was still dark when we headed out of the train shed which I wasn’t expecting. I tried to get some much needed sleep though it’s hard in modern train seats. I wanted to be awake for the section beyond Lancaster as I’ve not travelled that much and as it’s through the fringe of the Lake District it’s worth seeing. In the event I just about remember opening half an eye at Crewe and Preston, hearing Lancaster in my sleep and waking up as we curled into Carlisle. Actually I remember Lichfield as I saw the distinctive three spires of the cathedral distantly. Anyway I keep a look out after Carlisle as we quickly cross the border into Scotland, but unlike on the East Coast there’s no ceremony here. No sign announcing the boundary or mile posts, which is rather disappointing.

Gradually the stations start to get closer together and we drift into the conurbation of Strathclyde. Then we’re across the Clyde and pull into Glasgow Central, four hours and forty minutes after leaving London. I’ve the best part of a couple of hours to kill before the first of my Highland trains leave so I decide to have a go on the Glasgow Underground – the oldest in the world I believe? So I head for Buchanan Street station – which used to be a heavy rail station and is now the Underground stop for Glasgow Queen Street – which is handy as it’s where my train will leave from.

I see why the system is nicknamed the “Clockwork Orange” now. The trains and tunnels are like a scaled-down version of the tube in London, thankfully there are not London-sized crowds of people trying to get on them. I do the full circuit in around 30 minutes. Only one other person in the car is there when I get on and off again, and he’s swigging from a can of Tennants Extra in a brown paper bag. We pass some famous names – Ibrox, Partick, Kelvinside etc, some of which are on Strathclyde’s extensive heavy rail network also. Doing that will possibly be the most complex quest of all when it comes, as it combines city, countryside and seaside, in an area bigger than Greater London but as complex as the Yorkshire area with interconnections and branches everywhere. And they keep opening because the Scottish Parliament is rather more progressive about transport than the British one!

I grab a coffee at Queen Street and wait for the West Highland train. I didn’t realise until today that it’s a combined train for Mallaig and Oban that splits at Crianlarich. As I’m heading to the latter first I have to get into the front two coaches of the four coach 156 Sprinter. It’s fairly well booked out which is hardly surprising as the line has been voted the most scenic in the WORLD recently! Astonishing. I try to resist sleep but I am so tired. I manage to be awake by the time we reach the Highlands proper, but even heading out of the conurbation I spot that we are chugging alongside lochs already. Its unfortunate but the long and winding routes to the Highlands are now no competition for roads – I’m told that there are no more single track A roads left now – whereas the railways are almost entirely single track. So when you travel by rail Scotland feels a lot bigger than it is because it takes you so long to reach some of it! Undoubtedly the railway is the most scenic though as it skirts the lochs and travels through the base of the glens – sometimes you can’t see a road for miles from the train.

We’re first off from Crianlarich after splitting and after enjoying a landscape of snow-capped mountains – a real treat – I am delivered to Oban, a fishing village. I have a couple of hours there in which I get the chance to explore a folly perched up on the hill above the town. It looks like the Coliseum and was designed to house a theatre but was never completed. It gives a great view over the harbour today where you can see the many ferries heading out to the Isles. After a fish supper – with beautiful local haddock – I’m off again to Crianlarich. With a thrill I see a row of stags watching the train go past – it’s a bit more sobering when you remember that they were only introduced for the gentry to go hunting, but still they are an impressive sight.

At Crianlarich I make for the youth hostel – my first stay in one. After doing TA selection and staying in barracks with 30 strangers a youth hostel seems nae problem. Except there’s none of the camaraderie, it’s just six disparate blokes looking for a bed for the night. It doesn’t help that there’s just one light which is off when I get back from the pub at around 11, so I have to undress and find my way to the top bunk in the dark. Oh well, it’s all an experience. I sleep surprisingly well and am up out and out by 8.15. The station has a nice little café where I have a protracted breakfast. It’s just as well I get there early as the place fills up fast with people from the hostel. I watch the first train down to Glasgow that delivers a Scotrail worker and his dog. I presume he’s the driver waiting for the up train to take whichever half doesn’t have one yet on. When the train arrives and splits though, it transpires he is the conductor. And this is where the surprises start.

When I get on I hear another Scotrail employee explaining to the couple behind me that our train is being driven by the youngest driver Scotrail has ever employed – she is 24 – and the first female driver on the West Highland line. The conductor with the dog jokes that I’ll have to put up with this talk all the way to Mallaig. I tell him it’s actually interesting to me as I start driver training with Southern next month. At this I’m invited into the back cab to have a quick look around, given a cup of tea etc etc. It’s great to be given a sneak preview of the controls and have the token exchange system explained to me – not that I will be using that in the busy south! We chat all the way to Mallaig about stuff. It transpires that he is an ex-army, motorbike riding rail enthusiast, so we have a bit to talk about. Later he gives me a lift back to Fort William. An amazing surprise. It was great to meet someone so generous and unassuming – it just wouldn’t happen down south. He was from Liverpool and absolutely loved living up there. Though I’m not certain I could live in such a place myself I understand his affection for the place.

I’ve a couple of hours in Fort William so I have a walk around, go up into the lower reaches of the hills that surround the place, and find a really nice pub, famous for its ales. I enjoy a couple of pints there and head for the station (rather annoyingly now cut off from the town by a busy road), getting a haggis and chips en route. I want to finish it before getting on the train so manage to burn my mouth on the haggis, which I suppose is as good a Caledonian experience as any to go home with.

At this point the sleeper is two sleeper cars, a buffet car and a luggage van, hauled by a class 67 diesel. Two similar trains leave Aberdeen and Inverness each night, all three meeting at Edinburgh where they are shunted into a different order and then hauled by a single class 90 electric back to London via the Carstairs line. I am shown to my cabin – I’ve got it to myself which means I can spread my stuff around, but I wouldn’t have been that bothered about sharing. I take the top bunk and read for a bit until we set off, then go to the lounge car for some tea. I don’t like the ordering arrangements – there is no hatch, you wait for the staff to come to you. The whole system seems designed to stop you dwelling because there is no easy way of placing more than one order!

Like the Penzance sleeper, this is very much a last train for locals as well as for long distance travellers, as it stops almost everywhere back to Glasgow, sometimes on request. This is good as it gives the line a fourth train and allows a slightly longer day at Fort William if needed. So it takes ages to get to Edinburgh. By ten I’m drifting off anyway so I return to my cabin and read for a bit, drifting off to sleep. I get into bed and don’t wake again until we stop at Edinburgh. I hear the shunter talking to the driver and remember I’ll be heading into this world soon, a strange thought. Amazingly the jolting of the train being shunted does not really disturb my sleep and the next time I wake and look out we’re at Preston – about four in the morning. The first time I went on a sleeper it was hard to sleep properly but it’s amazing how quickly you adapt. The motion of the train is very conducive to dozing off, as anyone who has slept through their stop can tell you.

I wake at Stafford briefly then return to sleep. At seven the alarm goes off and I get up and get ready. Breakfast comes about fifteen minutes later; it’s a strange mixture – a mini muffin, a small croissant and an odd muesli and gluey yoghurt combination plus coffee and shortbread. Not the most balanced meal I’ve had but my diet is shite at the moment anyway. I see a sign on a building telling me that we are near Rugby but I don’t know if we’ve passed the station yet. Either way it appears that there has been a huge delay as even after the West Coast refurb, trains can’t get from Rugby to London in the half hour left. We come to a halt. The train doesn’t move for ages and no others pass us. Bearing in mind that this is the busiest of the UK’s main lines, this means that something is seriously awry. I look out of the window and all the signals are at red. There are no announcements as usual so I check my Blackberry. There’s enough charge to find out that there has been a fatality at Wolverton and Euston is closed with nothing moving. I think of the driver for obvious reasons and hope that they don’t terminate us early and put us on buses.

About two hours pass, I’m grateful for the cabin as I can relax on the bunk and read. In fact this is the most relaxation I’ve had for ages I realise. I’m quite enjoying it! We eventually get going and I hang out of the windows to read the signals, we go very slowly past some single ambers, then I recognise a junction indicator, we get a green and we’re off at full speed until London.

It’s nearly three hours late and I don’t really feel like going home yet, having had plenty of rest. I decide to do some more bashing and head for Marylebone to do the new Aylesbury Parkway station – a bit of reopened line! However there are buses on part of the route so I forget that and decide to do the DLR extension to Woolwich Arsenal instead. It’s the only bit of London’s transport that I’ve not travelled on. It opened to George V Dock a couple of years ago but I knew it would be going through to Woolwich a couple of years later so I held off – travelling through the Docklands is not THAT exciting(!) What is interesting is that it took over the North London Line from Canning Town to North Woolwich and then continued south of the river to Woolwich proper. So there is another first for this trip – travelling under the newest Thames tunnel! There is more to come in London in terms of lines to travel – the DLR is taking over the North London Line from Canning Town to Stratford and beyond to the International Station where it will meet the SE Trains High Speed services to St Pancras. A start is being made on Crossrail. But first there will be the East London Line, close to my own home, which will see trains running from Croydon and Crystal Palace through to Highbury and Islington via a re-opened line between Broad Street and Dalston.

Home is reached at around 4.30pm. It feels like a long time since I’ve been there.

Lines covered this trip:

Glasgow Queen Street-Singer-Oban
Oban-Crianlarich-Mallaig
Glasgow Underground

Tyne and Wear Metro 1 March 2009

2009-03-01T11:40:00.000Z

I'm in Newcastle to see the Kaiser Chiefs. It's a good excuse to visit the city and to travel the Tyne and Wear Metro. I've not written about my light rail trips as they don’t seem like the real thing to me. The T&W was converted from existing heavy rail, runs on proper tracks with proper stations, rather than on the road, and was extended to join up on both sides of the city, so it feels like a proper railway to me. The other systems I’ve been on so far are:

London Underground
DLR
Croydon Tramlink
West Midlands Metro

I’ve also travelled parts of the Manchester, Sheffield and Nottingham systems in the course of getting around but intend to go back and do them fully at some point. I also want to cover the Glasgow Underground – the Clockwork Orange as it is known. But for the moment I’m at a cold Newcastle Central station trying to find breakfast after a terrible night in a cheap hotel. I buy an all day ticket and I’m off.

First leg is out to Newcastle Airport to the North West of the city via the suburb of Jesmond. This has two interchanges at Monument – on a separate level – and South Gosforth – a straightforward spur – which are both ends of a loop out to the coast at Whitely Bay.

At the Airport there is a longish wait for the train to turn back before it returns back the way it came. I discover that the driver’s cab only takes up one of the two windows at the front of the unit. Not great for the driver, where my sympathies are now starting to lean, but great for the passenger who can get a decent driver’s eye of the track. Out in the rural areas of the system this is okay but in the suburbs and centre this gives you a full view of the same sad vandalism that makes Britain so tatty these days. The front seat gives you a fantastic vista of the Tyne as we cross over the QE2 bridge and into Gateshead.

From here the line runs parallel to the heavy rail line to Sunderland, presumably the metro having taken over the intermediate stations that the heavy rail line now speeds past. At Pelaw there is a grade separated junction where one branch goes to South Shields, which I’ll come back to. For now the line continues over the Wear and into the murky depths of Sunderland station before running along the south bank of the Wear to a terminus at South Hylton. Ahead you can see where the line used to continue to Durham – it’s now a footpath. This is the furthest most extension of the system and I gather not as successful as was hoped so far, but I’m just pleased that another railway has been reinstated in this way.

I head back to Pelaw and change trains for South Shields. My intention is then to catch the ferry across to North Shields. I assumed that the railway went right up to the river front but not so – maybe it did in the past? Anyway a short walk through the ubiquitous paved shopping area takes me to a waiting room for the ferry – very welcome in the cold and wet weather today. It’s a short trip across the Tyne to North Shields. This is slightly more pleasant than its South counterpart despite the steep climb up to the station – where presumably a train could never have got.

North Shields is a through station rather than a terminus, at the edge of the loop mentioned earlier from Monument to South Gosforth. The first train to come is heading back towards Newcastle and I catch this. At Monument in the city centre it continues out to St James Park Stadium, they’re away this week so the place is deserted. I ask the driver where the train is going now and luckily it’s doing the whole loop so I don’t need to change again.

We head off about ten minutes later and head back towards North Shields, passing some famous but very down at heel places such as Byker and Wallsend. After North Shields the line turns north and heads up the coast to Whitely Bay, then turns west and back towards the city, joining the line into Central at South Gosforth. I continue to Central where my journey ends.

Scotland 30 June - 4 July 2008

2008-07-05T23:35:00.003+01:00

30 June – 4 July 2008 Scottish Highlands and East Coast

2008 is proving to be my year for Scotland. My fourth visit since Easter and progress is good. The whole of the eastern side of the country is now complete. This particular trip was another mega-bash along the lines of North-West England in 2007 and West Wales in 2006. Partly this was due to the fact the lines in question are big on heavy gradients and sharp curves, as well as generally single track from end to end, so journeys on them are long and low frequency, requiring careful planning to avoid too many long gaps between trips or unnecessary overnight stays. But the fact that the whole jaunt takes place at the opposite end of the UK means that two days are needed just to get there and back. Sleepers were an option but these would be more expensive and actually make the whole thing more rushed. It's always nice to get some rest and enjoy some local sights too!

Day One: Monday 30 June 2008

The day kicked off relatively late by my standards as my first train was the daily midday “Highland Chieftain,” from King's Cross to Inverness. However as I was about to be away from my post-work BMF classes for two weeks I thought it would be a good idea to get one done before the train, as there are morning classes for those of us not stuck in the nine to five! Then my holiday was really underway. I settled down on the 8 coach HST for the long journey with the laptop that I am writing this on (Asus EeePC) but could not get the thing to connect to the Wireless Network on the East Coast. Never mind, as there were no power sockets I would only get three hours at a time between charges anyway. The lady opposite read some of the notes I was working on for a job application and made some apologetic suggestions, which led to an interesting conversation about her work as a barrister. Something of this nature always seems to happen to me on this line now!

She got off at York, which once seemed such a long way but today will be hours behind soon. I'm relatively familiar with the route to Edinburgh now and it seemed to speed past. We were crossing the Tyne in less than three hours, the waters rushing away out to sea far below, Then it was across the Royal Border Bridge at Berwick and we were in Scotland. The train had been almost full but a good half of them were only going to Edinburgh which is not surprising I suppose. A few brave souls were hanging on for more northerly climes.

Much to my disappointment we did not cross the Forth Bridge and head up via Aberdeen though of course that does not make sense for a direct Inverness train anyway! Our route was through Falkirk, Stirling, Perth and Aviemore. I found it unbelievable that it would take another three and a half hours after Edinburgh, especially as the train seemed to be running pretty fast but that's what it takes. It's worth it though, beyond the grandiose Perth station the landscape takes on the fairy tale cliché appearance. We head through mountains and rivers, though sadly it's difficult to take pictures given our speed. Finally we curl into Inverness at 8pm, the sky still light as expected on this far North summer day. The London Sleeper is waiting for departure on the opposite platform which is an odd feeling when I last stood in the open air at midday!

Despite the light, it's noticeably colder than when I was tearing around Hyde Park this morning and I need a jacket for the ten minute walk to my guest house. It's basic but clean and comfortable. I head out to find a pub or two (no need for food as I have been eating sandwiches all the way up!). I look for one called Johnny Foxes but it appears to have been turned into a trendy restaurant, then for The Gunsmiths, which sounded promising. When I get there I hear dance music and realise it's been got at by the trendy bar lobby. Such places are a bit useless when you're on your own. Two doors down is McCallums, which has a loose rock theme and lots of domino games going on, so it seems suitable. As it turns out it's wall to wall Tennants so I have just one then try the next one on the list, The Blackfriars. And there I strike gold. It's got about five guest ales, plus all of the Shilling range and a couple of others besides. What's more, there are a couple of blokes playing traditional music and people are enthusiastically doing country dancing lessons. Great! I stay for a few, more than I intended because a bloke strikes up a conversation with me and buys me another one (it would be rude to refuse). He's a carpenter from Fort William, and he owns houses in Croydon and Scarborough so we have a bit to talk about. He hates the idea of working in an office too. He's a bit steamed so he doesn't stay for me to return the drink, indeed he leaves half his in the end. The place is winding down by 11.30 so I head back. I manage to get lost in a council estate – something I always seem to do, must be the pull of home – but get back safely in the end. I'm struck by how light it is still, it's more like 9pm would be in London. Time for sleep...

Day Two – Tuesday 1 July 2008

...as I have to be up at 6.15am. I wake a couple of hours before as it's already broad daylight and get some more sleep, eat the cold breakfast the landlady has left for me and head for the station. I hoist my stuff on to the waiting two coach 158, awaiting the off at 7.14am. This is the first of many ponderous trips I will do this week, though it's by no means as slow as I expected. The line is an interesting mixture. It does of course curl through sweeping mountains and over bubbling streams as I'd hoped. There were a few, though not many closed stations, and usually the buildings were still in place. What stations there were had been heavily rationalised but usually the unused platforms had been left to sprout carpets of wild flowers. At Rogart were some camping coaches – a great idea that I wish was more extensively used – and at Brora someone had adopted the station and installed old enamel advertisements for soap and tobacco.

What really struck me though, was the sheer emptiness of the place north of Perth, particularly so north of Inverness. I knew of the Highland Clearances, and this does lend this beautiful landscape a sombre quality (a cliché I know, but so true), but as a Londoner used to jostling with 8 million others, I was not prepared for the scale of depopulation. There were seemingly many more animals than people! Cows, horses and sheep were grazing together, something I'd not seen before. Hardly any of them seemed bothered by the train, even though there are very few of them passing each day. There was even a goat wearing a hi-viz jacket, presumably because at some point it had managed to wander on to the track! Trackside fencing here was not as high as elsewhere but still lined the whole route. The closer we got to the north most point, a second line of fencing appeared behind the first one, which resembled beach breakwaters. Wonder what it's for? Somehow it seemed to emphasise the desolate nature of the region which had flattened out into scorched heathland – what a local friend's father had described as “tundra” - and I can certainly see what he means now. For a stretch we skirt the North Sea before turning inland again and it seems such an unfriendly companion here in contrast to the blue waters and white beaches of Fife and Durham.

At Georgemass Junction the line divides, and the train reverses to head to Thurso. After Thurso it will return to the Junction then up the other branch to Wick. On its return to Inverness it has to then reverse at Georgemass again after calling at Thurso – it's complicated stuff and I shall see the rest of it tomorrow. Today's train journey ends at Thurso, the most northerly town on the mainland of Britain and the most northerly station in the UK. A sign above a modest shed welcomes me and I take a picture for no good reason. There are signs that the place has seen better times, though I don't know what Thurso was famous for in the past. Now its fortunes rest on Dounreay, the nuclear plant up the coast that is now being decommissioned over thirty years. The place is not unpleasant but not exactly inspiring either. I can't really imagine life in such a place as I come from the other extreme. I grab some bread etc for lunch and head back to the station where I am picking up the bus to John O'Groats.

It's a pleasant trip along the coast, the landscape seems like Dungeness on a huge scale to me! A lot of people get on when the bus reaches the main street in town, they all seem to know each other even though they get off in ones and twos as we call at the straggling communities hugging the northern coast en route. And most of them seem to be English! I certainly understand the pull of the place for overcrowded England, but it's still a surprise. We pass Dunnet Head in the distance, this is actually the most northerly point of the British mainland, I would have liked to visit but there isn't time because of the frequency of the buses along here. So I continue to and settle for John O'Groats. I say settle because its claim to fame is that it is the northern end of the longest distance it is possible to travel within the British mainland, the southern end being of course, Land's End, which I visited in 2005. So now I have the set. I'm not overjoyed because unlike Land's End, which has a regular bus service, various trails to follow, and a lot more of interest, including most importantly, a hotel with a bar, this outpost has almost nothing. The hotel is derelict, there are the usual tat shops (why craft and woollens in both places?), and they even charge to use the toilet!

I find possible solace in a turbo boat, but the crew won't take it out because the only other interested people are a family with largely smaller children, and they fear the conditions would be too much for them. They tell me I am likely to get wet and thrown about, but not knowing me, they didn't realise that was the point for me! I have my waterproofs, I protest, but it's no good. Now I have just two hours to kill. I walk along the cliff top as far to Dunscaby Head as I can get, but here I am frustrated as well, there isn't quite enough time to see the wild waters of the Pentland Firth before I have to turn round. I have to get used to the system of paths too. Effectively everywhere in Scotland is free to roam, and there are three actual categories where routes are more formalised. So often paths are not marked and I spent too much time trying to avoid fenced off areas, not realising they were fenced to keep sheep in rather than walkers out! Oh well. Back to John O'Groats, where a moderately heavy rain is falling now. I have a quick conversation with a cyclist who is camping there tonight (I feel a pang of envy though god knows what I'd do with the evening) then get on the bus to Wick.

It's a short journey (though I did nod off so maybe it wasn't). Wick is a slightly edgy town, a look of time having forgot it, the buildings a bit battered and grey and lots of neds speeding up and town in their chavmobiles, LEDs whizzing round and oversized exhausts blasting. I find my rest for the night above the Clydesdale Bank. The owners are a young couple and the rooms are all refurbished with modern touches and furniture, as well as beautifully clean. My room is a family room so it is huge. After sorting myself out I head into town. The bars look unwelcoming and the chip shops are closed, so after watching the firemen putting out a practice fire by the harbour I head for Wetherspoons. You know what you're getting with them and for once it's welcome as the town isn't a place I'm at ease with. It's grill night so I can get a reasonable meal with a drink, and then even better, McEwans 80/- is only £1.59 a pint so it's a cheap night. Back at the B&B I can't get in, and can't get a mobile signal (I have been with three networks yet I'm always the one who can't get a signal at times like this). I ring the B&B from the kebab shop opposite and they tell me the main doors are unlocked. Oops! Luckily they hadn't gone to bed. Inside I gratefully fall asleep.

Day Three: Wednesday 2 July 2008

Breakfast is taken at a more earthly hour today with two Ross County youth players in the dining room, and afterwards I go for a look around Wick. There isn't much, though in daylight it's much less edgy. I decide to walk along the cliffs eastwards. There are magnificent basalt shelves of cliffs that I take great delight in clambering over, dropping down from cliff to cliff until I am faced with the last sheer drop. I lie at the edge and watch two blokes fishing on a still lower ledge, no idea how they got there! The water crashes over them and they are not bothered. They're not even wearing waterproofs or boots so they hopefully know what they're doing. Above me a Midlands accent asks how they got there. No escape from England! I keep going and cross a firing range (not in use!), having great fun climbing some of the obstacles next to tank tracks before crossing a spectacular gorge then ending my walk at the ruins of the old Wick Castle, a legacy of its Viking past. It's then time to return to the town and the next journey.

At the station is a surprise. It is EXACTLY the same as Thurso. Same building design, layout, posters, lockers, welcome sign, everything! Almost as if they were made from a mould. I photograph it before getting on, noting the same grander past that the place must have had, judging by the number of disused platforms. Another two coach 158 (I wonder if it's the same one!) takes us down the branch to Georgemass Junction, the bit I didn't do yesterday, then up to Thurso, back again, a reversal at the junction then down to Inverness. I take photographs from the opposite side of the train today. I notice quite a few of the same people from yesterday, which is curious, maybe they're doing the same as me. All is well until Lairg, where as we pull out the train stops and the guard announces a technical fault. I had noticed a bit of slow running earlier and the two combined cost us nearly fifty minutes once we get going again, the driver having reversed to allow people off while he sorts the problem. This isn't a problem if nothing else happens as I had nearly an hour and a half before my next train at Inverness. Looks like I've lost my return trip to the Blackfriars now though!

Worse is to come. At Inverness the train to the Kyle of Lochalsh is running 20 minutes late, so I stop in the bar and call the guest house there to let them know I will be late. They then inform me that I was booked on the 2/3 July; when I state that it IS 2 July, they casually say that there is no vacant room tonight. I'm not best pleased and I remind them that I offered to send a deposit to secure the room and they didn't require one. To this they reply that they tried to call my mobile that morning and got no reply. I remind them that this is the Highlands and people have been known to go out of range. Confirmation is also not something they required! Facing the prospect of trying to find a bed late at night here or there, or sleeping rough, or getting the sleeper home at great expense, I prepare to blow and start by thanking them for stranding me 600 miles from home without somewhere to sleep. The owner tells me she will sort something and I should still get the train. I get a call from them as the inevitable two coach 158 departs to say they have put a bed in the dining room. I am relieved but it has spoilt things a bit, I don't like getting annoyed with people like I did but I think it was justified somewhat!

I cheer up as I find out what all the fuss is about. The line passes through, quite simply, the most spectacular landscape I have yet seen. It skirts round loch after loch, water shining silently as mountains covered in mist are reflected in its inky depths. The train goes incredibly slowly as it has to negotiate those curves, but it doesn't matter for a change. You want to take time to enjoy this! You can see the single track snaking into the distance then round the edge of a loch out of sight, and this is when I think rail is king. Our presence hardly troubles this paradise, but if there were as many cars trying to drive this as there were people on the train, it would be a different story. Eventually one track splits into four and we reach the two platform terminus at the Kyle of Lochalsh. It's a different station design, nicely preserved though hardly any of it as a station now. There are craft shops and whisky shops, a museum, a fishery office and a fish restaurant (now sadly closed and in Plockton, five miles away). The station has lost much of its former function, again long wide platforms lie covered in weeds, a new health centre being built on the opposite one, as the ferry to Kylealkin on the nearby Isle of Skye no longer meets the train as it did once. Now you have to go to further north or south for ferries, or cross the Skye Bridge – more on which tomorrow.

The owner of the guest house meets me and drives me back – it takes about thirty seconds, why on earth would I ever not walk that? I take the gesture in the spirit of goodwill, as I suspect it's partly to make up for their error. Back at the guest house I am shown into my room, in fact the dining room with a bed made up, and join the other guests at the table for a glass of wine. They are a couple who have come up by motorbike for a couple of days. Their booking was messed up too so they have to move to a different guest house tomorrow night. We have a chat about bikes given my fledgling scooter career and what I am trying to achieve with the pointless quest. They head out to the pub, I'd like to tag along but as they are a couple I presume they'll want to be on their own. Once I've got the room to myself I get settled and head out myself to a different pub. There are two hotels which seem a bit smart for a scruff like me, and two blond wood bars. Blond wood is not what I expected here. I give in and go into the North West Bar, where they have a few ales at least. There are a load of builders in there, from their conversation I gather they are building the new health centre and staying in the town. That must be an interesting way to work, though it must be unsettling sometimes, not being at home for long periods.

I marvel at the everyday midnight closing and the wonderful light sky as I head back to base and thankfully, a night's sleep in a bed, something I was not sure of getting a few hours ago.

Day Four: Thursday 3 July 2008

After breakfast with the other guests, I get the bus to Eilean Donnal castle. I really knew nothing about it but it’s apparently famous. It was originally built to defend the McCrae clan but played a part in wars against the Vikings and the English. In the twentieth century the owner rebuilt it as a sort of folly, and it is now a romantic monument, used in films such as Highlander. There's not too much to it but it's a nice restful diversion away from the business of the quest. It's perched on one of the multitude of sea lochs that characterise this area. I sit on a rock revealed by the outgoing tide and drink in the landscape. I could have watched for hours without a doubt. However time does not allow, and I head off to look around the nearby village of Dornie. It's a tiny settlement along one side of the road, two pubs – one blond, one closed. Reluctantly I settle for the former after buying a paper. I have a conversation with a young bloke coming out as I'm going in, as he is wearing an Arsenal shirt! I comment on it and he says that he has always been an Arsenal and a Hearts fan, bizarre! His accent is an interesting one that I haven't heard before, thickish, and I guess the Scottish “country” accent. People greet me as I am walking around, even from their cars, and I realise that in tiny communities like this, people have to acknowledge each other because they all need each other. In urbanised communities so much is done by people that we don't know that we take them for granted. One temp today, another one tomorrow. It's not healthy and it's a lightbulb moment for this lifelong city dweller. I know why I want to live somewhere like this now. People are suddenly valuable once more.

I get the bus back to Lochalsh and can now thankfully use my own room, so get changed for a walk and pack my bag with waterproofs etc. Then I head out up to the Skye Bridge. This is in two stages, crossing from the mainland to a smaller island in Loch Alsh, then a raised span over the rest of the loch and almost into Kylelakin on the island. It's quite a sight, but then I like engineering, particularly bridges. But I don't like the idea that walkers used to be able to get a ferry across that met the train that took a shorter time, and was a much more gentle and pleasant way to amble across. Now you have to do a five mile round trip on foot, inches from speeding cars on the bridge, or get a shuttle bus, neither of which appeal. Not everything new is progress. I wonder what the bridge has done for the traffic on the island. Certainly the roads around the Kyle are as dangerous and busy as some of those at home! Also, what happened to the inevitable community of people that grew up around the ferry trips? All that must be gone if everyone can just leap in their car any time they want and head over to the mainland to go to Tescos.

The views from the bridge are undoubtedly spectacular, and I get some good pictures. Kylelakin is a rather sad forgotten place, probably due to the loss of the ferry. The hostel is closed, there are no pubs to speak of, and the whole shooting match looked far better from the Kyle side of the loch. I have lunch then wander up to the ruins of Castle Moi. I have to cross a beach to reach it and there is a sign warning of the tide, which is indeed coming in. I'd like to spend longer at the romantic ruin and maybe try to climb up one of the mountains behind it. However I don't know the area, and the tides may be an issue if I have to come back this way. I don't fancy bedding down in the ruin having secured a bed over the water. Rain starts to pelt down just then which decides the issue once and for all. I get my waterproofs on and head back, catching sight of one of the biker guests from the guest house arriving at the other place they have had to make for tonight.

Back in Lochalsh I don't fancy going back just yet so I go to the other blond pub, which has a Gaelic name that is pronounced Coolens, don't ask me to spell it! There has been a wake going on all day which I spotted starting a few hours ago. I'm always drawn to the idea of these small communities. All the people there knew each other, I'd seen most of them working on post vans, shops, fishing boats while I'd been there. Again that idea of interdependence. God help the place if it ever gets too big. However some things are everywhere and I'm put off a bit after every time I go to the loo, there's a hovering audience waiting to get into the cubicle to take coke. I get fish and chips and sit watching the water before going back.

