I travelled from Cardiff to Oxford by train on Thursday this week. It’s the first time that I’ve been on a train since last summer, and I’d forgotten just how enjoyable train travel can be. Even more so, when – like this week – there was a fair degree of jeopardy surrounding the whole journey. To explain, the weather in the southern part of the UK has been pretty wet (British understatement klaxon alert!) this past couple of weeks. This led to very significant flooding of large parts of the countryside between Bristol and Swindon overnight on Wednesday into Thursday. Before setting off to the station at 6.45am on Thursday morning, a check of the rail travel alerts system on-line suggested that trains from Cardiff to London (which would cover the first leg of my trip) were running to timetable, but there was some disruption to other services via Bristol Temple Meads station. I trusted to luck and set off.
My journey was in three legs : an initial trip from Cardiff to Swindon; a change at Swindon for the short hop to Didcot Parkway; and the final chug up from Didcot to Oxford. Not ideal, but not that onerous either (at least on paper). The train from Cardiff to Swindon left bang on time – I bagged a double seat to myself (it was only about half full) and enjoyed a very pleasant snooze to the rhythm of the wheels on tracks for the totally drama-free hour run through to Swindon. My changeover at Swindon left me seven minutes from alighting from one train to leaving on the next – at least in theory.
In practice, the connecting train that was due to ferry me from Swindon to Didcot had been cancelled. It was actually a through service from Bristol Temple Meads to London and was presently on the wrong side of a very large flood not very far out of Bristol. The very helpful Great Western Railway employee on the platform suggested that the next train to Didcot would not be leaving Swindon until 9.10am (a delay to my journey of forty minutes). Not great, but not a disaster. I took shelter from the pouring rain and gale-force wind in the small cafe and newsagents shop just off platform 3 at Swindon station and resigned myself to a spot of people-watching to pass the time. After 15 minutes, though, a very welcome glimmer of hope. “The next train to arrive at Platform 3 will be travelling to London Paddington calling at Didcot Parkway and Reading. This is an unscheduled stop.” Sure enough, a minute or two later a gleaming intercity train pulled into the station. Hastily checking with the GWR man on the platform that this one really was stopping at Didcot, I received a not wholly convincing : “It looks like – but I’ve just heard that from the same announcement that you did!”. I took a chance and jumped on. The train left. The in-carriage information board carried the worrying message that this was a London Paddington train calling at Reading and London Paddington; but my initial fears were calmed by the Train Manager’s announcement that Didcot really was the next stop. Twenty minutes later, he was vindicated, and I walked off the train, across the platform and straight on to a connecting train to Oxford. Outward journey complete and (by hook or by crook) I had made it to Oxford in time for the 10am meeting that was the purpose of the journey.
Oxford is a beautiful city. In my experience, it’s unique in one significant respect. The University of Oxford is not part of the city of Oxford – it IS the city of Oxford. In the twenty minute taxi journey from the railway station to the college where my meeting was taking place, I was never more than a stone’s throw from a college or university building. The University dominates the city. And it does so with a commitment to architectural excellence (whether in the form of historic colleges, world-leading libraries or modern teaching and faculty buildings) that is breath-taking. If you haven’t been and you get the chance to do so, I highly recommend it.
My meeting finished at 3pm and the initial omens for the return rail trip to South Wales were inauspicious. The on-line information app was a sea of cancellations, delays and dire warnings of disruption for anyone daring to travel west from Didcot towards Cardiff or Bristol. Not good! Arriving at Didcot, the initial advice was to hedge our bets, travel in the wrong direction initially to Reading, where the chances of getting a train that may be diverted around Didcot, Swindon and the floods, towards Bristol and Cardiff, were much more heavily in my favour. It was the safe bet. But I was not in the mood for safety first. There was one train on the way to Didcot that was heading through Swindon and on to Cheltenham Spa. The words of The Pet Shop Boys rang out in my head : “Go west!“. I did.
I’m not sure how busy the train from Didcot Parkway to Cheltenham Spa is under normal circumstances, but on Thursday afternoon, it was very busy. There was an air of stoic determination. We were British – we were not going to be beaten by flooding. Canute-like we had collectively decided that Reading was for cowards and defeatists – if we were going to get our feet wet, then we were at least going to get soggy in Cheltenham Spa!
The trip from Didcot to Swindon was uneventful. But I was now faced with another dilemma. Did I stay on the train to Gloucester with the certainty that I could pick up a Birmingham or Manchester to Cardiff train there; or did I push my luck further and trust that the gods of the GWR would see me right with a fast train to Cardiff. By now, you will not be at all surprised to learn that I girded my loins and stepped down onto Platform 3 at Swindon station. It had served me well this morning and I had faith that it would come good this evening too.
A quick check of the departures board sent my spirits soaring. A train headed to Swansea via Newport and Cardiff (but missing out Bristol completely) was due in 15 minutes. Platform 4 was the stated departure point. I headed down into the underpass to find the promised point of embarkation only to be met by a barriered off stairway. Access to platform 4 was impossible. Surely I wasn’t to be denied at this late stage? Looking helpless and slightly panicked, another of those GWR knights in green and purple livery advised that all trains west were now leaving from platform 3 and to ignore any sign that suggested otherwise. Relieved, I returned from whence I had come. The Swansea train arrived – I got on and less than 90 minutes later I was back in the splendour of Cardiff Central and home.
It had been an adventure but it had worked out really well in the end. Train travel really is the best – offering endless opportunity for napping, galloping between platforms, and panic-inducing last-minute changes to schedules, all under the gaze of station staff and train managers who have seen it all before, and for whom nothing that happens on the network is surprising any more.
The engineering may have changed, and electric overhead lines now power trains where steam would previously have done the job, but there is a romanticism around train travel that persists just as it did when WH Auden wrote his Mail Train poem for a film in 1936. Driving is generally tedious now, and air travel is long periods of waiting around for no obvious good reason, but the train – now that still appeals to the boyhood excitement that I first felt on mystery trips to the Devon and Cornish coast over 40 years’ ago, and that’s why it remains preferred mode of travel in 2023.