I prefer to emphasise the positive, but every now and then I
feel obliged to make a stand. The trivialisation of railway enthusiasm usually boils
down in the end to an opportunity to give train spotting another good kicking.
I feel especially let down when the criticism and dismissive attitudes appear
to come from insiders - those you might
have expected to be a bit more sympathetic because they had chosen to write about
railway issues in the first place.
A tendency that I have noticed amongst some writers is that
they feel obliged to publicly distance themselves from any connection with
train spotting, as though it is some sort of affliction or contagion. The
inference is that “proper” railway enthusiasts are not tainted in that way. Of
course, the folk that they recognise as proper enthusiasts were often train
spotters themselves in a previous life, even if number taking is no longer a
part of what they do. That is how they became interested in trains in the first
place.
These commentators are presumably fearful of the ridicule
that they might attract by association, if they were not to keep their
distance. Perhaps the premise is that unless they have formally dismissed any
suggestion that those interested in train spotting could actually find
gratification in other aspects of the railway hobby in addition to taking
numbers, their own work will lack credibility. In short, it seems that they
just can’t wait to wash their hands of those of us who are not at all ashamed
of that particular aspect of our past.
Michael Williams makes sure he gets his disclaimers in more
than once in “On the Slow Train: Twelve Great British Railway Journeys,”
[Arrow, 2011]. “This is not a book for rivet counters or number spotters.” Why
should I not find his book interesting, even if he is so obviously trying to
put me off? Describing the passengers on the Cathedrals Express, leaving from London Victoria,
he adds, “Most, I suspect, have no interest in rivets, nor have ever owned an
Ian Allan ABC spotter’s book, let alone stood at the end of the platform
collecting numbers.” [P.86] Just in case you are in any doubt as to where he is
coming from, on the next page he spells it out again, “We must not mistake the
Cathedrals Express for an excursion for railway enthusiasts – we are as far
away from the world of anoraks, Thermos flasks and pork pies as we can get.”
What a relief it must be for the prospective passengers on
future runs of the Cathedrals Express to learn that. Indeed, perhaps it is part
of the booking process for the Cathedrals Express to run a check to make sure
no ex-train spotters have sneaked on board by pretending to be ordinary members
of the public without any previous form. His book is all about making enjoyable
rail journeys in Britain, yet he has gone out of his way to pour scorn on
anyone who might describe themselves as an enthusiast before he has even left
Victoria. Incidentally, I imagine rivets are quite useful and important things
in certain specific engineering circumstances. It is not a topic that I know
anything about.
Jonathan Glancey introduces his book, “John Betjeman on
Trains,” [Methuen Publishing, 2006] with the observation that, “John Betjeman
was a lifelong railway enthusiast. Not, I hasten to say, one who stood with
duffel bag, Penguin biscuit and fish-paste sandwiches on murky days at the ends
of platforms taking down the numbers of locomotives; but a poet who loved
railways from the bottom of his heart.” [p.VII]
Though it is good to see that the typical train spotter’s
diet is apparently a little more varied than first thought, the key assumption
that someone who takes an everyday interest in what is passing through the
station can’t love railways, too, is clearly laughable. So is the implication
that spotters are incapable of refining their hobby and finding other avenues
of interest within it. You don’t have to be a poet to love trains. Do you think
that John Betjeman always stayed at home on murky days?
Stuart Maconie, in “Pies and Prejudice: in Search of the
North” [Ebury Press, 2008], notes that train spotters are often thought of as “melancholic
and misfitted to the world” [p.45], but encouragingly concludes that, “It says
something about our world that if you are an enthusiast for anything, if you
dare to lose your ironic modern detachment and world-weariness, you become
“sad” or a “loser.”” [p.46]
Not only have I not hung up my anorak [ cagoule, these days,
to be accurate] and not burned my combined volume, but I have proactively
enhanced my spotter’s kit by purchasing a pair of goggles. They would actually
have been much more useful between 1960 and 1968, when they could have
certainly saved me occasional physical pain, but it is never too late. I have already
made use of them from the window of the front coach on the Scarborough Spa
Express, behind Royal Scot Class, No. 46115 Scots Guardsman. I found the
enhanced, goggle-eyed, experience most invigorating. I am also hopeful that they
will not restrict my view of the wider world or encourage me to become
blinkered in any way. Additionally, and if I’m feeling particularly brave, I
reserve the right to venture out with them on murky days, after all, smuts are
smuts, whatever the weather.
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