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
Wednesday, 4 July 2007
Sunday, 24 June 2007
21-24 June 2007 - North West England
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.
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
Saturday, 5 May 2007
Cornwall and Devon branches no.3 4-5 May 2007
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
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
Saturday, 21 April 2007
Wales and the Marches Line 21 April 2007
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
This could all be done in a day - no hotels needed - so at 5.45am on Saturday 21 April 2007, I left the house for New Beckenham station. The train for Charing Cross left at 6.07am and seemed remarkably full compared to other times (of which there have been many) when I've caught this train. I'm in town by just gone half-six, with an hour and a quarter before the train. I decide to walk it, it's a pleasant morning and without the hordes it will be much quicker than it would be during the day. I feel my way to Paddington, it's only in Marylebone that I know the exact route. It takes 50 minutes, which gives me time to get all my tickets, buy a bacon roll, and find a nice seat on the train. We leave on time. My favourite train - the Inter City 125 - speeds us to Newport in under two hours. I marvel at the new refurbished locomotives - hardly any noise or exhaust - known as clag - nowadays. A great advert for the engineers and the railway's environmental credentials, though I can't help agree with others that there is something more exciting about a screaming smoky diesel train!
At Newport I watch the world go by while I wait for the Manchester train - due at 10.04. The contractors are rebuilding Platform 1 which has been of use for years - part of Network Rail's improvements package. There is also a gaggle of elderly trainspotters keenly noting 6 locomotives coupled together easing through the station. Unfortunately there is also a group of teenagers at the other end of the station, which I choose to keep away from as they're bound to annoy me. Right enough, they have to start kicking a bottle around getting in everyone's way, even going down on to the track to retrieve it at one point. I really want these kids to disappoint me one day and not live up to their modern image but they never do! Various trains come in and out, including a Holyhead train, which I contemplate getting on as it will take me as far as Shrewsbury, but as it's a short train I decide to stick with the original plan. A 3 coach 175 train comes in from Milford Haven to take me to Crewe. I find a decent seat, and despite being frozen by the air conditioning, enjoy the views. Some of it is familiar to me from last year's week on the west coast of Wales, but it was very early on that occasion! I'm in a better state to enjoy it this time. Ludlow is the picturesque town that I was expecting, though Leominster (pronounced Lemster) looked a dump. Shrewsbury was pleasingly free of manky concrete modern buildings, and boasted a signal box the size of a football terrace. We plough on through the Shropshire and Cheshire countryside, through several dubious urban-looking stations, then suddenly the overhead lines of the West Coast appear - we are at the famous railway centre of Crewe.
At this point my careful plans unravel slightly. The next train to Chester is a few minutes, but due to the size of Crewe and allowing for delays, I'd assumed I had no hope of getting it. In the event though, I make it walking. It's a one coach job, WHY do they throw away the train's ability to carry hundreds by wasting track space with a bus on rails? Anyway, this trip is one I've done a few times now, and seems quicker each time, nearly half an hour through pleasant but unremarkable countryside, a contrast to the mountains I've passed on the earlier journey. So I arrive at Chester about half an hour early. I like Chester station; it's a sprawling place, with lines heading in and out in all directions - including some 3rd rail electrics heading to Merseyside, something I usually only see in the south. The arches between the different areas of the station evoke the Roman heritage of the city and somehow the buddleia sprouting from the crumbling brickwork seems to be appropriate in these surroundings. I nip outside to find a pub and there are a couple of okay looking ones opposite. Sadly all the local brews are off and one of the perennials - John Smiths - has to suffice. I grab a sandwich at Smiths and head back to the waiting Shrewsbury train - a two coach 158 - but because I'm early it's actually a Birmingham train. The plans unravel - if I get this all the way to Birmingham, I'll be far too early for my train home, and I don't wish to be stranded there for hours. Also if I wait until I get there, I'm too far south, and it will cost me a fortune to get back to the north. I could maybe fit some of the Wirral lines in now? I grab available timetables and get on the train to think about it.
After seeing the famous APT in its final resting place, I work out that I can just about fit in the Wrexham to Bidston line, unfortunately I realise that I should have got off at Wrexham General just as we are pulling out! I don't know when the return train runs or how far apart the connections at Wrexham for Bidston are, so decide that I might as well stay on until Shrewsbury which at least is a vaguely known quantity. This line is another scenic one, passing an aqueduct at Chirk at a higher level, allowing you to see the boats passing from above. At Shrewsbury I have about 3 minutes to get my extra ticket and get to the Chester train going back to Wrexham. I also discover that to get to it I had to go through the barrier, outside the station entirely then up a staircase, which is a new one on me. I also have to explain that I am deliberately breaking my journey and I don't want the Birmingham train to the staff!
So back to Wrexham hoping that the connections will work out okay. Wrexham to Bidston is an awkward one from a line basher's point of view. The line from Bidston doesn't terminate at General, but splits off from the main line and terminates at Wrexham Central, two minutes along. I need to cover that extra stretch, but if the connection times between the two lines at General are short, I may not get the chance as I don't have time to hang around in case I miss the Bidston train. I need not have worried. There are 15 minutes to wait when I get back to General, time for me to leave the station and find Central station, to ensure that I have covered the "branch" section right at the start of the journey. It doesn't take long; just have to cross a couple of roads and down some steps. I can hardly believe that the branch has survived given that you can practically spit between the two stations. But as Central is now at the heart of a shopping centre, having two stations to serve two lines does balance the passenger volumes as well as help people carrying shopping back on the train – not used to experiencing such regard for rail travellers in the UK! Unfortunately Wrexham lives up to its reputation – a doyen of chavdom. I choose to wait outside as the platform is faintly threatening. A two coach Sprinter arrives – better than I expected – so I go right to the front, most of the local neds having got in the back coach.
This is an interesting line. After passing the famous Wrexham football ground we pass through suburban stops, where most of the shoppers get off, and quickly emerge into scrubby countryside. Shotton is quite a large town and the interchange for the North Wales line. Shortly after that we pass over a grand iron bridge over the Dee, from which I can see two other such bridges, and thus back into England not long after. I notice that most of the passengers now have scouse accents, and I reflect this is one of the amazing things about my travels. I've gone from Cockney to Welsh to Midlands to Scouse in the course of the day and its one of the things that stands out as marking out that you have actually moved away from your own postcode, so to speak. This is to be cherished in a country increasingly full of clone high streets. We hug the coastline as we travel across the Wirral peninsula and join up with the 3rd rail Merseyside Electrics at Bidston – a curious reminder of home, the south having the only other such electrification in the UK. It's strange to think of Liverpool being so close. Now that I've practically travelled the old Great Western route to Liverpool – through Birmingham Snow Hill, Shrewsbury and Birkenhead – I can see that it was a perfectly reasonable alternative to the West Coast – maybe something we should have thought of while it was being refurbished?
