A Train Journey

Eavesdropping, speculating and window-gazing

On Tuesday I went to Chichester. I caught the train to London Bridge and then I waited for a train to East Croydon. I had forgotten it was school holidays so the station was busier than usual. It was a beautiful day and lots of families were heading towards the seaside.

While I was standing on the platform a large twig fell onto the railway tracks. London Bridge station was modernised a few years ago and to reach the platforms you go up an escalator. There are no trees anywhere near the platforms and even if there were they wouldn’t be tall enough to be shedding twigs onto the railway tracks. A few seconds later a very large crow appeared. It had clearly dropped its twig on the way to its nest building site. The crow landed onto the top of a stationary train and cast its beady eyes over the tracks. After a few seconds it gave up and flew away. I was a little disappointed as I assumed the crow would be smart enough to find its twig. I also noticed that I was the only person paying attention to the crow.

When I arrived in Croydon I had 20 minutes to wait for the next train. I decided to go for a short walk. Croydon is not a part of London that I visit very often so I don’t know what the area around the station was like before it was redeveloped. It’s now surrounded by huge high-rise buildings and newly planted public areas and is totally characterless. About three minutes from the station is a Home Office building and it’s where people seeking asylum or visas are required to report to if instructed to do so by the Home Office. It’s called a reporting centre and the people queuing up to go inside have an air of desperation about them. Before crossing the door they have to engage with a burly security guard who decides who can come inside. Walking past I saw one person being turned away. Every so often it’s good to be reminded how lucky most of us are that we never have to go through ordeals like this. I am also grateful that being Irish I have a legal right to live anywhere in Britain or in the EU.

I returned to the station and waited on a very crowded platform for my train. It was a few minutes late and people jostled each other as they got on as no-one wanted to end up standing. I managed to get a seat next to two men who were travelling together. I am a shameless eavesdropper and immediately started speculating about what their relationship was. The man I was sitting next to was very old and initially I thought that they were father and son but it soon became clear that they didn’t know each other that well.

The older man had an RP accent and the younger one - who was in his 60s - just sounded very middle-class. RP began telling him how he had visited St Bartholomew-the-Great on the previous Sunday and accidentally got locked in and had to stay for a service. It was Easter Sunday so he shouldn’t have been surprised that they were putting on a show.

“It was dreadful. The place was thick with smoke and smelt of incense and the lady next to me was shouting out the responses. Truly awful!”

I thought it sounded rather enjoyable. I’m often tempted to go to an Anglican High Mass as I know I would enjoy the pomp and ceremony without having to engage as I am not a Protestant.

At Gatwick airport lots of people got off but lots more got on encumbered by large suitcases.

At the next station the train got even busier. A group of people got on and had to stand. They had enormous rucksacks, one pushchair and at least four children. The adults, two women and one man, were covered in tattoos and the children were unkempt. Like the men I was sitting next to these people all sounded like they might have gone to private school. (The man next to me definitely had gone to private school as he told the other man his prep school was somewhere round Worthing.). The new people were very loud and clearly didn’t mind being the centre of attention. One of the women, well into her 40s, spent several minutes hanging from the handrail. I tried not to imagine what the relationship was between them but I’m pretty sure they all lived in the same house.

When the train from London to Chichester arrives in Horsham it splits in two with four carriages going to Portsmouth and four going somewhere else. Every time I get that train I’m always anxious that I’m in the wrong carriage. This has never happened to me yet but there’s always a first time.

After Horsham the landscape changes and you can see the South Downs in the distance as the train chugs along on the flood plain of the river Arun. The fields were full of sheep and I saw lambs for the first time this spring. Some of the fields had turned yellow as the rape was coming into bloom. As you get close to Chichester you can see the castle in Arundel which RP next to me pointed out was an interesting mix of ecclesiastical and militaristic architecture. I have only been to Arundel once and I keep meaning to re-visit it.

After an hour on the train I finally arrived in Chichester. I was on my way to meet a friend at Pallant House which is my favourite gallery outside of London. We had a very enjoyable time as after lunch we went to the William Nicholson exhibition which closes tomorrow and then I went foraging round the charity shops. I also visited the cathedral. Sadly it didn’t smell of incense.

On the train home I got a seat to myself and there was nobody interesting sitting anywhere near me but I did manage to see a lovely sunset while crossing the Thames between Cannon Street and London Bridge.