A cross-country journey of 720 miles and over sixty years... by Rosalie Warren
Aberdeen, Stonehaven,
Montrose, Arbroath, Dundee, Leuchars, Cupar, Ladybank, Markinch, Kircaldy,
Inverkeithing, Edinburgh Haymarket, Edinburgh Waverley, Dunbar,
Berwick-upon-Tweed, Alnmouth, Morpeth, Newcastle, Chester-le-Street, Durham,
Darlington, York, Doncaster [or Leeds, Wakefield Westgate], Sheffield,
Chesterfield, Derby, Burton-on-Trent, Tamworth, Water Orton, Birmingham New
Street, Cheltenham Spa, Gloucester, Bristol Parkway, Bristol Temple Meads,
Taunton, Tiverton Parkway, Exeter St David’s, Dawlish, Teignmouth, Newton
Abbott, Totnes, Plymouth, Liskeard, Bodmin Parkway, Par, St Austell, Truro,
Redruth, Camborne, St Erth, Penzance.
You may recognise these as the stopping points on the Cross
Country rail service in the UK from Aberdeen in the Highlands of Scotland to
Penzance at the tip (almost) of Cornwall. Train journeys have a special place
in the hearts of many people and I’m no exception. Recently, I heard this list
read out by a Radio 4 announcer as part of a trailer for a forthcoming
programme about regional accents, and before I knew it I was standing there at
the kitchen sink with tears streaming down my face.
Why? A whole lot of reasons, too many to tell you about, but
I’ll select a few, starting down in Cornwall – not quite as far west as
Penzance, but pretty close, in Newquay on the Atlantic Coast. Between the ages
of two and four I travelled the Newquay-to-Par-to-Sheffield route many, many
times, changing trains in Bristol and then changing again in Sheffield for the
final leg of the journey to Pontefract, where my grandmother lived. My dad was
in the RAF and was stationed at St Eval, near Newquay (the aerodrome where he
worked is now Newquay airport, beloved of surfers). The journeys we
made by train usually involved just Mum and me, when Dad was on one of his short
postings overseas. I can remember steam billowing past the windows (that’s
how old I am) and the elegant British Rail mirrors and light fittings in the
carriages, as we called them in those far-off days. All very Victorian and a
little intimidating but enormously exciting, at least to me. It was a long
journey, especially for a young child, and took us most of the day. I can only
hope, for my mother’s sake, that I slept some of the time, though I suspect I
didn’t.
I have a dim memory of the downward journey on one occasion,
when I think there was some flooding at Par and we had to get off our train and
wait for another one. I remember walking on the beach, seeing rocks and
rockpools and the sun going down in a red sky. Unless this memory has got muddled with a
dream... So many of my early Cornish memories (we left for good just before I
turned five) are mixed up with dreams – like the steep switchback road with
rounded hills on either side, shrouded by woods where a dinosaur and an
elephant lived – those latter creatures, on reflection, probably were a dream!
Later in my childhood, after we’d moved back to West
Yorkshire, or the West Riding as it was then, we would take the train from
Pontefract to Scarborough, sometimes changing at York. Not quite part of the
Cross Country route, but not so far off. I still associate getting on a train
with that intense feeling of excitement and anticipation of the holiday to
come. Cars, buses and planes are just not the same.
Even later, but still only twenty-two, I travelled by train
with my new husband, from Pontefract via York to Edinburgh, two suitcases each,
to start our married life. I remember climbing Waverley Steps from the station
up to Princes Street and being overwhelmed – not just by the freezing July gale
but by the scale and bluster and beauty of it all. I didn’t know it then, but I
would have twenty-two years in Edinburgh – years in which our children would be born and grow up, and I would go back to university and find a new career, and
write my first (no, actually my second) book, and so many, many changes would
take place until eventually, in the last year of the century, I would sell the
house, pack up my things and move even further north, to bonnie Dundee.
Before I actually made the move, I travelled many times by
train on the Edinburgh to Dundee bit of the route, over the Forth Rail Bridge,
up past Burntisland to Kircaldy and beyond – often seeing a stunning sunrise on
the way. On other days the mist lay over the fields. I wasn’t happy in my
first year in that job and I used to want the journey (sixty-four miles – no
meagre commute) to go on forever. I even wondered, once or twice, what would
happen if I didn’t alight at Dundee but simply kept going to Aberdeen and
perhaps beyond. But the thought of my children, now sharing their time between
me and my ex, stopped me doing crazy things like that. If I had stayed on the
train, I’d have travelled past the broad sweep of wonderful dune-clad Lunan
Bay, a place that became a favourite haunt of mine when I moved to the
village of Monifieth, just outside Dundee, the following year. (If
you’re interested, I eventually wrote a book called Low Tide, Lunan Bay, which was published by Robert Hale in 2009.)
I also did several Dundee to York journeys, visiting my son
when he was studying at university in York. I was amazed by how long that journey took.
I suppose I always think of York as in the north, and Scotland as just a bit
further “up there” – but Dundee is actually another four hours.
Sadly, for various reasons, I never did get round to doing
that final leg of the Cross Country route, from Dundee to Aberdeen – and I’m
ashamed to say I still haven’t, though I’ve visited a number of places
along the way, including Arbroath (home of smokies) and Montrose.
A few years further on, life took me back down south, or at
least to the Midlands, to join my new partner and start a job at Birmingham
University. This necessitated a further commute – an amazingly tortuous journey
between our home in north Coventry and Edgbaston in Birmingham. It was only
about twenty miles in total but somehow took almost as long as the train ride
from Edinburgh to Dundee. Though I must say I did enjoy the actual rail
journey, at least when I had a seat and could work, read or simply enjoy the
passing countryside.
I once did a large section of the Cross Country route in one
go – from Edinburgh down to Newquay, with my son and daughter, fortunately old
enough to entertain themselves by then. My mother got on the train at Leeds and
joined us for that holiday. I think the journey took about ten hours. The full
stint, by the way, is thirteen and a half hours and covers 722 miles.
Another favourite train journey of mine was from Coventry up
to Glasgow to see my daughter, who lived there for many years. Not strictly on
the Cross Country route, but very special to me all the same – and I always
found myself muttering the W.H. Auden poem Night
Mail as we crossed the border and approached that marvellous city.
More recently I’ve taken a number of trips from Birmingham
New Street down to Exeter St David’s, to visit a very dear friend of mine who
lives in South Devon*. Nowadays, I usually make this trip by car, as the last
leg otherwise involves a long spell in a bus, which I do not enjoy. The M5 trip
is efficient but boring… the train journey, on the other hand, is always a
delight.
I think I now know why I cried when I heard that list of
station stops. So much of my life, so many of the people and places that have enriched it, are encapsulated in that journey. One day, if I can
bear it (and afford it), I must do the whole thing, end to end. Or perhaps I’ll
stop off in some of those places on the way and relive old
memories and dreams.
Looking ahead, I’d also like to cross Canada (my daughter
now lives there) by train. Montreal to Vancouver – approximately 3000 miles overland.
Sometime in the next sixty years…
All the best,
Ros
*Shortly after writing this, and a few days before it is scheduled to appear, my dear friend has very sadly passed away. I would like to dedicate this post to Jane.
*Shortly after writing this, and a few days before it is scheduled to appear, my dear friend has very sadly passed away. I would like to dedicate this post to Jane.
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me on Twitter @Ros_Warren
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