The train turns round in two minutes and back we go. We get back to Wrexham General and I have a chance to look around. The station has been refurbished recently and is a pleasant place to be. The driver of the Bidston train goes off shift and gets out a big Suzuki bike on to the platform, preparing it for the off. I feel a pang of envy as he roars off. The Birmingham train arrives on time – a two coach 158. I get a seat but it fills to bursting by the time we get there. The I-Pod comes into its own at such times!
At New Street I sort some food for the journey home and stop for a drink in the bar. There is one moderate sized bar at New Street – astonishing considering the size of the place – and it has just been refurbished so it's not as unpleasant as I remember. There are bouncers on the door which I presume are because of the hordes of football fans milling around, a couple of whom are refused entry because they are swigging from cans. It amazes me that people don't just follow the rules under these circumstances when you are clearly not going to win! I leave earlier than I want because it gets pretty rowdy in there but the train comes in a few minutes earlier than its scheduled time anyway
.
It's a Pendolino, the coaches dimly lit for some reason though this gives it a pleasant feel. I grab a seat in the Quiet Coach and it is largely observed all the way back. For some reason it is timetabled to take two and a half hours – why I don't know as it seems to goes along at a fair tilt. I manage to get some sleep after Milton Keynes which gives me some energy to do the final schlep home – a rush across the hideous new Euston to the tube, Victoria line to Victoria, and a train to Penge East. So keen to get to my bed that I didn't even get past the stairs – forgot to feed cat – ooops – and don't remember anything else!
New lines covered this trip:
Newport-Shrewbury-Crewe
Chester-Shrewsbury
Wrexham Central-Bidston
Shrewsbury-Birmingham
Saturday, 14 April 2007
Lincolnshire 13/14 April 2007
Lincolnshire was a really difficult one to complete. As well as one line that has trains only on Saturdays, most of the other lines in the county are served infrequently and irregularly - a deadly combination! Doing this on a Sunday was completely out as the service level drops to non-existent at times. I'd already worked out a way of covering all the lines bar one annoying bit between Grantham and Sleaford. And as I was on the earliest train up to Peterborough, I couldn't see any way of fitting it in, even if I stayed overnight in Peterborough (a place I was happy to spend as little time in as possible). Then I worked out that if I was already in Skegness on the Saturday morning, I could travel there via Grantham on the night before. And Skegness is one of those famous British resorts that I wanted to see - the poster promoting the place as "bracing" is one of the most striking advertisements of the last few decades. My chance came. I'd taken Friday 13 April off to wait in for British Gas, so I had the afternoon free. There were no engineering works, reasonable fares to and from the county were available, and I'd found a suitable hotel in Skegness. So off I went to Kings Cross on Friday afternoon.
I had an open ticket so could travel on any train but getting one to Grantham at 4.10pm meant I would reach the hotel by eight and have time for a wander, food and a couple of drinks. I managed to get a Thameslink train at London Bridge that got me to Kings Cross by four - just time to collect the tickets before clambering on a Leeds train. I'm very familiar with the East Coast journey but I always marvel at the speed at which you can cover it these days, flying along on the superb 225 trains - built by BR for electrification 20 years ago and still looking and feeling the business.
Grantham is reached in an hour. I have a twenty minute wait for the Skegness train. I've never been at Grantham in daylight before. It's quite a nice station, four platforms arranged in an odd way. The bay platform where my train was due to leave from looked very short, and I anticipated a one coach train, my heart sinking when seeing the number of people waiting to get on. To my surprise a three coach Central Trains train squeezed into the bay which allowed me to find a decent table seat in the right direction. The ride was rather slow - could not have been more than 50mph, even after we had cleared the main line by means of the new spur that means the local trains don't hold up the East Coast expresses. This was to be a theme for the weekend - there are a lot of slow lines in Lincolnshire! We cover the line to the coast in about 90 minutes, through beautifully desolate Fenlands. The landscape is covered in rape seed in vivid yellow now, and criss-crossed by dykes and drains. Then something weird happened - the light changed from the azure skies we'd had recently to a stark slate-like blue - as if someone has switched it on. A few minutes later it switched again - this time, an opaque mist had descended, hanging in the air like static smoke. Not quite what I was looking forward to on the coast! Still, it gave us a very atmospheric view of the famous Boston Stump church tower as we passed through this town. Beyond Sleaford and Boston there were no more towns until we arrived at Skegness at sevenish. In my desire to get to the hotel I didn't notice much other than there being an orderly queue of people behind a closed platform gate, not being allowed to get on the train until the ticket collector had seen all of us off the platform. This was a scene from the past - I hadn't seen people queuing for the train for years - London is a bit more of a scramble these days!
I checked the map and headed off towards the sea front. The mist didn't help, but the place had the usual miserable mix of chain shops, seaside tat and chavs. I decided I didn't want to go out in the town that night and walked the mile and a half or so to the North Shore Hotel. At the end of the road that the hotel was in was a proper chip shop, so I thought that would probably be as far as I would be going before morning. I decided not to follow the beach path as the mist made a strange place even more difficult to navigate! The hotel was very nice, a golf hotel. My room was clean and comfortable though it did look out on a fire escape. A collar and tie was needed for the restaurant but the bar was serving food. However it was the standard burgers and curry menu, so I decided to go to the chip shop at half the price. This time I do follow the beach path. Didn't see a soul which was nice, and it was mysterious walking in the enveloping fog. The beach looked beautiful - miles of dunes - but the amount of dumped rubbish was a bit depressing. Rubbish and graffiti are truly the scourge of the modern age. After a couple of pints of a local beer I enjoyed a good night's sleep, followed by Lincolnshire sausages at breakfast, then wandered down to the station.
The queue for the first train was building again - still amazing to me - so I bought the Lincolnshire Day Rover ticket that would cover me for most of the day's travels. A rather battered 158 two coach train took me back out of the mists - just like a switch being thrown again - to Sleaford. Another station that has seen better days, despite being manned, information was thin on the ground and it was difficult to know which train was which as the screens bore no resemblance to what was on the platforms! For an area of so few services, a surprising four trains came and went while I waited; I guess they concentrate them to make it easy to change.
Hardly anyone is on my train when it arrives - a two coach Sprinter. The line to Peterborough is rather better than the one to Skegness, it's dual track and has a much faster running speed, really don't understand why there are not more services. Loads of people get on at Spalding, and when we turn round at Peterborough, loads get on bound for Spalding in the other direction. I would have thought there would be demand for the commuter Peterborough trains from London to be extended to Spalding - or maybe even Lincoln. The conductor asks me if I am just travelling around when he checks my ticket again, usually they don't seem to notice when I just stay on like this.
