Tag: railway

November 9th – The day was very grey indeed, and the train service lousy. Bad weather had been predicted for the evening commute, and with cancellations and slow running all round, I left work half an hour early. We’re in the days now of the nascent winter; grey, smoggy air, partial drizzle and heavy cloud makes for a greasy, unreal, not-quite-daylight feel. This is the worst bit of winter for me; not cold enough to be dramatic, or photogenic, or even challenging to ride in, but just headache-grey mundanity, rumbling from day to day. Stuff this, bring on some real winter, please. Snow, or crisp frosty mornings with bright air that hurts your forehead and clutches your chest when you breathe in. 

The only thing that looks good in the is murk is the light of the railway. Steady, bright, control.

November 1st – Tyseley, the gift that keeps on giving. Yes, I know, two days running. The sunset was dramatic tonight, and it was nearing perfection as I crossed the bridge to enter the station. On the platform, the sunset behind Greet church was far more vibrant than it had been the day before. Autumn, and it’s ever-changing moods. After a thoroughly miserable, wet commute to work in the morning, this evening’s fiery beauty was a tonic. It felt very chilly, though.

October 31st – A grim commute home. The scent of rain had been in the air all day, and in the afternoon, the showers grew more frequent and intense. At Tyseley, I listened to the rain on the roof with a heavy heart. I don’t mind commuting jun the rain too much, but there was a keen wind and with the dark evenings upon us, enjoyment was likely to be thin on the ground.

Having missed my train, I waited at a near deserted Tyseley station for the next service. It was dry, but dingy and darkness was falling. This odd little place really has got a hold on me. I’m fascinated by the dark decay of the station, it’s unexplained wooden screens (seemingly doubling as urinals these days) and mock-victorian fittings. It’s quite the oddest station I’ve used; it should feel desolate and threatening, but doesn’t. I can’t work out why it’s fascinating me so much.

October 29th – The day had been better, weather-wise; it was milder, and the rain had mostly stopped. The day had that never-quite-light feel about it, though, and the sunset at 4:45pm was ominous. Looking towards the city from Tyseley Station, central Birimingham seemed close enough to walk, but the railway signals strung out in an undulating line following the course of the track told a different story. I love that view, for all all it’s faults. Brum, you’re a rough dame but I wouldn’t be without you.

October 29th – One of the many excellent things about Moor Street Station in Birmingham is the Moorish Cafe. Cheap, good food, served to folk on the move, like me, with speed and great service. As I stopped for a butty this morning, I noticed the usual table decorations were out, and halloween pumpkins were in. Must have taken ages to carve them all. I figure pumpkin soup could be on the menu here for quite some time…

October 11th – Working late in Tyseley, the service gets patchy after the evening peak. Leaving at about 8pm, I realised my nearest train was going from Spring Road, located on the road to Hall Green. Stoking it in, I made it with a couple of minutes to spare. Spring Road is desolate and isolated at night, and I didn’t like it much. It was drizzling lightly, I was tired, and glad to see the lights of the train…

October 10th – Birmingham New Street. This is Birmingham New Street. As the automated announcements chimed the usual jingle, my train was delayed. Gazing up the platform from where I was sat on the crash barrier, I noticed something darting about. A mouse, or possibly a young rat. He was doing what nature intended – hoovering up.

I’m used to seeing mice and rats in stations: New Street is alive with rodents. People eat whilst waiting at stations, so there’s a ready supply of dropped and discarded food. Normally, such animals tend to look unhealthy, but this fellow was looking quite chipper. Contractors have recently sealed off platform eight as part of the modernisation works, and I suspect Mickey here was displaced, as was the rat I saw at the foot of the steps on the same platform 10 minutes later. 

When the train came, it was too full and I ended up going to Walsall instead. Sometimes I feel I live in the station, just like the mice.

Sorry about the poor quality images. I won’t use flash in a station for safety reasons.

October 4th – Telford Railway Station is a wreck right now, and has been for some time. I’ve always disliked it – not unpleasant in the daytime, with easy ramp access, but at night in winter it’s cold, lonely and desolate. I still wince at memories of waiting for late trains here in the freezing, snowy run up to Christmas 2010. The whole site was due a refurb, but half way through, the builders who won the contract went bust. Allegedly now restarted, I’ve yet to see anyone on site actually doing anything. A disgrace.

September 26th – I’ve spent a lot of time in Tyseley lately, and I have an odd kind of love-hate relationship with the station. Tyseley, as Ive noted here before, is now a heavily industrialised area, and has a mixed air of quiet decay and frantic commerce. The station, with it’s GWR accoutrements and air of very faded splendour speaks of a time when this Birmingham suburb was more genteel and rail was king. Scruffy, rotting and largely unloved, the station sits like a drunken duchess, quiety getting drunk whilst dwelling on past glories in some last chance saloon. Willowherb and buddleia grow from gutters, walls and platforms; the roofs and canopies leak, and everything gives an air of decay. But somehow, I actually think I like the place.

September 25th – After a bright start, I’d braced myself for a very, very grim commute home, the forecast was awful. As it happened though, it was just drizzly wet, and the wind was behind me. I think I must be getting inured, but I haven’t noticed webs developing between my toes yet. Coming up the ramp at Walsall, I looked, as I often do, at the overhead supply catenary for the railway. The complexity of this system fascinates me, and today, I could hear it crackle and buzz in the wet. Years of design refinement have made this system generally very weatherproof, and that’s a remarkable thing. The 25,000 volts coursing over that metalwork doesn’t take prisoners and will arc long distances in the damp. Railway people are given to calling the overheads ‘knitting’, and you can see why.