Trains don’t stop…

Clouds of billowing white steam engulfed the stoically waiting passengers standing on the platform, as the black face of the engine emerged through the swirling mists and smoke. The loud hissing accompanied by short squeal of metal brake on metal wheel sliding the whole train to a gentle stop. The 1930’s was the golden age for steam railways in Britain, unsurpassed for spectacle, romance and of course coal dirt. Today, being Wednesday, witnesses the approach, the flash by and the disappearance of the Gravy Train Express at Camborne. 

The 1930s. We thought we were special back then. Turns out that was our apex, our summit, our ultimate before the slow descent into neo-feudalist dystopia in which arrogant, ill educated toffs – the products of elite schools and universities – not only ride the gravy train, they are guard, driver and fireman giving not a toss for the speed of the approaching buffers and caring not which terminus they arrive in. Towns like Camborne and Redruth are not even on the timetable.

Published by Lance Goodman

Freelance writer, bon vivant and all-round good oeuf.

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