At Lincoln I have a 50 minute wait, time for a pint of the local beer. On my way back to the station I end up on another ring road and marvel yet again at how cars have wrecked everywhere in some way. The beauty of the cathedral rising magnificently is ruined by a streaky concrete flyover packed with speeding cars, able to save a few minutes over driving through a town - and for what? This is as much of a scourge as the litter and graffiti that I also see in every town now.
I cheer up as the Grimsby train turns up almost as I set foot on the platform - another Sprinter. It's about half full and most people get off at Market Rasen, the only intermediate stop before Barnetby, a junction of three lines. The same conductor from Sleaford is on again, and makes a wry remark about me getting around. I feel better about the spartan map of Lincolnshire's railways - there are really very few settlements in this agricultural county - unlike the regular small towns I am more used to in Kent or Cambridgeshire - and I can see that in terms of routes, not many more are needed. Though of course for walkers, the railway is perfect for dropping you at appropriate spots - and your chances of finding a rural station are low out here. But that doesn't justify the appalling frequencies - surely Lincoln needs a proper London service at least? We need a Hull Trains-like company to offer this.
I wasn't prepared for how large Barnetby was, though it is managed by Trans Pennine Express which is an inter-city operator of sorts. Lines come in from Lincoln, Gainsborough and Doncaster, and go out to New Holland and Cleethorpes, as well as being passed by several freight lines. A man and his grandson watch three coal trains making their way past, debating the locomotives, signals etc. It's refreshing to know there are kids still interested in such things. I get one of the new shiny 185 trains to Doncaster. For a new train it is VERY noisy though the heavy air conditioning is welcome as it's hot today. Though it's nice being able to open the windows on an old train, aside from the nice breeze, it covers the noise of personal stereos and mobile 'phones.
It all goes wrong just before Doncaster. I presume due to emergency engineering (there are three orange jacketed blokes checking the line gauge a few feet at a time on the bridge just before Doncaster) our train is halted then crawls into the station. I miss the connection going back to Cleethorpes as a result. I should still be able to make the train that I must get there at 6pm by catching the next one, but it does reduce the margin for errors somewhat. It slides further from then. I decide to get an earlier stopping train going to Scunthorpe rather than hang around on the miserable Doncaster station. They announce a change of platform, so I get on to a train that says Scunthorpe on the front there. It doesn't move when the time comes. The display board doesn't change. Then loads of people move to another train which has parked itself in front of my one - apparently this is now the Scunthorpe train, I have been sitting on a Hull train. So I change trains, and it waits and waits and waits. It's getting fuller and hotter. A drunken psycho is patrolling the platform and testing my patience further! The train I was originally waiting for is now less than 20 minutes away, so I get off into the fresh air. They change its platform as well and with a sinking feeling I realise that my margin of error is slipping further and further. We leave nearly ten minutes late and I decide it's probably best to change at Grimsby, even though we gain a few minutes en route. One of those families who you imagine usually go by car take ages to sort themselves out, putting their bags everywhere and hogging the corridor, with no self-consciousness at all.
Grimsby looms and I change, against my wishes as I see a pack of chav teenagers on the platform messing around with a basketball. It really winds me up as I don't expect to see the sort of kids I try to avoid in London in this east coast outpost! They move off after a few minutes having not got off the train or are waiting for another one - WHY do they do it? They think they're the cool ones yet they hang around on stations for no reason! I have twenty minutes so have a quick wander. It's another clean TPE station in what I suspect is a tatty town and find a sparkling new Wetherspoons - just time for another local beer before getting the Gainsborough train.
The Gainsborough Central train - a manky Pacer - comes in late - not good because I will later have to cover the 1.3 miles between the Gainsborough stations in just 34 minutes! This line is only served on Saturdays, so in a sense the whole day has been leading to this journey(!). All goes well until we get delayed by a freight train occupying a single track section ahead. We limp into Kirton Lindsey ten minutes late and I fear that I will miss my connection at Gainsborough. The conductor thinks I should be able to make it if I walk fast. We get to the destination just four minutes late - apparently the UK's least-used station - and I start to make for the town centre. I pass some grubby kids playing with a ball who look like they've walked out of a scene from the past, past the inevitable flash new flats of the sort going up everywhere, before seeing a cab park up. I wait for the passengers to get out, and see if I can book the cab without calling, explaining that I have to get to the station within 15 minutes. Luckily the driver will take me, and I check the route as we go. Some of the roads I would have negotiated seem to be closed, and it's just as well I've found the cab. I was uneasy about navigating across a strange town that seems (again!) to be riddled with flyovers and junctions that are so anti-pedestrian.
I've been through Gainsborough Lea Road before, but I was not prepared for the spider's web of ramps for wheelchairs that greeted me by the boarded up station building. There are no platform signs to indicate which is which, and no screens to give running information. It amazes me how they can find money for the razor wire around a closed booking office and miles of ramps but not to actually open up the building or install some screens on the platforms. The view from the high level platform is of wastelands and rubbish dumps, with more unsavoury teenagers amongst them, and I remember that London had plenty of sites like this in the early 1980s - all built on now I suspect. The train is late - galling after my efforts - and it occurs to me that I will not know if it gets cancelled anyway! It eventually turns up - a single coach Sprinter - and I embark on the final new line of the day to Doncaster, enjoying the view of the sunset.
The train to London is of course late and its platform is changed. I have a cheap ticket which means I can't upgrade to first class and I instantly regret it. The train is packed and noisy and I could really do with some peace just now! Someone is feeding their child from a bowl and the child is standing on the seats blocking the corridor - the total lack of awareness of the difference between a public and private space that people have now never fails to amaze me. Matters are not helped by us being held at Peterborough for ages due to a train fault that thankfully, is rectified. I'd already been imagining the horror of the fleet of replacement coaches needed to get us all home.
When I get back, London plays its marvellous transport trick that it always does, ie, makes a short quick journey turn into an expedition. The tube platforms are hot and crowded and the trains are getting less and less frequent as midnight approaches. I watch the clock and see the chances of me getting my intended train first at Charing Cross, then at Victoria, fade away. I marvel inwardly at the day of contrasts, ie, I can travel hundreds of miles on infrequent trains across a whole county; but back home despite having to go less than a mile and a half using trains that go every few minutes, it's impossible to do it in half an hour! Struggling against the endless corridors and crowds is the problem I suppose. Eventually I have to wait half an hour at Victoria for the weird last train that doesn't stop everywhere, having bought a chicken burger I can't afford a newspaper, which is faintly irritating. At 12.50 on Sunday morning I arrive at home and look forward to bed, another part of the quest complete.
