One dark and cold March night, well last Friday to be exact, my youngest son and his mate were standing on a desolate station in Shropshire.
Here at home in sleepy Clunbury, the phone rang.
‘Hello.’
‘Mum,’ I recognised the voice instantly it was no 3 son, not exactly hard to deduce as no 1 and 2 were home.
‘Yes son.’
‘What time’s the train?’
I looked at the clock on my computer, it read 19.20. ‘It will be there in a minute, well actually two, the train is due in at 19.22.’ My voice sounded confident. I had faith in National Rail, a faith borne out by someone who hasn’t used a train in years. ‘You’ll soon be back,’ I said reassuringly. ‘Talk to you soon.’
I put the phone down. Soon they would no longer be standing on the cold platform but would be warm in the plush carriage provided by Arriva Trains Wales.
I made a coffee. Images of a hostess trolley pushed by a kindly member of staff flashed before my eyes, ladling out national rail coffee and sandwiches complete with a national rail smile and I was content.
In the meantime on the cold, desolate station in Shropshire 19.22 arrived heralded with a passenger train hurtling through the station at something akin to the speed of sound. My son, well lubricated by Carling’s finest, giggled ‘were we supposed to get on that?’ He asked his friend. But as the train hurtled into the darkness the answer was obvious. It was not stopping and the lack of reversing lights proved the driver was intent on continuing his journey, regardless of what any timetable said.
Oblivious to all of this, I settled down to watch Corrie. Relieved that my son was catching a train and not a tram that would venture over the end of Coronation Street, although the slight slurring in his voice did make me think he could well have ventured into the Rovers Return.
The adverts heralded a break from the doom and gloom of soap land just as the phone rang.
‘Hello.’ I said.
‘Mum,’ again I knew it was no 3 son seeing as no 1 and 2 hadn’t moved since the last phone call.
‘Yes son?’
‘Mum the train hasn’t arrived.’
All the images of hostess trolleys and kindly National Rail staff faded.
‘’Oh!’ I said in my best concerned motherly voice.
‘What time did you say it was due?’
’19.22 but it’s now 19.45.’
‘Oh right,’ he said in his best bravado voice, which wasn’t nearly as convincing as my motherly tones.
‘I tell you what, I’ll ring National Rail and find out what’s going on.’
He seem happy at this but I recognised that he’d inherited my naïve belief in National Rail. He voice conveyed his belief that a phone call would sort it out.
‘I’ll call you back darling.’
‘Thank you.’ The line went silent now it all rested on my shoulders.
I dialled the number and waited. Finally a voice answered.
‘Good evening,’ I said. ‘I’m enquiring as to what has happened to the 19.22 service from Albrighton, Shropshire to Shrewsbury.’
‘Brighton!’ A harsh male voice shrilled back at me.
‘No!’ Instantly the confrontational little sod that lives deep within me sprung to life. ‘Albrighton. That is A L B R I G H T O N and just for good measure I reiterated Shropshire.’
‘And where do you want to go to Madam?’ Now one thing this confrontational little sod that lives within me hates, is being called Madam but somehow I managed to suppress its urges to yell and scream.
‘Shrewsbury. That is S H R E W S B U R Y again I added Shropshire, I didn’t want the guy on the other end to suddenly have to worry about cross channel ferries.
‘Ah the next train for Albrighton to Shrewsbury is the 20.40 which is currently running on time.’
‘I know what time the next train is but what I want to know is what happened to the 19.22?’
‘I will have a look for you Madam.’
‘Down confrontational little sod,’ I muttered under my breath, desperately hoping the guy on the other end didn’t hear me.
‘The 19.22 from Albrighton to Shrewsbury is running two minutes late.’
Confrontational little sod is now howling with laughter as his mate hackles begins to rise.
‘Well it is now 19.48 and the 19.22 is running considerably later that two minutes because my son is still standing on the station waiting for the train and he was there before the train was due.’
‘No madam the train is just two minutes late.’
By now confrontational little sod and his mate hackles were having a party. I could hear amongst all their jollies they chorused together ‘go for it girl.’
I could resist their calls no longer. ‘Forgive me for asking but can you tell me where you are based?’
‘I’m sorry Madam?’
Now confrontational little sod and his mate Hackles had brought in a brass band.
‘Which part of the world are you in? My question was asked slowly and very deliberately something that Mr, I know what time the trains are running failed to pick up on.
‘Oh I am in India.’
‘Well how the hell do you know what is happening to trains in a sleepy part of England?’
Obviously he’d been asked this before because without even thinking about it he came straight back at me. ‘Oh all the information about trains are fed through to us. We know what is happening.’
Well the information you have is bloody wrong. The train is not two minutes late, it is now nearly 30 minutes late.’
‘Oh no Madam, you are wrong.’
All attempts at suppressing confrontational little sod and hackles had gone out of the window by this point.
‘My son is waiting on that bloody station and the train has not arrived. You can not tell me that the train is two minutes late from India when he is there. The information you have is incorrect, you are being fed a load of bollocks by incompetent idiots. The train has not arrived and I’m not going to waste my time trying to relay the facts to you as witnessed by someone who is actually present.’
‘Very good Madam, is there anything else I can help you with.’
I put the phone down in total disgust and rang no 3. I told him what I’d been told and then said the time of the next train – which unlike the one before did actually turn up but not before he’d had a hour and twenty minutes wait on a cold, dark, desolate station in March.
And they want us to use public transport – huh!
I can top that. Waiting at Wolverhampton at 10 p.m. for our one-and-only to arrive, the train marked as 'on time' until the minute it was due. Then we had a call from him on a borrowed mobile, to say they were south of Milton Keynes and stationary. Fair do's they did bus them home about 4 a.m.
ReplyDeleteIt's the poverty of information that's infuriating.