Train Journey Home

Extended train journey over to the West to Carlisle in order to avoid works at Berwick. Much less industrial scene. The green and pleasant land that is the british countryside. Rolling hills, trees growing in that windswept way - in rows the shortest one against the prevailing wind and each subsequent one managing a little more height. Country houses looking out over valleys. Flock of sheep run from the passing train, two black ones amongst them. Heather covered swell of a mountain disappears into the mist. The land of flaring pettycoats, black lace-up boots and capes. Ladies who needlepoint and write letters. Falling in love with dashing and brave farmer's sons who ride around on chesnut horses doing good deeds whilst wearing troubled expressions. Poor cousins in printed cottons of richer London families whose girls wear taffetta.

A £15 upgrade to first class gives a wide seat and silence, blissful journey home punctuated only by the very tall man coming round asking if I would like any more tea or a biscuit (complimentary of course). Well worth it.