’You don’t have to walk all the way back up, we can get the Noddy Train, but I thought you liked walking?’
John’s parents and his children all looked relieved.
‘We aren’t as young as we were and what with my knee and your father’s hip…’
‘And this bitter wind coming straight off the sea’ added John’s father.
‘Can we still have hot chocolate Daddy?’
‘That’s usually the bribery to get them back up to the café’ said John.
‘I think we all need hot chocolate,’ said his mother ‘I hope that café is still open.’
‘With marshmallows and cream?’ said Johnny Junior.
‘And a cake’ added his sister.
‘We must not spoil your appetites for that delicious dinner your Mummy is cooking for us.’
‘All that lovely sea air has sharpened our appetites’ said their grandfather, wrapping his scarf tighter.
Squeezed in one of the little carriages of the road train everyone brightened up and John’s mother recalled his favourite book.
‘I bought it at a jumble sale, The Runaway Train. I had to read it over and over to your Daddy. The train was meant to take all the office workers up to London on Monday morning, but the train was fed up with the same old journey every day and decided to go to the seaside instead. The passengers didn’t notice what was happening at first, too busy reading their newspapers. That was long before mobile phones were invented and everybody read great big newspapers. Then a few people looked at their watches, glanced out the window and wondered why they were seeing cows in the field instead of Clapham Junction! Soon all the passengers were muttering to each other as the train went faster and faster. The sky was blue, the sun was shining and they passed farms and cottages and hills. Nobody was sure what to do, one man pulled the communication cord with the notice that said emergency use only, but the train did not slow down.
‘Oh that would be fun,’ squealed the children ‘what happened in the end?’
‘Gradually the train slowed down and one of the passengers said Good Heavens, I can see the sea! Soon the train came to a halt in a lovely little station with flower tubs. Everyone got off to see what had happened and a very important and cross looking man marched along the platform to the driver’s cab, but there was no driver. They all stood on the platform scratching their heads and mumbling about getting to the office. Then someone started laughing and pointing to golden sands and the glittering sea… We will never get to work on time so let’s go to the beach instead.
Gradually they all wandered onto the beach and some took off their shoes, rolled up their trousers and started paddling, while others went to buy ice creams and fish and chips.
After a fantastic day, with everyone having fun and agreeing it was much better than going to work, they thought it must be time to go home. At the station the engine had turned itself around on the turntable and was steaming up so they got on board…’
‘Have you still got that book Daddy?’
‘No, that was a long time ago, but maybe that’s why I always wanted to live at the seaside and not work in an office.’
As the road train trundled up towards the café Johnny Junior said ‘Maybe this train is fed up with never going anywhere except back and forth to the beach, maybe it wants to go to London.’
They all laughed as the train drew up by the café and the driver climbed out of his cab to see if anyone needed help getting out. But before John had even opened the door of their carriage, the train started moving again, faster and faster. The last thing the family saw was a surprised look on the driver’s face as he tried to run after the train, but it was going much too fast.
‘Hurrah said,’ Johnny Junior ‘I told you the train was fed up, we’re going on an adventure.’
‘Can’t you do something John.’
‘Don’t worry mother, just a technical hitch, the battery will run down soon and the driver will have called for a mechanic.’
‘When can I have my hot chocolate Daddy?’
They drove down a pleasant avenue with pretty gardens and a few people waved to them. The children waved back. Then the Noddy Train turned right onto a busy road on a steep hill. As the train headed downhill they went faster and faster. Horns were tooting and they heard a siren in the distance. Even little Johnny was beginning to feel scared.
‘And finally tonight police are still searching for a seaside road train, known locally as the Noddy Train and apparently hijacked from a local beauty spot. Our reporter spoke to the shocked driver.’
‘I had just alighted from the train to help a disabled passenger disembark when it started moving. I had left the brakes on, it was on level ground and nobody had got into my cab. I tried to get back to my cab, but it was going much faster than it is capable of. None of this makes sense. Not a single passenger had managed to alight.’
‘Can you reassure family and friends that the passengers will be safe?’
‘No.’
‘Hmm, back to the newsroom to see if there is any update.’
‘The last sighting was junction 67 of the motorway an hour ago. Police are sure there will be drivers who have captured images on their dash cams. In the meantime there is a helpline if you are worried about relatives who may be on board.’
Be careful what you say, the gods are always listening.
‘Don’t come out again in this awful weather, I don’t need a lift, it’s much quicker on the train.’
It is March 2020, we are about to go into lockdown, but at Southampton Hospital it’s like entering a busy airport terminal with shops and a huge Costa Coffee and other eateries. The only precautions against the new ‘Corona Virus’ are instructions to use hand gel. We and I have been visiting my husband every day.