New lines:
Grantham-Skegness
Peterborough-Lincoln-Doncaster
Lincoln-Barnetby
Doncaster-Grimsby
Barnetby-Gainsborough Central
I had an open ticket so could travel on any train but getting one to Grantham at 4.10pm meant I would reach the hotel by eight and have time for a wander, food and a couple of drinks. I managed to get a Thameslink train at London Bridge that got me to Kings Cross by four - just time to collect the tickets before clambering on a Leeds train. I'm very familiar with the East Coast journey but I always marvel at the speed at which you can cover it these days, flying along on the superb 225 trains - built by BR for electrification 20 years ago and still looking and feeling the business.
Grantham is reached in an hour. I have a twenty minute wait for the Skegness train. I've never been at Grantham in daylight before. It's quite a nice station, four platforms arranged in an odd way. The bay platform where my train was due to leave from looked very short, and I anticipated a one coach train, my heart sinking when seeing the number of people waiting to get on. To my surprise a three coach Central Trains train squeezed into the bay which allowed me to find a decent table seat in the right direction. The ride was rather slow - could not have been more than 50mph, even after we had cleared the main line by means of the new spur that means the local trains don't hold up the East Coast expresses. This was to be a theme for the weekend - there are a lot of slow lines in Lincolnshire! We cover the line to the coast in about 90 minutes, through beautifully desolate Fenlands. The landscape is covered in rape seed in vivid yellow now, and criss-crossed by dykes and drains. Then something weird happened - the light changed from the azure skies we'd had recently to a stark slate-like blue - as if someone has switched it on. A few minutes later it switched again - this time, an opaque mist had descended, hanging in the air like static smoke. Not quite what I was looking forward to on the coast! Still, it gave us a very atmospheric view of the famous Boston Stump church tower as we passed through this town. Beyond Sleaford and Boston there were no more towns until we arrived at Skegness at sevenish. In my desire to get to the hotel I didn't notice much other than there being an orderly queue of people behind a closed platform gate, not being allowed to get on the train until the ticket collector had seen all of us off the platform. This was a scene from the past - I hadn't seen people queuing for the train for years - London is a bit more of a scramble these days!
I checked the map and headed off towards the sea front. The mist didn't help, but the place had the usual miserable mix of chain shops, seaside tat and chavs. I decided I didn't want to go out in the town that night and walked the mile and a half or so to the North Shore Hotel. At the end of the road that the hotel was in was a proper chip shop, so I thought that would probably be as far as I would be going before morning. I decided not to follow the beach path as the mist made a strange place even more difficult to navigate! The hotel was very nice, a golf hotel. My room was clean and comfortable though it did look out on a fire escape. A collar and tie was needed for the restaurant but the bar was serving food. However it was the standard burgers and curry menu, so I decided to go to the chip shop at half the price. This time I do follow the beach path. Didn't see a soul which was nice, and it was mysterious walking in the enveloping fog. The beach looked beautiful - miles of dunes - but the amount of dumped rubbish was a bit depressing. Rubbish and graffiti are truly the scourge of the modern age. After a couple of pints of a local beer I enjoyed a good night's sleep, followed by Lincolnshire sausages at breakfast, then wandered down to the station.
The queue for the first train was building again - still amazing to me - so I bought the Lincolnshire Day Rover ticket that would cover me for most of the day's travels. A rather battered 158 two coach train took me back out of the mists - just like a switch being thrown again - to Sleaford. Another station that has seen better days, despite being manned, information was thin on the ground and it was difficult to know which train was which as the screens bore no resemblance to what was on the platforms! For an area of so few services, a surprising four trains came and went while I waited; I guess they concentrate them to make it easy to change.
Hardly anyone is on my train when it arrives - a two coach Sprinter. The line to Peterborough is rather better than the one to Skegness, it's dual track and has a much faster running speed, really don't understand why there are not more services. Loads of people get on at Spalding, and when we turn round at Peterborough, loads get on bound for Spalding in the other direction. I would have thought there would be demand for the commuter Peterborough trains from London to be extended to Spalding - or maybe even Lincoln. The conductor asks me if I am just travelling around when he checks my ticket again, usually they don't seem to notice when I just stay on like this.
At Lincoln I have a 50 minute wait, time for a pint of the local beer. On my way back to the station I end up on another ring road and marvel yet again at how cars have wrecked everywhere in some way. The beauty of the cathedral rising magnificently is ruined by a streaky concrete flyover packed with speeding cars, able to save a few minutes over driving through a town - and for what? This is as much of a scourge as the litter and graffiti that I also see in every town now.
I cheer up as the Grimsby train turns up almost as I set foot on the platform - another Sprinter. It's about half full and most people get off at Market Rasen, the only intermediate stop before Barnetby, a junction of three lines. The same conductor from Sleaford is on again, and makes a wry remark about me getting around. I feel better about the spartan map of Lincolnshire's railways - there are really very few settlements in this agricultural county - unlike the regular small towns I am more used to in Kent or Cambridgeshire - and I can see that in terms of routes, not many more are needed. Though of course for walkers, the railway is perfect for dropping you at appropriate spots - and your chances of finding a rural station are low out here. But that doesn't justify the appalling frequencies - surely Lincoln needs a proper London service at least? We need a Hull Trains-like company to offer this.
I wasn't prepared for how large Barnetby was, though it is managed by Trans Pennine Express which is an inter-city operator of sorts. Lines come in from Lincoln, Gainsborough and Doncaster, and go out to New Holland and Cleethorpes, as well as being passed by several freight lines. A man and his grandson watch three coal trains making their way past, debating the locomotives, signals etc. It's refreshing to know there are kids still interested in such things. I get one of the new shiny 185 trains to Doncaster. For a new train it is VERY noisy though the heavy air conditioning is welcome as it's hot today. Though it's nice being able to open the windows on an old train, aside from the nice breeze, it covers the noise of personal stereos and mobile 'phones.
It all goes wrong just before Doncaster. I presume due to emergency engineering (there are three orange jacketed blokes checking the line gauge a few feet at a time on the bridge just before Doncaster) our train is halted then crawls into the station. I miss the connection going back to Cleethorpes as a result. I should still be able to make the train that I must get there at 6pm by catching the next one, but it does reduce the margin for errors somewhat. It slides further from then. I decide to get an earlier stopping train going to Scunthorpe rather than hang around on the miserable Doncaster station. They announce a change of platform, so I get on to a train that says Scunthorpe on the front there. It doesn't move when the time comes. The display board doesn't change. Then loads of people move to another train which has parked itself in front of my one - apparently this is now the Scunthorpe train, I have been sitting on a Hull train. So I change trains, and it waits and waits and waits. It's getting fuller and hotter. A drunken psycho is patrolling the platform and testing my patience further! The train I was originally waiting for is now less than 20 minutes away, so I get off into the fresh air. They change its platform as well and with a sinking feeling I realise that my margin of error is slipping further and further. We leave nearly ten minutes late and I decide it's probably best to change at Grimsby, even though we gain a few minutes en route. One of those families who you imagine usually go by car take ages to sort themselves out, putting their bags everywhere and hogging the corridor, with no self-consciousness at all.
