Liz took the sleeper train from Fort William to London last night. Not the best night's sleep, she reports, but easier than driving to Glasgow and flying.
Passing through the highlands at 'golden hour' in the lounge was apparently lovely. But the clanking of carriages being shunted together plus the irregular train movements conspired for a fitfull night.
Seeing her go brought back memories for me. Every other Sunday, while I was growing up, my Mum used to take the sleeper from Morpeth to London. I'd join her during school vaccations. She'd spend all Monday buying stock for her clothes shops (this was the swinging 1960's), then virtually commandeer the guard's van for the return journey Monday evening. Steak & kidney pie in the restaurant car was a highlight.
She and Dad would require the services of a porter with a massive trolley to carry all the boxes back in Newcastle and would fill the large car. When I say trolleyt, I don't mean the tiny aluminium carts you get now, but the sort of things you could imagine running on rails. You'd never get away with it nowardays.
I loved travelling by sleeper train, which is probably why I took a liking to TS Elliot's poem of Skimbleshanks the Railway Cat, although I knew it from 'Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats', not the 'Cats' musical.