Taking the Waters: Back to the home county 10 years ago
Posted in Travel on Sunday 14th February 2016 at 11:02pm
I woke early this morning, despite trying not to. It's become my custom on our more urban breaks to use the golden morning hours wandering deserted city streets or staking out turgid waterways while my wife prefers to sleep in. We're agreed that each other's chosen way of spending those hours between the time that fools and decent-minded people rise isn't for us - another way in which we complement each other it seems. In fact, I'd worried a little that being out here in the countryside, out of easy range of civilisation would leave me pacing the room in frustration at the waste of these quiet early moments. Once I'd accustomed myself to being away from home I remembered the rather splendid location we were in, and padded over to the patio doors at the end of our huge room. We'd gone to bed on a wet, dark February evening with the lights of Worcestershire twinkling happily in the rain - but I woke to a wonderful vista - the Severn valley fell away from the Malvern Hills, a vast pool of mist capped by the distant, purple smudge of the Cotswolds. A patchwork of green and yellow could just be discerned through the cloud, and above it all a weak but persistent winter sun was rising. It was a beautiful scene, and I quickly dressed and slipped out onto the little balcony with a fairly horrible coffee for company.
I'd intended to read, or to write - but for the first time in a very long time I felt content to do virtually nothing but look. I watched the sun rise, the first time this year that I'd really felt it's warmth, and start to burn off the mist. I watched the first, intrepid birds braving the chill and diving for worms in the dewy grass. Slowly people began to stir and wander towards the breakfast at the main hotel building in pairs, holding hands. It was Valentines' Day and we were part of a band of people getting away for the weekend. For me though it was an anniversary - three years ago I was preparing to head for Seattle - a nervous, painful time of fear and uncertainty which seemed a world away here. Particularly here, because this place - these hills specifically - had fascinated me from an early age. From my school playground I could see across the flat plains of Northern Worcestershire towards the Malverns. They were a dark, ominous presence on the horizon, and I remember a game I instigated where we were tribesmen bowing down to the hills. I really don't know where I got the idea, probably some comic or history book - but little did I know how I'd be venerating the topography all those years later. I had relatives who lived on the other side of the hills, and travelling to see them was a delight - would we skirt the hills on the dull, flat road or take the exciting Wyche Cutting with it's switchbacks and hairpins, and it's curious amusement arcades and attractions lining parts of the route? I remembered too a journey with my father, when I insisted on dragging along a Tonka tipper lorry. I recall we walked up a dry, scree-covered slope and he paused to let me repeatedly fill the truck, run it a way along the track and dump it's contents. It felt like a rare moment of calm in my dad's life - a time when he wasn't rushing to work or snoozing over his dinner.
Later, we walked into the hills together from the southern edge at British Camp. The track runs along the ridge, rising gently at first then undulating as it climbs. From the first peak, the views were sublime. The sun had stayed high and surprisingly strong, and up here the wind was blustery and refreshing. I asked if we should turn back, but I was assured we could go a little further. Finally the views opened on both sides: to the west, the shadows of Welsh mountains adumbrated the rolling country of Herefordshire, and to the east Worcestershire's typically English blanket of farmland rolled towards the Severn and the Avon. We stayed up there for a while, letting the wind whip our hair in our faces and thinking about the journey we'd both been on to get here. I realised too, as I looked out over my home county that I missed my father terribly - more than perhaps I ever expected. I missed both of my parents more in fact than I'd dared to admit to myself over the past year. But I wasn't alone up here - and that is perhaps the most surprising thing of all.
It's become almost traditional that I take a break at this time of year. Mostly it's to do with using up days of leave before the end of March deadline, but this time it also coincided with last weekend's Scotland trip. Taking some extra days I'd hatched a half formed plan to get a three-day Freedom of the South West Rover ticket and revisit lines I'd not done since a similar trip a decade or so back. I figured that given the amount of track I've covered in recent years, I needed to get used to a little repetition. Having had a couple of days travel earlier in the week, today was a chance to push west into Cornwall and visit some branch lines. Mr Spinks needed the track and had decided to come along, so the plan was to hit the first train south and cover most of the branches in a single hit. Equipped with coffee and a vague order of play concocted the previous evening, we set off in the dark.