Another biker is being settled in when I get there, he asks about pubs and I give him my opinion of the two I've been to. After a snooze I head out again to the North West Bar again, not wanting to go back to Culleens, where the other guest is. We chat until closing time. He's called Alec, from Aberdeen and just fancied a couple of days away. He's also in IT though for a solutions company rather than on a helpdesk. This is his first time back on a bike for 15 years, so I spend another evening talking bikes and pubs to someone! This has definitely been one of the more friendly trips I've done, a point which is reinforced when the people coming out of the wake give me a cheerful wave, seemingly recognising me from earlier! They must have been drinking for ten hours now, so it's not surprising that things get a bit excitable!

Day Five: Friday 4th July 2008

Another early start, I have to be on the 7.25 back to Inverness, the first step on perhaps my most epic trip yet on four trains over nearly 15 hours! I marvel at the watery landscape one last time and feel rather wistful as the train (yep, two coach 158) chugs through the mist and the sedate lochs once more. In Inverness I have time for a coffee before getting ANOTHER 158 to Aberdeen. I'm spoilt now, so the pleasant beaches and lush fields that we pass just aren't quite as spectacular as they once seemed as we head along the single track line to the granite city. Sadly I have only fifteen minutes in Aberdeen and I want to make sure I get a seat with a good view so get straight on the waiting three car 170 back to Edinburgh – hurrah – a different train. It's a grey old place and I will visit properly one day but the moment at least marks my visiting every city in Britain now (not the UK, haven't been to Northern Ireland yet!).

It's another picturesque trip back to Edinburgh on this very full train. I've done much of this line before but it was good to travel the magnificent Tay Bridge again, the coast of Fife, and of course the Forth Bridge. Made it back to Waverley six or so minutes before the London train left, and eventually found a seat (had one reserved but there was an elderly chap in it and I didn't like to turf him out). As I write we have just passed the Bounds Green depot at Hornsey. The epic is over. Now the biggest challenge of all – the Victoria Line and the Penge train...

Itineary
London King's Cross-Inverness
Inverness-Thurso/Wick
Inverness-Kyle of Lochalsh
Inverness-Aberdeen-Edinburgh
Edinburgh-London King's Cross

Scotland 19-20 April 2008

2008-04-21T13:05:00.004+01:00

Such was my enthusiasm for Edinburgh that I rapidly booked a return trip, where one day would be spent "questing" and one day sightseeing. To make the most of the two days of the weekend, given the time needed to travel there, I opted to go on the sleeper. And of course I've never been on the Caledonian Sleepers and wanted to do that trip! Sadly I couldn't run to a berth so had to go for the seated coach. My previous experience of this in Cornwall wasn't great, though this one is slightly different in that in only makes two stops, whereas the Cornish one is practically a late local train, stopping at every sizable station until Taunton. So late on Friday 18 April I toddled over to Euston, and after a couple in the Doric Arch, ventured on to the platform where Britain's second-longest train awaited me. There are two sleepers - Highland and Lowland. The Highland has three sections for Inverness, Aberdeen and Fort William, splitting at Edinburgh, and it leaves at around 9pm. My train is the Lowland, with two sections for Glasgow and Ediburgh. It's comprised of two sets of Mark 3 Sleeper coaches plus a Mark 3 seated coach with each (the cheap seats!). The whole shebang is topped and tailed by class 90 electric locos. My solitary seated coach loitering at the back of its wealthier cousins holding cabins was closest to the platform entrance. Inside this class distinction was mirrored. We were next to the lounge car, almost like a bar on rails, with free standing chairs and table service. However a sign announced that this was closed to seated passengers, though we could stand at a hatch next to it and plead for refreshments.

Unlike a normal train people generally want to sleep, so there is a minimum of noise aside from one silly loud cow who makes calls until 1am and then wakes at 5.30am and starts to talk loudly to the woman opposite her. She is apologetic when I mention it so no harm done. I want to get some sleep but also, having those anorak tendencies, want to know which route we are taking through the West Midlands where there is a choice of about three lines. We seem to go Coventry, Bescot, Wolverhampton, then Stafford. Once I see the "Welcome to Tesco Stafford" sign loom I know we're past and can settle down. My booked seat was next to somebody else but by Watford no-one had taken the spare double seats in the carriage so I moved over to one of those, giving both parties a chance to stretch out properly. I get a reasonable sleep, looking out every now and then to see where we are. We stop for while at Preston and I recognise the river Luna at Lancaster. It's really atmospheric passing out of the populated areas with their millions of blinking orange lights illuminating no-one now, before seeing the mountains of the Lake District stark against the coming dawn. Then we're into Carlisle and I wonder if there will be a sign announcing us passing over the border, but if there is, I'm asleep before I see it.

Next thing I know, we stop at Carstairs in daylight. Here we are jolted about as the train is divided, the front half going to Glasgow and us going in the opposite direction to Edinburgh. The loco that has been dragged from London now bursts into life and hauls us for the short remaining journey. I didn't realise that this stretch was electrified until now which explains how both the East and West coast companies can easily do services to both major cities. Before I know it, the familiar sights of Waverley appear as we come to a halt about half an hour earlier than scheduled. I've an hour before the next bit of the quest, so I try to find breakfast anywhere but McDonalds, inevitably the only place open at that time. I fail and try to ignore the fat shining through the paper bag before starting the first leg of the day - the Fife Circle!

This is a loop crossing the Forth Bridge then linking many of the major towns of Fife - Rosyth, Dunferline, Cowdenbeath, Glenrothes and Kirkcaldy - before travelling along the north coast of the Forth then back to join itself before heading over the Forth Bridge once more. At this time I cover the route to Kirkcaldy via Glenrothes on a three coach 170. Fife looks a nice place, the clean looking towns nestling amongst pretty countryside with the peaks of the national park in the background.

At Kirkcaldy I change for another three class 170 to Dundee. There are a couple of blokes on the platform talking about one of the other re-openings going on at the moment - from Stirling to Alloa and Kincardine. This may have been chiefly done to allow coal trains from a west coast port to reach Longannet Power Station without using up precious capacity on the Forth Bridge. However as a by product it has given Alloa a rail service once more. The hope is that ultimately there will be a stop at Kincardine and the passenger service will reach right through to Dunfermline again. If it's going to happen it will be here, given the recent record on rail revival.

The highlight of the trip is the Tay Bridge. This is not as spectacular as the Forth Bridge but still an amazing structure, winding along the banks of the banks of the Tay Firth then striking out across the estuary. It takes a few minutes to cross, highlighting just how long a span it is. This is the second Tay Bridge, the first being brought down in a storm in 1879, killing 70 people on a crossing train. Investigations found that some of the riveting on the bridge was sub-standard and the strength of the storm that night just hadn't been allowed for. It spawned two things - a poem by William McGonagall, and a much more over-engineered bridge for the Forth so that there wouldn't be a repeat of the Tay disaster. As it transpired the Forth Bridge was unnecessarily complex, and the new Tay Bridge is somewhat less dramatic. However over a hundred years later, it still has plenty of life in it, whilst the 1960s Forth Road Bridge is considered to be unviable after around 2013!

I have time at Dundee to take a few pictures of the Tay bridges before returning for the inevitable class 170 to Perth. Dundee is an interesting station feeling very much the whole thing is in a deep hollow, where trains curve out of the underworld into the platforms. The journey to Perth is short but scenic, along the north bank of the Tay. I have an hour at Perth and have a look around. It's a pretty town, full of churches and pleasant civic buildings. As well as the inevitable cloned high street. The station is a mix of old and new. There is a new entrance building but it leads to a magnificent sprawling set of platforms as befits a busy junction. The lines from Stirling and Edinburgh meet here and diverge out to Dundee and Inverness. There is a hint of faded grandeur here amongst the echoing footbridges and platforms.

The reason for the hour's wait is for one the less frequent direct trains to Edinburgh, yes, another class 170, which follows the south bank of the Tay through Newburgh before rejoining the Fife line at Ladybank. This is an even more scenic trip, taking in the coastal stretch of the Fife circle before crossing the Forth and into Edinburgh. By now the sun is out and the water sparkles.

I have time to grab a sandwich before another class 170 takes me to Glasgow Queen Street. There are three direct routes between the two cities - Falkirk High, Shotts, and Carstairs. When Airdrie to Bathgate is rebuilt there will be four. I'm on the first of these. It's absolutely packed, showing how vital these links are. I have a couple of hours in Glasgow where I'm looking for a pub called The Old Horseshoe. It takes me a while to find it. It strikes me how much bigger Glasgow feels, how much more "big-city" it is than Edinburgh, like the contrast between York and Manchester. I have a look at Central station before finding the pub, and it is HUGE. Not only has it an enormous concourse, the sort of size that some of the London terminals are crying out for, but it even has platforms at two levels. I look forward to tackling the spider's web of lines in Strathclyde later this year. The pub is pretty good too, large but cosy at the same time, and with a large range of beers, some of them very cheap (£1.30!). I stay for a couple then head back to Queen Street. This time I take an indirect route via Cumbernauld and Falkirk Grahamston, where I change for a train coming from Stirling to Waverley. This is the low level route, Falkirk High being the high level route. I wonder if I should have filled in the gap between Perth, Stirling and Glasgow, but I've spent enough on fares this month!

On the way back I notice there is a guided busway linking Gyle and the Airport to the city. This use of busways really makes sense, because the main deterrent to using buses in urban areas is congestion. Hence the one in Cambridge will be a waste of time because its congestion problem is huge and having a bus running on the roads in the city but guided in the countryside is a nonsense! Eventually there will be a tram between the Airport and my next destination - Leith. Leith is where my hotel for the night is to be. I walk down Leith Walk to reach it, it's a longish walk and not always that nice a walk. I notice a railway bridge over the road has been removed and wonder where the railway went. Leith, as a port, had several lines and stations once, down to none now. In Irvine Walsh's Trainspotting, there is a scene in the then extant disused Leith Central station, where someone jokingly asks if the characters are doing some train spotting. This is actually the reason for the novel and film's title - though it doesn't appear in the film and makes the title a bit of a mystery!

My hotel is pleasant, overlooking a common. I don't fancy the walk back into town, though there are loads of buses, so I wander down to the docks to see what's there. It's had the Cardiff Bay treatment, there are cinemas, shopping centres, etc, as well as the final resting place of the Royal Yacht Britannia and countless bars and restaurants. I find one called The Old Dock Bar where I settle for the evening. I stumble back across a moonlit common to get a very welcome (and uninterrupted!) night's sleep.

Questing is pretty much done for this trip. I spend Sunday looking at museums, galleries, and after they close, doing a mini pub crawl along Rose Street. In the Museum of Scotland is a torn girder from the first Tay Bridge which is of interest. At 11pm I clamber on to the return sleeper. There are less people this time which gives us a more peaceful night. I sleep reasonably well though have to keep sitting up to stretch to avoid seizing up, but time passes quickly, and as if by magic I am delivered almost back to work by 7am.

Itinerary:

London Euston-Carlisle-Carstairs-Edinburgh
Edinburgh-Glenrothes-Kirkcaldy
Kirkcaldy-Dundee
Dundee-Perth
Perth-Kirkcaldy-Edinburgh
Edinburgh-Falkirk High-Glasgow Queen Street
Glasgow Queen Street-Falkirk Grahamston-Edinburgh

21-23 March 2008 - Edinburgh

2008-03-24T21:24:00.005Z

Easter 2008 - a big occasion by "pointless quest" standards. Firstly, I complete my last bit of line in England. But more importantly, I make my first foray over the border into Scotland. It's been a long time coming and I'm really looking forward to it. This is not to be just a quest-related trip, but a sightseeing trip also, there being a lot to do in Edinburgh. On the spur of the moment in February I booked the tickets and a hotel for Easter, and on the morning of Good Friday, the day came.

Thanks to SE Trains' late-starting Sunday service on this day (just like last year!) I was pushing it to make the train but luckily there were no hold-ups. I got to King's Cross with about twenty minutes to spare. I noticed a non-stop charter to Edinburgh leaving just before my train. It was run by Eddie Stobart - a rake of Mk3 coaches in a blue Stobart livery were lined up waiting behind two similarly painted locos. I see a gaggle of spotters on the platform and this scene is to be repeated all along the East Coast.

The board announces that the 8.30 to Waverley is fully reserved and indeed the 225 train is rammed to bursting point when we move off. It's an uneventful journey until Newcastle for me as there's no new territory until then. We pass through a handful of stations beyond there and then we're into Northumberland. The line hugs the North Sea in a scene reminiscent of the Great Western - now a long way south from me. It's a spectacular view despite the changeable weather. The last English city that I have to visit by rail - Berwick-on-Tweed - looms up. It's not quite what I'm expecting, I knew it was a pretty stone town on the river Tweed with some spectacular bridges but I had no idea it was so close to the sea.

Berwick, being a border town, has swapped from England to Scotland a few times in its history, and the Scottish First Minister, Alex Salmond, is suggesting it return again at present. After passing the faintly dreary small station there we cross the border, one of the many trackside signs of the East Coast announcing the fact. We then speed through the Borders and into Lothian, stopping at the seaside town of Dunbar. I really feel as if I've arrived in Scotland now. The branch from North Berwick curves in from the right to join us and the signs of the city start to build around the line.

We head through the slightly odd Calton Tunnel - the mouths are staggered rather than next to each other - and Waverley looms. It's an amazing station. It's a sort of H-shaped layout, with through tracks on the long sides and terminating platforms on either side of the centre bar. Steps and ramps lead up to the streets on three sides. Taxis mingle with the trains in a way that used to be quite common but you hardly see now. I head for my hotel and settle in before deciding what to do on each of my three days here.

Given that it's nearly three and the major attractions will be closing in a couple of hours, I decide that today is the right day to visit the sight that doesn't close - the Forth Rail Bridge. Back down to Waverley. There are frequent trains across the bridge, it being the main link into Fife. I head out to Dalmeny on a three car class 171 DMU. When I bail out there I see the sight of the bridge just round the corner, the first span elongated into a bright red vertical - a strange sight. I follow the road down to its base - where a couple of Indian tourists ask me how to get to the bridge - so I'm not the only person to come all this way to see the thing! I follow the footpath down to South Queensferry and stand in the harbour to admire the rail and road bridges and get some photographs of them. I visit my first Scottish pub - The Ferry Tap - and sample a pint of Stewarts 80/- from an Edinburgh brewery which I will discover is a local perennial. Then it's off to the very base of the bridge supports to be dwarfed by the towering brick columns before the long climb back to the station. I've wanted to cross this bridge since I first learnt of its existence, but it was admittedly difficult to see much as we rushed through the cradle of ironwork. I gather there can be clouds forming amongst the girders, but sadly not today! On the other side - North Queensferry - there are yet more Indian tourists posing for photographs in its shadow. On this side the bridge weaves through the buildings and gardens, which is an interesting sight. I'm then back on the train, a three coach 171 and two coach 158 DMU coupled up and back to Waverley as the snow assails us.

With a few hours before the Ghost Walk I'm planning to do, I head out to get some chips then back for the three coach 171 to Newcraighall. At present this light forms part of the new Edinburgh Crossrail from Dunblane and Bathgate, opened recently to serve the out of town development and park and ride to the south east of the city. However within ten years it will continue all the way to Tweedbank, as a chunk of the famous Borders Line is rebuilt. This used to reach all the way out to Newcastle and Carlisle. By 1969 the lot had gone, leaving the Borders region with no railways, despite David Steel's best efforts to prevent the closure. Thirty years later and David Steel played a part in the new Scottish Parliament, one of the first acts of which was to introduce a Bill to rebuild the Borders Line. Preparatory work is underway and despite a few hiccups, the project is all go.

I return to the city and stay on until Haymarket this time, further to the west, and take a gentle wander back to the hotel. I get a fish supper and then head off to the Ghost Walk. It's a wee bit disappointing as these things tend to be, but is faintly entertaining in its way. Then I head to a pub that I found earlier in the day - The Half Way House - somehow nestling on a long flight of steps down to the station. It's a tiny place with a nice atmosphere and a good choice of beers. Some blokes come in and one talks to me, introducing himself by checking what team my shirt is from! It's actually just says CCCP! He turns out to be a Hearts fan who guesses that I am a Spurs fan - which he also is! The flowing drink prevents me from remembering why he is a Spurs and a Hearts fan, but the tale of how he got dirty looks at White Hart Lane is entertaining - wearing a claret shirt he was mistaken for a West Ham fan. I was sorry to have to leave but time was moving on and I didn't know for sure whether I was going to be locked out of my hotel.

On Saturday I head out to travel the North Berwick branch. This was electrified along with the East Coast Main Line in the late 80s, and so it's a three coach 321 EMU that takes us there, a train I'm used to seeing in London, though a third rail rather than overhead variety. It's a pleasant little town. Then I head back to Edinburgh for a day of sightseeing - the Dynamic Earth Museum, the Parliament, Holyrood Palace and Arthur's Seat, before picking up the last of this trip's lines - the branch out to Bathgate. This was originally a line all the way to Glasgow but was severed in 1965. By 2010 the missing link will be restored and electrified. There will be four lines linking the two cities - the sort of links we can only dream of in England! Originally I was planning to do this line after it had been rebuilt, but if I am to complete the quest by 40, I'll miss the target if I wait. I'll have to do the other end from Glasgow to Airdrie at a later date. For today, it's a two coach 158 DMU there and back. I return to Haymarket again and spend the evening in two pubs - Thomsons and The Blue Blazer - where again I get talking to people in this friendly city.

And that's essentially it for this trip as regards the quest. On Sunday I visit the extensive castle, walk up Calton Hill, and get one last one trip to my new local, the Half Way House. Then it's back on the train to London. For some reason it's a diesel 125 rather than a 225 EMU. It's not originated beyond Edinburgh so why it's a diesel I don't know. There were engineering diversions earlier, perhaps the 225s weren't all in the right places for the usual schedule. Anyway the fleet overhaul means it looks exactly like a 225 inside, and coupled with the boringly quiet MTU engine, this will keep the trains in service for at least another decade. I've had a fantastic time in Edinburgh, and returning home on my favourite train is a fitting end to the trip.

New Lines:

Newcastle-Edinburgh Waverley
Edinburgh Waverley - North Queensferry
Edinburgh Waverley - Newcraighall
Edinburgh Waverley - Bathgate

Mopping up no.3 - 13 October 2007

2007-10-15T00:29:00.000+01:00

Two lines left in the north of England are my targets for today, one of which has a low frequency service (Habrough to Barton on Humber) and one has an almost non-existent service (Knottingley to Goole). They've both eluded me on previous trips where it was just impossible to squeeze them in, so the time has come. This one was going to be a long day, rising at 4.30am and getting home at 11.30pm, and I wasn't too well in the week, so could do with a rest. But, the tickets have been bought now, so I have to grin and bear it. Being up that early had an unexpected benefit. The planet Venus was at that time of the morning hanging huge and bright in the sky, more luminous than I've ever seen it before. It seemed to follow me up the road to the station and I could see why it's been reported as a UFO. There were a surprisingly large number of people on the first train out of New Beckenham. Some of them were destined to be disgruntled that morning as at Ladywell a points failure was announced and we were routed up the Lewisham avoiding line, which meant going fast to London Bridge and missing three stations.

I scramble on to the second GNER out, the 7.00 to Edinburgh. Today the 225 train is being diverted due to engineering works, and this may be something to do with the extra stops it makes. This is to my favour today because it means I can get to my first destination, Cleethorpes, about 2 hours earlier than usual, which gives me plenty of recovery time later in the day. I get out at Retford which is one of the extra stops today. Retford is a junction for two lines that cross but are not connected, the platforms being at two levels. In days of yore it would have been called High Level and Low Level but this seems to be too clunky for the modern streamlined world. A year ago I'd wondered if I'd ever get to the Low Level, having soared over the High Level track so many times - and now I'm changing trains there on this mild but very foggy Autumn day. It's quite a walk from one level to the other, and it takes most of the connecting time to do it. It's not long before the single coach Sprinter creaks round the bend. The guard greets the handful of us getting on - back in the friendly North! - and we set off across the vaguely eerie Lincolnshire flats. Ironically I'm now covering the rarely served line from Gainsborough Central to Barnetby again, which gave me so much trouble earlier in the year (see Lincolnshire!) including a tiny new stretch connecting Retford to Gainsborough Central. At Barnetby there are DOZENS of spotters, surely expecting something more interesting than the Sprinters and 185s passing by. It's refreshing to see many of them are teenagers (and tracksuited ones at that) but I can't imagine it's worth sprinting up the platform with a camcorder to shoot our train. Each to their own.

We then head through an empty Grimsby Town station, another train presumably having called just before us, and then I’m into new territory. The line snakes through the sprawl of the docks, today silent as we go fast through the docks halt. In no time at all we’re pulling into the terminus at Cleethorpes. The two towns seem to pretty much run into one another, something I was not expecting. I’m told by a local that Grimbsyites that do well for themselves generally move to Cleethorpes. And I can see why. The fog that is totally obscuring the sea beyond the end of the pier does not help to disguise the fact that the place has its share of seaside tat. But away from this, there are pleasant little coffee shops and second-hand shops. There are decent looking pubs and trendy bars. There are unexpected sights too. Or sounds. I hear a clip clop ahead of me and a line of people on horseback suddenly emerge from a side street - clearly some sort of riding school but it's a rare sight in such an urban environment. And they are going past a corner shop, the windows of which are rammed with salvaged equipment from the Air Force, totally obscuring the interior of the shop. There are cameras watching every inch of the shop front, so I suspect the shop may have something to do with weapons.

I expect I'll come back to the place someday in better weather hopefully, but for the moment the rest of the day's travels await. I approach the station from a different angle and notice it's quite a large building with a clock tower, as well as an inviting-looking pub on the platform. Sadly I must pass on this. The place looks like a Class 153 Gala Day with the one I got off still humming gently and a newly arrived one ready to take me to Barton On Humber. At first the other passengers are no problem, chiefly comprising older people talking about the service on the line - I think they may be from the local line users group. By the time we arrive at New Holland the thing is full of youths who are not quite as bad as the ones on C2C but could certainly give them a run for their money. I'm really sick of them always appearing and turn my I-Pod up full. Thankfully there's not many going into Grimsby on the way back, and it's a peaceful journey back. It's just the stretch between Habrough and Barton that I've not done and the landscape is not unexpected - marshlands! Sadly the view from the south of the Humber Bridge that I have this week is spoiled by the fog and there is little else to see. I contemplate changing at Habrough but it's a long wait and I can see just one faintly unwelcoming hostelry from the train that I already know is the only one there. So I continue to "Great Grimsby" and go to the Wetherspoons that I visited before. It's very full and the food I order takes ages. I'm on the verge of cancelling when it arrives and I foolishly gulp it down.

Next I'm heading back to Doncaster on a three coach 185, a route I've covered before, which affords me the chance to get some sleep, though not before I see a fish shop on the other side of the station's level crossing, which would have been a far better choice for lunch. I wake up when Scunthorpe is announced. Sights of interest include a cement works with piles of raw materials so white they almost dazzle as well as a vast yard of rusting weed-infested tracks, showing that there was significant activity here once. Wonder how long before it's housing?

At Doncaster I am determined to see something other than the station for a change and head out to a pub that has a good write up - The Leopard. This boasts that it can be reached without crossing roads which is significant in the context of the station. Outside the pedestrian is greeted with a road tunnel on one side and no pavement on the other, though there is a direct passage into the Frenchgate shopping centre - great! The Leopard is a live music venue of some repute too and in those one of those coincidences that life throws up I discover the next day that my brother has taken a tour there a few times. I have a pint of something with a daft name from the Glentworth Brewery which is very pleasant and it's good to know that there is life at this most important of railway sites for the future!

Next I'm on another GNER 225 to Leeds. It's rammed. Are there any empty trains left? It's a good thing that demand for rail is high but it's a shame we don't respond to it as we try to in...well, every other sphere of economic life. I realise that I've also not been to many pubs in Leeds so today is the day to put that right. The Scarbrough Hotel (note spelling) is apparently the Leeds CAMRA's pub of the year. I've passed it many a time and not known it was a pub! Inside it's packed, and has been refurbished in a modern style, but retains a large range of beers. Problem is, I'm now so tired that I can't enjoy it at all, especially as it's the second pub I've had to stand in that day, and I really just want to go home! However there's some way to go before the day is over. I leave earlier than intended and have one of the guest beers in the station Wetherspoons instead, watching the tail end of the England-Estonia Euro 2008 qualifier. We win and I head over to get on the packed Pacer which will take me to Goole over the little used route through Knottingley.

Much of this is familiar territory to me, though I have never seen the station at Glasshoughton before, as this opened after my last visit to this line in 2005. To my annoyance it serves an enormous out of town shopping and leisure complex rather than a settlement, and though it's good that it's connected to the network, I can't be the only one who doesn't see these ghastly places as a sign of progress? At Knottingley, nearly everyone gets out and I see a bus marked "Railway Replacement Service." Do they know something I don't? Surely not...I'm so close to finally crossing this line off. To my relief the train roars into life again. With a combination of dozing and the fading light, I don't see much of the ride, not even when we cross the East Coast main line. A few people do get on at the intermediate stations heading for Goole.

Goole used to be a relatively important port on the Humber, and had numerous freight lines connecting it to the rest of the network in the North of England, as well as a direct passenger link to Selby. Now it is chiefly served by Hull to Sheffield trains. The island-style canopy on platform 1 betrays that it had certainly had more platforms in the past. It also has a curious feature - subways on either side of the road for pedestrians to cross the level crossing - usually this is a footbridge if anything. I'm still sleepy and decide I need chips in curry sauce to wake me up rather than another drink. If anyone can explain my reasoning I'd be grateful. Anyway I find a Chinese Takeaway chippy and go in after a struggle with the door. None of the friers are going and the reaction to my order for chips makes me think I've done something wrong. I don't like to ask for the curry sauce too. I settle on a tiny sofa next to another customer and comment on the lack of chip frying apparently going on. He assures me this is the best place for miles around. We have a brief chat. He's a fence erector who lives in a village about ten miles away and is surprised that I've bothered to go to Goole. I just say rather mysteriously that it's a long story, not everyone would understand the quest. I certainly understand his reaction - it would be like something going to London and visiting Penge. I say my farewells as the chips arrive and head for the intriguingly named City and County, Goole's very own Wetherspoons. I start on a pint of John Smiths before realising I have about 7 minutes to drink it. Why can't I just leave them in these situations?

A pint heavier I head back to the station to await the train as Goole's twenty-somethings head for the nightlife of Doncaster, none of them realising that it's a two coach 158 they're travelling on. At Doncaster I can't face a trip to the other pub I was going to visit and get a coffee instead and just sit in the cool night air for an hour and watch the sights. This includes a group of southern football fans being bollocked by the British Transport Police, a man told off for smoking and several trains passing in and out. I listen to the announcements and marvel at how many of these routes I now have under my belt. My train is late but I'm not worried, it's been nice collecting my thoughts and sobering up a bit.

I've booked first class on the 225 back to London for a bit of peace which I certainly get, the coach being pretty empty until a pair of tossers get on at Stevenage and start arguing. A wobbly bloke keeps coming out of second class and returning with cans of cider from his mates in first class, explaining to any member of staff that it's all right, he has a first class ticket, but he's downgraded and is just going to see his friends. He's clearly thought it all through. I decide not to take any of the crockery or antimacassars as souvenirs as we head towards the capital. The conductor announces that we have beaten France 14-9 in the Rugby World Cup semi-final as I realise that this really could be my last trip on GNER...

Itineary:

London King's Cross-Retford
Retford-Gainsborough-Cleethorpes
Cleethorpes-Barton-upon-Humber (new)
Barton-upon-Humber-Grimbsy Town
Grimsby Town-Doncaster
Doncaster-Leeds
Leeds-Knottingley-Goole (K-G new)
Goole-Doncaster
Doncaster-London King's Cross

7 October 2007: London-Hull-Scarborough-York

2007-10-07T10:44:00.000+01:00

I've been saving this one up. It's a straightforward bash, forming a giant Yorkshire loop, so it's a sort of reward for doing some of the more difficult ones first. It's also easy to do within a day and have a bit of a look round some of the stops, so it almost feels like a proper day out! An added bonus is that it's not an early start for a change. The first line of the day is to Hull via Selby, and the easiest way to do this is to use a Hull Trains service. The first of these doesn't leave London until 9.30, so I'm pretty much up at my normal time for work. I head into town and decide to find a cafe near Kings Cross to await the train rather than use the appalling facilities at the station. See my earlier rants on railway catering!

Hull Trains is one of the (rare?) success stories of privatisation. BR tended to concentrate their direct London services on the most lucrative established routes, ie, York, Leeds, Manchester, Birmingham etc, so cities off the main lines tended to have scant direct services, Hull being an obvious one. Privatisation has of course massively increased services on the main routes, these being increasingly remunerative, but has allowed niche markets to be exploited also. Open access operators apply to run services on routes they have chosen, rather than bidding for a franchise that compels them to provide a minimum level of service on all routes that form part of it. Hull Trains is such an operator running just between London and Hull and giving other East Yorkshire stops a link to London. Launched in 2000 with 3 trains a day, it now runs 7 with plans for more, using its own Pioneer trains similar to the Virgin Voyagers and Midland Meridians. Other open access operators are gradually coming into being. Grand Central is about to start running direct to Hartlepool and Sunderland, with stops in North Yorkshire largely ignored by GNER. They also want to run to Halifax, Huddersfield and Bradford. Most recently Shropshire and Warwickshire is launching in 2008 and will provide Wrexham and Shrewsbury with London trains again.

So at 9.34 the Hull Trains Pioneer sets off. The layout is better than I remember from the Meridians and much better than the Voyagers. The upholstery, whilst modern, has an old-fashioned look about it that really works - reminds me of original Mk1 carriages on preserved railways! The train is fairly full but I have a peaceful journey and am able to do a bit of reading, though I look up after Peterborough just in time to see a sign marking the spot where the Mallard broke the world steam record on Stoke Bank which still stands at 138mph. How did I miss this before? We go fast to Grantham, and after Doncaster leave the electrified line and head into Selby. Until the 1980s, this was still part of the main line. Due to the discovery of the "super pit" in the Selby area, mining activities were to increase there and this presented stability risks to the line. Hence the lines was diverted between Doncaster and York, and Selby came off the main line and on to a branch. Though the pit was inevitably closed, evidence of the coalfields is still all around us, this being almost a power station belt, the smoke winding up like mini-tornadoes into the grey clouds above. Arrival at Selby ticks off this stretch that I have never travelled before.