Grimsby looms and I change, against my wishes as I see a pack of chav teenagers on the platform messing around with a basketball. It really winds me up as I don't expect to see the sort of kids I try to avoid in London in this east coast outpost! They move off after a few minutes having not got off the train or are waiting for another one - WHY do they do it? They think they're the cool ones yet they hang around on stations for no reason! I have twenty minutes so have a quick wander. It's another clean TPE station in what I suspect is a tatty town and find a sparkling new Wetherspoons - just time for another local beer before getting the Gainsborough train.
The Gainsborough Central train - a manky Pacer - comes in late - not good because I will later have to cover the 1.3 miles between the Gainsborough stations in just 34 minutes! This line is only served on Saturdays, so in a sense the whole day has been leading to this journey(!). All goes well until we get delayed by a freight train occupying a single track section ahead. We limp into Kirton Lindsey ten minutes late and I fear that I will miss my connection at Gainsborough. The conductor thinks I should be able to make it if I walk fast. We get to the destination just four minutes late - apparently the UK's least-used station - and I start to make for the town centre. I pass some grubby kids playing with a ball who look like they've walked out of a scene from the past, past the inevitable flash new flats of the sort going up everywhere, before seeing a cab park up. I wait for the passengers to get out, and see if I can book the cab without calling, explaining that I have to get to the station within 15 minutes. Luckily the driver will take me, and I check the route as we go. Some of the roads I would have negotiated seem to be closed, and it's just as well I've found the cab. I was uneasy about navigating across a strange town that seems (again!) to be riddled with flyovers and junctions that are so anti-pedestrian.
I've been through Gainsborough Lea Road before, but I was not prepared for the spider's web of ramps for wheelchairs that greeted me by the boarded up station building. There are no platform signs to indicate which is which, and no screens to give running information. It amazes me how they can find money for the razor wire around a closed booking office and miles of ramps but not to actually open up the building or install some screens on the platforms. The view from the high level platform is of wastelands and rubbish dumps, with more unsavoury teenagers amongst them, and I remember that London had plenty of sites like this in the early 1980s - all built on now I suspect. The train is late - galling after my efforts - and it occurs to me that I will not know if it gets cancelled anyway! It eventually turns up - a single coach Sprinter - and I embark on the final new line of the day to Doncaster, enjoying the view of the sunset.
The train to London is of course late and its platform is changed. I have a cheap ticket which means I can't upgrade to first class and I instantly regret it. The train is packed and noisy and I could really do with some peace just now! Someone is feeding their child from a bowl and the child is standing on the seats blocking the corridor - the total lack of awareness of the difference between a public and private space that people have now never fails to amaze me. Matters are not helped by us being held at Peterborough for ages due to a train fault that thankfully, is rectified. I'd already been imagining the horror of the fleet of replacement coaches needed to get us all home.
When I get back, London plays its marvellous transport trick that it always does, ie, makes a short quick journey turn into an expedition. The tube platforms are hot and crowded and the trains are getting less and less frequent as midnight approaches. I watch the clock and see the chances of me getting my intended train first at Charing Cross, then at Victoria, fade away. I marvel inwardly at the day of contrasts, ie, I can travel hundreds of miles on infrequent trains across a whole county; but back home despite having to go less than a mile and a half using trains that go every few minutes, it's impossible to do it in half an hour! Struggling against the endless corridors and crowds is the problem I suppose. Eventually I have to wait half an hour at Victoria for the weird last train that doesn't stop everywhere, having bought a chicken burger I can't afford a newspaper, which is faintly irritating. At 12.50 on Sunday morning I arrive at home and look forward to bed, another part of the quest complete.
New lines:
Grantham-Skegness
Peterborough-Lincoln-Doncaster
Lincoln-Barnetby
Doncaster-Grimsby
Barnetby-Gainsborough Central
Saturday, 7 April 2007
The North East and Derbyshire 6-7 April 2007
One of the more epic trips, covering two chunks of the map in one weekend. It's Easter so I can start on Friday and still have some time off at home before going to work. Derbyshire was worked out ages ago and I was awaiting the right moment; for some reason I thought that the North East was difficult to do but it transpired that it was chiefly comprised of Newcastle-Sunderland-Middlesbrough-Saltburn then Middlesbrough-Darlington-Bishops Auckland - relatively straightforward. I did the Whitby branch last year so I don't have to worry about that - and that is a LONG one to fit in. Trains were reasonably frequent on weekdays, though not Saturdays, so the North East fitted nicely on Good Friday. I'd already planned a day on Derbyshire railways for a Saturday, so this could be slotted in on Easter Saturday. I could go on Cross Country from Newcastle to Derby, arriving late, but then found a cheap (but hopefully not nasty) hotel very close to Derby station. I booked all the tickets and the hotel, but then a snag appeared. Alone of all the train operating companies in the UK, Southern and South Eastern trains were running Sunday services on the two bank holidays. This really winds me up. There seems to be a concerted effort by South Eastern to stop people enjoying Sundays. First trains at gone 7, last trains before midnight, and an HOURLY service in the evenings on the local line that I use most. They seem to have no recognition that people might be using their trains to connect into other services early in the morning, especially when there's a holiday, and this can make it tricky to use the full day. Then a colleague who has a Central London flat offered me its use as he was away on Thursday night anyway. Perfect. After work on Thursday 5 April I took a slow saunter westwards to his flat, via M&S and a couple of shops, and enjoyed the rare pleasure the next day of being within walking distance of a London terminus!
Next morning, walked to King's Cross and found my seat - carriage very busy and noisy so I moved to an emptier one. I missed the interesting sign that I was looking for at the trackside that reads "London-Edinburgh:Half-Way" which always amuses me. I think I managed to be in the loo when we passed the Angel Of The North too! Oh well. Noticed a load of men in desert camouflage gear getting on the train, and realised that these were genuine squaddies returning from Iraq. For most of my life soldiers have been banned from wearing uniform for fear that it made them easy targets for the IRA, but now the ban is lifted, it's still an unusual sight. As camo is popular for casual wear you tend to think people aren't soldiers generally! We get into Newcastle on time. The many bridges over the Tyne are an impressive sight, though the city still seems a gritty place, despite the inevitable overhaul of shops and penthouses that all the major cities are receiving nowadays.
