Aug 11, 2011, 11:44
Last week I set out north of Cheltenham to see if I could locate a still-used but largely forgotten railway line, that of the old Gloucesterhire-Warwickshire Railway. My intent was merely to try and spot any telltale embankments, possibly to find a footpath that would allow me to photograph any trains running.
The thing is, my hopes were not up, as there is one steam train alone that runs a restricted service, and that as a result of immensely dedicated enthusiasts: my best hope was that I might catch a shot of a steamer if I was blessed.
I meandered through the village of Gotherington, having been told that I was miles away, that I needed to be at Winchcombe from where the train set off.
However, totally by "chance", I turned down a little road thinking I'd seen a railway embankment, went a little further and saw 2 old stone steps.
I climbed up these, seeing a public footpath sign, went a few yards and then smack bang in front of me were the words "Gotherington Halt".
Now, I'd remembered seeing the name on an online search but was totally unprepared for what I saw. For there right in front of me was a complete train platform, seemingly right in the middle of nowhere.
It was how I remembered the very memory of such old train platforms from the days of steam: I can dimly remember travelling on a "real" one when I was 3 years old, a leviathan of coal and steam.
And there was just me; not another soul...nor was there throughout the next few hours I was there...as if I had found a personal Brigadoon of steam, just me and the sun and birds and a platform clock forever stuck.
...Not a soul...
...And these were the things I saw: a platform ever-expectant of passengers, ever awaiting the seven fifty-two that never would arrive....
....And then, scarcely distinguishable from the highlarks and the singing in the wires, a high and urgent note...and the unmistakeable sound of coal and steam and iron:
...and I was 3 again in front of the leviathan:
...a clatter, a rumble, a clank and shadowed carriages full of laughter....
...and then no sign that it had happened at all, with just the birds and the singing in the wires, with the clock still awaiting the seven fifty-two...
...but as my steps scrunched back towards the road over the clinker and cinder path, a distant bellow as a leviathan surfaced somewhere unseen and a high and urgent note.
The thing is, my hopes were not up, as there is one steam train alone that runs a restricted service, and that as a result of immensely dedicated enthusiasts: my best hope was that I might catch a shot of a steamer if I was blessed.
I meandered through the village of Gotherington, having been told that I was miles away, that I needed to be at Winchcombe from where the train set off.
However, totally by "chance", I turned down a little road thinking I'd seen a railway embankment, went a little further and saw 2 old stone steps.
I climbed up these, seeing a public footpath sign, went a few yards and then smack bang in front of me were the words "Gotherington Halt".
Now, I'd remembered seeing the name on an online search but was totally unprepared for what I saw. For there right in front of me was a complete train platform, seemingly right in the middle of nowhere.
It was how I remembered the very memory of such old train platforms from the days of steam: I can dimly remember travelling on a "real" one when I was 3 years old, a leviathan of coal and steam.
And there was just me; not another soul...nor was there throughout the next few hours I was there...as if I had found a personal Brigadoon of steam, just me and the sun and birds and a platform clock forever stuck.
...Not a soul...
...And these were the things I saw: a platform ever-expectant of passengers, ever awaiting the seven fifty-two that never would arrive....
....And then, scarcely distinguishable from the highlarks and the singing in the wires, a high and urgent note...and the unmistakeable sound of coal and steam and iron:
...and I was 3 again in front of the leviathan:
...a clatter, a rumble, a clank and shadowed carriages full of laughter....
...and then no sign that it had happened at all, with just the birds and the singing in the wires, with the clock still awaiting the seven fifty-two...
...but as my steps scrunched back towards the road over the clinker and cinder path, a distant bellow as a leviathan surfaced somewhere unseen and a high and urgent note.
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