I've already travelled along here as far as Brough, so beyond here it's new territory. We cross the marshy flatlands that tend to characterise England's eastern edge, the wide plain of the Humber coming into view at last. We could almost be in south Essex or north Kent and this could be the Thames. There's even a suspension bridge like the QE2 - but the Humber bridge got there first! I'd wanted to see this ever since I heard about its opening from a teacher who knew I was into such oddities, and it doesn't disappoint. In the future I hope to walk across it. It might have been nice to come back by ferry but that's been gone for over 25 years - ie when the bridge opened! Before long we're pulling into Hull.

Hull Paragon is a proper city station, with a great wide arched roof and a spacious concourse. It is currently being transformed into a transport interchange, the bus station bays being part of the north side of the station, a great idea - EXACTLY what was needed at London Victoria instead of the mess we have there now. Shame the new shelter being added at the front is totally out of sympathy with the ornate Victorian station. Hull, like many cities, appears to be receiving a face lift, ie, new shopping centres. I find my way to a pub that I've looked up - The Wellington Arms. It's amazing! Despite being almost next to a horrible ring road, and amongst grilled windows and barbed wire, signs proclaim its pub of the year status. I cautiously go inside. It has a string of ales and ciders on as well as the favourites. It actually boasts a giant shelved cool area at the back of the bar, with glass sides so that you can see what they have, which is packed with bottled beers from all sorts of places. A shelf running around the wall brims with empty bottles of a dazzling variety. The wall space is covered with beer mats. There are copies of local CAMRA newsletters from various parts of the UK. I've never seen anything like it!

Regrettably I've time for just one before heading back via a bakery (love Northern bakeries!) to the waiting 2 coach 158 that will take me to Scarborough. This has been refurbished with nice deep seats - dare I say, almost as good as the old trains! This line spurs off from the main line and heads north. The running is very slow almost as far as Beverley. I'm guessing that the track has recently been relaid. Beverley has a lovely atmospheric station with an overall roof - very rare now - which suits the ambiance of the town as I've heard about it. I snatch a look at the Minster - somewhere I will visit in the future. Then we wind through the countryside to our first coastal stop - Bridlington, one of the famous names along this coast. It has an interesting station with through and terminus platforms. As we leave I see the sea for the first time, a newly emerging sun lighting white cliffs.

After another famous name - Filey - we join the line from York and pull into the most famous name of all along here - Scarborough. The line used to continue along the coast through to Whitby, Saltburn and Middlesbrough in happier times, a sadly missed link. After crossing the road I am plunged into the shopping centre crowds, and nip down a side street to avoid them. I reach the cliff top and take a path down to the front. It reminds me of a much bigger Whitby, with a harbour, a church and castle dominating the cliffs, and a gaggle of pleasant buildings along the foreshore. I am heading for a Sam Smith's pub overlooking the harbour, The Golden Ball. Sadly it's a disappointment - three bars, one closed, one full and the remaining one like an empty common room. I then grab some haddock and chips next door and walk up to the castle walls and look over the North Bay before heading down to the town once more. I head to the Alma pub, a hidden gem near the station that I found on the internet. It's small but very friendly, though there's something of a wait as only one barmaid is on. It also boasts the rare sight of a student drinking bitter! This is in contrast to the grizzled, balding man in his 50s downing a bottle of WDK - not exactly dignified.

I head back to the magnificent station - a beautifully intact town hall like building with a clock tower - and clamber on to a 3 coach 185 Trans Pennine Express to Liverpool to take me to York. We call at Seamer before splitting off the Hull line on to the line to York and on to Malton. This used to be the junction for the line to Whitby. This is a huge loss to my mind. You can now only reach Whitby from Darlington or Middlesbrough, a very long way round compared to the old route from York, which would be so useful today for just about everywhere south of Darlington, given the ease of reaching York from most of the UK. You can still catch a regular bus from York along this more direct route, which almost in recognition of this closure being a mistake, is listed amongst the trains on York's departure board! The North Yorkshire Moors railway has a chunk of the route between Pickering and Grosmont, and it runs more trains through to Whitby than Northern Rail! Let's hope they extend all the way to Malton again.

It's a beautiful evening as we cross the magnificence of North Yorkshire. In less than an hour the houses start to build up around us and we cross the Ouse bridge into the city of York. I have a 90 minute wait here, but I never tire of the place. It's such a beautiful place just to be. I am looking for a pub called The Maltings, but sadly it's so full that I don't even try to get a drink. Instead I head to Ye Olde Star Inn, where I'd been before. The staff are as friendly as ever and there is a good choice of beers. I sit outside, pleasantly chilled by the early Autumn darkness before heading back to the station. There are a good few people collapsing drunk already, the place seems livelier than I've known it before. The station is quite rowdy, though more than I'd realised - our train is held for some minutes as the police remove some presumably drunken passengers. It's a 125, the only time I think I've got one coming back on the East Coast, nicely refurbished. I make full use of the free first class coffee, an antidote to a day of drinking. It's a shame that GNER are going next month. Hopefully National Express won't paint the trains in an undignified colour scheme a la First and Stagecoach. Next week could be my final GNER trip...

Itineary:
London King's Cross-Selby-Hull
Hull-Scarborough
Scarborough-York
York-London King's Cross

29 September 2007: London Tilbury & Southend

2007-09-29T13:54:00.000+01:00

Realising that I have managed to leave some of them out, I decided that it was time to cover the rest of the London Tilbury and Southend Lines. Today when you look at the route map for these lines, run by C2C, it looks like a simple enough operation. However its history is relatively complex. The line from Fenchuch Street opened in 1854 and originally ran via Stratford, Barking and Tilbury to Southend. A few years later a more direct route via Upminster and Pitsea was built and the whole thing extended to Shoeburyness. A few decades later a branch from Grays to Romford via Upminster was built. This gives us largely what we have today - except that the latter branch is now operated as a Romford-Upminster shuttle - and Upminster to Grays from Fenchurch Street.

In the early 20th century the line was put up for sale and bought by the Midland Railway. At around the same time the District Railway connected their line and began running trains over Midland metals. Their trains went all the way from Ealing Broadway to Shoeburyness until the outbreak of war in 1939. By this time London Underground had taken over the District Railway and electrified it as far as Upminster. This was now part of the nationalised London Underground.

After the war, the non-underground line became part of British Railways under the London Midland Region - an anomaly that persisted for a few years, until rather more sensibly, the Eastern Region finally got the line! In 1962 BR electrified their tracks east of Upminster. There were now two electrified routes running parallel from Bow to Upminster, one operated by BR and one by LT, and consequently BR withdrew all their trains from all stations bar West Ham, Barking and Upminster, and concentrated on faster services from London through to stations east of Upminster.

By the 1990's the line was in trouble. The electric trains had been running for 30 years and were increasingly unreliable and the infrastructure was crumbling. It became dubbed as the "misery line," the least reliable commuter line in London. The private sector inherited this and bore the brunt of the blame until Railtrack re-signalled it and C2C invested in shiny new Electrostar trains. And this is where I came in...

I set off to Fenchurch Street at around midday, only to be greeted at Tower Hill tube with the news that a signal failure had closed the line as far as Barking. A pain, because now I had to get the District Line all the way to Barking before I could start on the main journey, going SLOWLY through all the ropey places I would have preferred to have sped through on a proper train. At Barking the usual breakdown of communication had happened that seems to occur any time there's a problem on the railway. Hardly any information or announcements. And a tosser on the platform slagging off the passing West Ham fans in surely a drug-induced manner and proclaiming his loyalty to Arsenal. He was asking for a thump from one of the Hammers fans and I don't know how he didn't get one.

Luckily I didn't have to wait long for a train to Leigh. It flies past all the District Line stations before Upminster that used to be served by the railway. You can still see the majority of the old mummified LTS platforms in situ. I wonder why they have been left? Finally at Upminster the tube terminates and LTS is on its own as it crosses where the Essex border has been since 1965. The landscape is chiefly marshy flat lands, as you would expect on the Thames floodplain.

We arrive at Leigh on Sea in decent weather, despite the forecast of rain for that day. The first thing I notice is that the approaches to the station are designed for cars not people, forcing you to take a less pleasant and longer way round than is needed on foot. Oh well. The town is effectively split into two parts, an upper area where the shops and church are, and the lower part by the waterfront. It's the latter I'm heading for.

The street along the waterfront is the High Street even though the shops etc are up the hill. This runs parallel to the railway as it heads east from Leigh on to Southend, and I notice that right up against the line is a very station-like building which is the Sailing Club. However those canopies and the proximity to the track tell me this was once a station. Later research reveals that this was indeed the station until the 1930s, when for reasons that are not clear, it was closed and rebuilt in the far less convenient location I have just had to walk from!

The Leigh waterfront is a delight. There is a small harbour that looks out over Canvey Island, and further away, the south bank of the Thames where the Kent coast and the Isle of Grain can be seen. The tide is high and it's easy now to see how the low lying Canvey was so badly overcome by the 1953 floods. There are several nice pubs and seafood shops clustered along the harbour. I sample three of the pubs, the last one being tied to a seafood stall. The shellfish does look gorgeous but I am a bit funny about shellfish texture, apart from not really knowing how to peel it. I settle for some chips before heading back to the station.

I get a train back that is going back over the same route I came down on. Therefore I had to change at Pitsea, the junction for the original line through Tilbury, which I hadn't travelled yet. I wish I'd done the down journey via this route so I didn't have to do it now. It's everything I imagined the route would be in this part of the world. Dozens of chavs playing music off their mobiles at top volume and smoking dope on the train. And no security or guards where they are really needed. I put my I-Pod on top volume and shut it all out until we get back to London, though most of the scum get off at Grays or Barking.

This particular train returns to London via the latterly opened Grays to Upminster branch rather than the original one through Rainham. This is still single track though I gather doubling it is on the cards, it serving the growing Thames Gateway and enormous Lakeside complex at Chafford Hundred, where a new station was opened in 1995. Why did this open three years AFTER the shopping centre?

I make it alive back to Fenchurch Street, but one problem remains. I now have to complete Barking to Grays via Rainham, having completed the Leigh to Southend section in 2002. Having experienced the south Essex ambience, I'm in some trepidation about pursuing this. Perhaps I should take the approach I took on the Dartford lines and travel with the rush hour commuters? Tune in for the next installment...

Itineary:
Barking-Basildon-Leigh
Leigh-Pitsea-Barking-London Fenchurch Street

Miscellaneous Trips - Various Dates

2007-09-21T13:41:00.001+01:00

These are trips that were comprised of just one or two lines or I just travelled them frequently in the course of things. There is little to say about most of them. Or I can't remember the details! Some of them may be expanded if my memory brings back something of note. NB These dates are approximate, and do not necessarily refer to the first trip made over a particular line.

Summer 1992 - Surbiton-Hampton Court
October 1996 - Sittingbourne-Sheerness

Autumn 1996 - London-Lewisham-Hayes

Autumn 1996 - London-Bromley South-Orpington

December 1996 - London Kings Cross-Cambridge

December 1996 - Kings Cross Thameslink-Brighton
Summer 1997 - Raynes Park-Chesssington South
Autumn 1997 - London Victoria-West Norwood-Beckenham Junction

Summer 1998 - Strood-Paddock Wood
Summer 1998 - Ashford-Hastings
Summer 1998 - Oxted-Uckfield

Summer 1998 - Ashford-Canterbury West-Ramsgate

Spring 2000 - Lewisham-Peckham

Spring 2001 - Barnes-Hounslow-Twickenham

Spring 2001 - Twickenham-Kingston-Wimbledon

Spring 2001 - Herne Hill-Tooting-Wimbledon

April 2001 - Heathrow Express

Summer 2001 - London-Sevenoaks-Hastings
Summer 2001 - London-Hasalmere-Portsmouth

Summer 2001 - Portsmouth-Eastleigh

Autumn 2001 - London Victoria-Chatham-Canterbury East-Dover-Walmer

Autumn 2001 - Walmer-Ramsgate-Chatham-London Victoria
Autumn 2001 - London-Richmond-Reading-Oxford

Autumn 2001 - Purley-Caterham

Autumn 2001 - North Woolwich-Richmond
March 2002 - London Liverpool Street-Southend Victoria
March 2002 - Shoeburyness-London Fenchurch Street
Spring 2002 - Watford Junction-Clapham Junction-East Croydon
Spring 2002 - Grove Park-Bromley North

Summer 2002 - Banbury-Oxford
Summer 2002 - London-Woking-Guildford
Summer 2002 - Guildford-Bookham-Epsom-Motspur Park-London
Summer 2002 - London-Tattenham Corner
Summer 2002 - Epsom Downs-West Croydon
Summer 2002 - West Croydon-Epsom-Dorking

Summer 2002 - Horsham-Dorking-London
Autumn 2002 - London Liverpool Street-Southminster
Autumn 2002 - Colchester-Clacton
Autumn 2002 - Thorpe Le Soken-Walton-on-the-Naze

September 2002 - London Victoria-Maidstone East-Ashford
September 2002 - Norwich-Sheringham
14 September 2002 - London-Alton
14 Seotember 2002 - Alton-Guildford
14 September 2002 - Weybridge-Staines
14 September 2002 - Teddington-Shepperton
14 September 2002 - Farnham-Ascot

Spring 2003 - Herne Hill- Sutton-Wimbledon

May 2003 - Cambridge-King's Lynn

Summer 2003 - London-Crawley-Chichester-Southampton
Summer 2003 - Barnham-Bognor Regis
Summer 2003 - Ford-Littlehampton

Summer 2003 - Chichester-Worthing-Brighton
Summer 2003 - Redhill-Gatwick-Guildford-Reading
Summer 2003 - Waterloo-Windsor & Eton Riverside
Summer 2003 - Windsor Central-Slough
Summer 2003 - London-Lewes-Eastbourne-Hastings
Summer 2003 - Lewes-Seaford
Summer 2003 - London Bridge-East Croydon-Redhill-Tonbridge

August 2003 - Marylebone-Aylesbury
August 2003 - Aylesbury-Princes Risborough
October 2003 - Witham-Braintree
October 2003 - London-Harwich
October 2003 - Ryde Pier Head-Shanklin

October 2003 - Lymington Pier-Brockenhurst
Summer 2004 - West Ealing-Greenford
Summer 2004 - Paddington-West Ruislip
Summer 2004 - Maidenhead-Marlow
Summer 2004 - Colchester-Colchester Town
Summer 2004 - Bristol Temple Meads-Westbury-Salisbury-Southampton-Portsmouth
Summer 2004 - Eastleigh-Chandler's Ford

Summer 2004 - Oxted-East Grinstead

31 July 2004 - London-Exeter-Exmouth
31 July 2004 - Exmouth-Barnstaple-Exeter-London
6 October 2004 - Basingstoke-Reading
October 2004 - London-Newton Abott-Paignton-Kingswear
December 2004 - London-Plymouth
May 2003 - Cambridge-Peterborough-Leicester-Birmingham New Street
27 September 2004 - London-Gloucester-Worcester-Kidderminster
27 September 2004 - Kidderminster-Birmingham Snow Hill-London
3 May 2005 - Castleford-Normanton-Wakefield
6 May 2005 - London-Oxford-Evesham-Worcester-Great Malvern-Hereford

Summer 2005 - London Liverpool Street-Tottenham Hale-Cambridge

Summer 2005 - Barking-Gospel Oak

Summer 2005 - Romford-Upminster
Summer 2005 - Clapton-Chingford
Summer 2005 - London Moorgate-Gordon Hill
Summer 2005 - Enfield Town-Hackney Downs

6 August 2005 - Watford Junction-St Albans Abbey
6 August 2005 - Bedford-Bletchley
13 August 2005 - Bristol Temple Meads-Severn Beach
15 August 2005 - Mark's Tey to Sudbury
August 2005 - London-Exeter St Davids-Okehampton-Meldon
Autumn 2005 - Cambridge-Turkey Street-London Liverpool Street
December 2005 - London-Hertford East
December 2005 - Hertford North-Stevenage
December 2005 - Swindon-Melksham-Westbury

Easter 2006 - Gloucester-Chepstow-Newport
Easter 2006 - Newport-Cardiff-Barry Island
Easter 2006 - Cardiff-Newport-Bristol Parkway-London
2 December 2006 - Oxford-Bicester Town
2 December 2006 - Twyford-Henley
2 June 2007 - Stansted Mountfitchet-Stansted Aiport
2 June 2007 - Stansted Airport-Audley End
July 2007 - Brighton-Lewes
21 September 2007 - London Bridge-Hither Green-Dartford
21 September 2007 - Dartford-Kidbrooke-Lewisham
23 November 2007 - London Fenchurch Street-Upminster-Grays-Purfleet-London Fenchurch Street

Mopping Up 2: 8 September 2007

2007-09-08T22:46:00.000+01:00

Another week, another mopping up trip. This one began at the same place, Euston, and almost the same time. I boarded the 7.30am Pendolino to Lancaster (didn't know anything from London terminated at Lancaster). Hardly any stops - just Watford and Rugby - and we reached Crewe in just 2 hours, going clean through the Trent Valley with no delays. And the quiet carriage was quiet - perfect!

I'm over familiar with Crewe at the moment. For such an important railway centre, its buffet is miserable. Surely some marketing person could have come up with a decent railway themed bar? It amazes me that as the high street undergoes a renaissance, catering in public places is getting more and more mechanised and sterile. The same dreary names, the same pre-packaged sandwiches, the same mass market beers. And using an exotic-sounding bread or giving the coffee cup a daft name does not help. Nothing inspires in these places. They are just providers of low-grade fuel. Try getting a simple bacon sandwich and a cup of tea and you'll see what I mean.

You'll gather I didn't bother with a drink before getting on the two coach 175 to Chester, the first of many such trains that I will see today. I really don't know why such good trains are wasted on the Chester shuttles. It's not that Chester doesn't warrant them, it's just that for a twenty minute journey, surely something a bit more mundane could be used. Then longer-distance travellers could have the longer faster smoother stock, and be spared the single coach Sprinters that seem to be used on inappropriate routes like the Fishguard boat train or the mid-Wales line.

At Chester I have a few minutes before getting on the three coach 175 going to Holyhead. It's reasonably empty. Serving the ferries to Dublin, I assumed it would be much fuller as the return train was that I had to get back from Bangor last year. Most of the travel seems to be local, either going to Bangor or between the resorts of Rhyl, Prestatyn and Colwyn Bay. It's nice to see the two Ormes once again. I appreciate how large the Great Orme is now I'm getting a second look at it. At one point on the route the two Ormes are lined up and it towers up over the Little Orme, a lump of implacable limestone.

It occurs to me how quickly the time seems to pass, yet it's a two hour trip to Holyhead from Chester. Either I'm so used to going by train that the miles are just eaten up, or I'm getting older and time is passing quicker. The names fly by. We pass the Conwy estuary that impressed me last year, skirt the castle right next to its walls (a unique feature in the UK perhaps?), pass through the tunnel with castle-shaped portals, and then we're full steam ahead for Bangor. Bangor is where I spent such a miserable time on the final leg of last year's Wales trip, and I am pleased to not be getting off this time. And then...disaster.

Last year when stranded in Bangor, I tried to walk to the Menai Straits so that I could see the two impressive bridges there. I got lost with a giant heavy backpack on my...back, and couldn't find a decent pub either. So this is a long-awaited second attempt to see them. And it is at this point, the train comes to a sudden halt in the first of two tunnels that the station sits between. Something must have gone wrong, because the station has just been announced, so the stop must be unexpected. A few minutes later the conductor makes an announcement but the PA in this coach is kaput, so I can't hear it properly. I think he says something about lights going out for a while. They do go out, the train being lit by emergency luminous panels for a while. Two REALLY annoying students keep making unfunny remarks and laughing in a manner that is totally out of proportion. I resist the temptation to go and thump them in the dark, and reflect that fate is stopping me completing this branch, AND seeing the bridges, AND will screw up another leg of the journey if we can't turnaround at Holyhead on time. A few minutes later we limp into Bangor, where we sit for about fifteen minutes. I watch the clock anxiously. I can see the board on the other platform announcing the 13.05 to Chester, which will be us once we have reached the other end and turned back, and note that we have now lost all our turnaround time. If they take the train out of service, I'll never make the next leg.

Once we move off we have to go slowly because the Meani Straits crossing is
single track and we're waiting to clear a Bangor bound train that is now taking precedence because of the delay. Then I see the suspension bridge, the road crossing, the first of the two bridges. It's SO close to the station! I must have missed it by so little last year. Then suddenly I spy the famous lions that guard the entrances from Brunel's original bridge. This was a marvel in its time, the Menai Straits being dogged by strong currents that make doing anything in its waters difficult and dangerous. Getting the materials into place and assembled was torturous. Hence constructing it as several stone pillars with steel tubes hanging between them rather, a more kit-based approach. Unfortunately it was badly damaged by fire in 1970, and was replaced with a more mundane structure with a new road crossing running above it. But the lions and some of the other decorative elements remain. I see the underside of the road crossing soaked in graffiti and combined with the more functional nature of the new bridge, these elements seem a depressing indictment of today.

We're onto Anglesey and I appreciate its raw beauty (despite the hated Expressway beside us). We pass a surprising number of halts before crossing the final embankment and curling into Holyhead of Holy Island. The station is as large as I remember it from 1996, but I the details were scant then as it was rather late and I was rather tired. The conductor has mentioned that the fitter is waiting for the train, so hopefully he can fix the problem (a door and the brakes from what I can gather from straining to overhear a conversation). I don't even have time to get off before we turn back, so I suppose the problem was fixed fast, and we have already lost a lot of time.

We make up most of the time quickly, and the stations come and go even faster than on the way out (and we stop at more places). Then we stop at Flint with a problem - so near and yet so far - my half an hour of flexibility at Chester is now down to 20 minutes. It's one of the doors again. This time they decide that the front carriage is not safe and we are all told to shift into the rear two coaches. At Chester they take the train out of service completely but luckily my journey is over. There is the usual breakdown that follows a problem though as no-one seems to know which train they should be getting on next if they are continuing to Cardiff.

Next I'm on a third rail Merseyrail electric to Hooton, where I change. Hooton is an unusual junction, it has four platforms, but just two lines are in use. And the booking hall is on one of the disused platforms, so everyone has to walk over the bridge after passing through the booking hall to reach the trains. New dot matrix indicators have also been installed but I notice the older ones too, where a different light comes on behind a piece of glass showing the destination according to how the signals are set. Older and simpler, but just as effective - especially since there always seems to be a problem keeping these new real time displays up to date anyway. The train to Ellesmere Port arrives a few minutes later and I'm on my second new line of the day.

As we progress towards the destination, the clientele gets chavier, until we reach a new name to place in the list of hell holes - Ellesmere Port. Not only are there plenty of these useless beings at the station, the place is just so run down. There's no indicator boards here, there is a flyover over the place, under which is rubbish and remains of fires and the inevitable graffiti. One of the most threatening places I've had to wait at. I duck into the pub next door which isn't so bad - no kids allowed and over 21s only, no doubt trying to preserve the convivial atmosphere fostered by the photographs of regulars on the walls. I enjoy a lovely John Smiths, which I've been told is so much better in the North when poured properly - as indeed it is and was.

With some trepidation I return to the station, hoping that I've timed it right so that no waiting is required. Just as my heart sinks on seeing the bunch of tracksuited losers hanging around, I see the train coming in on the other platform. Hurrah! There's a strange arrangement at Ellesmore Port. The Merseyrail electrics come in and terminate on one platform and go no further. Then on the other platform, the diesel occasional Northern services come in and terminate from the other direction. It's on to this Northern two car Pacer I climb gratefully. Myself and the other passenger have a carriage each. The line then plunges through the miles and miles of refineries and chemical works that the area is known for. There are two stops, both in the middle of nowhere, that no-one gets on at. Though maybe if they ran regular trains from Warrington through to Ellesmere Port, somebody might. This is clearly a case of cheaper to run 2 trains a week than close the line. And I should imagine there is freight along here.

Then we arrive at Helsby Junction, joining the line from Chester. It's a beautiful station, the full nature of which I'd only glimpsed during my previous visit. It has 4 platforms. All have gothic style buildings (no longer in use but tastefully boarded up for a change), surrounded by well tended tubs of geraniums. Even the signal box has been looked after and it boasts several totem-sign plaques celebrating prizes that the station has won. Finally it is topped off by a whole garden built into the middle island platform. I have seen gardens at stations before but never as good as this. I take some photographs and nearly miss my train back to Chester, having to hare over the footbridge. It's a very long hoist up to the train I notice, almost like a continental platform.

It doesn't take long to get to Chester, where I have time for a pint of Cains (off the last time I came here!) before clambering on to a full two coach Pacer for the mid-Cheshire Line. This is the last line between Manchester and Merseyside to complete. It's a curious route. Despite linking cities, and being double track almost all the way, it seems mostly rural in feel, with request stops and empty platforms. I don't appreciate all the rural scenery as I doze a bit - these are long days that start early! Eventually it meets the Manchester Metrolink at Altrincham, where that takes the other track for a while, then the line veers away towards Stockport.

I get off at Stockport. Couldn't get a cheap ticket directly back so I share a 3 coach 175 with a load of Stockport County fans back to Crewe; then have a drink while I wait for the London train. The Pendolino is quiet, gently lit and speeds me home rapidly. Dare I say the West Coast is becoming as routine as the East Coast for me now? I've nearly covered England now. What am I going to do then?

Itineary:

London Euston-Crewe
Crewe-Chester
Chester-Holyhead (Bangor to Holyhead new)
Holyhead-Chester
Chester-Hooton
Hooton-Ellesmere Port (new)
Ellesmere Port-Helsby (new)
Helsby-Chester
Chester-Stockport (new)
Stockport-Crewe
Crewe-London Euston

Mopping Up 1: 1 September 2007

2007-09-01T23:28:00.000+01:00

This is the first of three trips to mop up those last few lines that I haven't yet covered. This is either because they were included in the plans of previous trips but something went wrong; or because there just wasn't time to fit them in. Each one will include one of those lines that sees very scant services. Today's trip focuses on the North West and the Midlands.

First step is London Euston to Stockport by Pendolino. This is a trip I've now done a few times, so I can grab some sleep en route, it leaving London at 7.45am. Ironically it goes via Stoke without calling at Stafford first, thus using a stretch of line I haven't been on before, but was not concerned about because it is a slightly different route to the same place with no stations. This also gives me my first glimpse of the breathtaking Peak District, which I never tire of seeing. I notice that the Trent Valley four-tracking works are advancing fast, which will allow faster and frequent west coast services from 2009.

We arrive at Stockport just after ten, and I have the best part of an hour and a half before the next leg. I have a look around the city. It has the usual clone shopping centre and bowling alley, chain shops and too much traffic. But it also has a nice market and some pleasant winding car-free streets. After nosing round a couple of charity shops I give in to my base desires and go to Wetherspoons. I will return to the town some day because there is an air raid museum with a mock-up of a shelter there. Also it was reasonably pleasant as towns go.

Back at the station I get the one and only Stockport to Stalybridge train of the week (two coach Sprinter). It runs on Saturdays at 11.28 and calls at Denton and Reddish South, where one person gets on, before a stop at Guide Bridge on the Woodhead Line. I should imagine the token service is for driver route knowledge and to prevent the government closing the line to passengers (which it recently tried to do). It carries a lot of freight and we pass a couple of such trains in the other direction. I just get the feeling that all the other passengers are line bashers too! There are certainly more than I thought there would be and I notice a couple of them are definitely spotters.

At Stalybridge I visit the station pub, established in the 19th century and still going strong. It always has a good selection of beers on, and indeed, is in the CAMRA guide. I discovered it at the end of last year on the Manchester bash, and the memory of the barmaid has not faded. She is the epitome of the friendly Northern barmaid, and she goes up further in my estimation when a couple of track workers whistle at her and she winks at me and suggests it's me they're after! The same track workers express their envy to me that I am sitting on the platform drinking beer while they are yomping up the trackside with heavy equipment! It was quite dark when I last stopped here, and so I didn't realise how high up the station was. In daylight therefore there is a fantastic panorama of the Peak District with churches and houses nestling in its slopes.

So after a very enjoyable interlude I get on one of the many passing Trans Pennine 185 trains to Manchester Piccadilly. This is another journey I'm familiar with, particularly with the degree of overcrowding on the route. TPE are getting fourth carriages for many of their trains, but I wonder whether that will be enough. I've never quite understood why these routes are not part of Inter City anyway (with appropriate decent length trains) as what else would you call a route like Manchester to Newcastle or Liverpool to Hull? Luckily it's only twenty minutes to Manchester, where I grab some lunch from Marks before the next stage.

My next conveyance is a class 323 EMU to Crewe. This takes the route via Manchester Airport rather than Stockport, reversing at the Airport then passing through the famous Cheshire suburbs such as Alderley Edge. This route was actually suspended until recently. It was closed during the main part of the West Coast modernisation, and the points locked out for the Wilmslow to Airport spur. I believe it has been electrified since then and is now running an hourly service. It's a daft silly little bit of line to cover, but it does have one rarely-used station - Styal - and it's on the way to the third line of the day anyway so why not. I grab some more sleep while I get the chance.

I haven't really been to Crewe properly, beyond changing trains there and visiting the Crewe Works a couple of years ago, which are out of town anyway. I don't think I really want to visit it anyway, judging by the short walk I have to find somewhere to find an antacid. It seems to be another post-industrial town still looking for a new raison d'etre. The inevitable giant ASDA has already opened on part of the Railway Works. There are a lot of interesting looking pubs on the station road too, but I've had enough to drink for the moment! Having found a chemist, I head back and have a coffee while watching the trains come and go at this most famous of junctions.

Next call is a Desiro to Birmingham New Street. This is the stopping train run by Central (soon to be London Midland) and there's not much between it and the faster Virgin train at this point of the route, just because there are so few stops in the empty countryside between Crewe, Stafford and the West Midlands. In some ways this section seems like a buffer between the Midlands and the North, and it makes you realise how small Britain is as you cross it quickly.

