Home James, and don't spare the horses

An unusual event took place yesterday. I went to catch a train at Birmingham New Street, on my way home to Nottingham, and the display board showed a rather ominous message concerning my train: “Delayed”. Nothing unusual in that you might think, but the message itself was flashing - something which I took to be a bad sign. Normally (and yes, it is normal for Central Trains to be delayed – their timetable is verging on fiction), normally it would say “Expected 17:38” or something similar to indicate the (purely fabricated) estimate of the length of any delay. A flashing “Delayed” message suggested to me that nobody could be bothered to make even a random guess as to how long it would be before the train arrived at Platform 8a. I was fairly confident that the next announcement – from that terribly sombre-sounding but awfully courteous disembodied recorded voice that anyone who has used Birmingham New Street will know well - would be a cancellation. This thought dismayed me.

However, about 15 minutes later, the much-awaited train arrived – hurrah, things were looking up (I was prepared not to be crestfallen that the carriages were in darkness which is normally a sign that further preparation, and therefore further delay, is necessary). Immediately, the lights sprang on and we all boarded with renewed optimism. Indeed, before all of us had even taken our seats, the train began to move and we shot from New Street’s darkness like a bullet (well, a rather sluggish bullet from a slightly tired revolver perhaps). Here comes the unusual bit.

The customer services operative (or whatever ticket guards are called these days) made his announcement. “Welcome aboard the somewhat delayed 17:09 for Nottingham. We’re sorry for the delay – we’ve just had a bit of a manic moment out there when we were stuck in some random place; I can’t explain it. Anyway, the driver will attempt to make up the time and ensure that your arrival is not too late. I’ll keep you posted.”

At Tamworth, he was able to announce that we’d made up six minutes, but that there was still more to be done. We listened, intrigued. As we continued to hurtle through the Staffordshire countryside I couldn’t help thinking that I could almost feel the train hurrying. It reminded me of an episode from Thomas the Tank Engine, or The Little Engine That Could whose motto was “I think I can, I think I can”. I felt myself urging him on. Come on little engine, you can do it!

At Burton we were told that we’d made up even more time, but that there was still a target to be met. This was becoming an odyssey of truly heroic effort. Off we went again; top speed. All energies were being put to getting us to Nottingham on time.

We arrived in Derby three minutes early, panting. The CSA was able to make his proud announcement that the driver had done it! I could feel the train stamping its hooves, bull-like, eagerly waiting for the scheduled departure time like an impatient car driver might wait for a green light. The digital clock flicked over to the departure time and – almost with a squeal of tyres – we were off. Maybe that’s the really unusual bit; I don’t think I’ve ever been on a train that left the station at the exact second it should. This driver knew his onions all right.

Approaching Nottingham, I beckoned to the CSA and asked him to extend my congratulations to the driver on his Herculean endeavour to get us back on schedule. He looked rather taken aback by this, but said he would be sure to let the driver know. As he moved away, I saw the man opposite me look at me with disbelief and contempt. The expression on his face said: “You creep”. But I don’t care; I’ve been on the Little Engine That Could.