Now, on a miserable wet late afternoon I manage to find the right bus to the station and saunter in looking around for a window with a human being behind it, so I don’t have to bother with a ticket machine. An androgenous person in a uniform approaches, I wasn’t expecting a welcome party.
‘Can I help you?’
‘I just want a single to Bournemouth.’
‘There are no trains to Bournemouth.’
‘WHAT!’
‘Tree on the line.’
‘So when might there be a train?’
‘Not sure, do you still want to go to Bournemouth?’
‘YES.’
Luckily the platform west has a café and waiting area, now full of grumpy commuters. I am not there long when there is a sudden exodus to the exit, I follow them as they all pile onto a double decker bus, asking if it’s going to Bournemouth. No one actually says no so I rush upstairs and grab the last seat. It is dark and still raining, the windows immediately mist up. If this ‘Corona Virus’ really is so infectious, this is when I’m going to catch it.
I can’t see a thing, no idea where we are, but presumably on the motorway. After a good hour the lights of Bournemouth appear. The train journey takes only 28 minutes if you get a fast train, a fast train being one that mainly stops where I want to go.
There are many good reasons for going by train, keeping traffic off the roads, enjoying a faster smooth journey, looking at the scenery and into people’s back gardens… and of course people watching and eavesdropping.
Autumn 2024 and we are leaving the Isle of Wight. Our lovely little B&B is only minutes from the ferry. This time we have looked on line to check if the trains are running smoothly. They aren’t, it’s Sunday engineering works.
At Lymington we disembark and have plenty of time to file out to the car park and get on a comfortable replacement bus which leaves at exactly the same time as the train would have done. We enjoy a pleasant ride.
At Brockenhurst all was not going well. Confused people were hanging around outside the station waiting their turn to consult a chap with a clipboard and a phone. His jacket says ‘Bus Replacement Service Director’ or some such words. Also ‘on duty’ was a fed up South West Trains chap who wandered off at intervals and returned to make remarks such as ‘Don’t travel on a Sunday, I don’t know what they’re playing at’ and ‘Tell your friends Not to travel next Sunday.’ A young woman in a light blue tabard was trying to be helpful. These light blue people don’t seem to actually belong to the railways; at Bournemouth I had wondered if they were students on work experience as they were very young. I think they might be employed to pass on information, give stress counselling and to take the pressure off other staff.
In the meantime the Replacement Director was doing a grand job in an impossible situation with passengers going in different directions and not enough buses. He promised he would get us taxis if there were not enough bus seats. At one stage a coach turned up already full, turned round in the car park and looked like it was going straight back out again. The Director suddenly grabbed an elderly lady by the arm, frog marched her over to the coach and returned empty handed to address the crowd.
‘I know you’re all going to hate me, but that lady was traveling alone and had been waiting a while to get to Southampton, so I took an executive decision to put her in the only empty seat.’
We couldn’t argue with that and nobody did. We gradually herded ourselves into groups according to destination. A few taxis turned up and some left as The Director remembered who had been waiting longest. In the meantime more passengers drifted in or were dropped off by loved ones expecting to say farewell to them.
A black van with no windows turned up and our Bournemouth group was summoned forward, surely we were not going to be piled in the back of a van like prisoners? It turned out to be a luxury mini bus with tinted windows and curtains. There then followed a tour of the whole of the New Forest as we visited every tiny rural station and halt, seemingly only accessed by narrow winding lanes. At each one we dropped off or picked up someone. It was more than an hour before we arrived at Bournemouth station. The train journey takes 26 minutes. We got home safely, but had not even glimpsed a train all day, let alone been on one.
Did I venture on to a train ever again? Yes, but that’s for another episode…
‘Once we get to Waterloo we’re on the home run, we can relax and have lunch.’
How many times have I stood looking at the large departures board at London Waterloo? Generations of my family commuted up to Waterloo along with hordes of fellow office workers long before working from home was thought of. The last London terminus to have steam trains, they were still running when we lived in Farnborough in the early sixties. Nothing can ever beat sitting in a train as it builds up steam and leaves the station and what fun being totally enveloped in smoke as you walk to school over the railway bridge.
Now as I stared up at the board to check train times before we sauntered off to find lunch, I wondered if it was the board or my brain that had become jumbled up. Nothing made sense, though the words cancelled and delayed seemed to feature rather a lot. I suggested we go to the information desk.
‘When is the next train for Bournemouth?’
‘No idea what’s going on, signal failure at Winchester, you best get straight on the next train.’