There's only about 15 minutes to wait at BNS before the 323 EMU for Redditch emerges from the cavernous tunnels surrounding the subterranean station. The full route is from Redditch and Longbridge to Lichfield, and I completed most of it last October, and if it hadn't been for engineering works then, there would have been no need to come back today! Branches are always difficult to work around, so I'm very relieved to pass the couple of stations that finish this one. At Barnt Green the main line continues to Worcester, a route I covered last year, and a single track branch continues to Redditch. It's almost as if someone has thrown a switch on the branch as the landscape seemingly switches to lush green from concrete and canal in an instant.

At the end of the trail I just stay on and go back as it turns round within 5 minutes. There's only a ticket check on the return leg so no explanations needed for the rather short visit to Redditch. I gratefully exit using the Victoria Square exit at New Street and head for Snow Hill station. I have over an hour to the train home, so I'm seeking a pub. I find one almost overlooking the station called The Old Contemptibles. It's so recently refurbished that you can smell the paint. It has a smart interior that is a nice mix of old and new. There is a reasonable selection of beers. The menu tells me that the pub name comes from a specialist regiment formed in the Boer War (ironically specially for fighting overseas) which was labelled "contemptible" by the Kaiser in the First World War.

At Snow Hill I get a Chiltern six coach class 171 back to London Marylebone. Snow Hill is now part of an office block. It was originally part of the Great Western route to the Midlands and beyond. It was closed in the early 1970s like so much else, and its services generally diverted into New Street, with the next stop down, Moor Street, becoming a terminus. The skeletal remains of the GW station at Wolverhampton, known as "Low Level," can still be seen next to the station that survived on the main west coast line. The tracks have gone but the building's demise is protracted. The Midland Metro tram system now uses the route between Snow Hill and Wolverhampton. However as demand for rail travel rose, and the lost capacity of the closures was required again, Snow Hill was rebuilt and the through route from Moor Street re-opened in 1987. Journeys across the conurbation were now possible - such as Worcester to Stratford. A new Snow Hill to Marylebone service also began, replacing the remainder of the GW route from Paddington. Since then Chiltern have doubled the track all the way and turned a line threatened with closure not that long ago to a viable second route to the West Midlands . While the engineering works are going on on the main line, it takes little longer than the Pendolinos, and since I got the fare for £5 by buying one of Chiltern's print-at-home tickets, it couldn't be better!

The train is packed, much more than I expected, so it isn't the most peaceful trip I've ever had. But it makes good time and I have a trouble-free trip back across town to home. Three more lines done!

New lines this trip:

Stockport-Stalybridge
Manchester Piccadilly-Airport-Crewe
Birmingham-Redditch

West Wales Branches 25-26 August 2007

2007-08-27T17:39:00.000+01:00

This trip was to cover the three branches that split off after Whitland on the South Wales coast line to Fishguard, Milford Haven and Pembroke Dock. It was a tricky one to organise. There are only two trains a day in both directions to Fishguard that link with the ferry to Rosslare, and the first of these does not leave Cardiff until 11am. The latter is an overnight job, and I wanted to see where I was going. There is only one train every two hours on the other two branches, and the connections do not allow travel to one of these first before getting back to Whitland for that rare Fishguard train. Finally, there is such a scant service on these branches on Sundays that even with an overnight stay somewhere in West Wales, any trips on a Sunday had to be carefully planned. Still, that is something I have plenty of practice at now - see the Lincolnshire trip!

Strictly speaking I've done Fishguard to London before. In 1996 I went to Ireland and went London-Holyhead-Dublin out and Rosslare-Fishguard-London back. However both trips were done overnight, and you can't see a thing. And this was pre-quest. The strange thing is I wasn't interested in the method of transport at that time, yet I must have been subconsciously wanting to do those two epic trips, because I could have just flown and chose not to. In fact I was intending to rail-sail out and fly back, but couldn't get a flight back. And somewhere from my childhood I still knew the major rail and sea routes to Ireland, and still had a germ of excitement about doing the trip. In the event I was too tired to enjoy it, but looking back, the return train is now of historical interest because the direct Fishguard to London overnight train was scrapped a couple of years back. You now have to inconveniently change at Swansea in the middle of the night - see my rant in the Wales 2006 post. In fact the direct services from London to all three branches are pretty scant now. In the past there was a nightly sleeper from London to Milford Haven, a Saturday train to Pembroke Dock, and in the Summer, two daily trains out to Fishguard and one overnight train back. Having now seen these branches, it seems weird to think of HSTs stopping at the tiny stations en route. Happy days. Again. Still, there is at least still a Summer Saturday train to Pembroke Dock - chiefly to serve Tenby I suspect.

So I gave in and planned a trip over a Saturday and Sunday with an overnight stay. I knew little of the areas I was going to, but a bit of research suggested Pembroke (NOT Pembroke Dock) would be the best place to find a hotel. Tickets were another matter. I had the perennial problem on such trips of returning from a different destination to that which I was arriving at, so normal returns are usually no good. The last stop that featured on the trip out and the first on the trip back is Llanelli (pronounced "Hla-neff-ee" as I know now). And for once, a return to here was cheaper than the usual cheap singles, even allowing for possible upgrades to first class. Then all I had to buy was returns to each branch to fill the gaps. Buying two tickets to cover one journey is legal if the trains you take stop at the stations that your tickets are booked between. Confused? The conductors sometimes are, so I'm not keen to do this. But on this occasion it will save me a bit and I get much more flexibility for the return trip - something I could have done with a few times before.

Saturday 25 August dawns. I'm up early. As I cross the river it's flatter and more still than I have every seen it before. There is a perfect reflection of Batersea Power Station, almost like the old Thames TV logo! I head for Paddington, where after my usual bacon roll, I get on the 7.45am HST to Swansea. I have no reservation, because of the flexible ticket, and all but one coach is reserved. Even the quiet coach is full, and it won't be quiet because someone has ignored the signs and dragged their young kids in there. I check a few of the seats but many of them are taken from Reading. It's easier to find one that is definitely not in use. I could upgrade, but for a two hour journey it's not worth it. With some trepidation I find a seat. But my fears are not borne out. It's a pleasant peaceful trip as we are sped to Cardiff. I have just over an hour to wait so I head straight to The Great Western which is just outside, and have some Evans Summer Ale. I'm slightly perturbed by the ease of each I can drink at 10am now but don't dwell on it, as I'm certainly not alone.

Back at the station I grab some food for lunch for M&S and clamber on to the three coach Sprinter that will take us to Fishguard. The carriage I'm in is of a different type to the other two and has no air conditioning, but you can open the windows. This is always good on an older diesel train because the noise is enormous with the windows open, and this blocks out music, 'phones and other things I habitually moan about. We're off slightly late but no matter. It's a limited stopping train, calling only at Llanelli and Whitland. This is somewhat surprising because it is missing out several biggish places along the route - notably Swansea and Carmarthen, though there seem to be suitable connections at the two stops. I've since discovered that we used a freight only branch that splits off from the main line before Neath, then dives under the main line, heads inland and joins the main line again via the Heart of Wales line. The view along the coast at this point is magnificent. The line travels along the estuary of the River Lough, and across it you can see the northern coast of the Gower Penisula. The tide is out, revealing incredible golden sands, and with the green hills of the Peninsula and the blue skies in the background, it makes for a scenic trip - another one to add to the likes of the Exe Estuary. I know when we're past the Carmarthen branch because there is a signal box announcing it. There is another at Clarbeston Road, where the driver collects the token from the signalman for the branch to Fishguard, an anomalous sight in the 21st century perhaps, but still one that is curiously endearing.

Fishguard Harbour station is literally a platform under a canopy at the edge of the ferry terminal building. It is firmly in the middle of the port and the pretty looking town itself is on the other side of the harbour, today shrouded in low cloud, seemingly fairly inaccessible on foot from here. There is little inside bar a coffee shop and the check-in desk. I'm glad that I abandoned all ideas of taking the overnight service and hovering around here for the return quite early on in the planning. I have a quick wander, trying to see if I recognise anything from my nocturnal trip eleven years ago. It's vaguely familiar, but all I remember is coming down the ramp from the ship nearly dropping, and being so grateful to see a waiting train on to which I could fall asleep. Then it was an HST so plenty of space and a chance of peace - I suspect sleep would be tricky now. The train fills fast and I head back to ensure I get a seat, enjoying the bustle that accompanies a port before we move off. The guard has changed so I don't get any funny looks, as I will undoubtedly be the only passenger to head to Fishguard and not get on the ferry. Next stop is Camarthen and just in time I notice that the return train is not stopping there - a blip in my carefully prepared itinerary! Luckily it's just a matter of changing at Whitland, where the three branches diverge, and then a seven minute wait. Whitland is one of those boarded up stations that time forgot. While I wait I look longingly at a nearby pub, which has a particular style that I will recognise later, but this is out of the question with the few minutes I have. Instead I look nostalgically at an old BR route diagram that has survived privatisation and think of happier times for this neglected place that only the bright sunshine prevents from being completely moribund.

A four coach Sprinter rattles in from the Pembroke Dock branch which is bound for Swansea ultimately. In around 15 minutes we are in Carmarthen. This is now the terminus of a branch but it used to be a through station on the way to Aberystwyth, one of the more irritating closures, cutting the west coast off from the south as it does. The branch can be entered from both directions on the main line, so continuing trains have to reverse in the station. On the map it looks as if I have to cross a roundabout and the River Towy to reach the town, but there is now a suspension pedestrian bridge that delivers you right from the station to the town centre directly. It only gets 9 out of 10 because it drops you next to a car park exit with no crossing. The town is interesting, reminding me of a larger version of Rye in Sussex. Not only is it "dropped" in the middle of a marshy plain and perched up on a hill, but it is relatively unspoilt and has pleasant winding streets, little pubs etc, and the remains of a castle looming over what would have been the city wall I'm guessing. I have a wander around, visiting a couple of pubs, before returning to the station for the Milford Haven train around 90 minutes later.

The two coach 158 is fairly full. I assumed as these trains come from Manchester, that they were usually longer, though everyone does get a seat. We reverse back down the branch to Whitland then continue all the way back to Clarbeston Road before curving off to the south west. To be honest there is nothing of note on the route once you clear Carmarthen Bay. As people filter off I manage to get a forward-facing seat which I like to get on new lines, shortly before it pretty much empties at Haverfordwest. A plaque declares it to be the best kept station of 1992. That certainly was a long time ago judging by the place now. The line then twists and turns all the way to its run down terminus, and I notice various branches which are presumably for the oil refinery there. Milford Haven is an undistinguished sort of place, though the surrounding countryside and coastline are fairly spectacular, forming part of the Pembrokeshire National Park. I'm actually due to catch a bus to Pembroke in an hour, rail connections back to Whitland and into Pembroke being rather sparse. Up a rather steep hill I find the bus stop, and while I'm checking the times, the previous late service comes up the hill. I decide to eschew my trip to the Haven, as it was chiefly going to be spent in the least scary pub I could find, there being little else as far as I can see. Also I will get to Pembroke an hour earlier this way, and that looks a lot nicer.

It's a pleasant drive over the Haven and through Pembroke Dock. Once out of the town, the landscape is rather more palatable. It's a bit hair-raising in places though. The driver goes round some of those corners on two wheels and pushes through some very narrow gaps. Now I know why I prefer trains. We pass Pembroke Dock station on the way, the end of the third branch of the trip, that I will be covering tomorrow. It appears to be the original sandstone Victorian building, which I did not expect. It also appears to be some distance from the ferry, though as I later learn, this was only introduced in 1979, so the station originally served the town rather than the docks. A few minutes later we cross the River Pembroke and arrive in the town's main street, just outside my hotel which is a bit of luck.

I am staying in the Old Kings Arms, slap bang in the middle of the town and with a bar and restaurant which is handy. It's a nice hotel, a bit rough round the edges but comfortable, reasonably priced and clean. The food is also gorgeous, boasting one of the best cooked breakfasts I've ever had and a superb slow roast lamb. There is also an a la carte menu and the full restaurant is testament to its quality. Unfortunately this also means there is little space and I opt to eat in my room. I venture out for a walk around the town and unfortunately an opaque mist has descended over the whole place. Without a coat, as this had just not been needed earlier in the day, the place is chilly and I concentrate on finding the station and getting back. The station is a depressing single platform place, lonely and suffering modest vandalism like so many. Sadly no-one seems to care about this. The town is faintly threatening, with way too much speeding traffic, and boasting lots of mid-terrace pubs that are not especially welcoming, though this is not helped by the frozen air that has enveloped the place. I feel very English and out of place suddenly.

Morning lifts my spirits as the sky is blue once more. I visit the castle, which though being a ruin, still has seven towers that can be climbed. This is a historic place, being established by the Normans after 1066. They also founded the Pembroke Yeomanry that would ironically go on to repel a French invasion in 1797 at the Battle of Fishguard. This makes them the only regiment to fight and win a battle on British soil in modern times, and to this day, the members are entitled to wear a badge commemorating this victory. Last but not least it was also the birthplace of Henry Tudor who would unite Britain after the Wars of the Roses and turn it into a world power, the echoes of which still shape our society today. From the main tower I spy some nice riverside pubs that were lost in the fog the night before and am faintly peeved that I missed the chance to get out of the hotel for the evening. I did wonder where the other tourists went! It's when walking back to the station that I realise why the place is familiar. It's just like Ireland. In fact Pembroke reminds me very much of Cashel, Tipperary, where I stayed in 1996, with its ancient monument dominating, and its smallish streets dotted with pubs. My mind also goes back to the pub next to Whitland station which sparked the idea that I had seen a place like this before.

I am cursed with negative thoughts as I dodge the ridiculous amount of traffic, and contemplate why there is an empty railway station and hardly any trains while cars defile what was once a small town. My mood is not improved by the fine array of litter dumped on the station platform and I wonder what happened to people's pride before hoisting myself up on to the two coach Sprinter. It rattles down to the last stop on the branch, Pembroke Dock, where we have a 20 minute wait before it turns round. I investigate the station to discover that it has been converted to a pub, and it's a CAMRA pub too. I decide not to explore but just have a quick drink instead. It's an interesting pub, more like a community hall, and I'd love to stay to sample more of the guest beers they have on. Maybe another day!

Back we go up to Pembroke, where there is a poignant tableau of a mother and a boy clutching a bucket and spade waiting on the platform. It's nice to know such scenes still occur! This route proves to be a much more rural route than the Milford Haven branch, heading through road-free lush countryside and hugging the coast at the golden sands of Tenby. The train fills steadily, particular busy spots being at Llaneffi and Carmarthen, where we have to reverse, before winding along the narrow Tawe estuary to its destination at Swansea, or Abertawe, literally, "Mouth of the Tawe". This time we use the main line. With childish glee I realise that I have now covered the three branches, as well as the avoiding lines and double branches at Swansea and Carmarthen.

I head into Swansea and find it to be a city in transition. A very run down street leads to the inevitable Millennium Square, what remains of the castle, and the ubiquitous Nandos and Pitcher & Piano. Then I follow the road through a very unpleasant subway, town regeneration never really being for pedestrians, into what was the docks. Whilst much of the work has already been completed, space-age offices and blocks of flats rearing over the new suspension bridge, there is also a lot to be done. It reminds me of London's docks twenty odd years ago, seeing the part derelict, part shining skyline. And now the moan. Though it's better for them to be regenerated than lie rotting, I can't help but think about the rich and powerful wanting nothing to do with these usually rough and ready places during their prime. Then as soon as they've decided we can't afford docks, factories, mines, etc, and thrown all the workers on the scrapheap, they want their marinas, posh flats, riverside restaurants that no-one can else afford. Hmmm.

After a quick drink in a very busy pub, I return to the station. I'm ready to go and happily there is a train waiting, ironically one of the few direct Carmarthen to London trains. It's one of the new refurbished HSTs and I sit in the first leather seat I've sat in on a train! I don't actually pay for the first class upgrade until after Bristol Parkway, but it's worth it because at Cardiff the Millenium Stadium has just emptied and the train is rammed. As the fans get on almost universally decked out in shirts bearing the sponsors, Brains Brewery, I wonder how many of them actually drink anything from Brains! Ah well. In a nice touch, Great Western now stock a local bitter from the Wiltshire Arkells Brewery, something the other operators could take note of in these times of the local food fad. Shepherd Neame on South Eastern, Harveys on Southern and Gales on South West?

As usual I find it hard to be back in London, it seemingly more noisy, dirty and brutal every time I return. It's a relief to get out of town again and back to the relative peace of home.

New lines this trip:

Bridgend-Llanelli-Fishguard Harbour
Carmarthen-Whitland-Milford Haven
Pembroke Dock-Llanelli-Swansea

Cardiff 4 July 2007

2007-07-04T20:54:00.000+01:00

I've been meaning to go to Cardiff Bay for ages. The tiny branch lines that reach either side of it from Cardiff Central seem like curiosities in an age of culled branches. Also I love maritime landscapes. Finally thanks to Dr Who and Torchwood, the bay has been getting a lot of free publicity on the television, and it looks an interesting place to visit. Despite the frequent trains and the short journeys, these branches had somehow eluded me in past trips to Wales. So with a few days off whilst changing jobs, the chance to tie a visit and some line-bashing together in one day presented itself.

Some days are just destined to go wrong from the word go. This was to be one of them! I was quite pleased as I'd managed to get two singles for around £30, pretty good at a couple of days' notice. When I turn up at Paddington there are no fast ticket references on the print out from the online booking site, and when I ask FGW to check my credit card against bookings, they confirm that nothing has been booked! Having got this far I decide to continue. Luckily the turn up fare is £54 return, so it's not an unfeasible amount more. Also I can come back on any train - something, with hindsight resonates with irony.

I get the 9.45am 125 to Cardiff, arriving at around 11.45am. I buy a Valley Rover and go for a wander around the city before the first connection, taking in snippets of the Castle and the Millennium Stadium. Then it's off to Maestag and back on a two coach 158. This is the last of the Valleys Lines for me. Party because it has no links with the other four, it always seemed as if it was more remote, yet it's probably the same distance and time to do the round trip. Before the 1970s, Maestag and Treherbert were joined by a massive loop, but now you just have to go out from Cardiff and back again. I'd only read in the last couple of weeks that most of the population of Wales is in the south, and having done today's trip I can believe it. There is not much truly open countryside even once we get out of Cardiff, and indeed there is continual urbanisation along much of the line. The conductor doesn't say anything when he sees I am on the same train back, another one who must be used to the line bashers!

Back at Cardiff Central I get an "Oggy" a pasty with leeks in it, before getting on the Pacer/Sprinter combination to Penarth. This is a shortish trip, Penarth and Dingle Road practically touching platform ends, such is the tiny gap between them! I head down to the beach, my idea being to follow the coast round to the barrage, an artificial embankment built across the bay mouth in order to provide a harbour for water pursuits, before crossing it to the eastern side. My first obstacle is that there is no path along the beach, only the cliffs. The second is that even though you have reached the opposite side of the bay, the walkway ends at the gates of the port itself. Great. I have walked across in a howling gale and driving rain and am not best pleased. There is not a soul to ask about if there is any way through. It is somewhat ridiculous, as I can almost touch the Assembly, Norwegian Church etc. Ggrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!! Back I go to Penarth station to get the train. A middle aged man strikes up a conversation with me, something that only seems to happen outside London and is always pleasant.

I get the train back to Cardiff Queen Street where the Cardiff Bay shuttle runs from. This is an interesting one, an original DMU "bubble car" with slam doors and the noise of a bus, even down to the changing gears. The sight that greets me at the terminus, a short ride away, is disappointing. The bay is another car-ridden traffic system. The Millenium Centre and the Basin are behind a roundabout. Even the "Torchwood Fountain" is switched off. Never mind, once I get away from the cars, it's quite pleasant. I'm determined to drink some Brains Beer before I leave and to my delight one of the new trendy bars there is a Brains pub, with four different beers, three of which I try. When I sit down and look out of the window, they are filming Torchwood just outside - a not entirely surprising coincidence. TV appears to suffer from British Leyland style overmanning, about 30 people are needed to get a shot of a girl walking along in a trance.

Arriving back at Cardiff for the 20.25 train home, I discover that it has been cancelled. And my final nightmare begins. It's also a demonstration of what is wrong with the railways. When there is a problem, everything falls apart. There are no explanations given and no instructions on what to do and no staff around to ask. I am in the privileged position of knowing that I can get the train to Portsmouth and change at Bristol Temple Meads, but not everyone will know that. Oh, but surely privatisation ended such poor practice? At Bristol the London train is running half an hour late. As a consequence my chances of getting my onward connection home from Paddington are very small. Again there are no announcements apologising, explaining or instructing. The train staff don't even announce the new ETA for London, and are not remotely interested in my dilemma as to how I am going to get home. It's past midnight when we reach London, an hour later than I should have arrived, and I am forced to pay £15 for a cab to Victoria for the 12.35am train, just to avoid missing it and having to pay £35 for a cab all the way home. I arrive home in a very bad mood indeed.

New lines this trip:

Cardiff-Maestag
Cardiff-Penarth
Queen Street-Cardiff Bay

21-24 June 2007 - North West England

2007-06-24T22:12:00.000+01:00

Unfortunately I have left it a while to write up this most epic of trips; to cover the North West of England - Cheshire, Lancashire and Cumbria, broadly speaking, as well as the clusters of lines in the Manchester to Liverpool sprawl. Originally it was going to be an All Line Rover, but I worked out that I could do it in four days with a 4 days in 7 Freedom of the North West ticket, way cheaper and a bargain at £58. I'd have to arrange hotels also, whereas the All Line Rover would have allowed me to return home every night or travel on some of Trans Pennine Express's overnight trains, but neither option is that great. Challenges this time would be the scant services between Ellesmere Port and Helsby; Morecambe and Hellifield; the full Cumbrian Coast line; and Ormskirk to Preston. Several days of planning finally netted me a schedule that managed almost everything - so here we go.

On Thursday 21 June 2007, the longest day of the year, I set off for Liverpool, where I would buy the rover and let the proceedings begin. The journey up involved a Pendolino to Crewe, a short wait (and a FOUL coffee) then a Desiro to Liverpool Lime Street. I've only been here once before, and remember not being overly impressed with the place. It's now being refurbished, resembling a building site like so much of the UK at the moment! The booking clerk needs a bit of help to locate the Rover ticket, I suspect they may not sell many, and with it clutched in my grubby mitt, I descend into the Mersey Undergound. These are the third rail electric services that are an amalgamation of the old Liverpool Overhead Railway and various other local lines. In the mid-1970s they were reorganised to run as a system, largely centred around a single-track clockwise loop under the city, calling at all the major stations, using a combination of new and old tunnels. They've recently been refurbished and are run as a self-contained company in conjunction with the PTE, running an increasingly reliable service. When I arrive on the platform it is very much like the tube, as the lines are organised into particular routes - Wirral Line, City Line, Chester Line etc, and as you wait on the platform, the sights, sounds and smells are the same. You watch the displays ticking down to arrival, hear the rumbling as the train gets closer, and smell that dank tunnel smell!

All the Merseyrail trains are class 507 or 508 EMUs. My first trip is on the Chester Line to its terminus, an uneventful trip. It still amazes me how quickly you leave the city and head into the countryside in other big cities. The service is fairly well used by a cross-section of the public. At Chester I have a shortish wait for the next trip - on a three class 175 - to Manchester Piccadilly via Warrington. This has come from Holyhead and thus is fairly full. At Manchester I have time to grab some lunch from M&S, the pub being somewhat disappointing there, and then climb on board a Sprinter to Southport. This goes via Bolton and Wigan, cities I've never seen before. Bolton reminds me of Huddersfield, the skyline being dominated by older buildings. The station seems huge as well, though I don't suppose it gets particularly long trains calling any more.

I have no chance to visit the Victorian resort of Southport, as I have to clamber back on a Merseyrail to Hunts Cross. The lines diverge out of the town in two different directions. This line passes through Bootle and gives a view of the Liverpool Docks, what's left of them. At Hunts Cross the Merseyrail train terminates in a third platform next to the through platforms on the world's first public railway between Liverpool and Manchester. On this occasion I just get the return Merseyrail to Liverpool Moorfields, then travel the loop again down to New Brighton on the Wirral. By this time manky kids are getting on and with them come security staff with head cameras. I gather they also have DNA kits for when people spit at them, there are some really charming people about. At New Brighton I stay on and return to Hamilton Square, crossing platforms and getting the next Wirral train to West Kirby. After that it's a return trip round the loop to Liverpool Central. I stop and have a drink in a classically stereotypical Liverpool pub where Irish music is on the jukebox and the punters are singing along. Central station has been rebuilt as part of a shopping centre, and the pub commemorates the fact with railway memorabilia. It also turns out to be the founding pub for the local CAMRA branch which is nice.

Having completed the Wirral I clamber on to the City Line train to Kirkby, a place about which I have heard little good. Rush hour is in full swing now and there are plenty of people standing. At Kirkby I see the first of the two weird junctions they have on Merseyrail. The Merseyrail service terminates at the buffers, half-way along the platform. The third rail stops. Then there is a tiny break in the track, and in the same trackbed, another set of buffers facing the other way, and the start of another line, as Northern takes over the remainder of the line to Manchester. How this came about I can't imagine, presumably something to do with electrification. The same set up exists at Ormskirk which I will cover tomorrow. Myself and a few of the others have to simply walk along the platform to a waiting facing Sprinter to continue our journey onwards.

Back to Manchester I go, this time to Victoria, via Wigan, Swinton and Salford, which helpfully crosses off another of the lines into Manchester. The train starts to fill as it nears the city. I like Victoria. It's an interesting mix of the original building and new additions, with trains, trams and road vehicles sprawling across its site. You can still see the remnants of the record-breaking platform ten that actually stretched all the way down the line to the now-closed Exchange station. This was in 1969, and at the same time, the magnificent Manchester Central was closed. Originally this was the city's major terminus. It later became the G-Mex centre, and at the same time, the city's services were rationalised. Broadly speaking, local services go from Victoria, and inter-city services go from Piccadilly, now chiefly a terminus though it still has very busy through platforms. I find my way to the Grand Hotel, though I didn't realise how grand it was, and I feel rather out of place. I have a nice meal in my room and observe the Lights Out London gesture of turning out the lights for an hour, before realising it's only London that is doing this. Oh well. Day one over with all lines covered.

Friday 22 June 2007 starts with a manic breakfast that is nowhere as good as the evening meal. I should have left earlier and found a cafe. I should have learnt my lesson from previous unpleasant breakfasts! Anyway, I head to the tram stop and buy a ticket, feeling almost like a native as I commute to Manchester Victoria with the rest of the city. I don't have long to wait for the first train of the day - the 2 coach Sprinter to Clitheroe, though I am actually heading for Colne, so I have to change at Blackburn. Firstly we head along the line to Bolton that I covered yesterday, but then spur off in a gentle north-west direction towards Blackburn. I'm struck by now pretty this stretch is, all the more amazing given that it is stuck between two cities. Blackburn starts to build up around us in the form of Darwen, which appears to be growing into the city. It's a busyish station, a junction as well as a major stop on this particular route that links Yorkshire and Lancashire. There are five such routes, of which this is the fourth I've been on. Later in this trip I will complete the fifth. While various services rattle in and out, I stock up for lunch at the shop there as I do like bakeries in the north.

Shortly the Colne train arrives, having come from Blackpool. The rest of the trip. This is not a nice landscape, post-industrial and still looking for a new purpose. Burnley Central looks particularly run down. No shiny new offices and flats here. We're at our destination before I know it, the journey having seemed rather like a trip through the suburbs. Colne was a through station until 1970, when BR closed the line between here and Skipton in Yorkshire. Needless to say there is a campaign to re-open it, as locals are keen to improve links into the booming Leeds. I hope it succeeds though it will be a tall order, given that it is over ten miles of line to rebuild. Recently the campaign ran a special train from Colne to Skipton via Blackburn, Halifax, Bradford and Leeds to make the point that residents are forced to do this ridiculous detour if they want to reach parts of Yorkshire by rail that are no distance at all. Colne could do with the help of such a project judging by the general appearance of the place, and I am happy to get the return service down the branch. I backtrack the route I've just travelled, past Blackburn, but then continue to Preston. There I grab a cup of tea before getting on a Voyager service from Glasgow to Manchester Piccadilly, crammed full as usual, which completes another section for me - Preston to Bolton via Chorley.

Back in Manchester I eat while I await a Liverpool train. There are two direct routes between the two cities but today I want the main line. This is significant in railway history as the first public passenger carrying rail service in the world, opening in 1830. It was also the first inter city route, the impetus for which was carrying cotton from Liverpool Docks to the Lancashire cotton mills. Track and rolling stock were designed by the giant of engineering, George Stephenson. The line was a masterpiece, passing through several tunnels and viaducts, a major achievement for its time, as well as across a vast bog, Chat Moss, that was deemed impossible to drain. Stephenson floated the tracks on wooden and heather, weighted by earth and stones that were sunk into the bog continuously until a solid foundation was created. Today the double track route still crosses these same constructions, and now here I am on a three coach class 170 diesel venturing across it.

At Liverpool Lime Street, I find a curious pub that seems to be part of the station but part of a bigger, separate complex of pub and club. The part that is open has a fantastic high ceiling and a dusty gothic feel. This is slightly tainted by a series of arguing loonies who seem intent on spoiling the atmosphere whom I suspect have come in to shelter from the sheet rain that is now pounding down outside. Trouble is now, I can't remember what the place is called! I enjoy a local beer while watching the rain before heading for the next train. It's at this point that things start to go awry. I'm now supposed to be heading for Ellesmere Port then on to the little-used link between there and Helsby (on the line between Chester and Warrington that I travelled on yesterday). Unfortunately I've read my itinerary the wrong way round. I get on a Pacer that is going to Warrington, that I think is reaching Ellesmere Port from the east, but I should have got on the Merseyrail underground train to approach it from the west. I only realise my mistake when I get to Warrington and the train doesn't actually go any further (it's not unusual for routes that incorporate unusual ways of reaching a station to not advertise all the stops). I have now therefore missed the rare train I was aiming to get and there are only a couple of trains a day. I stop for a drink in the hotel next to the station and consult my timetables to see what I can salvage. All I can do is take the return train back to Liverpool via St Helens, the route I've just been on, and pick it up from there.

Next stage is to get a Merseyrail service to Ormskirk, granting me a view of the docks. At Ormskirk there is the same junction arrangement as at Kirkby, diesel and electric tracks meeting on the same platform with two sets of buffers in between. Only Ormskirk seems more pleasant than Kirkby and has a reasonable pub not far away, the inevitable Railway Arms. I have half while waiting for the Preston train (of which there are not many), then we're off and the next stage of the journey is underway, on a one coach Sprinter. This is a very pleasant rural line, though I'm surprised it has never been upgraded, seemingly being a more direct route from Liverpool to Preston.

At Preston things go seriously wrong. Remember that rain earlier? Well further down the line at Crewe, it had submerged the tracks and delayed all trains on the West Coast Main Line for hours. Including the northbound train I am trying to get to Lancaster. As usual when something goes wrong, there is no information, the whole thing falls apart and the staff seem to be absent. Seeing that there may be a train in half an hour, I head out and find a Railway Arms close by. It's got quite a friendly atmosphere, a mixed crowd, karaoke and a decent couple of beers on tap. However when I return, the train is delayed for another half an hour. I realise that the Trans Pennine trains from Manchester will be relatively unaffected. I see one going to Grange Over Sands and head over to the platform to wait for it. I don't see the display on the front as it comes in, a mistake as it turns out. On board the three coach 185 I try to ignore a gang of manky Scouse teenagers quizzing some bemused Blackpool-bound Poles as to whether they have any skunk. Suddenly I realise we have left the main line because the overhead lines have vanished. We are on the Blackpool branch, hence the Poles. I jump off at the first stop, Kirkham and Westham, to see the return train about to set off on the other platform. There are too many people getting off to get to it in time. The next train back is another hour, after nine, and I still have to get to Lancaster somehow. This is a horrible boarded-up dump of a place as well, and I feel thoroughly miserable. I can see a couple of reasonable pubs in the near distance, but I don't fancy anything else to drink. I spy someone with chips and try to find their source. It's not far, and as I go in, they lock up behind me. So close! The chips and curry sauce will keep my spirits up until the next train comes. A couple of middle aged blokes, slightly drunken, ask me when the next train is and where I got the chips. They groan in just the way that I would have done had I arrived at a shuttered chippy.

Another 185 takes me back to Preston, then I get a local Sprinter going to Barrow on Furness to take me to Lancaster. The countryside is starting to get a more remote feel now, as we pass away from the very populated parts of the UK. The station is a beautiful sandstone construction, with buildings on both sides of the tracks intact. I walk up a steep hill to the guest house which is on the other side of the town centre, past the famous John Of Gaunt pub, which I would like to try out now, but am too knackered. I should have been here two hours ago and it is past ten now. I hear a clock striking the hour as I approach the guest house and call the owners quickly, as they have told me that they lock up at this time to prevent revellers coming out of the nearby club wandering in. The owners are perfect hosts, making me a coffee when I arrive, and I hope to maybe come here for a longer stay next time, as despite the club, it's a peaceful night, and much needed. Day two done, and almost all the day's lines done.

Saturday 23 June dawns as gloomily as the previous day finishes. I desperately hope that the west coast is back to normal as I don't really know what else to do if I can't keep to the schedule. According to the indicator boards all is fine. Certainly the 3-coach 185 that arrives to take me to Windermere is on time. It's busy with walkers and tourists as expected, not put off by the threatening clouds. I suppose it's hard for this landscape to be bowed by mere grey skies. Oxenholme looms up, a place that's only ever been a name on a map to me, and as we pass out of the town on to the branch, it's clear that it is a suburb of Kendal. It doesn't take long to wind down to Windermere. There is a new station, basic but pleasant, the original building now part of Booths, a northern supermarket chain. I'm not sure if this was the case when I came here in the 1990s. Anyway, I have time for a wander down to the lake then a cup of tea before joining the American tourists on the next 185 back to Oxenholme. Here it becomes clear that the supposedly real-time displays work as well here as at my local station, ie, as soon as there is a problem, they just carry on showing the expected schedule and not informing you of any delays or problems. The rain-invoked problems of the previous evening are still causing delays, and as usual nobody is giving out information as to what to do. Luckily the next Carlisle-bound train has not from London, and thus is not affected as badly as the London trains. It's a Voyager, and remarkably, sparsely loaded, the only time I've ever experienced such a thing! We rush through the starkly beautiful landscape of Cumbria, making an untimetabled stop at Penrith, before heading for Carlisle. Carlisle is an amazing castle of a station, indeed, it was known as Carlisle Citadel once upon a time. There are plenty of London stations that would benefit from being such a size. Anyway I head to the large pub on the corner of the road outside the station for a couple of pints of Piddle on Holiday from the Wyre Brewery, and notice as I did last time, that cities such as Carlisle are the nearest we have to continental-style border towns where accents from different regions start to meet and merge. Then it's back for the Cambrian Coast train that will take me back to Lancaster.

Sadly it's a one-coach Sprinter when at least two might be better, though it does MOSTLY provide enough capacity for the number of passengers. This is possibly because I am the only one doing the full journey, whereas most people are doing a short journey. Indeed, trains that do the full length of the line are rare. Usually they run from Carlisle to Whitehaven, or Lancaster to Barrow, and the like. The line skirts the coast line of the Lake District, so the scenery in both directions is pretty spectacular. Whitehaven hosts a major employer, where nuclear subs are maintained, one of the major reasons that the line survives, and we pass another one - the infamous Sellafield Processing Plant. At the other end of the line the line twists and turns to follow the jagged coastline here. By some miracle about a thousand people manage to cram on at Grange Over Sands, a group of walkers returning to Lancaster. Just before joining the main line we call at Carnforth, which was once a junction between the two lines. It now only has platforms on the branch. Its claim to fame is posing as Milford Junction in the film, "Brief Encounter," and I hope for a closer look tomorrow. We cross the River Lune just before arriving back in Lancaster, where I get on a southbound Voyager to Preston. I head back to the pub I visited yesterday then get on to a packed Pacer going to Blackpool South.

Blackpool South is a miserable skeleton of a station, the North branch being the main one now, and this reflects the part of the town that I have arrived in. It's full of run-down buildings and people and cars with loud stereos, all bad signs. I keep my head down and make for the front and the tram stop. I've always wanted to go on the Blackpool Trams, and didn't get the chance when I came here before. It's a thoroughly enjoyable experience. The staff are incredibly friendly and helpful - nice to see conductors. It's a great way to see the long sea front. And all the trams are of a different design - old and new - which must give them a maintenance headache, though being of interest to the eye. Finally, it saves me quite a long walk to my B&B in the north of the town. The north is much smarter, with rows of B&BS. Given the sheer number of hotels, it's hardly surprising that my room is so cheap. It's a tiny double room, reminding me of a caravan, but is perfectly good. It has everything you need, including TV, tea and coffee, and a brand new ensuite bathroom with shower. I go for a wander to get some fish n chips, and to make sure I know where Blackpool North is for the morning. Unfortunately the rest of the place is about as nice as the bit I saw near the South station. It's full of drunken crowds, chiefly stag and hen parties, which is famous for, but this does make for a threatening town if you're not part of it. The station is also colonised by yobs and I wonder what the security guards there are for. I'm happy to get back to my hotel and have a pleasant night in watching the television. The day is rounded off by a quiet night's sleep. On Sunday 24 June, the B&B owner is happy to give me an early breakfast as I have to be at Blackpool North for 8.40, which is pretty good of him on a Sunday. I shall certainly seek this place out when I do a proper trip to Blackpool. I enjoy a walk along the front in the rain; the place is so much nicer in the morning when everyone else there is still snoring in strange beds. Also before the binmen have been you get to see sights such as seagulls fighting over discarded fish n chips and wonder how different to them we really are. I head inland to the North station - clear of yobs given the early hour, and hop on to a special train to Carlisle. This 4-car Sprinter is run by Northern for a local walking group though it is open to all. It only runs on Summer Sundays. There are two trains. The first does Blackpool-Preston-Blackburn-Clitheroe-Settle-Carlisle and the second starts later from Preston and follows the same route. They then do the two respective return trips in the evening. The idea is to open the area to a wider area for walkers from Lancashire. I'm on it for four reasons. One and two, it does the Blackpool North and Clitheroe branches. Three, it travels the freight-only section between Clitheroe and Hellifield. Four, that gives me easy access to another unconquered line, the Leeds to Morecambe route, which has only a handful of trains a day. This bumper journey is uneventful until we reach Preston. Then a gaggle of walkers get on and start sticking signs up on the windows to indicate that certain seats are for Group Officials only. I get the impression that they may normally reside in the bay of seats that I'm in and don't like this intruder on their train one little bit. I keep getting sideways glances! At Blackburn the feeling that this is "their" train is heightened by the catering trolley being hoisted on by two group members rather than Northern Trains staff. Also, a woman of about 60 makes a big point of wanting to sit right next to me even though the seat opposite is free, as if she always sits there and can't change for anything. I've never been part of one of these little groups, but I've known other people who have been, and they always seem to be like this. Self-important, full of internal power struggles and generally hostile to outsiders. Why can't they just get on with enjoying what they form to do and not get dragged into the other stuff?

I've covered the majority of this trans-Pennine route previously between this weekend and the Settle-Carlisle trip, so am familiar with the scenery. On the Clitheroe branch it's surprisingly urban. Clitheroe station itself has an amazing display of planters and hanging baskets, and it's beyond here that is of particular interest. Usually only freight uses this section that eventually joins the Settle-Carlisle line just before Hellifield. The line speed is faster than I expected and the scenery is predictably impressive. By now we've crossed into Yorkshire, a place with which I am more familiar and feel curiously more at home. I admire the spectacular Hellifield station, once of the many that the Friends of Settle-Carlisle have restored, then head off for a walk around this small town. There's a couple of pubs, already serving, but not much else, except so much traffic! What happened to the day of rest? A three coach Pacer bumps over the junction into Hellifield to take me to Morecambe. There's hardly anyone on it, which is a bit dispiriting for a Summer Sunday, though the weather is not brilliant. This is another scenic line, passing through empty countryside, aside from the interestingly named town of Giggleswick. It then crosses the west coast line, heads south into Carnforth (where I have time to take some photographs of the famous clock, recently retrieved and restored) then into Lancaster. This arrangement was originally designed in the early 1980s, to provide a link from West Yorkshire to the West Coast Line, as a replacement for the Settle-Carlisle link that was then scheduled for closure. However as it didn't close we now have two lines that serve as scenic tours! At Lancaster we reverse and head up the branch to Morecambe, the only stop but not quite the terminus. By now the rain is tipping down and I get drenched in seconds. Sadly I can neither appreciate the great sweeping sandy bay or the statue of Eric Morecambe. The rain also distracts me from the general chavdom that is supposed to haunt the place. I kill the remaining wet minutes until the next leg of the trip. This is down another branch on a two coach Sprinter that heads out of Morecambe to Heysham Port. There are just two trains there and back a day, to meet the Isle of Man ferry. It's also a freight line, though perhaps not that busy as I notice the guard has to get out of the train at the junction with the line to Lancaster to set the points himself. There is not even a running in board at the port station, and just a couple of people get off. No-one gets on and we head back to Morecambe, then reverse out to Lancaster once more. By this time I am getting tired and look forward to going home. The trains are also up to their Sunday best too. There are noticeably fewer of them and they are more prone to lateness. I head into Lancaster where I have promised to get some tea from a specialist shop for a friend who used to live there. Also I want to go to the famous John O'Gaunt pub. But the former is closed and the latter is too busy for me to have any hope of being served before having to return for the next train. In the event I could have stayed as the train to Preston is late and getting later and later. Eventually the perennially packed Voyager comes in. I have time to look round Preston and snatch a very cheap beer before the next and final new line of the trip. It's the very full Preston to Liverpool via St Helens two coach Sprinter. At Liverpool I get some food for the journey home and get the return Preston train. This time I get off at Wigan North Western, and head for the Swan and Railway. This is a magnificent old Victorian pub with a big central bar and two saloons. There's lots of railway memorabilia as the place lurks in the shadow of a bridge carrying the main west coast line. It has a good selection of beers, and that phrase, I plan to return some day, is appropriate yet again. Final steps...the Pendolino to London followed by the journey across town. The busiest trip I've done so far, and I suspect there will not be another quite like it. Unless I cover Scotland in a week. Now there's an idea.

Full itinerary

Thursday 21 June 2007
London Euston-Crewe
Crewe-Liverpool Lime Street
Liverpool Lime Street-Chester
Chester-Warrington-Manchester Piccadilly
Manchester Piccadilly-Bolton-Wigan-Southport
Southport-Hunts Cross
Hunts Cross-Liverpool Central
Liverpool Central-New Brighton
New Brighton-Liverpool Central
Liverpool Central-West Kirby
West Kirby-Liverpool Central
Liverpool Central-Kirkby-Wigan-Manchester Victoria

Friday 22 June 2007
Manchester Victoria-Bolton-Blackburn
Blackburn-Colne
Colne-Blackburn-Preston
Preston-Chorley-Bolton-Manchester Piccadilly
Manchester Piccadilly-Warrington-Liverpool Lime Street
Liverpool Lime Street-St Helens-Warrington
Warrington-St Helens-Liverpool Lime Street
Liverpool Lime Street-Ormskirk-Preston
Preston-Kirkham-Preston (unscheduled!)
Preston-Lancaster

Saturday 23 June 2007
Lancaster-Oxenholme
Oxenholme-Windermere
Windermere-Oxenholme
Oxenholme-Carlisle
Carlisle-Barrow in Furnesss-Lancaster
Lancaster-Preston-Blackpool South

Sunday 24 June 2007
Blackpool North-Preston-Blackburn-Clitheroe-Hellifield
Hellifield-Lancaster-Morecambe-Heysham Port
Heysham Port-Morecambe-Lancaster
Lancaster-Preston
Preston-St Helens-Liverpool Lime Street
Liverpool Lime Street-St Helens-Wigan North Western
Wigan North Western-London Euston

Cornwall and Devon branches no.3 4-5 May 2007

2007-05-05T13:59:00.000+01:00

If I'd been patient, I'd have waited until the Summer timetable which features a Sunday service on the Par-Newquay branch (as pitiful as the weekday service, but still a service!). But in my drive to get the last south west branches finished, after much trying to work around engineering works and Saturday-only trains, I decided to take Friday 4 May off, and thus give myself a four day weekend, the Monday being a bank holiday anyway. This would involve a breakneck trip on the Gunnislake branch, an overnight stay in Falmouth and a short trip to Newquay, as well as about ten hours on trains up and down the main line to the south west!

So come Friday 4 May, I left for New Beckenham at around 7 to get the train up to town, arriving at Paddington in plenty of time to have a nice breakfast before getting on the 9.05 125 to Plymouth. It's a really pleasant trip down. The run through the empty Somerset countryside is wonderful as everything is starting to bloom. Then there's the lovely skimming along the river Exe estuary and the seafront at Dawlish and Teignmouth that feels as if you're floating on the sea. It's an area that I really must do some walking around once the quest is over. At our destination I get my ticket for the rest of the day then try to find a way to kill an hour before the Gunnislake train. Plymouth is not a city I have happy memories of, I've tried to find something to see there without success in the past so decide to strike out in the opposite direction to the appallingly grim network of subways leading to the town - thank you 60s town planners - and find firstly a pub that is shut, then a student pub. This turns out to be a goldmine - Bombardier at £1 a pint - it's a nice atmosphere and an interesting mixture of customers. It's always handy to know of decent watering holes when waiting for trains, the majority of station places being rubbish, and I commit it to memory for future reference!

The Gunnislake train is a one coach Sprinter (gggrrr! a single coach is a BUS!) but sadly one coach is adequate for the number of passengers. Despite most of the stops being request stop, we stop for at least two people at all of them. All of the Plymouth stops are so close together and so close to the central station, that I can't see that they are of much use really! If the central station wasn't so unpleasantly sited, it would be easier to walk to most of them from the centre I suspect. It's ironic that the railway provides the best way across the Tamar to Saltash station on the other side but because this is on the main line it probably gets a poor service because the long distance trains have priority. The line twists and turns a couple of times before ducking under Brunel's Tamar bridge and heading northwards. The bridge seems to appear out of nowhere and we get a fantastic view of it as it head away once more. After breaking away from the city the line heads through some beautful countryside which manages to have that feel of the south west that I can't quite define. We head across some fantastic viaducts and one magnificent girder bridge over the Tamar once more, before passing a line joining us from the left. This is the remainder of the route to Gunnislake. At Bere Alston we will reverse to head up this line. At Bere Alston the line used to continue to Tavistock, Okehampton and Exeter. I still can't believe that this line could not pay its way, linking various largish towns and providing a diversion for the main line into Plymouth. This is dogged by storms and salt spray washing away the ballast and disabling signalling and the newer trains and Network Rail must curse their predecessors for removing it. It's refreshing to know that a developer is hoping to reinstate it as they build thousands of new houses in the area and hope that it comes to fruition. I can't see how the Gunnislake branch survived at all when it doesn't reach any towns any more! I'd love to get out and look up the line to see how much is left but the driver wastes no time in walking to the other cab and heading off in the opposite direction. At Gunnislake we turn around straight away, so we must be late. I wonder how this will affect my connections at Plymouth for the next trip. The train seems to be carrying a few enthusiasts, snapping station signs and, like myself, not getting off at Gunnislake but just staying on! The conductor is not at all surprised, just saying, "Hello again!" to me. Must be used to the likes of me.

At Plymouth I check the board and fine out that the fast train from London was supposed to be leaving one minute after I arrive from Gunnislake, but it is running over half an hour late. This will not affect my connection to Falmouth as it was the later, stopping train to Penzance that I was supposed to be getting, so this is an unexpected bonus. To distribute the build up of passengers the stopping patterns have been altered. The fast one is stopping only at Bodmin and Truro and the stopping one is covering EVERY stop. I get some lunch and wait for the fast train. This gives me a much better trip to Truro (apart from just about everyone ignoring the no-mobiles rule in the quiet coach - are people SO childish that they can't follow one rule for an hour or two?) and a more certain connection, now giving me twenty minutes grace.
Truro is chaotic, the schools have turned out, there are loads of cabs and cars that have built up because of the delay and it's difficult to get your bearings without getting in someone's way. Luckily the Falmouth train is a two coach 158 so there is room for everyone. It heads off on time, taking no time to head through the countryside to its coastal terminus. I didn't know it at the time, but Penmere is effectively the suburbs of Falmouth. When we slide into Falmouth Town it's much more rural than I think it's going to be, which is a good sign. Unlikely to be another Skegness! Most of the remaining passengers get off here, and I think about joining them as the B&B I'm in is close by. Then I decide to keep going, just in case events prevent me from getting to the Docks station tomorrow, best to do it now while I'm sure of the chance! After the Town station, the line is practically running through grass, the tracks looking almost disused, something I don't think I've seen before. Seemingly seconds later we halt at Falmouth Docks, a one platform station, unusually with a full canopy in place, though the booking office is a shabby closed portakabin. I wonder how it has survived. The sign promotes it as the stop for Pendennis Castle, but there's not much in it in terms of distance from the Town station. It fascinates me, forlorn but alive, designed presumably for goods but still useful to people. I later find that the Docks station was closed, unsurprisingly, in 1970, but re-opened for unknown reasons in 1975. Perhaps they worked on the basis that if it was there it might as well be used, or that as the town station was so small that it was safer to distribute the reasonable passenger traffic over two stations. Some run down stations are depressing places - like Wakefield Kirkgate - but some have a curious romance about them, Falmouth Docks being one of them. It has a Dungeness-like feel about it.

I find my way to the Red Post B&B. It's a really lovely place. Whilst the wallpaper, fitments etc are the standard guest house fare, the owners have skillfully updated it. As well as a clean lick of paint everywhere they have used new mirrors, light fittings, etc, good bedding and towels, and little extras like local toiletries, decent coffee, and dressing gowns in the wardrobe, to create a superior feel to the place. They are also incredibly welcoming, showing me the view of the harbour from the landing window, a raised area with a sofa and books for the guests. I would heartily recommend it to anyone going to Falmouth and you can contact them via their website: http://www.thered-house.com/.

After a coffee I head down to the town. It's a nice town. It has its chain shops, its chavs and its tatty side but aside fom these perennials it combines pleasant houses piled up on the cliffs, a classic Cornish view, splendid pubs and restaurants, and a new Maritime quarter that includes a museum and the inevitable shopping centre. All of this sits happily with the working docks and harbour, and the monument of Pendennis Castle perched up on the point. I go to a couple of pubs selling local beers, one by Skinners of Truro called Keel Over was particuarly pleasant, one of the caramel flavoured beers. The Quayside Arms is full of characters and it's nice to find pubs that have a mixture of ages of types, not threatening on a Friday night, and chav-free! I don't actually make it to the one that I'd found on the internet but since I've resolved to come back for a proper visit, hopefully this year, it can wait. Besides which I'm hungry now. There's a bright clean new chip shop in the high street, clearly knowing exactly how to sell itself, and I have a delicious Plaice and Chips before heading back to the guest house. I get a quiet comfortable night's sleep and look forward to the next day.

Breakfast is predictably pleasant, the dining room providing local honey, home made marmalade, and a Cornish speciality that the landlord suggests I try - Hog's Pudding, a sausagemeat and oatmeal White Pudding. It's old fashioned in that one shares tables with other guests, and I'm joined by someone who is down there for a diving holiday. In fact the whole place seems to be full of middle aged well heeled people dressing slightly too trendily for their age - not uncommon in this area I suspect. I don't think I fall into this category, except for being just about middle-aged!

I have a chat with the landlord before going then head down to the beach, on the south side of the point. I walk up and around the point but somehow manage not to see the castle once! Still, it's a beautiful promenade along a lane literally lined with flowers and am already looking forward to a proper visit. Aware that I am already half way though the hour that I have before the train, I keep a rapid pace, but needn't have worried. Before I know it, I am back at the docks. I realise that the giant P&O ferry that I'd seen peeping over the cranes the previous night is not going anywhere. It's in dry dock and is being worked on - repairs presumably. It's the Pride of Dover, which I have certainly seen at the other end of the south coast, possibly I have been on it, but it's a curious feeling, it's something binding me to home. I always feel a curious attachment to Kent and East Sussex that feels home-like; and being down in this extreme sout west corner of England feels like being in another country in some ways. So it's a bizarre reminder of another more familiar place. I have a chance to look around the Docks station as there is fifteen minutes to the train, but there's really little to see. There are some rusting tracks behind the platform that probably used to snake over to the docks, but I'm guessing they don't meet up with the embedded rails I'd seen evocatively snaking over to the dry dock. I decide to have a quick wander around the Maretime Museum area and then make my way to the Town station, which I assume will be bigger. Wrong! Like Docks, it's a tiny one platform affair elevated on an embankment, no displays, no ticket machine, though it does have a car park. As I look at the tracks curving away into what is practically a grassy lane leading to the terminus at the Docks, it strikes me that this line really sums up what I like about trains. Even though the train will eventually carry over 50 people into Truro, its impact will be minimal. Between the two Falmouth stations, the line slips unseen, passing over pleasant brick bridges that seem to grow into the lush embankments, passing unseen behind houses before sliding into the bay platform at Truro. With cars there are acres of grey concrete, constant noise and pollution, drivers frequently risking self and others on a routine basis. Not to mention the car parks, out of town industry and shopping etc etc. Even if the Falmouth line (a typical branch) had dual track and electrification, with half hourly four coach trains in both directions, its impact would still never be as unpleasant as the roads - and a damn sight more poeple would go to Truro by train!

Enough of my perennial wistful lecture. I get on a the single coach Sprinter to Truro, packed by the time we get there. At Truro I have just one minute to wait for the Par train, luckily it's late. At Par I have a quick look around, bearing in mind the hour that I have to wait there on the return trip. There is a pub, but I expected to see the sea a bit closer. There are no useful maps at the station and of course, I forgot to bring one. I decide to look at a map in Newquay. Meanwhile the two coach Sprinter for Newquay is sitting quietly in the bay platform. It appears to be timed to await the connection from Plymouth, so when this is late, so are we. The driver obviously expects the train to be late, because he doesn't even get in the cab and set the controls to forward until some time after it's due to leave! And then we're off. We pass VERY slowly through the greenery, over some extensive viaducts. I see evidence of track replacement, and presume that we're creeping to run it in. There's very little sign of habitation until we get in sight of Newquay. Someone asks the conductor when the return train at around 5pm is. It is EIGHT PM. That is, if you have gone to the coast for the day, you have to come back at 3pm, wait another 5 hours - not much good if you like your kids in bed by 7 - or do what I suspect most people do - drive or get the bus. The conductor is clearly embarrassed and makes a joke of the low quality of service. My own theory about the shocking service on this line - just 4 trains on Saturdays in each direction, and no Sunday service until Summer, providing nothing for Easter or May Day Sundays - is that no-one is really interested in providing a train service for local people on this line. Newquay has become an Ibiza-like resort and most of its trade will come from the rest of the UK and in summer. In summer, there are daily through trains to Newquay from London, Manchester and Edinburgh, something no other branch down there has. So most summer revellers get no inkling of the poor local trains. The remainder, the stag parties, the groups will either come by car or minibus. I'm sure that the line survives to service the through trains, so the local stoppers are non-existent. A great shame. The new looking dual carriage way that we hug for the last few miles while we have to slow to 20mph for unmanned level crossings is a testament to the service, as well as the UK transport policy generally!

Newquay is what I expected. Dodgy looking clubs and pubs, chavs and posers galore. The bay is spectacular but the beach is so full of "lads" that it's quite intimidating. I give up and start to look for the pubs I'd found on the internet. None of them appeal. This is a world away from the rest of Cornwall! I spot the bus station and see if there is an early way out - I'd been planning to get the 3.10pm back. The thought that if it is cancelled I'm here until 8pm and that I'd tried to get a hotel here feels me with horror. Just as I'm reading the timetables a Falmouth via Truro bus comes along. I get on and return to Truro. Luckily we don't hit any jams and the bus is only about a third full. I'm just glad to get away from there. I would really like to learn to surf one day but I think it won't be at Newquay - I just found it too much.

The bus dumps me in the town at Truro and there are no signs or maps pointing me to the station. I know that it's at the top of a hill though, so I strike out in roughly the right direction, climbing higher and higher until I see the viaduct. Eventually I emerge in the station road just above it. I've been stuck here before and never found a decent pub close to the station - wouldn't fancy walking up from the town after a drink - and today is no exception. I check the times and disocver that I can get the next train down to Penzance, where it will form the last up train to London, ie, the one I am booked on at Par. I buy the right combination of tickets to enable me just to stay on the train and gratefully climb aboard. At Penzance two ladies going to catch the Scilly Isles helicopter give me some unwanted cans of orange which is nice of them, and then I have a quick wander around the town, as the train is returning in just over half an hour.

Next to the station there's a pub that proclaims that it doesn't sell junk food, only locally sourced home made meals. On this basis the beer is bound to be good so in I go. Not a bit of it! They sell 5 lagers - all the usual suspects and certainly not local - and Guinness - yawn. They've already seen by the time I'm near the bar so I don't like to turn around and leave. When I sit at the table and look at the infamous menu, I notice the Wine List. Every wine is from the New World - not even Europe! And Cornwall has plenty of local brewers AND that rarest of things in England - a vineyward. They are obviously just jumping on a gimmicky bandwagon - a BIG disappointment.

It's been a disappointing day, I really should have just stayed on the Newquay train when it turned round, gone to Par, and found something useful to do there. Now it's cost me extra in tickets and wound me up. I'm pleased to get on the London train. One thing to be salvaged from starting at Penzance is that this will be the longest train journey I've ever done awake (the sleeper doesn't count for obvious reasons). So I will see the whole Great Western line from start to finish in one go - pointless but curiously satisfying. A pointless record for a pointless quest I guess. Through the stages we go - Cornwall, then the Tamar Bridge and Plymouth, then Teignmouth, Dawlish, the River Exe and Exeter, Somerset's greenery with Taunton nestling in the middle, overtake the cars on the M5 without trying, the White Horse of Westbury, then suddenly we're at Pewsey - commuter land once more, then it's a quick run back to Paddington. I make full use of my complimentary refreshments and allow myself a short snooze, but I do feel that I've been travelling for a day when I get off. I shall miss the HST when it goes - it'll be interesting to see how many get preserved. It's a bit big for the average rural steam railway. It's a trouble free trip back on the tube and train to home, and I'm certainly pleased to be back there.

New Lines covered:

Plymouth-Gunnislake
Truro - Falmouth Docks
Par - Newquay

Wales and the Marches Line 21 April 2007

2007-04-21T23:39:00.000+01:00

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

Lincolnshire 13/14 April 2007

2007-04-14T23:50:00.000+01:00

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

The North East and Derbyshire 6-7 April 2007

2007-04-07T23:34:00.000+01:00

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

Yorkshire 23-24 March 2007

2007-03-24T23:21:00.000Z

This is a strange one. I thought it was going to be a difficult one to plan as I'm including a couple of lines with rare trains as well as coping with a wide area to cover, some of which have irregular services. But (aside from one miscalculation which I shall come to) it's a straightforward planning exercise. There are decent gaps between trains, meaning no horrendously long or impossibly short gaps. Some of East Yorkshire I can leave out - most of the line to Hull, the two lines to Scarborough and Doncaster to Goole - because I am undertaking a trip with a colleague to these lines on some future date.

It's a Friday when I set off as I need a weekday to cover some of the awkward days (Sunday services being almost non-existent in places as I discovered at New Year). Can't remember much about the first leg to York, except that I arrived at 10am, probably on a 225 going to Edinburgh as I invariably seem to get an Edinburgh train! A bit sick of coffee but quite thirsty I break a massive duck by giving in and having a beer in the station bar. Probably not a good idea.
At 11 a two coach Pacer takes me bumping to Sheffield via Pontefract - one of the two trains a week jobs. It's a slow way round but not a slow line. I wonder why it hardly has any trains and guage that it's probably due to the large number of coal trains I see. These are generally dedicated freight lines with the odd passenger train to prevent closure and to keep the drivers' knowledge alive. Pontefract is a miserable looking town and I can't see the castle, but as I'm due to pass through its two other stations this weekend I'm not too bereft. At Sheffield I have a short pause before the next leg so I have a look around. Right outside the station is a huge new fountain that heads down massive steps up to the main road. This road is practically a motorway and cuts rail travellers off from the city centre - nice! Later on I discover that the tram will take you past all this and I envisage that I will never try to find my way on foot now(!).
The next leg is to Wakefield Kirkgate. Such is the complexity of the Northern rail network that I've covered part of this leg on other occasions, but never the stretch between Barnsley and Kirkgate. I've come to the conclusion that the West Riding is a bit of a tatty place. There is rubbish dumped all along the railway. Carrier bags are hanging in every tree like strange alien leaves. Being a post-industrial landscape there are a lot of decaying buildings. It's a great shame because the countryside between the cities is beautiful, rather like the Valleys.