I had half an hour to kill before the train to Middlesbrough came. Managed to lose £20 in a cash machine cock up as it debited my account but did not give me the money - that will be fun to rectify. Had a bottle of Newcastle Brown in the reasonable station bar which really did have a feel of "Get Carter" about it. It still amazes me that I've travelled to the other end of England so swiftly. I then get on the Pacer train to Middlesbrough, I suspect I'm going to ride on a lot of Pacers today. It's pretty scandalous that so many long distance routes in the North have to put up with these bone-shakers. They're not great on short trips either, come to that. However if they've helped save these rural routes we should be grateful I guess. It bounces us through rather grey countryside, following the Tyne and Wear Metro. Sunderland looks a wee bit grim, where the Metro heads north and we continue on to Middlesbrough. It's a very few minutes before the Saltburn train, though I have a chance to look around me a bit. The town seems nearer than I remembered last year during my Whitby trip, and I'd forgotten that the station itself was a fusion of old and modern - something I always like.
The ride out to Saltburn is a nicer trip. Saltburn is a lovely place, the original huge station now converted to various businesses - a la Whitby - and there are breathtaking views of the North Sea when I work my way down to the beach. Unfortunately there is a high chav-surfer element roaming the streets, it's inevitable that the sport will start to attract the tracksuits I guess. I get lunch from a baker - I love Northern bakers, they invariably seem better in terms of range and taste than the ones in the South - then hop back on the train - another Pacer.
This train takes me all the way through to Bishop's Auckland. I've done the Middlesbrough to Darlington section previously, but it's always interesting to go to Darlington. It does have that bit of railway heritage for a start - the first locomotive-hauled railway in the world - but also Darlington is a pleasant station, with a huge overall roof and a spacious airy feel. We career right across the East Coast line tracks (must be a bottleneck) then off towards the North West. The route is like a microcosm of railway lands - sweeping countryside, tatty post-industrial countryside, manky towns, graffiti-covered out of town estates, and finally a grotty chav-ridden terminus that has definitely seen better days. I'm a bit depressed by the experience though it's hardly new to me. One bright point is the National Railway Museum overspill site at Shildon, which I intend to visit properly one day - there is also another museum at Darlington that I must see. Anyway, back we go, through Darlington and back to Middlesbrough.
This time at Middlesbrough I have a half hour's wait. I decide to go and look at the famous transporter bridge. I remember seeing a picture of it as a child in my Ladybird Book of Bridges, and then on BBC2's Coast last year. It's one of just two left in the country - the other is in Newport which I have seen from the train a few times down there. The walk to the bridge is weird. It's through an industrial estate that looks derelict but seems to be mostly active, past a scary looking pub, then past some pleasant-looking playing fields and council houses, though some are boarded up despite being new and in good condition. It does look like the sort of place where you get beaten up by drug dealers, yet I don't feel too nervous. There are several people admiring or photographing the bridge, as well as a fair bit of traffic crossing. I'd like to have a go on the bridge but know that it's too slow for me to guarantee getting back over for the train. Another day! Just as I think I won't see it working, the cradle starts to inch over the Tees. It's a fantastic sight. After that I head back to the station and climb aboard a new 185 Trans Pennine train to York It takes no time as it speeds through the spectacular and empty North Yorkshire countryside. I get to see Northallerton and Thirsk properly too, having only sped through these on GNER previously.
Having deliberately allowed time for contingencies, I have lots of spare time at York. So I have a pleasant walk up to the Minster, then back along the Ouse, across the bridge that carries the York to Scarborough branch, around the city walls and back to the station. There I have dinner before the Virgin Voyager to Bristol arrives to take me to Derby.
I've got a cheap first class seat and I am the only person in the carriage - a very rare event these days. I relax and watch the sun setting as we pass from one Shire to the next. At Derby I look for the hotel and almost miss it because I'm not expecting it to be that close. It's right opposite the station. The room is very pleasant, accessed via a grand staircase or a quirky lift with a manual door. There are radio stations on the TV which is such a nice change. I'm not disturbed by noise from outside once the trains stop running and bringing people to the street outside; or from inside for a change, and I sleep very well. Breakfast is decent though the restaurant is stuffy and dim because it has no windows. Before my train to Matlock I wander into town but am discouraged when I realise it's the usual set of flyovers, roundabouts and shopping centres. I head back to the station. It's a relatively tasteful modern building, and I am delighted to see the words "Derby Midland" above the doors, harking back to the days when this was Derby's station on the Midland Railway, the other being Derby Central on the Great Central Railway. I wonder if the Central station was closer to town and lament the loss of the Great Central so relatively recently.
The Matlock train is a two coach 170, nearly completely full, unsurprising given the popularity of the Peak District. This makes the closure of the central section of the line in 1968 seem even stranger - one of those arbitrary closures that seems designed to reduce rail revenue rather than save money overall - because it's just the relatively short stretch between Matlock and Buxton that's gone. In a more enlightened age that may come someday I can imagine this will be one that is reinstated. In the meantime we pass through the incredible beauty of the north Peak District, just before it becomes the Peninnes, over rivers and valleys, before terminating at Matlock. I just have time to look around the Peak Rail bookshop only to hear an evident Londoner complaining about Ken Livingstone giving kids free travel on the buses - typical! One day I shall get to ride on the preserved Peak Railway but for today it's the quest. I hope back on the train and head back to Derby.
At Derby a three coach 158 waits to escort me to Crewe. This is a relatively pleasant journey through the Derbyshire and Cheshire countryside, though some of the towns near Crewe are a bit manky. There's a lot of football fans around but I can't identify them. I used to be much better at recognising the team strips, it's another of those aspects of travelling that reminds you that you're in another part of the country, but I am a bit out of touch at the moment. One of the saddest things is seeing hordes of Chelsea fans heading south or Liverpool fans heading north - the big teams are just franchises that people pick to support because they do well now.
At Crewe I encounter a new-fangled self-service coffee machine there - you place the cups etc yourself then take it to the counter in Smiths to pay for it - doesn't seem a very good idea! I hop on to an electric train to Manchester, it reminds me of the ones I go to work on, except that it picks up power from the overhead line. It's a reasonable jog through some of the famous Cheshire suburbs - Wilmlsow and Alderely Edge - before I get off at Stockport, one of the many towns I've changed trains at but never seen!
The Buxton train is a bit late but as I'm doing the round trip it's not a problem. It's a tatty two coach Sprinter. Another trip across the north of the Peak District on what would have been a through line to Matlock and Derby once, though this line looks as if it passes through some rather down at heel areas, Buxton is definitely more run down than I was expecting. There are junctions with various other lines along the way, mostly freight I think but we do meet the branch from Guide Bridge on the Woodhead line that eventually becomes the end of a tiny branch in Marple. I covered this one over New Year and am quite pleased about it - branches are a pain, especially short ones. You either have to do a round trip or hope that there is a junction or another line nearby.