‘Have we got time?’
A bloke standing beside us said ‘Don’t worry, you’ve got time, I’m the driver.’
We got on the South West train and off we went, but at Southampton we stopped and didn’t start again. We sat there for a while, chatting to someone who had just flown into the country to go and see her dying sister in Bournemouth hospital. We were apparently waiting for a driver – after rail mishaps to come we soon learned that any rail problems result in drivers everywhere being in the wrong place. Each message over the Tannoy contradicted the previous one. We were told this train was terminating and we all got off. At least we could have a comfort break. Train toilets are a subject for another time, preferably when you’re not eating your dinner. Then a message of hope for some of us, the next train was for Bournemouth only, hurrah. It was a ‘Cross Country’ not conjured up especially for us, just happened to be passing through on its normal route. And what of the other poor souls who needed to go to the other stations along the way? I don’t know.
When my sister came over from Australia for a long holiday I had suggested a trip by train and ferry to the Isle of Wight as it is pleasant and easy, all went well when I did the same trip last year with my friend. Bournemouth to Brockenhurst in the New Forest, change to the dear little train that just goes back and forth to Lymington Pier then saunter on to the ferry to Yarmouth, Isle of Wight. We had booked three nights at a B&B yards from the little ferry terminal.
At Bournemouth station that morning all was chaos, car on the level crossing at Brockenhurst, how long does it take to tow a car off a railway line? All day perhaps judging by what lay ahead. The platform was full of staff, they didn’t know what was going on, but they were doing their best to keep up our morale or their own. Then a train appeared, we got on with our wheelie cases, found a seat then heard the announcement ‘This train is for Southampton only.’ We got off again.
A train did come along and we arrived at Brockenhurst where the platform was full of confused passengers wanting to go up to London or down to Weymouth. We went over to the empty platform to check if the train sitting there was for Lymington, it was and we jumped on quickly, but it didn’t move. It was waiting for a driver. We sat and sat, no more messages came.
Then thinking outside of the box I suggested we just get off the train, trek back over the bridge to the information office and ask what was going on. They had no idea and I proposed Plan B, just walk out of the station and get a taxi to Lymington Pier. Another passenger had already found one and was happy to share. I am still not convinced that this was a genuine taxi, I could see no evidence and the driver wanted cash only, £18. The other passenger was a local who needed to get back to his house in Lymington and I offered him a free ride, just glad that I always carry real money. He insisted on giving me a ten pound note, so we had made a bit of a profit. Whether or not it was a genuine taxi, he did take us to the right place. We relaxed at the little coffee shop in the tiny terminal while we waited for the ferry. The ferry is a delight, you just saunter up the gangway in minutes, climb a few stairs and sit in comfort at the front soothed by the smooth journey across the Solent.
You will have to wait to find out if we ever returned home from that trip, but if I mention we had to come back on a Sunday, some of you might guess.
Funny how English borrows from other languages to express thoughts and ideas. Vive la difference sounds much better than ‘long live the difference’. There are lots of differences to amuse us within the English speaking world, especially the words we use, or just local customs. I’m sure we have all had confusing moments visiting or being visited, or even reading a novel set in another country.
‘How long have I got till the shops shut?’
‘About five hours.’
‘I’ve just got to put the salt in the dishwasher’
‘WHAT!’
Which would you put on your dinner?
When I was young I was worried that I was going to get arrested for jaywalking, even though I wasn’t sure what that was. I have since realised that idea must have come from watching American cartoons, perhaps Top Cat? There is no such offence in Britain…
I was reading a novel and very involved in the plot, then the leading character, who seemed to be quite sensible, decided to have biscuits and gravy for breakfast! Had I misread that…
What oddities have you come across in your travels or reading?
At the Cosy Toastie café Elizabeth’s friends had gathered for their regular coffee morning and eagerly listened as she shared her latest mishaps with the reclining chair her son had bought her. Nobody, including Elizabeth, was sure of the circumstances that had led to John moving in with his mother and there were mixed feelings about the benefits.
‘At least he managed to rescue my old armchairs from the tip and he’s having them professionally reupholstered; unfortunately that will take a while.’
‘But I’m envious you have someone to reach high shelves.’
‘And reach the smoke alarm to pull it off the wall when it’s beeping…’
‘Yes true, though it’s usually John that sets it off. Anyway, I’ve got my handy steps, I’ve had them for years, though I haven’t used them since John moved in. He got those boxes down from the top of the wardrobe that I’ve been meaning to sort out for years; though I had rather they stayed up there; his ideas of what to keep and what to throw!
