For once I want to get ahead of myself, and to write my piece for next week’s writing group. The theme is ‘train’ and I have plenty of thoughts about that – but maybe plenty will lead to dithering, to unnecessary pondering, which then becomes procrastination. A few days ago I wrote about time blindness, where you lose track of time and underestimate how long you will spend doing something as opposed to how long you have to do it! Realising that this is something I have, should make me get to grips with myself and be strict with my innate time-wasting ability.
My great granddad Tom, and my granddad Reuben, both worked on the railways, so I have plenty of stories to use – either to relate or to be inspired by. I’ve travelled by train a great deal too, and many memories which could trigger a story or other piece. I’ve written a few pieces here about rail journeys I’ve had and the people I’ve met, for example:
It was the old-fashioned sort of train, with carriages which seated eight people, and sitting opposite me was a man and a boy. I was about twenty, and the man seemed much older, but he was probably only about thirty. He was wearing grey trousers, a black jacket, white shirt and a tie. The boy was probably about twelve – maybe a very much younger brother, maybe a nephew or young cousin. He was wearing a grey school uniform – and in those days, uniform for a lad of his age was shorts. What was most noticeable about the man was that he had what’s known as a port-wine stain, a nævus flammeus across his nose and cheek.
The man and I got into conversation, and what an interesting person he was. At the end of the journey we said goodbye and went our separate ways, and he probably forgot me within half an hour, but I never forgot him.
Thinking of trains, there was the book club meeting, and it wasn’t unusual that I read the wrong book. However, my mistake on this occasion was understandable as I’d bought a book about a girl on a train – in fact there were three, all published in the same year:
Girl on the Train by A. J. Waines (2015)
The Girl on the Train… by Paula Hawkins (2015)
A Girl on the Train by Ashok Kumar Singh (2015)
Another never forgotten train journey, which I really may write about properly was again when I was a student:
I was once travelling back to Somerset from Manchester by train. Sitting opposite me was a smiley elderly lady, plump in a comfortable grandmotherly way; I don’t remember what she was wearing except, she had glasses and a pale blue feathery hat. Sitting beside me was a guy about the same age as me, in his twenties, slightly chubby, dark hair, tanned complexion and a pleasant, good-looking face.
We had nodded and smiled politely as we took our seats in Manchester, and had made the occasional comment about the weather as we raced through the evening countryside. All was going well until the train slowed and stopped and announcement came over the intercom to say we had experienced a technical problem.
After a little while we began to converse and before long we were chatting away, enjoying each other’s company. It was one of those odd moments when we all really hit it off, elderly lady, and two young people. I was a teacher, he was an opera singer (yes really) with the Welsh National Opera. We talked about all sorts of things, ourselves, our journeys, life, the universe… you know the sort of conversation! There was an empathy between us, a connection, a shared sense of humour and slightly off-beat view on life, and a sort of platonic attraction between the young man and me.
We were stuck on the train for a couple of hours which just flew by and then we were on our way. I think the elderly lady got off in Birmingham and he got off to make a connection for a train to Wales… it was before the days of cell phones and the internet, there was no Facebook or emailing, so I never met either of them again. I did once see his name on a listing for the Welsh National Opera. I don’t remember his name now, maybe he was Anthony, maybe he wasn’t. In another life or world we could have become the best and closest of friends – the three of us, I’m sure.
Lois Elsden 