To the north of the line to and from Manchester I can see another line snaking across viaducts etc. I guess this is the Hope Valley Line to Sheffield, another of the transpeninne routes. I'll be travelling on that next, though I have done a chunk of it before when Midland Mainline were offering London to Manchester services that ran along here (without stopping of course) and am looking forward to the scenery. At Manchester because the train from Buxton is actually going to Blackpool, we stop on the one of the through platforms which is MILES from the terminus - so far that a travelator is needed to move people around. I wonder whether to get the next Hope Valley train but then I see how many people are waiting - the next one will be much busier given that the shops will be closing by then. I hop on.
It's ANOTHER Pacer, totally unsuitable for a journey of this length, but the view makes up for it. This is easily one of the most scenic trips I've had - after Settle to Carlisle and Batersby to Whitby. The countryside of the Peak District is simply stunning. At Edale and Hope plenty of walkers get on, but it's surprising to me how many people have made the whole journey from Manchester. There are quicker fast trains that go via Hazel Grove instead. Maybe they like the view too.
I've arrived early at Sheffield so decide to go and look at the cathedral. I'm aware from a previous visit to the city that there's a horrific ring road just outside the station - sadly not unusual - so leave the station and go out to the tram station. It amazes me how few of these city's stations have barriers - the amount of fare dodging must be huge. There are conductors on the trains but if the train is busy there is no way they will reach everyone. I familiarise myself with the tram fares and map, and get on the next tram going to Halfway. It terminates at the Cathedral stop. It's nice finally seeing a bit of the city though as expected it's pretty much like all the other cities these days. The steel works are in dereliction and much of the place is still awaiting a Leeds or Manchester style regeneration. There are some horrible looking 60s flats high up on the hills that the city is built on, though I gather some of them have been demolished already. Unfortunately the cathedral is closed, so I get back on the train and go for a 15 minute ride towards Meadowhall, the giant shopping complex out of town, making sure I leave enough time to get back to the station for the London train.
The London train is a 125, I'm pleased to say, though I'm not happy that there is no quiet coach, so I'm treated to a presumably deaf woman's portable DVD all the way home. I moan with another passenger who agrees that she only bothers with a personal stereo to block out other such noise! I wish people could just read a bloody book! Anyway, it's fast from Leicester and I do enjoy the scenery - not sure I've ever done the midland mainline in daylight - so it's a comfortable enough trip back to London. After that it's the tedium of the trek on the Victoria line and SE Trains back to Penge. It gets harder to return to London every time I go away. This is partly the impact of speeding through the countryside one minute then being rammed on a hot tube surrounded by drunken tossers the next. I don't even remember getting home!
New lines covered this trip:
Newcastle-Hartlepool-Middlesbrough
Middlesbrough-Saltburn
Darlington-Bishop's Auckland
Middlesbrough-Northallerton
Derby-Matlock
Derby-Crewe
Crewe-Stockport
Stockport-Buxton
Chinley-Sheffield
Next morning, walked to King's Cross and found my seat - carriage very busy and noisy so I moved to an emptier one. I missed the interesting sign that I was looking for at the trackside that reads "London-Edinburgh:Half-Way" which always amuses me. I think I managed to be in the loo when we passed the Angel Of The North too! Oh well. Noticed a load of men in desert camouflage gear getting on the train, and realised that these were genuine squaddies returning from Iraq. For most of my life soldiers have been banned from wearing uniform for fear that it made them easy targets for the IRA, but now the ban is lifted, it's still an unusual sight. As camo is popular for casual wear you tend to think people aren't soldiers generally! We get into Newcastle on time. The many bridges over the Tyne are an impressive sight, though the city still seems a gritty place, despite the inevitable overhaul of shops and penthouses that all the major cities are receiving nowadays.
I had half an hour to kill before the train to Middlesbrough came. Managed to lose £20 in a cash machine cock up as it debited my account but did not give me the money - that will be fun to rectify. Had a bottle of Newcastle Brown in the reasonable station bar which really did have a feel of "Get Carter" about it. It still amazes me that I've travelled to the other end of England so swiftly. I then get on the Pacer train to Middlesbrough, I suspect I'm going to ride on a lot of Pacers today. It's pretty scandalous that so many long distance routes in the North have to put up with these bone-shakers. They're not great on short trips either, come to that. However if they've helped save these rural routes we should be grateful I guess. It bounces us through rather grey countryside, following the Tyne and Wear Metro. Sunderland looks a wee bit grim, where the Metro heads north and we continue on to Middlesbrough. It's a very few minutes before the Saltburn train, though I have a chance to look around me a bit. The town seems nearer than I remembered last year during my Whitby trip, and I'd forgotten that the station itself was a fusion of old and modern - something I always like.
The ride out to Saltburn is a nicer trip. Saltburn is a lovely place, the original huge station now converted to various businesses - a la Whitby - and there are breathtaking views of the North Sea when I work my way down to the beach. Unfortunately there is a high chav-surfer element roaming the streets, it's inevitable that the sport will start to attract the tracksuits I guess. I get lunch from a baker - I love Northern bakers, they invariably seem better in terms of range and taste than the ones in the South - then hop back on the train - another Pacer.
This train takes me all the way through to Bishop's Auckland. I've done the Middlesbrough to Darlington section previously, but it's always interesting to go to Darlington. It does have that bit of railway heritage for a start - the first locomotive-hauled railway in the world - but also Darlington is a pleasant station, with a huge overall roof and a spacious airy feel. We career right across the East Coast line tracks (must be a bottleneck) then off towards the North West. The route is like a microcosm of railway lands - sweeping countryside, tatty post-industrial countryside, manky towns, graffiti-covered out of town estates, and finally a grotty chav-ridden terminus that has definitely seen better days. I'm a bit depressed by the experience though it's hardly new to me. One bright point is the National Railway Museum overspill site at Shildon, which I intend to visit properly one day - there is also another museum at Darlington that I must see. Anyway, back we go, through Darlington and back to Middlesbrough.
This time at Middlesbrough I have a half hour's wait. I decide to go and look at the famous transporter bridge. I remember seeing a picture of it as a child in my Ladybird Book of Bridges, and then on BBC2's Coast last year. It's one of just two left in the country - the other is in Newport which I have seen from the train a few times down there. The walk to the bridge is weird. It's through an industrial estate that looks derelict but seems to be mostly active, past a scary looking pub, then past some pleasant-looking playing fields and council houses, though some are boarded up despite being new and in good condition. It does look like the sort of place where you get beaten up by drug dealers, yet I don't feel too nervous. There are several people admiring or photographing the bridge, as well as a fair bit of traffic crossing. I'd like to have a go on the bridge but know that it's too slow for me to guarantee getting back over for the train. Another day! Just as I think I won't see it working, the cradle starts to inch over the Tees. It's a fantastic sight. After that I head back to the station and climb aboard a new 185 Trans Pennine train to York It takes no time as it speeds through the spectacular and empty North Yorkshire countryside. I get to see Northallerton and Thirsk properly too, having only sped through these on GNER previously.