The next destination does not help this impression. Disembarking at Wakefield Kirkgate, you feel as if the train has stopped by mistake. I have never seen such a decaying station. Apparently Northern have tarted it up a bit, but which bit is not clear. The whole place is a mess, the once-impressive building dotted with broken windows, the platform walls and canopies like skeletons, and the yard to one side, amazingly still in use, is a hulk of rust. Trying to ignore the dodgy looking flats and seemingly closed pub as I exit, I walk into the town, this time managing to avoid the underpasses that I'm supposed to use. I have time to do a very rapid trip round the pleasant Cathedral then run for the next train to Westgate station. And here is the HUGE miscalculation. I noticed that there are through trains from Wakefield to Selby, that not only cover the link between the two stations, but then go via Huddersfield, Bradford and Leeds before covering the last stretch to Selby that I haven't done yet. I've actually done most of these lines already but am willing to do this epic voyage as it appears to fit in with the rest of the itineary without issue. But I've misread the timetable, the train gets to Selby a whole hour later than I thought and this obviously screws up all that comes afterwards. It doesn't dawn on me until I'm nearly at Leeds and realise it's a bit later in the day than I thought it would be. What's galling is that I ran for this bloody train too! No wonder the conductor gave me a funny look as well, who goes to Selby this way apart from me?! What's annoying is that the only new ground is the loop between the two Wakefield stations, and from Kirkgate it would have easy to get to Leeds then to Selby in half the time AND then kept to the day's plan. Oh well. It's nice seeing a new bit of line at Selby, it's a pleasant looking town with lots of stuff like signal boxes and bridges to see as we head over the river Ouse.

At Selby I have obviously missed the connection to Gilberdyke. I quickly study the timetables, trying to work out how I can salvage the situation, sadly not quickly enough to take advantage of the Hull train that comes in just after I reach Selby. It looks as if I can get to Brough, slightly further on and change for Goole there, and still make the rare service to Leeds via Pontefract. I have time for a quick walk around Selby up to the Abbey and back, no pubs near the station, which is unusual. The trip to Brough is pleasant, I've not seen East Yorkshire before, and the landscape has a beautifully desolate feel. I guess it's that east coast marshland again - it must be the Romney Marsh look that appeals to me again!

At Brough I want to go and look at the Humber, but my way is blocked by industrial buildings. Instead I have some chips and curry sauce, which somehow I've never sampled before, then head back to the station. I let a Sheffield train go because my one is a bit later. Big mistake. I've misread the timetable again! I will now miss the Goole to Leeds train, and there are no more. I resign myself to at least getting the Gilberdyke-Goole-Doncaster section completed, though it's a bit annoying that I will then have to pay for another ticket from Doncaster to Leeds. The train is pretty full, I sit next to some German-speaking youths who are as annoying as the home-grown ones, playing music at deafening volumes on their personal stereos. They go all the way to Doncaster and I assume they are heading to London.

At Doncaster the trains are running late, it being a bit of a bottleneck, and I take the chance to look around quickly. It's another 60s charmer, and the only way into town appears to be through a giant shopping complex attached directly to the station. Eventually one of the rare direct London to Bradford GNER 225s turns up and I clamber into a quiet coach that no-one is quiet in. Thankfully it's a short journey though I'm surprised by the number of stations between Doncaster and Leeds.

At Leeds I head for my hotel, a Travelodge in Vicarge Lane, getting lost in the process which always seems to happen to me in Leeds. It could be because the map I have seems to be missing half the road names and shows the major roads as far larger than they are which can be misleading in reality. I am on the look out for somewhere to eat in case the Travelodge cafe is not open. My room is huge, on the top floor and a bit cold because the heater isn't working. I can't be bothered to sort it out as it's not exactly freezing and there is an extra blanket. I go to the cafe to eat. There are some kids there that I am amazed they are serving, but then the bar staff look like nursery escapees anyway! I make the mistake of ordering a burger and onion rings. There is way too much of it and it is somewhat heavy on the fat. I decide that I have got to stop ordering these meals when I'm out and about. Having eaten the chips earlier I do not need to eat! It's just ritual and I have to resist it. It will save me money too! Also, I have to take more care choosing drinks if they don't the one I want - again, why make myself uncomfortable for the sake of ordering something? I do have a very comfortable night's sleep. Though the message about the food is rammed home when I order an (expensive) breakfast the next day, which is not brilliant and stays with me all day to say the least. All I wanted was coffee and toast, which I could have got anywhere on the way back to the station.

First leg of the day is York via Harrogate. This time it's a three coach Pacer. This is a pleasant trip, half of which I did in 2005 on my way to Fountains Abbey, and the other half is as pleasant as the first. North Yorkshire is a real breath of fresh air compared to the West Riding, the trackside debris disappearing almost as soon as we plunge out of the conurbation into the countryside. We pass through some gorgeous lush meadows over sweeping viaducts and one mammoth tunnel. I've never arrived into York from the north and it's nice to get a different view of the towering Minster. I notice the Scarborough line curving in from the east to join us under the wires, I didn't realise that it split from the main line so soon after York station.
At York I have the now inevitable early drink in the bar before catching the train to Selby. This is a curious shuttle like service, presumably there to make up for the fact that Selby lost some of its status when the main line was rebuilt away from it to avoid the "superpit" opened in the early 1980s. I'm sure that regular York-Hull services would make more sense though. There are some odd routes and timetables up here! At Selby I have time to actually visit the Abbey properly, it's fairly impressive and I'm pleased I made a point of doing so rather than stopping for the inevitable drink instead.

There are more people on the return York service than I expect, it being a somewhat long way round via Sherburn-in-Elmet and Church Fenton. I'm guessing this could be another coal line much of the time as Sherburn doesn't look like the busiest place in the world. Back at York I hop on to a Trans Pennine 185, crowded as ever, back to Leeds, a journey I am now very familiar with, but at least it's quick.

At Leeds I get on a train to Knottingley. Had I managed to do the Goole-Leeds stretch yesterday, this would already have been covered. This reverses at Castleford and takes me through the second of the three Pontefract stations. Knottingley is interesting only in that it seems to be the meeting point for a few freight lines, and I see a couple of coal trains shuffling around while I wait for the next leg. This is via the third Pontefract station to Wakefield Kirkgate and turns out to be on the same train that brought me to Knottingley, it has simply headed off in the Goole direction (the lines stretch away teasing me because I missed them yesterday!) and changed tracks before heading back. The countryside is a bit more rural on this route, though Wakefield spoils all that. I wait faintly nervously on the ruined Kirkgate for the return train to Leeds, it's not an environment that inspires confidence. The train back takes the non-stop route which is good. It's amazing how complex this little cluster of lines between Leeds, Wakefield and Knottingley is, with about four separate services running on them. Luckily I did the Castleford-Normation-Wakefield section in 2005 so no need to repeat it here. All three trains today are two coach Pacers.

Back at Leeds I check the timetables to find the best way to Sheffield where I'm picking up my home train from. The direct route is actually a stopping train; the indirect route is a Cross Country, so it's actually faster. Though there's no indication in the timetable because it only has one stop before Sheffield. Also I glean that the Cross Country service covers a tiny section of route between Fitzwilliamd and Moorthorpe that somehow I've missed until now. It's a Voyager train going to Bristol ultimately, though most of the passengers seem to be going to Sheffield like myself. Though the map suggested that there was only way from Wakefield to Sheffield, I only get conformation that we've covered the "missing" bit once we pass through the stations at either end of it. It's such a complicated network up here that you never know when a loop that doesn't appear on the map is going to appear!

As I'm writing this some weeks later, I remember little about the trip to London, except that it was my old favourite, a HST. I realise that I have managed to travel via every city in Yorkshire bar Hull during this bash, taking these as Leeds, Bradford, Huddersfield, Halifax, Wakefield, Sheffield, Barnsley, Doncaster, Harrogate and York. Though it's only of interest to myself, it feels like a sort of daft achievment!

New lines added this trip:

York-Pontefract-Sheffield
Sheffield-Darton-Wakefield Kirkgate
Wakefield Westgate-Wakefield Kirkgate
Micklefield-Selby-Brough
Brough-Goole-Doncaster
York-Selby
Selby-Sherburn-York
Leeds-Castleford-Knottingley
Knottingley-Wakefield Kirkgate
Wakefield Kirkgate-Woodlesford-Leeds
Leeds-Wakefield Kirkgate-Sheffield

The Valleys Lines 3 February 2007

2007-02-03T22:23:00.000Z

A relatively straightforward day in many ways. All the lines have relatively frequent services, though some are non-existent on Sundays, so it had to be a Saturday. And one ticket - the Valleys Explorer - covered the lot. As far as I could see I could get most of the lines in today. So I set off from Paddington earlyish on a cold but sunny day. I am so familiar with Paddington now but I never tire of departing from here. It's one of the last London stations to evoke that feeling of really departing for somewhere else. As you rise out of the tube, the cavernous cathedral like space opens around you. The smell of diesel exhaust evokes that feeling that you are about to go on a real journey. You look up at Brunel's great arched roof and see the clouds of smoke from roaring Cornwall expresses and you can really imagine it in the days of steam, with scampering crowds of excited children in shorts and raincoats heading off for two weeks in Bideford Bay.

My first stop is a bit different - Cardiff Central. The 125 arrives a bit late and there are long queues in the booking office, so I miss the next leg of the day's festivities. I do a quick mental re-jig then leap on to a 2 coach Pacer to the end of the short Coryton branch. This appears to be a suburb of Cardiff. I remain on the train as it makes its return. The re-jig means I get off at Cardiff Queen Street rather than Central; if I stay on I'll miss my next train as it passes us in the opposite direction.

This is a two coach Sprinter heading for the bleak post-mining community of Rhymney (pronounced Rum-ney). It actually has a junction with the Coryton line at Heath, where there are Low Level and High Level stations - a pleasingly old fashioned term largely removed elsewhere. But not knowing the territory it's safer to stick to Queen Street. At Rhynmney I have time to walk the steepish hill to the town for some water before returning to the waiting return train. I note Caerphilly Castle on the way back and mark it down for a return visit after all the nonsense of the quest.

True heads-down questing follows; there are three branches to plough through now. First up is Merthyr Tydfil. Once home to the mines and the ironworks, it is now home to Asda, and seemingly, a machine for duplicating chavs. I am pleased to bail out. I change trains at Abercynon. This has two stations - North and South - on different lines but within touching distance of each other, though you still have to walk up the road that connects them. I gather there are plans to rebuild the two stations as one interchange, which makes a lot of sense. Abercynon is a faintly grim town, though not exactly threatening. At the North station I take another Sprinter to Aberdare. I remember little of this trip now. However what strikes me is that the landscape in South Wales is beautiful, lush rivers and valleys in every direction, but tainted by graffiti and dumped cars in every stream.

I have to change at Pontypridd (Pontypreeth) which is at that point the most horrible place I have ever waited for a train. There are yobs EVERYWHERE, the presence of several police not putting them off but making me feel marginally safer. I will be pleased to get this one over with. A Sprinter takes me and the crowds up to Treherbert. This is rough. There are security guards on the return train. Kids throw stuff at the train. I've heard since that Arriva Trains are threatening to withdraw services because they cannot guarantee the safety of their staff. What a world. Despite having more sources of entertainment than any previous generation, the current bunch of kids are still using being bored as an excuse to be obnoxious. It's about time that someone taught them they don't have a right to be entertained. Grateful to be free of this painful area, I head back past the dreaded Pontypridd, where things are quiet now, and get off at Radyr.

This change is to enable me to return to Cardiff Central via the line that comes into the west of the city, having travelled east out of the city earlier. I have a moderate wait for this particular route, and have a wander round. It's dark now, so there isn't much to see. There are lots of new houses going up in addition to the many suburban streets already there. It's also a well-used Park and Ride facility, and it's gratifying to see that. A final two coach Pacer arrives from one of the three branches that I've just traversed, and heads along the river and into the Central station. Only a couple of other people are on board. I investigate the possibility of fitting in the Penarth or Bay branches, but neither can be easily accommodated; if there is a hitch I will miss the last train home, which is an early 7.30pm. Instead I decide to tackle these plus the Maestag branch on another day, and head back to the largest of the UK's capitals once more.

London-Cardiff
Cardiff-Coryton
Coryton-Queen Street
Queen Street-Rhymney
Rhymney-Queen Street
Queen Street-Merthyr Tydfil
Merthyr Tydfil-Abercyon South
Abercyon North-Aberdare
Aberdare-Pontypridd
Pontypridd-Treherbert
Treherbert-Pontypridd
Pontypridd-Radyr
Radyr-Fairwater-Cardiff Central
Cardiff-London

Nottinghamshire 13 January 2007

2007-01-13T14:09:00.000Z

This day started out as a bashing trip to Lincolnshire but somehow ended up being a Nottinghamshire bash. Not sure why, possibly as my Lincolnshire trip was a complicated one to sort and I couldn't be bothered to spend the time on this occasion. Anyway, very early on the first Saturday of the year at its coldest darkest time I found myself heading for St Pancras. It took ages to reach the Midland Mainline platforms, I hope when it re-opens it won't be such a slog from the street. By now the trainshed roof was visible again and looking very impressive. It's going to be a fantastic space but I hope it doesn't become a glorified shopping centre like so much regeneration in the UK, they've already trumpeted such bollocks as the big champagne bar that's coming.

I watched the sun rise over the East Midlands from my seat on a Meridian train (too knackered to see if it was a four or nine car job), but was far too tired to appreciate it, my eyes were impossible to keep open. There was no mention of the buffet car either, though the conductor seemed to be able to get himself a coffee. I woke up in time to see a new bit of trackside scenery between Loughborough and Nottingham. Nottingham is a large impressive red brick station. I gather it used to be Nottingham Victoria to distinguish it from Nottingham Central on the GCR. I am grateful for a coffee on this cold morning while I wait for the train to Sheffield.

When it comes it's a three coach 170, there are a fair few of these running in the Midlands, they're pretty good though again three coaches just doesn't seem enough nowadays. By the time we reach Sheffield the train is heaving and it's nowhere near its destination - it's continuing to Liverpool! There are some enthusiasts on board - real ones with a list of locomotive movements, and they seem fairly typical of the ones I've encountered - ordinary thirty something blokes who have a bit of a laugh together bashing, spotting, filming or watching trains. There are the stereotypes but sadly these continue to dominate most people's perceptions. Amid the seething crowd there is a small dispute when an old man is turfed out of his seat by a group who have reserved it, which seems a bit petty but the conductor finds him another seat. I can't appreciate the scenery as it is so crowded but to be honest much of the area around Nottingham and Derby appeals to me as much as my journey to work - works mess, crumbling buildings and graffiti everywhere.

At Sheffield I have a stroke of luck. I've got three minutes to catch the connection to Lincoln and I did not expect to get it, I thought that the train from Nottingham would inevitably pick up a delay and Sheffield is a sprawling sort of station that I'm not that familiar with. It's one of those with loads of bay platforms all over the place and so doesn't seem to follow the normal numbering. However not only is our train on time and the Lincoln train late but we pull up almost next to to the correct platform. This will give me a much better chance of completing the day's itinerary. When it does arrive it's a two coach Pacer. It's reasonably well patronised this morning but I do get a decent seat all the way. It's a reasonably scenic route, helped by the bright blue sky that has prevailed today. We bounce across South Yorkshire and into Lincolnshire. We pass a coal power station of the type that is booming again now thanks to natural gas running low, another of the fantastic 80s economic policies coming back to bite us - appropriate given that we are in countryside devastated by the pit closures. At Retford we head under the main East Coast Line. It's a strange feeling. Not only do I get a mental picture of filling in the map - now I've done the "over and under" here but also the sight of the overhead wires are a link to home, leading ultimately to London as they do. We pass through Gainsborough Lea Road which I erroneously imagine is a graceful sort of town then towards Lincoln. Lincoln is one of those rare places I've already visited by car but not by train and again I enjoy the vista of the cathedral and castle overlooking the city.

There appear to be riot police in the cafe there. They assure me they're only expecting Lincoln City's rivals that day while I have lunch but they are kitted out in a hell of a lot of tough looking gear - I wonder who the visitors are that day?! Next I'm on the two car class 170 to Nottingham via Newark Castle. It's an interesting route. There are a LOT of stops, close together, not many passengers except at Newark itself, and yet apart from Newark it's all very rural - not sure how all those stations still exist - though I'm pleased that they do! At Newark there is what I gather is the last proper diamond crossing in the UK. It reminds me of the Hornby ones I used to see in the track plans book, but this is quite something in reality. We wait for a northbound GNER train to pass in front of us, slowing down for the crossing, then we pass across after it's gone. Seeing it retreat into the distance makes me feel faintly wobbly as I think about the speed it must be doing by now. I'm amazed that in today's health and safety hysteria such a crossing is still permitted. I guess the investment for a flyover would be considered too much for Network Rail.

At Nottingham I head out on to the new tram, connected directly to the platforms by a stairway - another guarantee of getting fare dodgers inside! I take this to Hucknall, which I would compare to a million grim and grimy out of town places in London. The tram is pretty impressive - with a conductor, always a good idea - and I'm pleased that they are getting more. I think if used carefully there is much scope for using light rail either to replace or compliment heavy rail - as well as open up entirely new routes. Maybe a more progressive administration will allow us to catch up with the continent and open a few more. It's ironic that the clutch of light rail schemes we have now were nearly all planned and approved by the Thatcher and Major governments.

I'm cheered by the sight of some kids photographing trams and trains at Hucknall, despite their baseball caps and tracksuits they're not following some stupid "cool" agenda. The train is on time - a scruffy two coach 158. It's a steady but largely uneventful run to Worksop, meeting up with the line I'd passed this morning. Though I'm doing the return trip I have to get off and cross platforms. I see the controls reversed as the tail lights become headlights before the train enters the platform. The conductor looks at me as if not sure if he's seen me before but says nothing! Back to Nottingham, where it's starting to get dark. That's the main problem with bashing in winter, there is always a point where you can no longer see the scenery and then it becomes a bit pointless, winter trips tend to have to be shorter by necessity. The only comfort is that on the final leg home I have usually trekked this way a few times so there is nothing new to see anyway. If I plan it carefully it's only darkness for the familiar stretches. Mansfield is a big impressive stone station. I know that the line from Worksop to Nottingham was part of the GCR and only reopened in about 1993 as The Robin Hood Line. So I'm guessing they left much of in situ in the interval, waiting for new trains. I reflect on how much evocative old evidence of disused railways has gone in my lifetime, most of the Beeching cuts being just before my birth and continuing into my early years. Where I live there are some tiny signs left and it's nice to think of Mansfield having been allowed to stay rather than mindlessly ripped down.
Thanks to the good luck this morning at Sheffield I have time to do the Nottingham-Derby service before the final leg. A sort of mistake as it turns out. Not only was it rammed with Derby fans (no pun intended) on the way back (why don't people live where their teams are any more!), but because it was dark I saw nothing, and finally the service was just a loop between two lines I'd already done to make an inter-city link - exactly the sort of links I said I wouldn't bust a gut over. Oh well, it's another line.

I have time for a couple of drinks before clambering on the three coach 170 to Norwich, fast to Grantham where I'm getting off. Nothing to see by now of course. At Grantham I have an hour's wait for my train to London, not something I relish as the station bar is full of drunken sounding blokes and I'm not inclined to wander about outside to find a pub. There is a GNER train simmering on the platform. My ticket is supposed to be tied to the later train - hence its cheapness - but I have a word with the conductor and he is happy for me to get on this service. It's no skin off his nose, after all, especially as the train is pretty empty by this time of night. I'm pleased to say that usually when I've spoken to railway staff because of stuff like this they've been almost universally friendly and accommodating. Except in London where everyone in any customer service job seems to be sliding into the same cynical indifferent attitude. Including me, probably! It's never a place I'm desperate to return to, though I'm pleased to get home anyway, especially after busy days such as today.

New lines added today:

Loughborough-Nottingham
Nottingham-Sheffield
Sheffield-Worksop-Gainsborough-Lincoln
Lincoln-Newark-Nottingham
Nottingham-Derby
Nottingham-Grantham

Weston Super Mare and Weymouth branches

2007-01-07T00:28:00.000Z

Yep, just a week into the New Year and I'm back at Bristol Temple Meads. It's marginally more cheerful than when I was here last, despite the dismal weather. It was never really a day for the seaside, fog and rain keeping the January standards high. A small number of lines today that ends up being quite complicated in the event.

From Bristol, where I have arrived on the ubiquitous 125, I can choose a stopping or a fast service to Weston Super Mare, which is tucked away on a single line branch off the main line between Bristol and Taunton. I reason that the fast train will be emptier and more comfortable. Not so! I have a moment's doubt as I see a decent 158 arrive for the stopping train. Then a mangy single coach 153 arrives for the fast service. And FGW wonder why they have a poor reputation. This has come all the way from Gloucester! My displeasure at the state of the train is tempered by a poor bloke who helps his daughter on with her luggage and ends up going with us because he is slow to get off again. Luckily for him there is another train in the other direction quite soon at the first stop.

On to the branch, and Weston is of course, empty, and probably not very nice when busy, it being another traffic trap. I don't hang around. When I get back to the station I find a proper station pub on the platform. In retrospect I wish I'd stayed longer to sample its array of local beers and ciders, as the day was about to nose-dive. But, down to Taunton on a Voyager, a trip I really enjoyed. The driver really gave it some squirt, and it was just a comfortable place to be, watching the Somerset winter flying past.

A long gap awaited me at Taunton so I found the nearest decent pub. Heading back, I discovered my connection to Castle Cary, where I was to pick up the Weymouth train, had been cancelled. The next service was now going to make an extra stop there, but it was over an hour away. And think I have missed the connection now anyway. I opted to get the next Voyager back to Bristol. I got on the carriage with the conductor in it, and explained the situation. He said that was fine and invited me to sit in first class for nothing. It's so nice when you get staff who just do a bit more than they need to.

Back at Bristol I now have to wait for the next Weymouth train, there not being too many of them, so I head to the Wetherspoons in the newly developed docks. I've been here a few times now, it's not bad. Finally the second line of the day looms into site as I clamber on to a two coach Sprinter. The bit from Bristol through Bath, Trowbridge and Westbury I've done, then we're on to the main Exeter line for a bit until Castle Cary. Westbury is interesting because it still has a glass overall roof, despite being a small station, though it is a junction. Lots of less than busy stations had such constructions. Castle Cary doesn't seem to have a castle nearby, though it is now best known as the station for the Glastonbury Festival. It has a couple of pubs that I was going to sample until things started to go wrong.

We head through Yeovil (Pen Mill) then out of Somerset into Dorset. After a stop at one of the county town of Dorchester's two stations, we join up with the 3rd rail line from Waterloo before terminating at Weymouth. Even though it's now dark, I decide to follow the tracks to the ferry port. This is a single track line that continues on from the main station, actually through the streets, like a tram, down to to the docks. Because a live 3rd live would have been a bit dangerous in the streets, the boat train was coupled to a diesel loco at the terminus and hauled through the streets to the quayside, with two blokes in hi-viz jackets waving red flags leading it. I always meant to go and see it. but by the time I was in a position to do so, the practice had ended. There is hardly any interchange between rail and sea in the south now. The tracks are still usable, stuck in the tarmac, but the dock station is now a carpark. The platforms are still there, and I walk up the ramp and stand there imagining the scene that used to be.

Then, one last treat. (Doesn't take much to please me!). The 442 EMUs that run from Weymouth to Waterloo are the last coaches in the UK to have first class compartments, 3 seats each side with a corridor to one side. I upgrade for a fiver, and enjoy this luxury for one last time - this stock is being withdrawn next week. In this brave new privatised world, companies choose their own trains. South West has just bought a load of German trains to replace its slam-door stock and would prefer to replace the BR 442s with this and thus have just one set of maintenance, driver knowledge, etc for its long distance trains. Which is fair enough I suppose, though it would have been even better for to choose the SAME stock as Southern and South Eastern as in the BR days. Ggggrrr! The 442s were only built 20 years ago, but in classic BR style they recycled many parts from trains they were 20 years old then. Good use of resources, you and I think, not them. So they're out. Too good to waste, Southern are to use them on Gatwick and Brighton services - some common sense at last. As I go through the barrier at Waterloo, I sneak a quick photo with my 'phone, as I think these are really good vehicles and am sorry to see them being wound down. Oooh, dangerously like a spotter. Another day, two more lines.

London-Bristol
Bristol-Weston Super Mare
Weston Super Mare-TAunton
Taunton-Bristol
Bristol-Weymouth
Weymouth-London

Greater Manchester and Yorkshire December 2006

2006-12-31T23:21:00.000Z

A recent tradition of mine in recent years has been to get as far away from London and all the New Year nonsense as I possibly can. This year I thought I would make it part of the quest rather than go sightseeing. I thought I would do a trip to the North, covering Greater Manchester and its environs on the first day, then head to York, ready to cover some more of Yorkshire on the following day, which was New Year's Eve itself. A roundabout route home would then be taken to try to scoop up another line or two.

So 'twas on Saturday 30 December I was heading to Manchester on a Pendolino, quite early in the morning and quite tired. I could have done with a more restful day at home to be honest, but I'm underway now. I've done little planning too, the majority of the routes today being at least an hourly frequency, so there should be little waiting around. At Piccadilly I buy a day ticket for the trains and trams - a bargain at £3.50 - and make my second journey of the day, on the remains of the infamous Woodhead line, by means of a three coach class 323 EMU.

The Woodhead was an early bit of mainline electrification linking Manchester and Sheffield. Using overhead wiring at a different voltage to that we use today, the line was refurbished in the early 1960s. The Woodhead tunnel under the Pennines was rebuilt to allow for the new height that wiring needed. Then...Beeching. The line was closed to passengers in 1966. So a programme of rationalisation, designed to save money, abandons infrastructre that was not just refrubsihed, but REBUILT, just five years earlier. The same stupid economics that saw the last steam locomotive coming off the line in 1960 and being finished with within 10 years. Can't help but smell conspiracy here. The line was kept open for freight until 1981, when the wires were taken down and the locomotive fleet sold to the Netherlands. Passengers ended up having to change at Huddersfield or use slower lines via Edale and Hazel Grove. None of these are true alternatives. Now the tunnels carry cables under the Pennines. Which makes it just that bit more expensive to open when periodically, someone suggests it to increase rail capacity in the North of England.

The wires were put back using the current voltage system in the early 1990s, but the line only goes to Glossop now, after reversing into Hadfield then out again, this being at the end of a stub of another line that was largely closed. Both these places were used as locations for the comedy, "The League of Gentlemen," and I spot the job centre where Pauline did her stuff before we return to Manchester. There are a couple of camp gents on the train mocking the Cheshire set pretensions that someone of their acquaintance is claiming. Aside from this I notice that you can still see the old style electricification masts in place. Modern masts tend to span one track only. These ones are much wider than the existing two tracks, suggesting that there were four tracks here once.

I get off at Guide Bridge, a junction of various lines. This is not a nice place. Outside there is a rather stark church and slightly down at heel shopping street. The station has been burnt out and is being refurbished. There is a Network Rail depot just beyond the station. Rows of broken and rusting tracks and sad remanents of better times in the form of old signalling cable brackets occupoy a huge amount of space behind the up platform. There is a sense of loss about this place that leaves me almost aching with nostalgia for a time and place I never knew. The fact that I am the only one person waiting for a connection makes me feel faintly uneasy.

Nevertheless it's not long before a two coach Pacer grates round the corner from Manchester. This conveys me past Romiley where another line from the city joins us, past an aqueduct which is part of a new park, then we spur off the line on to a short branch terminating in Rose Hill Marple. This appears to be a small Cheshire town. In an unusual move, I walk to the other station - plain old "Marple," which easily allows me to cover the next line without having to wait for a train back from Rose Hill. This is where the line that I branched off from earlier continues to. It then joins up with the Trans Pennine line from Manchester that heads through Edale to Sheffield. Aside from the stretch between Marple and Chinley, I've completed the rest of the line and will finish that section at on a later date.

So another Pacer takes me back to Manchester, this time via Reddish, a much busier route than the one via Guide Bridge, which cheers me slightly. The light is already fading on this most late of days as I embark on the next stage. At Piccadilly I go down into the Metrolink and take an Old Trafford-bound tram across the city to Victoria station. It is absolutely rammed with Man U fans off to the ground.

Then it's off up the Rochdale line on a two coach Sprinter to Hebden Bridge, my first foray into Yorkshire today. I've been here before, during the Settle-Carlisle trip. It was dark on that occasion, so it's nice to be able to appreciate this well preserved station, carefully painted in old BR London Midland colours. A couple of years ago, Hebden Bridge was voted the best place to live in the UK. Sadly I don't have a chance to investigate properly, as the town is some distance away. I have to return back down the line. This time it's a two coach 158 and runs fast to Rochdale, which is handy. Then I climb on a three coach Pacer which takes me round the Oldham loop back to Manchester Victoria. This is due to be converted to light rail and become part of the Metrolink, evidence of which can be seen in some new stations and electrical plant already appearing. I notice the latter is surrounded by feet of razor wire to keep the vandals out. I have a small doze on the return train. There's nothing to see as it's now dark, so I'm not missing anything. It's a strange feeling that it's the penultimate day of the year. It just feels like any other weekend.

It may be dark, but there's more to do yet. Next leg is Victoria to Stalybridge. This is another line due to be added to the Metro, though not converted, it being part of one of the trans-Pennine routes. It's crammed with shoppers leaving the city, and the train terminates at Stalybridge, where I make a wonderful discovery. On the down platform is a real ale pub, that's been in the station buildings for over a century. It's full of railway memrobilia, has several different beers on, and the epitome of the welcoming buxom Northern barmaid, straight out of a personal fantasy! I enjoy a couple of drinks before heading back on a class 185 to Piccadilly, taking in the other route back to the city. There I get on a 323 EMU to the Aiport.