When the taxi dropped Elizabeth home she was relieved to find a note from John saying he had been called in to work. She was grateful that whatever his job was exactly, it could not all be done from home on the computer. A nice simple cheese omelette for lunch she decided, but where had the cheese grater gone? A search of the cupboards under the countertop was to no avail so she decided to look in the top cupboards; there on the highest shelf was her cheese grater, why on earth had John put it up there? When she went to fetch her trusty steps from their usual corner they had disappeared. As she turned she stepped back into somebody and gasped in fright.
‘Oh it’s you John, I didn’t hear you come in, why do you have to creep around?’
‘I thought you didn’t like me being noisy?’
‘Never mind, now you’re back you can tell me what you’ve done with my steps.’
‘Those dreadful old things, I’ve got rid of them, health and safety.’
‘I couldn’t reach the cheese grater, I need those steps when you’re out.’
‘Remember what happened to Aunt Dorris.’
‘She was ninety nine and had dementia and those legs of hers.’
‘Well it’s best to be prepared, you’re lucky I work for such an innovative company. I’ve got you something very handy, or rather someone who can reach everything and do all those jobs you find difficult.’
‘I can manage fine.’
‘Just come and look in the dining room for the surprise.’
In the corner of the dining room stood a skeletal metal figure.
‘What on earth is that?’
‘Our new prototype, Rufus, you are very privileged to be the first to try it out.’
Elizabeth had never been quite sure what John’s work involved.
‘I thought your company made production lines for factories?’
‘That was when I was an apprentice, we’re in the Twenty First Century now. In Japan they have robots as carers in old people’s homes.’
Elizabeth shuddered. ‘Like those waiters on wheels I suppose. Couldn’t you have given this one a smiley face?’
‘It’s built for action and should transform the lives of the eld… all sorts of people. Do you want a demo?’
Elizabeth’s revulsion at the stranger in her home changed to nervous delight at the news she would have for her friends.
‘Where are his buttons?’
‘He doesn’t have any, you just talk to him like Alexa.’
‘Who on earth is Alexa?’
‘He won’t move unless you say his, um.. its name, otherwise it would be havoc. Rufus, go into the kitchen.’
The figure stretched its arms and legs and wobbled past the table, knocking the paint off the door frame as he went into the hall. Mitsy barked at it then retreated rapidly into the garden. Elizabeth was impressed when Rufus did indeed go into the kitchen.
‘How could he know where to go?’
‘In layman’s terms I downloaded a 3D map of the house.’
Elizabeth was nervous of Rufus and avoided speaking or going near him when John was out, telling herself the dog needed time to quietly get used to its presence. She gave evasive answers when her son returned and asked her how she and Rufus were getting on. John had him pushing the vacuum cleaner and loading the new dishwasher. Elizabeth was slightly miffed that the robot was better than her at learning new gadgets.
When John went away overnight to an important conference, Elizabeth was reluctantly forced to try out Rufus so she could make dinner. John and the robot between them had put away the new weekly Sainsbury delivery and she had no idea what John had ordered or where Rufus had put it. Feeling slightly ridiculous she said to herself, now let’s see how clever you are Rufus Robot and out loud
‘Rufus, get out a tin of tomatoes.’
As he headed for the kitchen Mitsy crouched and growled, then went and hid in her bed.
The robot reached up, opened the cupboard door and clasped a tin, lowering it carefully onto the counter top.
‘Oh clever boy’ Elizabeth found herself saying until she looked at the can and saw it was raspberries.
Well he was probably just a toddler in robot terms, cleverer than John at that age.
‘Rufus, find a tin of Italian whole tomatoes.’
This time the long fingers were rifling through the tins on another shelf and he brought down a tin in each hand, placing them next to Mitsy’s water bowl. Peaches and soup. She would have one more try, with all the shuffling around she had spotted the tomatoes. If he didn’t get it right this time she might call Fran down the road and ask if she wanted to try out that new pizza place.
She pointed up to the highest shelf.
‘Rufus get the tinned tomatoes.’
The robot headed to another cupboard and put his hinged fingers round the old flower vase, but as he lifted it down he lost his grip and it shattered on the tiled floor. Elizabeth sighed and imagined herself trying to get down and sweep up. Then she had an idea and handed Rufus the brush and dustpan.
Before she could utter an instruction he cranked into action and started sweeping. Elizabeth smiled as she imagined this story for her friends. Seeing Mitsy’s nose appear round the door she ushered her away from dangerous splinters. She turned back into the kitchen in time to see Rufus emptying the dustpan into the dishwasher.
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter 