Green Trains

Those who know me will know of my great dislike of Virgin Trains.

It's not that I have any sort of long running feud with them (I do, but I digress), it's just that I object in the strongest terms possible to giving that theiving git Richard Branson any more of my money for the appalling service, terrible rolling stock and extortionate prices they deliver.

Perhaps it has a little to do with my upbringing, and a little to do with my chosen degree.

Visiting my grandma in Somerset has always necessitated travel on some part of the Great Western Railway, usually from its grand station London Paddington. Paddington itself I have great affection for - intricate arching white and black ironwork arching over thirteen platforms, its bronze bear, its smooth floors (its Krispy Kreme donut shop), but GWR has a special place in my heart. Run by competent, friendly men and women from the West Country, it just works.

GREAT WESTERN RAILWAYS. Not the insipid 'Virgin Trains'. Not the middle-of-the-road 'Cross Country Rail'. Certainly not the irritating (and confusing) 'ONE' railway company.

GWR. Solid. Dependable. British.

Modern interiors on the rolling stock, but retaining much of the things that make trains great - spacious, wide carriages with space at the end for suitcases and large overhead racks, straight isles (none of this zig-zagging to try and fit an an extra file of seats you see on some services).

Proper slam doors you have to lower the window on and open from the outside. The windows in themselves are great - ignore the yellow sticker and gingerly stick your head out into the slipstream.

A guard's van for luggage and bikes, and an actual guard, and a manager at the neatly kept, green-painted stations, who take pride in their work and scold passengers for "Holdin the 'ole train up" - no 'customer service' here, no. The trains must run, and run on time, that's the thing (and yet I have known guards and drivers happily hold a train several minutes behind schedule to make sure a troop of kids going to camp get off safely and with all their bits in Cornwall, and even to shunt them, tired and quiet, up to first class when there wasn't enough room in third).

I also enjoy the knowledge that it was designed by Isambard Kingdom Brunel, arguably one of the most brilliant engineers who ever lived (and he was British). The Box Tunnel, the miles of smooth track, the simple elegance of the stations - from an engineer's veiw, beauty itself. I cannot recall a time when the trains were delayed without good reason, nor when I could not understand the announcements over the tannoy (that clear, comforting West Country accent again), nor when I failed to be impressed by and appreciative of the professional, courteous manner of the staff.

And the trains go clackityclackityclack - not rumble, or whoosh, or 'nnnnnnggggggggggwwwwwhhhhhhhhdledledledleyyyyy......." as other trains do - a contented sound for contented, helpful staff and contented, happy passengers, who have paid a fair price for a pleasant and timely journey on one of the best railways in the world.

Rail as it was always meant to be run.