faster than fairies

[Berwick, from a railway carriage]

When I was seventeen, I travelled by train from Stockport to Cap d'Agde in the south of France, to work as an au pair for eight weeks. It was my first big journey on my own, and I was practically hanging out of the train most of the time, watching the landscape change, trying to read the names of stations as we zoomed through them. I was enthralled by the ferry train to Dover, the flat north of France, the  huge, glamorous Paris termini, the increasingly dry and dusty south, and the idea of waking up in Béziers after a night's travel (bolt upright, packed carriage, constant Gitanes/Gauloises smoke, no sleep - not as delightful as I'd imagined). But it converted me to train travel (not that I needed much persuading), and prepared me for travelling up and down India in third class, and for many overnight train journeys in the Soviet Union.

[Newcastle, whistling by]

But it's been a while since I sat on a train for a long time. So when I had a horrible flying experience in December which involved engine difficulties and a rapid return to Heathrow, I decided this was the perfect excuse to re-book my trip to Edinburgh, but this time by train. I'd never been beyond Durham (on the train) and I've been wanting to see the north east for some time. So I reserved a window seat, read until York (beautiful, curving station), then put down my book, and stared out of the window all the way to Edinburgh.

[Alnmouth, in the wink of an eye]

Seeing towns and fields flash by reminded me of the RL Stevenson poem 'From a Railway Carriage', which I used to read to the children; we had a lovely illustrated edition with the horses, cattle, crossings and embankments, bridges and waving boys, all beautifully drawn. The rhythm of the poem is mesmerising (very similar to Night Mail by WH Auden) and as we moved through the landscape I realised how little has changed in the rhythms of, and the views from, the train, particularly in more rural parts.  It still feels as though you are going faster than fairies and faster than witches, and 'all the sights' are still there.

But if I were adding to RLS's list on the northern part of the journey, there'd be plenty more to look out for. They may not rhyme or scan, but I'd include fields of cabbages and ruined castles, deep red, sandstone churches in Scotland and tall, fine church steeples in England, the cathedral at Durham, the multiple bridges over the Tyne in Newcastle, the spectacular views of Berwick-upon-Tweed and the shockingly close-up glimpses of the steep drops down to the sea along the wild coast there, the unfeasibly out-on-a-limb Alnmouth and Bamburgh Castle, the glorious, cathedral-like train shed at Darlington, the welcoming, benevolent Angel of the North, spring lambs, chimneys, and the many silver birches which line the tracks. And at either end you have the historic Waverley Station and the stunning, Cubitt-designed King's Cross which should be marvellous punctuation marks in a great journey, but are both currently in a state of utter confusion and chaos due to various works taking place. But you can't have everything, and the bits inbetween are worth the ride.