Along the Lambourn valley there used to run a railway line through this picturesque Berkshire landscape. Originally planned in 1881 it took some 17 years to become a reality and it opened for passenger traffic on the 2^nd April 1898. It was neither a famous nor particularly efficient railway service taking some 40 minutes to travel the 12 short miles from Lambourn to bay platform 3 at Newbury but at the time it was a lifeline to the village of Lambourn and its surroundings.

Recent history tells us that the last train to travel the line before partial closure was the 5.20pm on the 4^th January 1960. Experts will also say that the very last passenger train to run from Newbury to Welford took place on the 3^rd November 1973.

But there is another, most remarkable journey, that took place in 1978, never told until now. This is my story.

Back in early January 1978 I was waiting at Newbury station for the last train to Hungerford. To keep warm I chose to wait in the waiting room, which desperately required a makeover. The old wooden benches were devoid of paint and heavily cut by graffiti and the walls still supported their original paint from the 1960’s, now flaking, adding to the general decay of this public waiting area. It was not through choice that I waited here but for complete necessity as heavy snow had started to fall outside covering the platforms with a blanket of white snow. As most of the light bulbs had blown only a single 60w bulb lit this room and gave it an air of complete mystery. I looked at my watch, it was 11.30pm and the train was now 15 minutes late. I was anxious to get home and angry at the poor service. I settled down to read my book in the half-light resigned to this delay.

Five minutes later the waiting room door opened and a flurry of snow and ice cold air entered the room followed by an old lady wrapped in a heavy shawl. I wondered what such a person was doing out at this time of night but continued to read my book

"Excuse me, young man, but have I missed the last train to Lambourn?" asked the old lady. I looked at her in utter disbelief, as the line had been closed some 18 years.

"I think you have. No trains have run on that line for 18 years. You will find it hard to get to Lambourn at this time of night as you’ve missed the last bus," I responded helpfully.

The woman looked forlorn and was visibly disappointed. I decided to be helpful and to offer her reassurance and a possible lifeline.

"I suggest that you catch the train with me to Hungerford and I will get my father to drive you to Lambourn. Will that help you?"

"Oh, yes, how kind. I willingly accept your offer. Would you like a sandwich dear?" 

She lifted the cloth covering her wicker basket and removed some sandwiches wrapped in greaseproof paper and handed me one. So not to offend her I took the sandwich and started to eat it politely. A flask of coffee soon followed and the warming fluid offered me some comfort in the dismal surroundings.

The wind had picked up and it was nearly impossible to see beyond the dirty, unwashed windowpanes. The snow created an effective barrier to sight so I had to rely on my hearing to register when our train arrived on this winter’s night in January. As we ate heartily I heard an unfamiliar sound through the storm’s wind.

"That sounds like our train, young man. Oh, I haven’t introduced my self. My name is Gertrude Hollis and I am the cook at the Old Manor House in Lambourn."

"My name’s Peter Bradshaw and I live at Hungerford. I’m taking my A’ levels in June. Pleased to meet you." We shook hands and I was somewhat surprised how cold her hands were. They felt like death itself.

During the next few minutes of silence I took the opportunity to study her closely. She was wearing a tweed skirt and jacket, long green socks and sturdy, brown shoes with a one-inch heel. A simple silver brooch held her tartan shawl in place across her broad shoulders. Gertrude Hollis must have easily been in her 70’s and her silver hair was tied tightly in a single bun under a straw hat. She certainly looked out of place as her clothes were of a different era but I consoled myself that most eccentric, older people, often dressed in a similar way.

Outside came the unmistakable sound of a steam train reversing into the station. This surprised me, as it was the wrong time of year for the ‘Steam Specials’ that frequented the main line during the summer months offering a journey back in time for visiting tourists and steam fanatics. Gertrude packed her basket, adjusted her shawl and moved towards the door in some haste.

"Well, are you coming Peter?" she inquired.

"Oh, yer, yes," I replied in disbelief. We walked out into the blizzard but there was no sign of a train on the main platform.

"This way," Gertrude directed and moved down the platform to the old bay platform 3. I followed meekly and was astonished to see a steam pannier engine and a single carriage waiting in the former Lambourn line bay. I wondered how it had got there as the track had been lifted five years before. As there were no station staff visible I could not confirm where the train was bound. Gertrude opened the nearest door and climbed in beckoning me as she sat on a brown upholstered seat. As I had nothing to lose I followed and sat opposite her expectantly.

No sooner had we taken our places the engine started to emit a plume of steam and started to move slowly out of the station initially in the direction of Hungerford.

"I knew we would catch the last train. The GWR never lets me down," Gertrude added. I remained silent as I felt the train start to cross the main line, over invisible points, to the main up line. This worried me as we were heading in the wrong direction on the main up line to Paddington. Once again we crossed some more points and I felt the engine begin to strain as it started to climb a gradient. I looked out of the window and through the falling snow I could see the main line on my left and we were travelling on the former Lambourn/Newbury branch line.

"Where are we going?" I asked in disbelief.

"To Lambourn, where do you think we’re going?" she retorted offering a strong smile of mischief.

"I need to go to Hungerford, not Lambourn!" I replied strongly but to no effect as my voice was drowned by the straining engine negotiating the 1:63 gradient out of the station.

"Now Peter we are going to be on this train for the next 40 minutes so we need to occupy ourselves. I have just the ticket, I’ll tell you a story that will amaze you," said Miss Hollis.

"If you must," I replied with some disinterest staring out into the heavy snow. She started her tale.

To read the rest of this story send me an email...

© 2002 Steven Longman-Marshall  – all rights reserved.

[ Home ] [ Exorcise the Rite ] [ Protected Witness ] [ Lambourn ] [ The Therapist ] [ Ticket to Death ]