THE SLOW TRAIN TO LONDON

 “The train approaching platform 2 terminates here! The train approaching from Charing cross terminates here. All change, please. All change!” The sleek body of the train from South Eastern Rail slides into the Sevenoaks station. The bright young female voice continues to announce trains as they approach or leave.

I made sure that I arrived at the station well ahead of time and am already sitting comfortably on my train, just waiting to leave. The train seems to be warming up. What if I’m on the wrong train? There’s only one other passenger in the coach, an old man, nose in a newspaper.

“Excuse me,” I say, “does this train stop at Denmark Hill?”

“It stops at all the stations,” he replies curtly and continues reading. Such a typical Englishman’s reply – polite but distanced. I go back to my seat but am worried because that didn’t really answer my question. There is a hissing noise and a banging of doors.

Then, probably feeling bad, the old man looks up and smiles at me. “Yes, it does stop at Denmark Hill.”

I’m relieved, and smile back but now I wonder if either he or I will be deemed to being too familiar now. OH! I am I just paranoid …… he’s okay. He has taken out some other reading material. At least I know I’m on the right train. It’s the slow train to Kentish town, which will be stopping at all stations as it journeys towards and through London and my journey is going to be a long one. A long wait and I’ll have to be sure not to miss my station.

The station attendant who gives our train the go-ahead is surprisingly glamorous, although kitted in her railway uniform, her blonde hair and bright lips light up the station as she marches efficiently past to wave the all clear. There is a shrill whistle and we glide off out of the station and under the bridge. Tracks diverge and stream away to our left.... these are the way the faster trains go to London, heading for Canon Street and Charingcross.

The English countryside, basking in its full summer glory of green and gold, now passes us by. We keep stopping, however, for it’s exactly as I was told, “ every single station”. They have quaint names like “Bat and Ball” and “Otford”, “Shoreham”, “Eynsford”. Above the train, the Kent sky is layered in a landscape of clouds. Their different shapes form snowy piles of mountains, a grey line of hills or the darker grey and mauve of billowing waves.

Now we enter a cutting, thick with a tangle of brambles, some white flowers that resemble Queen Anne’s lace and the ever-curious nettles raising their long stalks ever higher and higher beside the gravel of the tracks. Suddenly what were bushes and trees open up and there’s a wide valley beside us, its fields all differing colours, ,the golden corn, the green of some vegetable crop and the wonderful intense blue of lavender fields. Just then some giant, menacing, electric pylons ambush this perfection, and rise up to stride across the hill in front of us, marching to who knows where.

Now it’s all gone as we plunge into a tunnel. Secretive and dark....... but in a breath we’re through into the light bright countryside again.

The train hoots with glee as we rush over a level crossing. Things flash past us and we hit the ugly urban sprawl of the outskirts of London. Past rows of ugly houses, the backs of warehouses, under road bridges....no longer feted as special, the train seems to sigh as it jogs along the rails. The verges are now just banks of weeds with odd pieces of litter and there is graffiti on any and every piece of masonry that can be found.

The other stations come and go…. Bromley, Peckham, Beckley, and later there are some with even stranger names like Catford and Nunhead. It’s taking forever.

A few more people have started climbing into the rather empty coach to join us. A couple now sit on the seat adjacent to me. They are middle-aged and probably man and wife for they sit close together though there is no conversation. He hauls out a newspaper and is soon totally engrossed in his crossword puzzle. She stares down at what he is doing but makes no comment or suggestions and he does not include her. What is she thinking? Is she quietly doing the crossword too? Or does the look on her face, a slightly proud downward glance over a rather haughty curve of a nose, indicate disapproval or admiration? She is neat and rather prim but must have been good-looking once upon a time. Her husband continues to pay her no attention. I wonder whether she is thinking: “I wish I were a million miles away you boring old Codger! YOU with your crossword and other boring routines day after day!” Then thank God she stops looking just at him and glances out the window. As soon as he feels the attention off him, he looks up. His wife now has her stare fixed on something outside the window.

“The train seems very slow today,” he says, desperately trying to gather her back to him, but she’s on a ship far out to sea, braving the endless mauve and white rollers. A million miles away!

My eyes glisten as I too look out the window.

At some stage the old man I spoke to earlier has got up and is standing at the exit door. “Love, I get off at the next station but then the one after that is Denmark Hill,” he says kindly. And then asks me “ Got a hospital appointment at Kings?”

“Yes,” I say, “Just a routine check-up.” But I swallow for there’s nothing routine about waiting for weeks to hear a diagnosis.

Somehow he has an inkling, and says carefully, “It’ll be just fine. You’ll see. It’s always the waiting that gets to us – waiting for the train, waiting for the train to leave, waiting for your station.” He bends and peers out the window as the station draws near.

 He smiles knowingly at me as the middle-aged man and woman also get up to leave the train at the next station. But they are looking at their phones and still have hardly said a word to each other.

The train stops, the doors open, the couple steps out…..and the old man shakes his head as they walk off. “Talk about waiting – they’re each waiting for the other to change…. It ain’t never going to happen!” And he too steps out the door and disappears down the platform.