The Keswick Underpants

Going on holiday by train has held a magnetic appeal for me all my life. However, the door to door convenience of the car can’t be denied and on most trips away from home we have come to depend on its added flexibility. More recently, though, we have been letting the train take the strain once again. Manageable sized, long-handled suitcases with very noisy trolley wheels acquired, packed and off we go.

I can’t be the only one who has gone on holiday without checking carefully enough that a specific but essential item of clothing or a vital accessory has not been forgotten. Often it is the attachment for my electric razor that allows me to shave in locations that do not have a specific two pin socket available for that purpose. That can present even more problems when abroad, with opportunities to overlook all sorts of different combinations of the required plugs and attachments.

I have also been on holiday with others who have omitted items on a far more significant scale than I have; for example, to France with no underwear and on another occasion to Scotland with no suitcase at all, which necessitated a complete gentleman’s outfitting in Helensburgh, arguably quite a challenge in itself – especially with no M&S to fall back on.

A suitcase can be a troublesome thing. In America, we watched as others fought with enormous examples, in spite of advice from the holiday organisers not to bring them. This reminded me of a story a friend told me about someone she knew who had been dog sitting when the animal had died. She had put it in a suitcase to take it to the vet. On the upwards escalator from the platform at the tube station, a man offered to help her. “What have you got in here?” he asked, feeling the weight of it. “A hi-fi that I’m taking to my brother,” she replied, at which point he ran off with the suitcase.

I once went to the Lake District without any underpants, or grunds, as we called them in our youth. For all its outlets heaving with specialist clothing and mountain climbing gear, Keswick was decidedly short on grunds when I undertook a full-scale search sometime during the 1990’s. Eventually, I found a pack of three and I still have them. They have a little badge with the maker’s name at the front, so that every time they surface at the top of the pile, bobbing up for another strenuous work-out, I say “Keswick underpants” to anyone who might be listening, which is usually just me.

One of my rare experiences of travel by train right through the night and fully clothed throughout, was at the start of a one week, all-line, rail rover feast that I indulged in, which straddled the end of May and the beginning of June in 1972. Having made my way from Liverpool to London on day one, I then took the 11.45 from Paddington to Penzance, now known as the “Night Riviera,” and not in the sleeping car but “on the cushions.” I had an awful, uncomfortable, fitful night and didn’t sleep a wink.

The Night Riviera sleeping car train prepares to leave St Erth for London Paddington on Friday 12th August 2016 behind Class 57 No. 57605 Totnes Castle. 

My only positive memory of the event was being sufficiently “with it” to enjoy dawn on the South Devon banks, where, through the early morning mist and my banging headache, I noticed that the world had been taken over by bunnies. They were everywhere. I had no idea that before most folk wake up, rabbits apparently rule the land. Perhaps Rabbit Kingdom starts just after Exeter St Thomas, but I somehow doubt it.

I explored British Rail’s Inter-City main line network for the rest of the week and crept home incognito to my own bed each evening. I resolved that next time I tried something like that, I would book a sleeping car berth. I realise that at this point, I am probably already being castigated widely for being a real wimp - lacking in resolve and unfit to describe myself as a true enthusiast and that I wouldn’t last five minutes with the Severn Valley Steam Gala, four days, three nights, twenty-four hours a day, hard-core, steam locomotive, haulage-mile collectors. I have just one thing to say to them. You are quite right. I am probably the rail fan equivalent of the “fair weather” football supporter, who only follows his team when they are winning.

I’m pleased to announce, that in my endeavours to win back some respect [which I know is a tiresomely over-used and consequently under-valued word these days, as it is surely to be earned rather than demanded], I have now enjoyed a further four nights on overnight trains in recent times, though I can hardly claim to have been roughing it. Along with a plentiful supply of grunds and an appropriate range of electric shaver fitments, I have been part of organised ventures to the USA and in mainland Europe, which have included sleepers between the following locations: Washington DC to Chicago, Chicago to Denver, Flagstaff to Los Angeles and at a later date, Cologne to Vienna.

I thoroughly enjoyed them all, revelling in the experience for its own sake, appreciating the magnificent scenery continually unfolding before my eyes and hopefully contributing to the general bonhomie on board - that feeling of togetherness that group travel can so readily engender. In the case of the evening trip up the Rhine Valley in a Czech Railways sleeping car, we were pleasantly surprised to have at our disposal a panoramic view from seats that converted into a double bed, as well as a cabinet full of extras that were, just like the health service, “free at the point of use” [and, just like the NHS, we had already paid for]. These included a bottle of wine which was empty by the time we had reached Bonn.

On that pleasant spring evening, the valley itself could never have looked more splendid, so much so that I kept imagining that I was seeing fairy-tale castles amid the forested peaks on the other side of the Rhine. The other thing that struck me was how well used the rail systems on both sides of the river were for freight trains. It was absolutely buzzing with activity.

        

A fellow traveller during our American visit likened the Amtrak experience to sleeping the night on a shelf in a cupboard. I did feel grateful that I was carrying a little less weight than some of my travelling companions. The requirements were a touch short of Houdini-like. A degree of athleticism and flexibility was a definite advantage for those sleeping aloft.

I generally travel light in summer, relying almost entirely from May to October on shorts and tee shirts, but my preference for casual clothes sometimes catches me out. I was once denied access to a post-wedding party in a club in New Brighton because I was wearing a leather jacket, in spite of the fact that I was waving my invitation card in my hand. Restrictive clothes policies have really grated with me ever since. I suppose that the die was cast on that summer evening long ago. Another couple were turned away from the same event for wearing sandals and someone else for not sporting a tie. He went around the corner, took his belt off, tied it around his neck and was promptly allowed in.     

I have noticed that when another holiday is imminent, it now automatically triggers another trip to the shops for holiday clothes. Shopping is not my favourite pastime, but I had rashly blurted out that I needed some new jeans. As if by decree, they suddenly all come with buttons or studs instead of zips. Why? Zips are obviously superior, easy, quick, robust, sensible and practical. I blame fashion. Fashion has got a lot to answer for.

I did, however, find a pair of shoes for £36. I showed the young sales assistant the dirty mark on one of the laces and asked for a reduction and I was offered a 10% discount. After some rapid interaction with a calculator, her reply was “That will be £20, sir.”

A final piece of advice, while we are still on the subject of clothing; if you are planning to visit Grassington any time soon don’t wear high heels. It’s just a minefield of cobbles. You could easily turn your ankle.

[Adapted from an article that first appeared in the Railway Antiques Gazette. It is included here with thanks to the editor, Tim Petchey]