Having deliberately allowed time for contingencies, I have lots of spare time at York. So I have a pleasant walk up to the Minster, then back along the Ouse, across the bridge that carries the York to Scarborough branch, around the city walls and back to the station. There I have dinner before the Virgin Voyager to Bristol arrives to take me to Derby.
I've got a cheap first class seat and I am the only person in the carriage - a very rare event these days. I relax and watch the sun setting as we pass from one Shire to the next. At Derby I look for the hotel and almost miss it because I'm not expecting it to be that close. It's right opposite the station. The room is very pleasant, accessed via a grand staircase or a quirky lift with a manual door. There are radio stations on the TV which is such a nice change. I'm not disturbed by noise from outside once the trains stop running and bringing people to the street outside; or from inside for a change, and I sleep very well. Breakfast is decent though the restaurant is stuffy and dim because it has no windows. Before my train to Matlock I wander into town but am discouraged when I realise it's the usual set of flyovers, roundabouts and shopping centres. I head back to the station. It's a relatively tasteful modern building, and I am delighted to see the words "Derby Midland" above the doors, harking back to the days when this was Derby's station on the Midland Railway, the other being Derby Central on the Great Central Railway. I wonder if the Central station was closer to town and lament the loss of the Great Central so relatively recently.
The Matlock train is a two coach 170, nearly completely full, unsurprising given the popularity of the Peak District. This makes the closure of the central section of the line in 1968 seem even stranger - one of those arbitrary closures that seems designed to reduce rail revenue rather than save money overall - because it's just the relatively short stretch between Matlock and Buxton that's gone. In a more enlightened age that may come someday I can imagine this will be one that is reinstated. In the meantime we pass through the incredible beauty of the north Peak District, just before it becomes the Peninnes, over rivers and valleys, before terminating at Matlock. I just have time to look around the Peak Rail bookshop only to hear an evident Londoner complaining about Ken Livingstone giving kids free travel on the buses - typical! One day I shall get to ride on the preserved Peak Railway but for today it's the quest. I hope back on the train and head back to Derby.
At Derby a three coach 158 waits to escort me to Crewe. This is a relatively pleasant journey through the Derbyshire and Cheshire countryside, though some of the towns near Crewe are a bit manky. There's a lot of football fans around but I can't identify them. I used to be much better at recognising the team strips, it's another of those aspects of travelling that reminds you that you're in another part of the country, but I am a bit out of touch at the moment. One of the saddest things is seeing hordes of Chelsea fans heading south or Liverpool fans heading north - the big teams are just franchises that people pick to support because they do well now.
At Crewe I encounter a new-fangled self-service coffee machine there - you place the cups etc yourself then take it to the counter in Smiths to pay for it - doesn't seem a very good idea! I hop on to an electric train to Manchester, it reminds me of the ones I go to work on, except that it picks up power from the overhead line. It's a reasonable jog through some of the famous Cheshire suburbs - Wilmlsow and Alderely Edge - before I get off at Stockport, one of the many towns I've changed trains at but never seen!
The Buxton train is a bit late but as I'm doing the round trip it's not a problem. It's a tatty two coach Sprinter. Another trip across the north of the Peak District on what would have been a through line to Matlock and Derby once, though this line looks as if it passes through some rather down at heel areas, Buxton is definitely more run down than I was expecting. There are junctions with various other lines along the way, mostly freight I think but we do meet the branch from Guide Bridge on the Woodhead line that eventually becomes the end of a tiny branch in Marple. I covered this one over New Year and am quite pleased about it - branches are a pain, especially short ones. You either have to do a round trip or hope that there is a junction or another line nearby.
To the north of the line to and from Manchester I can see another line snaking across viaducts etc. I guess this is the Hope Valley Line to Sheffield, another of the transpeninne routes. I'll be travelling on that next, though I have done a chunk of it before when Midland Mainline were offering London to Manchester services that ran along here (without stopping of course) and am looking forward to the scenery. At Manchester because the train from Buxton is actually going to Blackpool, we stop on the one of the through platforms which is MILES from the terminus - so far that a travelator is needed to move people around. I wonder whether to get the next Hope Valley train but then I see how many people are waiting - the next one will be much busier given that the shops will be closing by then. I hop on.
It's ANOTHER Pacer, totally unsuitable for a journey of this length, but the view makes up for it. This is easily one of the most scenic trips I've had - after Settle to Carlisle and Batersby to Whitby. The countryside of the Peak District is simply stunning. At Edale and Hope plenty of walkers get on, but it's surprising to me how many people have made the whole journey from Manchester. There are quicker fast trains that go via Hazel Grove instead. Maybe they like the view too.
I've arrived early at Sheffield so decide to go and look at the cathedral. I'm aware from a previous visit to the city that there's a horrific ring road just outside the station - sadly not unusual - so leave the station and go out to the tram station. It amazes me how few of these city's stations have barriers - the amount of fare dodging must be huge. There are conductors on the trains but if the train is busy there is no way they will reach everyone. I familiarise myself with the tram fares and map, and get on the next tram going to Halfway. It terminates at the Cathedral stop. It's nice finally seeing a bit of the city though as expected it's pretty much like all the other cities these days. The steel works are in dereliction and much of the place is still awaiting a Leeds or Manchester style regeneration. There are some horrible looking 60s flats high up on the hills that the city is built on, though I gather some of them have been demolished already. Unfortunately the cathedral is closed, so I get back on the train and go for a 15 minute ride towards Meadowhall, the giant shopping complex out of town, making sure I leave enough time to get back to the station for the London train.
The London train is a 125, I'm pleased to say, though I'm not happy that there is no quiet coach, so I'm treated to a presumably deaf woman's portable DVD all the way home. I moan with another passenger who agrees that she only bothers with a personal stereo to block out other such noise! I wish people could just read a bloody book! Anyway, it's fast from Leicester and I do enjoy the scenery - not sure I've ever done the midland mainline in daylight - so it's a comfortable enough trip back to London. After that it's the tedium of the trek on the Victoria line and SE Trains back to Penge. It gets harder to return to London every time I go away. This is partly the impact of speeding through the countryside one minute then being rammed on a hot tube surrounded by drunken tossers the next. I don't even remember getting home!
New lines covered this trip:
Newcastle-Hartlepool-Middlesbrough
Middlesbrough-Saltburn
Darlington-Bishop's Auckland
Middlesbrough-Northallerton
Derby-Matlock
Derby-Crewe
Crewe-Stockport
Stockport-Buxton
Chinley-Sheffield
Saturday, 24 March 2007
Yorkshire 23-24 March 2007
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
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
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