I love ticking along on the train: the carriage rocking, dappled light flashing across the table as the early autumn sun flickers through the trees. Villages, farms, towns, all passing by as my own little ecosystem remains constant. A slight tugging force as we slow, creaking into the station at Honiton: old brick buildings and weeds growing through the platform. The signal box, redundant now, symbol of a bygone era of steam and cables, bustle and noise.
Further down the line we whip through a derelict station, victim i suspect of Dr Beeching’s Axe in the 1960s, when the system was rationalised. Slashed. Remodelled to make it more suited to the new realities. Many rural stations were cut from the system: abandoned to time and the weather.
Ver la entrada original 415 palabras más