Nearly four hours later we disembarked at Truro, watching our train head off into the distance for Penzance. A few minutes here to head for the Falmouth Docks train. The weather had stayed dry and cloudy, and there were some impressive views as we headed down to the coast. Aside from the work to install a passing loop at Penryn, little had changed since my last visit - although the area around the station at the Docks was much tidier, and the area had been quite heavily developed. No time to hang around, as we retraced our steps on the same unit back to Truro and a quick coffee break. Back onto the platform just in time to catch a fairly packed unit into Penzance. I'd made several trips here over the years, sometimes just for a bit of a spin and a spot of lunch in fact! The station was strangely quiet, and hadn't change a bit - still dark and unsuitable for photography, and still sporting an excellent little independent buffet bar. After a short layover, back out on the same unit as far as St. Erth.
I had reservations about changing here after a long wait with little happening a long time back. However things had changed a lot. Always a photogenic little station, we made our down the steps to the bay platforms to find a small cafe and shop staffed by perhaps the politest people I've ever met. Grabbed an excellent coffee and waited to get a picture of the arriving unit. This time it was a 153 which arrived and turned around swiftly in the bay. When I first made the trip it was in a mixture of heritage DMU vehicles which ran through to Penzance - so the bays were a little new track if my memory serves me correctly. Still impressed by the great curved sweep of the bay as the line snakes around the hill and into St. Ives. Some fine properties overlooking the sea here too, which prompted a discussion about where the ideal home would be. I ended up with three or four possible locations, none of them particularly practical!
Back at St Erth we had a short wait for the next unit which left us out in a brief shower. Eventually the train arrived, formed of former Silverlink unit 150121. Found a seat on the busy unit and settled in for the trip to Liskeard and our last branch of the day. A quick walk to the platofrm for Looe, at right-angles to the mainline and apparently recently restored. Onto the fairly busy unit and off, curving sharply and steeply to pass under the mainline and the impressive Moorswater Viaduct. Sadly, this train wasn't one of the PSUL listed trips which reverse in Coombe Station rather than at the ground frame a little to the south. Reversing here, the line is surrounded by water - following the course of both the East Looe River and the Liskeard and Looe Union Canal. Enjoyed the truly amazing scenery here, as the estuary opened up beside the line and we pulled into Looe. Here, on my original trip, I'd broken for lunch and a chance to send a postcard back to the office! No time for that this time however, and we were soon climbing back up to Liskeard station and a quick change onto a Plymouth bound HST.
After a longer break at Plymouth we boarded one of Crosscountry's recently refurbished HST sets for the trip back as far as Taunton. Having done a fair few miles on these this week, I'm fairly impressed. They're comfortable and have plenty of capacity for the routes they operate - a rare luxury on the Crosscountry network. Having done a fair few miles in the south west over the last week, it's interesting to compare notes with my previous travels. Certainly, a lot has stayed the same, and these lines continue to be a fantastic way of seeing the countryside from a new angle. However, the trains are busier and the lines feel a little more vibrant and well-used. The presence of refurbished units, frequent services and evidence of expansion of the network in places would have been unthinkable back in 1998, and the figures for increased patronage are quite remarkable. It's been good to be back on these very special bits of the network which aren't really so far from home. I'll try not to leave it another decade before visiting again.
End of a very trying and tiring week of work. Uneventful St. Valentine's Day - restablishing the pattern so rudely interrupted a couple of years back. Exchanged stupid jokes with a similarly afflicted colleague however. Yesterday's assessment of damaged knee means no marching for me tomorrow. Demon confirm further delays in establishing connection. Miserable. Offered food and sympathy which I gratefully accept and end up having a late night.
Daylog Entry for Thursday 14/02/2002 24 years ago
Posted in Updates on Thursday 14th February 2002 at 12:00am
Well, my lowered expectations were surpassed. The parcel was delivered to my office, rejected by the receptionist, delivered and signed for at the Town Hall, and has now totally disappeared, leaving me unable to claim from Parcelforce or the sender ("We delivered it") or from my employer ("At your own risk"). So what happens when Council stuff goes the same way? Ah! of course - the taxpayer absorbs such costs. I am cursed where laptops are concerned it seems. So, a very frustrating day. Debated long and hard whether to go to FOSDEM, or to spend time looking for the laptop/shouting randomly at passers by. Eventually decided that losing even *more* money was probably a bad idea. This Feb 14th lacked a lot of the tension, and all of the romance of last year's.
Lost::MikeGTN
I've had a home on the web for more years than I care to remember, and a few kind souls persuade me it's worth persisting with keeping it updated. This current incarnation of the site is centred around the blog posts which began back in 1999 as 'the daylog' and continued through my travels and tribulations during the following years.
I don't get out and about nearly as much these days, but I do try to record significant events and trips for posterity. You may also have arrived here by following the trail to my former music blog Songs Heard On Fast Trains. That content is preserved here too.
