A Train Station

The idea is to remain in a state of constant departure, while always arriving. Saves on introductions and goodbyes.

- Waking Life (2001)

I've always had a fascination with trains (steam especially) since childhood. I grew up in my infant years with Thomas The Tank Engine, I had a collection of The Railway Series books and the ERTL Thomas & Friends die-cast toys.

My interest in railways never really went away as I grew older and in recent years has come back significantly.

This probably shouldn't be surprising as a neurodivergent person, it's pretty common for people on the autistic spectrum to have an interest in trains, so much so that it's a bit of a meme in the community.

An orderly, predictable system of engines and rolling stock moving along in orderly lines.

A railway works on a timetable, it's an efficient system with rules, each piece of this complex puzzle has a particular function, everything is in order.

Nearby where I live in the UK there's a heritage railway which features mostly steam engines and early diesels and it runs passenger services most of the year round.

I visited a station that was part of this railway the other day, observing the passenger trains that came and went while a small diesel shunter moved rolling stock around the yard. I took some pictures and video.

I've always felt at home in a train station, I could probably spend all day in one.

Besides my interest in the trains themselves, there's something about being in this liminal space, a place of transit.

A feeling of "I've just arrived" or "I'm just leaving", I'm very comfortable in that space.

I'm sure a psychologist could have a field day with that.

The thing is, I don't feel the same way about airports, at least I don't think I do, since I've never actually been in one.

The morning of my visit to this heritage railway station, I was awoken abruptly from a dream by my alarm.

In the dream, me and my family had been on holiday abroad... somewhere (again, something I've never done in real life). We were at the airport, dragging suitcases along behind us.

Waiting to board our plane, I looked out of the large airport windows to see swarms of what looked like fighter jets, all suddenly arriving in the country (whatever country it was) at the same time.

'They're here', I thought to myself, 'It's happening'. Who "They" were and what "It" was I don't exactly know. The start of a war? The apocalypse? Whatever it was, it was something big.

I had an intense feeling of dread. Myself, my family and the other dream characters in the airport all knew we had to get out of there as soon as possible. Maybe we'd be safe if we managed to get home.

Then the lights went out, everything went quiet. We discussed an escape plan. What the plan was, what was actually said was just a blur, the way it often is in dreams, just the vague idea of a conversation and a plan of action.

It was pitch black, I needed a torch (AKA flashlight for the non-Brits reading).

I briefly thought of the torch I keep at my bedside at night, this seemed to almost conjure it up in my dream, I turned it in my hands, feeling the weight of it, the cold, textured metal, the green rubber button that turned it on and off, before remembering I didn't actually have it, causing it to disappear. Maybe I could find it, somewhere in this airport. Did I pack it in my suitcase?

My Dad was using the flashlight on his phone, he said he was going to go off on his own, to do... something, again the details blurred. I asked him in desperation to wait, to help me find a torch before going wondering off on his own.

Then the morning wake-up alarm on my phone went off. I bolted upright out of bed, my brain still waking up, I hallucinated a bundle of red and black wool on my desk, next to where my phone sat. The wool slowly faded away as my eyes adjusted to the light.

Airports always seemed slightly oppressive to me, maybe mostly growing up in a post-9/11 world is part of that.

At an airport you're inside this box made of metal and glass, you're probably moving from one country to another, you need a passport, security is very intense. Don't say "bomb"! It all feels very unnatural.

You're herded into a metal tube that goes hurtling through the sky, there's a safety briefing, masks and inflatable slides you might have to use if things go very wrong, you might end up stranded in the middle of nowhere, if you survive that is.

Flying always seemed scary to me.

A train station feels a lot more relaxed, there's less pressure. The platform is almost always outdoors (unless it's a subway), but with shelter, fresh air blowing through the station depending on the weather. There's less paranoia, you don't need a passport, just a ticket and a destination. Even when you're on a moving train, you're still on solid ground as nature intended.

There's a lot less that can go wrong, in fact it's probably the safest way to travel.

It's an entry and exit point to a particular town or place. When I'm in a room, I'm usually most comfortable being somewhere near the closest door or exit.

I try to visit that station whenever I can, but when I'm not there physically, I'm often there in my mind. Maybe I've just arrived from somewhere, maybe I'm about to leave. Sometimes I'm not sure.