I have a quick look around, then get on a Trans-Pennine 185 to York. Annoyingly I have to retrace my steps past Piccailly and Stalybridge. Not long after we're over the border into Yorkshire and make stops at Huddersfield, Dewsbury and Leeds before I reach my resting place for the night, York. I practically walk a circuit of the city to find my hotel. There's no food on there but luckily there is a Wetherspoons next door with plenty of room and still serving. Can't remember anything other than waking up to find I have a view of the gently flooded Ouse under overcast skies.

Today is the last day of the year and it's a Sunday. I have a heavy heart on both counts; I loathe the New Year hysteria and the trains are always so poor on Sundays. I know that despite my best efforts I will get little covered today. I am chiefly looking forward to the daft Cross Country trip that will end the day. So I head to the castle-like city station, and head down to Huddersfield on a 185, packed as ever, even on this day.

Huddersfield is another grand station, four tracks running through the centre and several bay platforms under a magnificent arched overall roof. Each end of the station building houses a real ale bar - both in the CAMRA guide! - though today neither are open sadly. Never mind. My carriage is gently chugging on the far bay platform, a two coach Pacer to take me along the Penistone line to Sheffield. This is another fairly scenic line, and is regarded as the replacement for the Woodhead Line, even though it requires something of a detour. I spy a narrow guage railway at a stop called Shelley that will merit further investigation at some future time. The train sadly fills up with some of the more obnoxious youths on offer, most of them getting off at Meadowhall, the new giant shopping centre.

Another trip to Sheffield without seeing the city! I begin my return to York. I take it slowly because I've got ages until my train down south. It's a four coach Voyager to Doncaster, then an HST to York. The Voyager was actually going from Doncaster to Wakefield and Leeds before going to York, an astonishly long way round - presumably it doesn't always take this route! At Doncaster I overhear, with a mixture of amusement and despair, a teenage boy telling his girlfriend that he is going to drink an entire bottle of "Tabu" tonight. I want to ask him WHY?

I have ages until my train at York, so I head to the National Railway Museum, via the new direct link from the platforms. After the obligatory feeling of awe and smallness standing next to the Deltic, I have a look round the basement store and then spend 20 minute trying to work out how the signalling display works. It replicates a section of the panel at York, but due to the museum being on the west side of the line, the direction of the panel indicators runs in the opposite direction to the trains, which is much more confusing than it sounds!

The day is winding down fast as I get on board the Voyager that will take me to Bristol. I've wanted to do this route for ages though maybe a daytime trip would make rather more sense! We head through Doncaster, Sheffield, Derby and Tamworth and the about the same number of counties before we halt at Birmingham for 25 minutes. This gives me a chance to get something to eat at a grim grocer's, that part of Birmingham being less than comprehensive for facilities. We wish each other a happy new year and I continue my journey through Cheltenham, skipping Worcester on the avoiding line (how come it got missed off this route?) before the lights of Bristol loom in the distance. We make stops at Parkway and Temple Meads, where I have one last drink and wish the barman a happy new year before clambering on to the buffet-less HST home.

We're into Paddington at about 11.40pm and the journey home makes me vow that I will not do this again. I will be at home before the madness gets going. Everything is now doomed to annoy or alarm me. There is a POOL of blood at the end of a trail of it on the underground station, a surprisingly shocking scene. The Bakerloo line is full of w*****s smoking dope and being generally anti-social. The train is full of the scum of Bromley. I travel on London's suburban and central trains all the time and I don't think I've ever seen this volume of scum out at any time of the day. To top it all there is a white boy arguing with his girlfriend in a stupid fake Caribbean accent near the house when I get back. I give them a dirty look and hope they clear off soon. A partially sucessful trip. The Saturday ticked off several new routes but the Sunday was just a bit of a wash out. Happy New Year!

London-Manchester
Manchester-Hadfield-Guide Bridge
Guide Bridge-Rose Hill Marple
Marple-Reddish-Manchester
Manchester-Rochdale-Hebden Bridge
Hebden Bridge-Rochdale-Oldham-Manchester
Manchester-Stalybridge
Stalybridge-Manchester Aiport
Manchester Aiport-Stalybridge-Huddersfield-York
York-Leeds
Leeds-Huddersfield
Huddersfield-Sheffield
Sheffield-Doncaster-York
York-Doncaster-Sheffield-Derby-Birmingham-Cheltenham-Bristol
Bristol-London

West Midlands 5-7 October 2006

2006-10-07T22:21:00.000+01:00

I think it was at around this time I decided to go all out to finish the quest rather than just pick routes off as part of sightseeing trips. I took a long weekend as it was my birthday, and as there was something in particular that I wanted to visit in Birmingham, this struck me as an ideal opportunity to clock up some mileage in the Midlands. The easiest way to cross off the remaining route between Worcester and Birmingham was to start my journey there. So on Thursday 5 October after work I got the HST from Paddington to Worcester Foregate Street. I do find the place a bit threatening at night but know of a decent pub to go to. Sadly it gets worse from here on in as there are yobs messing around in the corridor outside my room until 3am. I complain to the night staff and this nets me a refund of breakfast from the manager in the morning, but it can't make up for the loss of sleep.

So it's gratefully that I head back to Foregate Street the next morning. This is one of the oddest stations I've seen. It has two platforms and both lines are run as single tracks, so that trains can arrive in either direction on both sides. A two car 170 carries me and plenty of others to Birmingham New Street via Bromsgrove. At BNS I head to a National Trust building. This is the last of the city's back to back houses, in fact three of them in a terrace, that have been preserved and fitted out in the style of three different eras. It's one of the best museums I've seen, helped by the very good guide. The area around them is being re-invented with the usual bars and bowling alleys. The gloominess of the place is deepened by the rain which is bucketing down by now. Drenched, I get some lunch at M&S at New Street then head off on the next leg.

This is the stopping train to Stafford, going via Aston, Walsall, Rugeley, on to the Trent Valley Line and up to Stafford. I think it was a four coach Sprinter and it is a surprisingly long trip, but then we have left the conurbation and crossed into Staffordshire. It's a short wait for the train back to Wolverhampton, and this is a Desiro EMU, being the stopping electric train from Liverpool to Birmingham, and almost new at the time. It's an uneventful smooth run back.

At Wolverhampton it's a wee wait for the Walsall shuttle. This is a single coach Sprinter that calls only at Walsall. It's paid for by the local council, and is always being threatened with the chop. Hardly anyone is on it so it is going to be difficult to stave off death for ever. I'm sure it also travels under the wires too so it's wasting a diesel unit. At Walsall I notice that the BNS train back is fast, but it actually takes a different route back, spurring off to the right after Hamstead rather than going back through Aston. This is handy as fast is always better, and it does follow another new line I suppose, though without stations.

The evening rush hour is starting now, and the two coach 170 to Nuneaton that is next is standing room only. Still it's not a long journey. I can hardly see anything out of the window and am grateful to bail out. It's another busy one coach Sprinter down to Coventry. I like Coventry station. It's a particular 50s/60s design that integrates all the station buildings into one glass-panelled structure, footbridge, buffet, the lot. Chichester and Banbury are similar and they remind me of the swimming pool and town hall in Lewisham. It's annoying that trains don't run directly from Nuneaton to Leamington rather than stopping at Coventry - surely another disincentive for people who might otherwise travel by train. Especially as the train from Coventry to Leamington is a Voyager Cross Country train, which is unbelievably overcrowded.

Not looking forward to Leamington as despite being a Spa town it is also known as a chav town. They're not wrong and I keep away from the platform and go into the very pleasant buffet for a coffee. A few trains pass before my 171 to Stratford Upon Avon arrives. In Shakespeare's home town I have time to go to a couple of real ale pubs before going back for the Birmingham line via Henley in Arden. Irritatingly the train is late, which meant I could have relaxed a bit more in the pub, but it's not such a big deal as this is the last leg of the day.

As the train nears the city people going out for the evening start to get in. Taking over the train seems to be a new trend for teens and 20-somethings. It never seems to occur to these groups that taking a couple of bays of seats even if there are just four of you, then playing loud music and cracking open cans (then leaving them) as a pre-cursor for your night out is anti-social. The old notion of the quiet public space seems to be dead now. This doesn't leave me in the best mood when I have to find my hotel in Broad Street. I have no map and there are a fair few undesirables and drunken youths already about. Eventually I find it. The room is HUGE, way too big for a double. Then just to make sure I don't get another good night's sleep, the fire alarm goes off at midnight. Being 8 floors up, I'm not keen to dawdle and reach the car park without a coat. I freeze while we wait for the all clear, nearly an hour later. At least I'm not in pyjamas like some of the others. It's a non-smoking hotel so a smoker is suspected. I suspect the gaggle of gigglers nearby, the only guests who are taking this opportunity for a cigarette break, and am not in the mood for laughter myself.

I keep my clothes close by in case it goes off again, but next thing I know it's morning. The alarm actually goes off while I'm dressing but stops quickly. I grab breakfast on the way to Birmingham New Street then get the 323 EMU to Lichfield Trent Valley. I hop off just to have a look at the main Trent Valley Line that runs at a right angle and at a lower level to the line I've just travelled on, then travel back one stop to Lichfield Town. I take a tour of the beautiful cathedral with its distinctive triple spires, then get the return train to Birmingham. The line actually heads right through the city and south west to Longfield and Redditch, the latter being my planned destination. However to my annoyance there are engineering works all day between King's Norton and Redditch. I won't get this branch done this time and I resign myself to having to head back another day just to do this. Since I have a specific train to catch home I head to the limit of the service today - King's Norton - just because I have nothing else planned. Never before has this felt so pointless! I covered so much yesterday that today just feels like a damp squib and I look forward to going home. But there's a bit to be done yet.

Back at BNS I get lunch then walk to Moor Street, through the packed throng of the shoppers. Moor Street was a terminus for services from the South East Midlands until 1987, when the through lines to Snow Hill and beyond were re-laid. More recently the terminus has been renovated in 30s Great Western Railway style and some trains are planned to terminate some trains there once more, freeing up capacity at BNS. I get on a two coach Sprinter going to Worcester via Kidderminster, though I am getting off at Stourbridge Junction. There I get on to the single coach Sprinter to Stourbridge Town and back again. I swear the journey is over before the train has revved up once, such is the short length of the branch. A vehicle called a Parry People Mover has actually been tested on the branch recently, a lightweight tram-like beast that runs on a flywheel system and uses much less energy. I was hoping to get a go on this but it wasn't running today. However more recently as part of the new franchise (West Midlands), it was announced that some of these had indeed been commissioned for the branch, so I will get my wish. Imagination of this sort is vital to keep our branch lines alive.

And that's it really, I've done all I can today. But I still have lots of time to kill. So instead of heading back into the city I get off at Smethwick Galton Bridge, an interchange between the high level local line and low level main line. It's very smart but seems to be next to a motorway, like much of the Midlands, and is quite isolated and uncomfortable. The first train through on the main line is the slow train to Wolverhampton, so I get on this. My ticket, a West Midlands Rover, is actually valid all the way out to Gobowen, Crewe and Stoke. But the trains are not frequent enough for me to get out to any of these and back again unfortunately. It would have been good to do the Stafford to Stoke line, but this has been permanently replaced by a bus. You can only travel this line on a fast train to Manchester. That will have to be another day. The day feels like a downer as I head back to BNS to get a Pendolino home.

Lines covered:

Thursday 5 October 2007
Paddington-Worcester Foregate Street

Friday 6 October 2007
Worcester Foregate Street - Birmingham New Street
Birmingham New Street-Rugeley Trent Valley-Stafford
Stafford-Wolverhampton
Wolverhampton-Walsall
Walsall-Birmingham New Street (Aston avoiding line)
Birmingham New Street-Nuneaton
Nuneaton-Coventry
Coventry-Leamington Spa
Leamington Spa-Stratford-upon-Avon
Stratford-upon-Avon-Birmingham Snow Hill

Saturday 7 October 2007
Birmingham New Street-Lichfield Trent Valley
Lichfield Trent Valley-Lichfield Town
Lichfield Town-King's Norton
King's Norton-Birmingham New Street
Birmingham Moor Street-Stourbridge Junction
Stourbridge Junction-Stourbridge Town-Stourbridge Junction
Stourbridge Junction-Smethwick Galton Bridge
Smethwick Galton Bridge-Wolverhampton
Wolverhampton-Birmingham New Street-London Euston

Wales 24-30 July 2006

2006-07-30T00:05:00.000+01:00

The Prologue

Though I've had some fairly intense bashing days and weekends, this remains my longest rail-themed trip. The idea grew out of three things. The first was a desire to visit some of the narrow gauge railways of Wales that I'd heard such a lot about. The second was curiosity about the remote nature of the lines that served the holiday resorts of the West Wales Coast. Finally I'd noticed during my endless timetable checks that are the life of a basher, that the last trains out of London and the first to North Wales were remarkably close together. Having missed the once-common phenomena of the slow night train, the type that was a normal train rather than a sleeper, this seemed like a chance for me to enjoy such a journey. I must acknowledge the writer Ian Marchant as some of the inspiration for this trip. His book, "Parallel Lines," is both an incredibly well-researched history of railways and a railway travelogue that makes you want to visit the same sights that he sees during his journeys. I'd recommend it to anyone interested in railways.

What ensued then was a couple of weeks of furious timetable checking, hotel booking, and acquisition of decent walking clothes, bags, maps etc. One week before the off, a national railway signallers strike was announced. Disaster! It would allow me to reach the first stop (Aberystwyth) and return from the last (Bangor) but not allow any travels between the two, ie, the bulk of the trip. With a heavy heart I looked at the various options for cancelling and refunding hotels and tickets, news about contingency plans being thin on the ground. Finally, with just about the minimum time left, the strike was called off.

Monday
And so it came to pass that I hoisted my giant rucksack onto my back on the evening of Monday 24 July 26 and set off for New Beckenham station. A taste of what the forthcoming week would be like came as I struggled on the tube and tried to find an unobtrusive corner for the bag in the pub at Paddington. The final train of the day to Swansea came at last and I squeezed on gratefully. I'd just settled down in my seat and propped the bag opposite – I'd got a cheap first class fare to give me a bit more space – when the conductor told me the air conditioning had failed in this coach and I'd be better off moving. It was a sweltering night but I thought I'd stick with it anyway now I was comfortable. Then suddenly it was decided that this train was out of order and we would all have to move to another one two platforms away. It was another 125 so at least there was still room even though all the seat reservations were in the original train. This was to be a journey like no other that I'd done. There was a curious atmosphere aboard this very late train as it tunnelled its way through the hot night air. It lacked the usual burble of conversation and I-Pods. It seemed strangely calm, probably because most people now seemed to be dozing. I'd heard that the old night trains could be hellish, full of noise and long stops, but this seemed like a great way to travel to me. For a railway fan this was helped by the announcement that we would be doing two engineering diversions that night. I guess if I'd been returning to Swansea and I had work in the morning it wouldn't have been the best news, but the later we arrived, the better for me, as it shortened the wait I'd have at Swansea for the first train out. This wait was not something I particularly relished as it would be just before sunrise and I had no idea what the conditions there were like. Our first diversion was to split off the main line after Swindon, then through the now-drowsy centres of Bath and Bristol (Temple Meads), before passing through seemingly endless sodium-lit container train sidings, then heading up the cross country route and arriving at Bristol Parkway the wrong way round, facing London again. Me and the driver changed seats then we headed off towards the Severn Tunnel, something not as easy to discern as in the day light at this time of day. The second diversion was to use the Vale of Glamorgan line to reach Bridgend instead of the mainline. So I missed one new line but clocked up another I guess. This had been recently re-opened to passengers, and although I'd been as far as Barry (and hope never to go there again), the rest was new. I tried to spot the newly opened stations, but they flashed past in the darkness. I was aware only of a shadowy coastline. So sometime after 3am, but a bit later than timetabled, we pulled into Swansea. My next train was at 4.30am.

Tuesday
The sky was still dark, though there were tinges of blue appearing. Being quite far west, the sun was still chasing us - doubtless in London the sun would be poking over the horizon by now. The early morning chill was not too bad, but I was glad of my jacket and the flask of coffee that I'd brought just for this moment I found a spot on the opposite platform and settled down. Swansea was a reasonably busy place even at that time. As we left the train, the cleaners and caterers moved in - our train was going to form the first service back to London at 5am. Then early straggling passengers started to arrive for the first trains. Finally a single coach Sprinter came in, the destination board stating Fishguard. Great.The Rosslare boat train that used to be a 125 between London and Fishguard is now a single car bus on rails. And hoardes of people got off, mostly heading for the 125 I had arrived on. So now instead of coming off the ferry, exhausted, and being able to relax in a comfortable spacious decent train and sleep back to London, you have to struggle for a manky seat on almost the crappiest train in the UK, and clamber off at Swansea in the middle of the night, wait to be allowed on the London train and try to snatch some rest if you can. Even worse at this moment was the fact that this was to be my train to Shrewsbury - and a comfortable seat was badly needed at this time of day. The cleaners descended and cleared it of lager cans. By the time they had finished the birds were singing and light blue streaks were expanding across the sky. At around 4.20 am I gratefully scrambled aboard and hoped that there would be room for my bag all the way to Shrewsbury.

Needless to say despite my best efforts my attempts to resist sleep were fruitless. I’d really wanted to enjoy the journey and see the scenery, but was only vaguely aware of the pale blue dawn getting lighter and lighter, and the starkly beautiful countryside every time I opened my eyes. Looking back it seems incomprehensible that I was on that train for 4 hours. It seemed to pass in no time at all and I must have missed so much. I will have to do this line again some day - perhaps tied in with some walking. The service was reasonably busy, especially when we joined the Marches Line. I was awake to see the famous hills at Church Stretton and got my first view of Shrewsbury as it built up around us. It’s clearly worthy of exploration as I can see various castle-like structures of interest. Finally we pass the biggest old-style signalbox I’ve ever seen as we cross the line curving in from Birmingham, and then we’re there. It’s a weird feeling knowing that a day passed while I was on trains, and hope that it won’t catch up with me later.

At Shrewsbury I find a faintly grubby café and have breakfast, tired but looking forward to the rest of the trip. I’m alarmed by the number of people waiting for the same train as I gather that the Cambrian Coast trains are usually 158s, ie, two or three coaches at most. As it turned out I needn’t have worried, it was a four-coach train that divided at Macyllenth, and at that point there are only a couple of stops to Aberystwyth. It was on this journey that I first appreciated that these are decent trains for longer journeys. They are as good as the nice new trains operating to the coast in the south and at points on the trip must have been doing 100mph. There are few stations on the route through Central Wales, though I’m guessing the place is not heavily populated. The countryside is pleasant enough though it’s a bit hot for me as I discover when we arrive at the terminus. Aberystwyth has a substantial station building, a testament to greater things in the past, and it’s nice to see that it’s been used for a restaurant rather than demolished and replaced with a portakabin like so many others. I head to the seafront guest house that I’m staying in tonight. It’s basic but clean and the owners are friendly. I just have time to change into clean clothes more suited to the warm weather and return to the station.

I upgrade to a first class ticket for the Vale of Rheidol Railway. It’s worth it as I don’t have to share the carriage with hundreds of screeching kids. I know that kids keep these places going but they ruin it for me and I’ve been looking forward to this. This railway was BR’s only narrow gauge railway and only post-1968 steam railway until privatisation came, and the signs of it being BR’s are everywhere. The No Smoking signs etc all date from BR and remind me of the trains I knew as a kid. The trip to Devil’s Bridge is fantastic. We travel along the side of a steep valley, granting a magnificent view of the countryside, snaking across high level crossings that are used only by farmers and winding around trackways that are hardly wider than the narrow track itself. I begin to appreciate the imperative for such railways. In such areas it just isn’t practical to get a standard gauge railway up the valley and narrow gauge is cheaper to run as well. It presented a way of getting goods (and later people) to and from remote communities. It’s a shame we haven’t used more imagination in railway construction, as use of narrow or light rail might well have been a way of preserving more of the rural network. They were particularly common in Wales for the slate mining industry and a fraction now survive. At Devil’s Bridge I look at the three layered bridge, the crossing having been rebuilt a few times, one above the other. It's weird to finally be standing in front of it. It's been nearly 30 years since I first saw a picture of it in a Ladybird book. As a family we were supposed to camp near here with a caravan-owning relative but it didn't come off and just my brother went. He sent us a postcard of the bridge and I longed to see it myself. And now here I am. After visiting the falls I have a drink and get back on the return train. I read about the clifftop railway in Aberystwyth itself and manage to get back in time to visit it. It’s not like the Hastings Cliff Lifts as it is rather higher. Hence it rises up the cliff then flattens out then rises once more, so tackling the incline in two stages. There are some lovely views of the bay from the top, and I walk along the coast for a bit wishing that I had time to linger. Some day I will just book a holiday for relaxing! After scrambling down the cliff I then have a proper look around the town. It’s a pleasant place, relatively chav-free, with plenty of interesting buildings – the university, an unusual church and some nice bridges over a sort of inland harbour to the south of the town. Despite being holiday time the town has a quiet but pleasant atmosphere. There are pleasing little pubs and chip shops, where I dine before returning to my guest house. I sleep well after feeling like had two days in one.

Wednesday
After a pleasant breakfast I head down to the station. It's another two coach 158, which appear to be the mainstay on this line, though I gather in happier times with through trains from Euston, 125s were not unknown. Judging by the loadings on the train from Birmingham on Tuesday I am sure that a London service would pay for itself. Oh well. I have to travel back to where the line splits at Dovey Junction. This is one of the remotest stations in the UK. Strictly speaking the line separates at Machynlleth and continues as two single bi-directional lines next to each other until Dovey Junction where they head off in different directions. The station exists only as a changing point between the two branches. There is no settlement served by it and though there is a footpath it doesn't connect it to a place as such. Yet I gather there is a local football team named after it - this is the sort of fact I love to discover! Though it's a nice day I think I'd be better off going to Machylleth to have a look around. This is not the best decision. The pack is very heavy and there is nothing in particular to see. I'm grateful to get on the train to Tywyn.

At Tywyn I am to travel on the Talyllyn Railway. This has an incredibly romantic story attached to it. Another slate railway, by the end of the second world war it was pretty much finished. Then one of the early conservationists, LTC Rolt visited and was forced to walk the track as no trains were running due to the derelict state of the infrastructure and the rolling stock. He pledged to do something. The railway was erroneously left in private hands at nationalisation and thus Rolt was able to get directly involved when the line's owner, Sir Hadyn Jones, died in the early 1950s. With an enthusiastic bunch of volunteers he managed to keep it going and ultimately turn it round so that 50 years on it is a successful tourist attraction. Rolt is an inspiring figure with his favour of the little man against the faceless state, the local against the global, and the distinctive against the anonymous. Ironically he was anti-nationalisation because it sought to give everything the same identity - something we now recognise as vital for the railway to run as a realistic concern in the car-crazy world. So I feel some weight of history as I board the little train - sadly I see neither of the original locomotives, which are still plying their trade up and down the line - and enjoy another splendid scenic trip through the lush countryside. The line ends at Nant Gwernol, where I wait for the return trip because there is little there. One stop back is Abergynolwyn where I have lunch, then finally back one more station to Dolgoch Falls, which is the main attraction along the route. I have a couple of hours to explore the paths that snake around the falls - sadly carrying the bloody pack all the way, which makes me feel as if I'm in the Army - before stopping for some tea. There are some lovely old road signs at the Falls, with stripey black and white posts, and I like to think that no-one has changed them rather than them being preserved for the sake of tourism. The first class upgrade on the return to Tywyn is worth doing again, 50p for space for the pack and some peace. I am already realising that I should have based myself in just in one or two places. Trying to do a weekend city trip multiplied by three and hauling a week's kit on my back just doesn't work!

The train to Fairbourne is late, but there's plenty of daylight. The route starts to get really pretty now as we hug the coast. The scouse bloke next to me suddenly jumps up and declares, "Porpoises!" but I can't really see them. At Fairbourne the line snakes along the coast in front of the foothills of Snowdonia and ruefully I realise this is another place I'd love to explore that's going to have to wait. It's quite a stroll to the Sea View Guesthouse but well worth it. The room is lovely, large with substantial windows giving a view of the coast round to the end of the peninsular. It's a balmy evening and I sit by the window for ages enjoying the breeze. There seems to be a small farm nearby as I can see horses, goats and sheep grazing a couple of gardens away. Eventually I decide to go and find some food. This is a difficult task! The landlord tells me the best way to the coast which is go further in the same direction, then head off down a narrow lane, cross under a beautiful railway bridge that just appears to grow out of the rock, then on to the beach. I walk along a concrete wall which I didn't know at the time was actually built as coastal defences during the war until I reach the Fairbourne and Barmouth Beach Railway - my destination for tomorrow - and head back inland. I pass several holiday camps and an unfriendly looking pub before finding a chip shop. I'm just in time as it is closing up as I order. Then I head back and enjoy the rare luxury of sleeping with the window open, watching the sky get darker and darker as pinpricks of light start appearing along the coast. I would really have liked to stay here. Being based at a mid-way point would have made more sense in retrospect.

Thursday
I have a peaceful night, though I'm aware of some heavy snoring (not my own!). It sounds as if it's in the room with me which is slightly unnerving but the atmosphere of the place is calm and welcoming, so I'm not alarmed by it. After breakfast I go down to the beach again and walk along to the Fairbourne Beach Light Railway. In terms of scale and scope this is along the lines of the Romney Hythe and Dymchurch Railway, and its main purpose is to get me to the Barmouth Ferry at the spit into the Mawddach estuary known as "the Bar". It's an enjoyable little bob over to Barmouth Harbour in a tiny boat. I have a quick look around, pausing to go to the RNLI museum and shop. I shall never understand why the RNLI is not government -funded, and buy a few bits and make a donation. Morbid though it it seems, I've often thought I'd like to leave them something in my will! Barmouth is okay, by no means the nicest seaside town I've been to but certainly not the worst. The main reason I'm there is to walk back across the wooden railway viaduct across the estuary. Unusually there is a footpath parallel to the railway track, and for a modest sum, you can walk the length of it back to Fairbourne. The views of the river and Snowdonia are fantastic. At the other end there is a station, Morfa Mawddach, where I cross the track, and note that the platform clearly served another track once that curved off to the left, and later I discover that this went to Wrexham, having joined various other branches en route, all sadly now gone. I get back to the guest house where I've been able to leave my pack in the front room. The landlord has told me they'll be shopping but will leave the door open - lovely to know such places still exist! He's back anyway, and we chat about the walk I've just completed. He's a bit of a railway fan too, and gets quite heated about the Beeching when I mention the rusting bit of branch line that I've just found. Vowing to return some day I heave my pack off to the station and grab some lunch from the shop before heading off to Harlech.

The town of Harlech is up on a hill next to the castle, and my hotel is on the opposite hill. It's not very nice. It's a huge place, and I would guess that a family have bought it cheaply and hope to refurbish it some day. All the fittings are dated and scuffed. The carpet and bedding is pocked with burns. The TV is awkwardly plonked on a stained cloth on a chest of drawers - I'm guessing that TVs were not standard in hotels the last time it was fitted out. When I switch the shower on water comes out of the ceiling behind me. The smell of sour milk in the lounge makes me want to heave - and that is going some! I think longingly of the place I've left behind but comfort myself with the thought that it's a short stay. I head back down the hill then up a long staircase to the castle, which was built by the English against Welsh insurrection in 1283. It's a magnificent monument with great views of the surrounding countryside. There is a good view of the station with a curious level crossing that crosses two roads. I look up the long straight track heading north and think about the rest of my trip, trying to put the hotel room out of my mind. After the visit I go to a neighbouring hotel for a meal and wish I was staying there instead. I almost contemplate swapping as it wouldn't cost much, but then think of heaving everything up the hill again. By the time I've been through the sand dunes to the beach and walked along the public footpath to the hotel, climbed up the path and had a couple of drinks, it's nearly 11pm anyway. I do sleep well so I don't have much longer to go.

Friday
I head to Portmadog next. I'm going to the village of Portmerion first, an entire folly of a village which is most famous for being the location of 60s TV series, "The Prisoner". Minnifford is the nearest station, but I've already decided to go from Porthamdog so I can walk across the Cob. This is the artificial embankment created in the estuary of the River Glaslyn, to produce the harbour that eventually gave the town its name and its existence as the original port on the route from London to Dublin. This exhausts me because of the pack, and it's not that nice a walk either, because inevitably the embankment just just become another fast moving road which does not allow easy crossing for pedestrians at the other end. I am extremely grateful to reach Portmerion, where I eat a lot of ice cream and drink a lot of water! It's an interesting place, much smaller than it looks on TV. The best bit is the beach, where there is a boat shaped house that appears to grow out of the water and the quayside and the lighthouse-like lookout post. The hotel which features in the TV series extensively and is rather exclusive looking, and off limits to mere day trippers!

I head back to Minnifford, which is a junction with the famous Ffestiniog Railway, which I'm travelling on tomorrow, where I wait and watch the narrow guage trains until the real one comes to take me on. I go to Criccieth next, just to see the castle. I sit and have a cup of tea whilst waiting for the train and wonder at the plethora of pretty places along this coastline, looking forward to the end of the line, Pwllheli. Am I in for a shock! Pwllheli is a roughish town, scary looking pubs, big estate, etc etc. I'm staying above a pub which is not bad, but is not a holiday place, it's definitely more for overseas workers and the like. I do have a wander on the beach but my heart is not in it. Before the local yobs start clustering on the street outside I head back and for the first time, watch the TV all evening, not eating anything, and wanting to go to the bar below but just not comfortable there.

Saturday
I'm grateful to get away and decide to use my pass on a bus back to Porthmadog, the first train not being until nearly 10am. It's full of chavs who get off at the big holiday camp. The image of the row of baseball caps and tracksuits hanging up when they all get changed into kitchen staff overalls etc is quite an endearing one. Usually changing rooms are for changing into tracksuits! At Porthmadog I head to the Ffestiniog Railway. This time I don't have to cross the Cob. I upgrade to first, again partly for somwhere to put the pack and because there is a huge party of London scouts getting on! It's another fantastic trip through the mountains. The most interesting part is where a valley was flooded for a resevoir in the 1950s, cutting the line in half. The preservation society managed to operate the line until it had raised enough to build a loop to carry the line over and above itself and away from the valley. You can still see the old trackbed as you veer away from it.

