InsaneJournal

We drove to Huntingdon through the snow (nostalgic in itself; we haven't had snow like this for 20 years) and went to the station, where we had hot Bovril and toasted cheese and onion sandwiches in the station buffet. The buffet is small and cramped, decorated with an eclectic mix of potted cacti and pictures of locomotives and is really rather delightful. 

Then we went onto the platform and stood in the cold wind and sunshine for 45 minutes, watching assorted deisel-hauled and electric trains go past. The station was very busy, people lining the platforms, just waiting and watching, stamping their cold feet on the snow, talking to each other and trying to keep their children amused (and prevent them from throwing snowballs at strangers.)

Then in the distance, I heard something that I have only heard in recordings for the last 40 years; not the horn of a modern locomotive but the high, sweet, breathy sound of a chime whistle. Like a ghost, Tornado, the new steam locomotive, emerged from a cloud of white steam, gleaming in spotless green livery, seemed to float past and was gone again, leaving a faint odour of smoke. 

Apart from the call of her chime whistle, she was so quiet. I realised that the steam locomotives that I remembered were clanking, groaning, hissing monsters, for I only knew them in their last decade when they were allowed to fall into disrepair. I had never seen them like this; brand spanking new, lovingly polished and tended, at the peak of performance and running fast on the main line with its continuous welded rail and smooth curves and gradients. 

We had waited patiently for this thirty seconds and afterwards, we walked to the exit, smiling at each other, with the occasional suspicious moistness about the eyes. 

On the way home, we called in at an old pub where we sat near the huge stone fireplace with its coal fire, drank Strongbow cider and ate fish and chips and stroked the pub cat. A very satisfactory day.