Seconds pass silently after the metallic voice warned “Stand clear of the platform edge on platform 4, the next train is not scheduled to stop here”. Electronic clocks lack that sense of drama imparted by the mechanical ticking of the station clocks of the recent past, the pecision building of tension in those awaiting their train. But unlike those grandfathers of time the modern station clock imparts information. Automated – no longer reliant upon a porter to lift a wooden sign, hand crafted, hand painted and hand located in a slot above head height. Informing those who wait where the train will stop on its journey. Warning silently of a fast train that will not be stopping.
Then the rails start to signal the rapid approach – singing, in an off-key sort of way. Then comes the sound of the train itself – fast running diesel engines and other electro-mechanical sounds precede its sudden appearance. Bursting from the gloom of the bridge over the tracks – sweeping through the platform – brief seconds of cachophony before it becomes a fading sound in the distance. The aftermath of its passage – swirling dust devils, pages of a discarded newspaper and an unanticipated wind in the hair. Eyes blinking away tears from the momentary assault on the senses.
Silence is resumed – the occasional footsteps of passengers on the other platforms anticipating a stopping service to London. A cleaner whistles as she empties the waste bins and a distant bus growls its way up the hill. The passing of the train a fleeting moment in an ongoing day.
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