By the time I reach Blaneau Ffestiniog, I've hit my first rainy day of the trip. It renders the pyramid-like lead waste heaps around the town even greyer than they really are. It's fascinating how slag heaps can be so spectacular! The rain holds off just long enough for me to reach the Llechwedd Slate Caverns. It's up a hill and along a dangerous road, not really suitable for pedestrians, like so much else these days, and it puts one family off entirely. I make it by climbing over some fences and doing some mild trespassing, as I am determined to get there. The museum has the obligatory fake Victorian shops, which I ignore, concentrating on the caverns themselves, which are amazing. The tough lives that men faced down here are almost beyond the modern imagination I suspect. There is something almost sacred in the atmosphere down here, especially in the flooded areas where the addition of underwater lights grant the caverns an incredible air of calmness. Up top I call Directory Enquiries for local cab firms, as I do not want to heave the pack back down to the station, the roads now being incredibly slippery. The cab is worth every penny and I am grateful to scramble aboard the "proper" train that arrives parallel to the Ffestiniog for Llandudno.

After two dodgy nights I am not looking forward to tonight, assuming that it will be English Chav heaven as is much of the North Wales coast. It's an easy journey to Llandudno, a large number of people getting on at Betws -Y-Coed, where buses to Snowdon link from, but surprisingly few at Llandudno Junction. A fantastic view of the Conwy Estuary greets me before we terminate at Llandudno, where a pleasant sight is to be seen. It's another Aberystwyth! It's clean and graceful, generally free of tossers, and with fanstastic views of the Great Orme, a geological feature that looms over the west end of the town. I find my guest house, but they have no record of the booking! Disaster. But all is not lost. They have a double room that has just been redecorated, not quite ready, but awaiting its first guest tomorrow. Hence it's free tonight. The owners are so friendly and accomodating and I feel very upbeat about the day as I head into town.

First stop is the Great Orme Tramway. This is fantastic, being pulled by cable through the streets at incredible gradients, before raeching a half-way station where you change for a second tram to take you right to the top of the Great Orme. Needless to say the views of the town between the Great and Little Ormes is amazing, but it's the incongruity of seeing a tram amongst the scenery that's entertaining. I work my way back down to the town, taking in a tiny church clinging to the side of the Orme and a cable car system which is not working today due to the high winds. I get drenched and wish I'd brought my as yet, untroubled waterproof trousers. Back in town I have a very pleasant walk along the front, almost to the Little Orme, before heading back for the inevitable fish n chips and heading back to the B&B. I check the train times en route and marvel at a)the generally low level of annoying people there and b)the fact that the station is clearly about a quarter of its original size. I imagine the crowds arriving in their thousands in the 1950s before cars and the Expressway blighted the coast here. Ahh.

Sunday
I leave my pack while I head back to the Great Orme to explore the ancient copper mine that has been unearthed there. Apparently it has thrown the accepted view of where the Bronze Age fits into human history because it pre-dates the mines from the middle east. You can explore it yourself with an audio guide, as many times as you like, which is great fun. Much more is waiting to be uncovered and I look forward to a return visit in a couple of decades! After that I find the cable car station, and enjoy an airborne ride down to the town. It's faintly alarming when you reach the end as it swoops down with some speed before two blokes grab it and let you out. Their wry grins make it clear that they have seen the look on my face a few times now! Before I head off I spy a Camera Obscura, something I've always wanted to see. It works by reflecting light via mirrors on to a projection table. By altering the arrangment of mirrors you change the angle of the view. The whole thing is housed inside a hut, the mirrors being in a turret like roof. With the doors closed the picture of the world outside projected on to the table is breathtaking, almost like looking at, for want of a better phrase, a living photograph! I'm glad that my trip to the town ends on a high, because the trip goes downhill from now on!

I get a bus to Bangor because the rail service on Sundays is so poor. Ideally I'd have gone to Holyhead, thus covering the whole North Wales line today, but there are, unbelievably, insufficient trains to reach there before the London train starts back. I look for a bus to Holyhead without sucess and can't help but think that my planning has been deficient here. Probably I was fed up by this point in the proceedngs! As Bangor is a cathedral and university city, I'm sure it will be a nice place, and I intend to head up to the Menai Straits to look at the bridges also. Wrong!!! The cathedral is tiny and closed. The town is run down and miserable. My maps are useless and I get hopelessly lost before calling a halt to it and heading for the station buffet, which is grubby but sells beer. Almost the final bombshell. There are delays caused by kids on the line at Chester (just RUN THEM OVER, they wouldn't do it again) and the London train (ie the one of just 3 that day) is cancelled. So I hung around in this pit of misery rather than going to Conway Castle or a better exploration of the Great Orme to drink crap beer, get lost and tired, then get crammed on to a 3 coach train with everyone off the Dublin ferry rather than a comfortable 8 coach first class seat. So enraged I slump into my seat and head for Crewe, not really able to enjoy what remains of the sea view over the Expressway, spitting blood at the notion of destroying it with a four lane road when there is a prefectly good two track railway all the way there, that is choosing to run hardly any trains today.

At Crewe I get a Pendolino back to Euston, where the final spoiler waits. The cab I have booked to take me home is 20 minutes late, the last thing I need just now. The driver doesn't even apologise, and expects me to be grateful that I am not one of the world's starving people when I say that I am tired and keen to be home. Though my last day has been a washout, I remember that I've enjoyed several packed days and completed some large chunks of the quest. A good result.

New lines this trip:

Barry to Bridgend

Bridgend to Swansea

Swansea to Shrewsbury

Shrewsbury to Aberystwyth

Dovey Junction to Pwllheli

Blaneau Ffestiniog to Llandudno

Bangor to Chester

Cornish Branches No.2: September 2005

2005-09-24T14:14:00.000+01:00

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

Cornish Branches No.1: March 2005

2005-03-31T17:46:00.000+01:00

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

Settle-Carlisle October 2004

2004-10-24T14:37:00.000+01:00

This is an early one, before the days when the quest became simply a line-based business. It began as a day out on the Settle-Carlisle line, likely to be the most scenic rail journey in England. I then discovered that Settle was just a station on the way to Leeds which made it an even more adventurous trip. How it expanded beyond that I'm not sure now. It was originally going to be London-Leeds-Carlisle-London. I think when I noticed there was a line between Newcastle and Carlisle I thought it might be fun to do a big loop around the country, except that Leeds is right in the middle of that bit of England. Hence returning to the West Coast via Preston and thence south from there. Also, it was the week that the Pendolinos launched, so it seemed like a good excuse to have a go on one at the same time. An early epic for me, and all in one day - I hadn't started to build overnight stays in at this point.

I managed to get a reasonable single to Newcastle, and was looking forward to my first foray north of York. I don't quite know what I was expecting. North Yorkshire is beautiful, but I already knew that! Seeing a giant lineside arrow with a sign announcing "London-Edinburgh: Half-Way," was quite entertaining. Beyond that seeing Durham Cathedral and crossing one of the many Tyne bridges with their interesting different levels was something. I had about thirty minutes' wait at Newcastle to watch the world go by, I decided not to go into the city, vowing to return, and 3 years on, I've still only changed trains there!

The Carlisle train arrived, much to my surprise it was what I now know as a Pacer, though I'd have called it a bus on rails at any rate - which I gather it was it is, pretty much. The roughness of the ride didn't detract from the glorious scenery along the upper reaches of the Tyne, but it's a remarkably inappropriate train for a Cross Country service. It only gets full at the city ends of the route, and as this was before I-Pods took off, it's a peaceful trip. Aside from the non-stop groaning and squeaking of the body and the roar of the engines. We get every type of weather along the way, and although I'm not happy about this at first, I realise that it does allow me to see the landscape in all its varied glory over the course of the day.

At Carlisle I visit the small cathedral and wander back through the obligatory pedestrianised shopping centre before buying fish cake and chips. The fish cakes look great in the hot cabinet, or at least I think they do, thinking they are the tennis ball-sized things. What I'm served is more ordinary fish cakes. I see there is haggis on the menu but I gather that the tennis ball things are not that either - so I never do find out! Carlisle is interesting in that it's a border town - the first I've really been to. There is a curious mixture of accents and I realise that this must be what continental borders must be like - the gradual transition rather than the sudden change we tend to associate with crossing borders in the UK. Anyhow. The train to Leeds is almost an hour late before it's cancelled. Luckily the next one was an hour later, otherwise this could have been a bit disasterous, usually it's not exactly a clockface timetable over the Settle-Carlisle usually.

Finally we're off. It's a four coach Sprinter which is better than I was expecting. Most of the people on it appear to be on it for the sights too, at least until we get into the Leeds commuter belt. There's not much point me talking about the individual sights on the line, except of course for the magnificent Ribbledhead Viaduct that crosses the Ribble Valley, as it is famous even with people who don't know much about railways. All you need to say is that it ploughs through the best countryside that Cumbria, Lancashire and Yorkshire have to offer. So I could drone on about the line's history instead. It was built, at great expense, by the Midland Railway, who were seeking their own route to Scotland to compete with the companies running over the more direct West and East coast routes. To this day it seems bizzare that they should have done so, as the areas covered remain to be sparsely populated and difficult terrain to build and maintain a railway in. I'm glad that they did though! It was almost inevitable that after the Beeching, the line's days would be numbered - chiefly because of the cost of maintaining Ribblehead Viaduct. All bar Settle and Appleby stations closed in 1970 and in 1983 BR announced its closure. Such was its reputation for breathtaking scenery that interest in the line started to revive. People travelled it just to see it before it went. And as a consequence, by 1989, the then-Conservative Transport Secretary refused BR's request. Since then the line has gone from strength to strength. Sightseers and walkers now make much use of the line. It's used for the increased number of coal trains that have followed the decline of oil and gas for electricity generation, keeping them off the busy West Coast line. West Coast passenger trains have also been diverted over the route whilst the main line has been refurbished. Volunteer groups have re-opened all the stations, incredibly not bulldozed but well preserved, and now run cafes, bookshops etc. It's a happy story amongst much that has been unhappy for the railways in recent times.

As we approach Leeds, I'm aware of how built up it has become, and am unprepared for the number of people struggling to get on the (late) class 158 train to Preston that I clamber on to. In Northern fashion an elderly lady talks to me about the Settle Carlisle trip and suggests other routes I might like to try. She is visiting her daughter in Preston who has moved there from Doncaster, and true to type makes a remark about being "over the border" when we stop at a Burnley station, ie the first stop in Lancashire! I think Trans Penine Express have just taken over from Northern Spirit and they have a long way to go.

At Preston I have a half hour wait for the train. It's a big station befitting a city of its stature and I like the big sign that states, "Welcome to Lancashire." I have time for a quick drink before catching the new Pendolino to London. For possibly the last time ever I am on an almost empty Virgin train. Because it's dark I can't appreciate the new bit of line I'm covering, though I can just about appreciate the tilt in action. I gather that the tilt works on this train better than BR's ill-fated APT. The APT mechanism tried to compensate for the brain's interpretation of the tilting action, which meant that the eye saw one thing but the brain experienced another, causing nausea. The new train allows the brain to deal with it by itself and thus doesn't give it a problem. It certainly seems to work, as I'm not aware of tilting at all, though I am aware of how fast the acceleration of the thing is, it shifting away from stops incredibly fast. It seems no time before we are back in London and I head for the tube to Victoria and home.

New lines covered this trip:

York-Newcastle
Newcastle-Carlisle
Carlisle-Leeds
Leeds-Preston
Preston-Tamworth-London

East Anglia 2003

2003-09-30T15:14:00.000+01:00

This was my earliest bashing trip of any note. I bought an Anglia Rover, Anglia being the company for the Norwich and Norfolk/Suffolk local trains before it was replaced by the daftly-named One Railway. The whole trip was achieved in a day, East Anglia not being that far away from London.

Step one was to reach the western limit of the Rover area at Peterborough. I took a GNER 225 non-stop from London King's Cross. There was just a few minutes before the first connecting train, a single coach Sprinter that would take me into the heart of East Anglia. The first stop of note was at March in Cambridgeshire. This used to be a fairly significant junction for trains coming and going from all over East Anglia and Lincolnshire, but these days it's just a through station. You can get an idea of the former scale of the place from the number and shape of platforms there though. After this we cross the New Bedford River, a major part of the Fens drainage that prevents East Anglia returning to the sea. It's quite an impressive sight in terms of its width and depth, and the same goes for the girder bridge that carries us over.

Next stop is Ely and its magnificent cathedral. Because of the flat landscape you can see it for miles as you apparoach and depart the city. We then bump across the line that crosses counties from Cambridgeshire to Suffolk, passing through Bury St Edmunds where disappointingly little of the city is visible from the railway. Back on to the main East of England line as the overhead lines loom into view and we're at Stowmarket. This train continues to Harwich I think, but I clamber off here. Looking back, what's changed is that in those days I didn't really plan these days in anything like as much detail as I do now. This is partly a reflection of me getting used to the idea that everywhere does not have a train every 30 minutes like London, which took some getting used to. So I was actually quite lucky that I could get another train going north that quickly at Stowmarket. Some of the lines in this part of the world have an irregular service, so the day could have been a disaster.

This is an express to Norwich, at that time, one of the last loco-hauled regular services, a class 73 pulling mk3 coaches, and now in 2007 the only one, until the new Wrexham and Shropshire Company starts work. The main event of note was going to the loo and getting a quick eyeful of a lady who has forgotten to lock the door and is firmly enthroned. By the time we have sped to the capital of Norfolk it's lunchtime. I have a long gap until the next leg and no new journeys are available, so I get the train to Great Yarmouth, a trip I did in 2002, grab a sandwich and return, in time to get the 2 car 170 to Cambridge.

I notice we cross a swing bridge on the way out of Norwich. Can you imagine them leaving a swing bridge just outside Leeds or Manchester? The trip to Cambridge is across rural flatlands, and I am surprised by the length of the journey, though when you look at the map it is a longish route. I pass through Ely again, one of the couple of loop backs I will do today. Then we're in Cambridge, a station I am very familiar with as I have friends in the area, though interestingly I have never approached it from the north, and of course such a daft thing pleases me.

At Cambridge I just miss the Ipswich train, an unfortunate side-effect of not doing much pre-planning. Ironically it leave a couple of minutes late too. I probably went in the drab buffet (now a Marks Simply Food - no booze at Cmabridge at all now!) to wait the hour. I spot a vending machine on the platform Eventually I'm on a single coach Sprinter that is incredibly noisy for two reasons. One, it's full of schoolgirls, thankfully all of whom have gone by Newmarket. Two, some bit of the engine is thumping in a way that sounds like it needs an overhaul, and this goes all the way to the other end! Never mind. We then join the line from March and travel for the second time across to to the East of England line through Bury St Edmunds. This time I stay on through Stowmarket as I am going all the way to Ipswich.

There I have a half hour wait for the Felixstowe train. I think it was another single coach Sprinter but possibly it is electrified, so possibly it was a non-descript EMU - a 321 or something. This is double track but only for the huge amount of container trains going to and from the port. We pass a couple such trains and a sea of containers piled up like lego bricks before arriving at the minimal station in Felixstowe. I can see that the same thing has happened here as at many terminals - the large impressive station has been turned into a retail park and the line now stops far short of the original end of the line and has hardly any facilties at all. I suppose if it helps to keep lines open at all by lowering maintenance costs it's okay, but it is a shame. I'm too tired to look around so I get back on the return train, something I then felt reticient to do, but I'm keen to get home now.

At Ipswich I get on a London Express. Somebody talks loudly on their phone all the way home despite me glaring at them. Looking back it's sobering to think that this was quite rare in those days as they were still pricey to use. Now of course, someone's always on a mobile, with no regard for the other passengers. Why didn't I upgrade to the relative peace of first class? We arrive in London at Liverpool Street, and the notion that I performed a huge loop from King's Cross appeals to my sense of symmetry.

King's Cross-Peterborough
Peterborough-Ely-Stowmarket
Stowmarket-Norwich
Norwich-Cambridge
Cambridge-Ipswich
Ipswich-Felixstowe
Felixstowe-London Liverpool Street

Devon Branches Summer 2003

2003-08-10T15:20:00.001+01:00

It now being over years since this trip, I cannot remember much about it. I do remember that it was a brilliantly hot sunny day but nothing of the journey down to Exeter remains with me. At St Davids I changed on to a two coach Sprinter down to Exmouth. Much of this line serves suburban Exeter and is thus fairly well used. It also passes through a station serving Lympstone Commando, which I gather is only used by training marines. I notice a line of them being drilled behind the perimeter fence next to the station.

At Exmouth I walk for a couple of miles through the shallow clear blue water lapping at the shore. If only I was more inclined to sit about on this beautiful beach. But as ever, I like to keep on the move. I stop for a drink at a pub that's been recommended to me, The Snooty Fox, then walk back to the station. The tide is now turning and see the waters of the Channel pouring back into the Exe estuary - the speed shows the sometimes fearful power of nature. Periodically I hear a train on the other side of the estuary, heading along the line at Dawlish, the red cliffs of which can be seen in the distance.

Exmouth station is now a single line terminus integrated into a manky 70s bus station, with the inevitable upgraded road now taking up much of the space that other platforms once occupied. Thankfully it's not a long wait for the Sprinter that takes me away again. It's going through Exeter to Barnstaple, so I stay on for the ride. It gets very full at Exeter with returning shoppers. This is a much more rural line and I doze gently in the heat of the afternoon while enjoying the view. Until 1970 the line continued to Ilfracombe on the North Devon coast. It was truncated because the cost of maintaining a bridge between Barnstaple and Ilfracombe was deemed too high. Another sad loss. It's now impossible to believe that the route to Ilfracombe would not now been have remunerative, as it is a possible holiday destination and most coastal services are generally well patronised in my experience.

I'm sitting next to an elderly lady who remarks on the crowds on the train, and then says, "Let's hope that don't want to go to Ilfracome." I'm so surprised that she seems to have been reading my mind that I just nod and smile. The chances are hardly anyone on the train of my age would know what she was talking about, so it's an odd thing to say to me. Anyway, at the sadly curtailed terminus the rail traveller is now treated to a circular walk through and out of an out of town trading estate and across a river into the town. Before the end came there was a Barnstaple Town station but this was on the other side of the fateful bridge. Barnstaple is a standard sort of middle England town, reasonably clean and tidy but nothing earth-shattering.

And the trail ends here. I have absolutely no memory of the rest of the day! I suppose it was back to Exeter St Davids. I could have travelled back via any of the three routes to London - Bristol, Newbury, or Salisbury.

London Paddington-Exeter St Davids
Exeter St Davids-Exeter Exmouth
Exmouth-Barnstaple

Dawlish 2 August 2003

2003-08-02T15:10:00.000+01:00

Dawlish. It's one of those places that is synonymous with railways, like Crewe, or Doncaster. The Great Western main line to Plymouth and Penzance runs along the sea wall for a few miles at this point, providing the enthusiast with an excellent location for photography and spotting. It's also part of the myth of old-fashioned seaside holidays by rail, where the train literally delivers you to the beach, and the children still wave at travellers as they speed past above the sandcastles. Inspired by Nicholas Whitaker's "Platform Souls," I decide that it's time I visited this toffee tin lid of a town.

I get myself booked on to a direct train from Paddington for the following Saturday. At this time not well versed in the routes and timetables outside London, I'm not surprised when it takes what I know now is the long way round, via Swindon and Bristol. It's actually a Summer special that is going to Paignton, hence picking up from as many places as possible. Later I discover that the direct route is via Newbury, and most London trains DON'T stop at Dawlish. I remember being pleased to re-discover that there are these two routes to the West Country after all.

I enjoy the trip on the 125 immensely, as I've hardly been anywhere at this point in the quest. Finally seeing the sudden urban burst of Bristol, the sad ruined goods depot at Taunton and the distant cathedral at Exeter means a lot to me. These have all been mere words on a map or timetable until now, and suddenly, here I am, they exist! But it is the trip along the River Exe estuary that really impresses me. The tide is in, and it seems as if we are travelling over the water's surface. Apparently the line was built on the bank itself, but the ground began to move and was built up to strengthen it.

Eventually we veer away from the estuary as it pours into the sea, past a large camp site at Dawlish Warren. Camp sites by stations are rare, and I make a note of it as a possible future place to stay. Then we're on the sea front itself. The famous red cliffs start to appear, I spot a palm tree, and we're there. The station is underwhelming, but then many are, and I feel as if I've missed something. It's only when I get on to the beach that I realise what. It's chiefly the line to the west of Dawlish that has the legendary status. I can see the red cliffs curving into the distance, the line hugging the curves and poking in and out of tunnels. The train does indeed practically run on the beach, and yes - the kids still wave as they go past! It does feel faintly exhilarating to walk along the sea wall and have a train racing past a couple of feet away. I spot plenty of spotters, and there is plenty to spot. A refreshingly large number of services run along here.

I have a wander around the town, having a brief look around the town. There's not much to see to be honest, but I do go in the local museum and learn something about this fascinating seaside railway line. I already knew that the line is in an extremely hazardous place, the lineside equipment, the trains and even the ballast all being adversely affected by bad weather as the sea spray batters it continually. But I didn't know why such an unlikely location was chosen. Apparently Brunel wanted to build it as a showcase to show how nature could be conquered. It was originally broad gauge, vacuum powered and single track. Another line to Plymouth was built inland, via Tavistock, but good old BR severed the line at both ends, so now when the sea does its worst, Cornwall is cut off.

Eventually I decide that I will go to Newton Abbot, a couple of stops down, so that I can see the full sea wall, then stop at Exeter on the way back to see the cathedral. It's worth the change of plan. I get to travel through all the sandstone tunnels, see the lovely old fashioned sign welcoming us to Teignmouth just outside the station there, then along the estuary of the River Teign. Not as breathtaking as the Exe, but probably wider. Newton Abbot itself is unremarkable but I'm not here for sightseeing. I get on a Voyager to Exeter (new then!) which has Dot Matrix displays for reservations and personal stereos built into the seat arms, which even in 2003 seems terribly futuristic!

Exeter is a pleasant city, with a nice mix of old and new buildings, smart shops and cafes and a waterfront redevelopment that seems more natural than many I've seen. I'm surprised to learn that it has been voted the most clone-like city in the UK since, as it certainly didn't seem like that to me. The cathedral is one of the most impressive I've seen, with a fascinating clock that takes a while to work out how to read.

Not realising at this time that there is a faster route back to London than I one I come down on, I enquire about returning via the West of England line to Waterloo instead. I know this will not be quicker, but the bashing mentality is already kicking in, and I just see the chance to tick off a line. Little do I realise that the route back would have been new anyway, but I'll cover it a fair few times in years to come! The booking clerk very kindly alters the validity of my ticket to allow me to use it on a different route back for no extra cash.

The West of England line is single track all the way to Salisbury, and non-electrified west of Baskingstoke, so it's a three coach class 158 that conveys me home. It's a pretty trip along the south coast of Devon but I look with most interest as we arrive at Yeovil Junction. This is as far as I've been before on this route when I visited a friend in 1986 who moved here from school. He was a trainspotter and that was my one go at spotting as I waited for my train home. In those days it was a "proper" train hauled by a locomotive. Little did we know they would pretty much all be replaced by "units." Chard is a particularly irritating stop. There is no station there any more, yet we halt for about ten minutes to allow trains to cross. Err, surely that ten minutes could be used for a station stop? Welcome to the 21st century transport policy!

The journey back to London takes most of four hours, but I enjoy it. Finally seeing all these places I've known of for years come to life is daftly satisfying. I intend to do more of these trips...

East Anglia Coast & The Broads: March 2002

2002-03-16T13:00:00.000Z

My first serious bashing trip of any note, where the object was purely to cross off lines. Unusually for my trips, I'd already seen most of these lines from other occasions - trip to the Norfolk Broads, holidays, and the like. But now I would actually be seeing them from the train. I was looking forward to a trip to the slightly mysterious Norfolk. The day began with the class 73/mk3 train to Norwich. I'd just got a job at the Hackney Citizens Advice Bureau, and as I was starting in two weeks, I scanned the rooftops as we passed through the area. Not encouraging, but that became another story!

At Norwich I boarded a two coach Sprinter - just about the first time I'd been on a train that short(!) and we headed off to the east and Great Yarmouth. Soon we began to pass through the flat marshy land that characterises the county of Norfolk. There are two routes to Great Yarmouth, one directly eastwards and the second that starts by heading south east towards Lowestoft. It then spurs off this line at Brundall and heads north east to Berney Arms station before joining up with the first line again. We don't stop at Berney Arms sadly. This is named after a nearby pub that is only reachable by foot, train - or boat! It is possibly the most remote station in the UK, and only a few trains stop there. One day I will return to visit this inviting sounding pub. How the line survives is a mystery to me. There is only that one stop and it is hardly served. It doesn't give rise to any extra connections or new journeys. Possibly it is purely because there is no other land route to that most distant of pubs. Finally we arrive at last remaining station in Yarmouth, there being three until the 1970s. This one was called Vauxhall I believe and served a nearby holiday camp. Now it seems to serve an Asda, though its long platforms hint at a more glorious past.

To get into the town you cross a giant arched girder bridge over the Yare estuary that looks as if it should be carrying a railway. I have a wander round the docks and a ruin of some description before finding the shops and getting some lunch. This is a grim town, though it was a booming resort once. I think it still sees a lot of holidaymakers though of course many of them head to warmer climes these days. Back on another Sprinter and off we go back to Norwich.

This time we take the direct route. However I now need to do the Lowestoft branch so I get off at Brundall where the junction is. This is a charming little station. It has two platforms to allow trains to pass, and each is either side of a level crossing. The crossing is still hand-operated by the signalman. Just a couple of hours from London but it feels like a few decades. I have a wander round and actually find that the village has another station - Brundall Gardens. The boatyard tells me that there is wealth here, so that explains how they've held on to both! Yet another Sprinter arrives and conveys me to Lowestoft.

The only point of note in the desolate wastes of the Fens is Reedham. There is a grand girder bridge crossing the river here. At the age of eleven, I spent a week on a school trip to the Broads, in a boat moored under this bridge. I would hear the trains rumbling across it and run up to have a longing look. Now I'm looking back at me looking back at me. The trains from that time have gone but the view is much as I remember it. Though what I didn't notice was the bleakness of the area. It seemed so lively when we were there, and yet I see nothing but marshy flats as we come off the bridge and continue south eastwards. I feel curiously melancholic about this new image of a place once known. How time plays tricks.

The next two legs pass through different ends of the same town - Oulton Broad. We stop at the North station, before a short distance to Lowestoft itself. The weather has been quite pleasant today, but by Lowestoft it has started to change for the worse. It's rather grey and cold by now. This suits the tone of this port town only too well. I make my way past takeaways and convenience shops, through vaguely interesting narrow streets, all rather run down, before arriving at the coast. There a millennium project set into the ground informs me that I am at the UK's most Easterly point and gives distances to London, New York etc. I did know this but had forgotten it in the mists of time. I have just enough money for a cup of tea at the most easterly cafe in the UK before heading back to the station.

By now the weather is really rough. As I walk through the docks the wind is howling and the boats moored there are heaving up and down, the water whipped up by the ferocious gale. It's quite alarming. Suddenly I see a huge old style BR sign on the side of a building. It's in the dark blue of the post-nationalisation Eastern Region. Knowing that there were two lines to the town until 1970, a second line running from Great Yarmouth along the coast, I assumed that I'd come across a relic of the other station. In fact, it was the existing station that I'd approached from a different direction. Now I gather another greedy developer wants to redevelop the area, cut the railway back and rebuild the station further away. Doubtless more car parking is part of the scheme. Why is it that even though it's cars that have helped to ruin town centres, development accommodates them while tolerating the relocation of stations that force rail travellers to walk further? Let's stick the cars out of town and bus THEM in.

I board a single coach Sprinter for Ipswich. We head through Oulton Broad South, where cruisers are bobbing around like fish in a waterfall. We plough through remote countryside as dusk falls, halting at a level crossing for some time and an unspecified reason. There is hardly anything out here until we reach the edge of Ipswich, and I really appreciate how urbanised my life is. And here my memory fails me. So many times have I travelled down this line back to Liverpool Street, that absolutely nothing sticks in my mind from it! On reflection, this could be considered the first of my wider ranging line bashing trips, the ones before this having been based pretty much exclusively in London and the South East.

Itinerary
London Liverpool Street-Norwich
Norwich-Berney Arms-Great Yarmouth
Great Yarmouth-Brundall
Brundall-Lowestoft
Lowestoft-Ipswich
Ipswich-London Liverpool Street

Me and trains - the purpose of the blog

2001-01-01T23:53:00.000Z

I've always liked travelling on trains. I wouldn't describe myself as a train spotter (indeed I believe the quest I'm engaged in is called "line bashing"). I'm sort of interested in the different types of trains you see travelling around, in as much as one is interested in seeing anything that's different from the everyday, but ultimately it's the journey for me. As a child I loved standing on the local station, watching the lines curving away into the distance, thinking of all the places that they could take me to. Even now when doing my tedious commute to work I'm aware that the bit of track I'm on is joined to every other bit of track on the mainland (and I guess the Continent too now!) and it's a curiously liberating feeling. I know that roads take you away as well, but it's just not the same. Railways snake along in cuttings and tunnels, rush unseen through remote parts of the countryside, then burst into another place entirely, a world away from the one you left behind. Also the notion of experiencing the rows of figures in a timetable transforming into a real journey gives me a bizarre sense of satisfaction that I can't really explain!

This blog is my record of a "pointless quest" that I have been engaged in for some years. That is, to travel on every current passenger rail route in the United Kingdom by the time that I hit 40. The rules that I am following are not necessarily consistent. Broadly speaking I have to travel every bit of railway line that has a passenger service, even if it is just one a week. However I am ignoring the loops that join two lines to allow a couple of through trains a day (the single train from Birmingham New Street to Stratford or the Brighouse to Mirfield train that avoids Huddersfield) - though if I can do them, I will. The general rule of thumb is that if there are actual stations on a little-used route I will cover it (eg Pontefract to Goole).

I'm not sure when the quest developed. I started to make an effort to see some of the UK (by train!) in about 1998, and usually tried to use different routes there and back. Gradually the lines on the map began to "fill in" and I thought it might be fun to fill the lot in, and see a lot of nice places at the same time. Then eventually I decided to finish the quest and fill the lines in, then see the places later on. And now that I'm nearly there, I've decided a bit belatedly to start documenting my travels, just for my own memories.