It was going to be a hot day, so I thought I’d go for the
early train for a change. Always a chance of some wildlife while I wait. On Monday,
a weasel had poked its low-slung sausage body out into the road just ahead of
my front wheel. It saw me at the last minute and scurried back into the grass.
A couple carrying binoculars approached the gated crossing
over the railway. “I can hear a willow warbler”, I offered. “Yes, I saw that. Once
they’ve stopped calling you can only tell them from chiff-chaffs by the colour
of their legs”. This was news to me, but its funny how that registered straight
away as, “I am someone who always has to have the last word”.
They crossed the line but stopped at the trackside. “I
should go through the gate, actually”, I said, “They are quite hot on that
these days. I think they phone through and someone might come along”, thinking
about some more recent railway police responses to trespassing incidents that I’d
heard about. Instead of heeding my advice, the man just stood there and the lady
went on a trackside walkabout between the down line and the metal farm gate. They
really did not like being told, I thought.
The train was due. The barriers at Rolleston station came
down and the signal changed to amber. “Its coming now”, I added in the hope that
they would take the hint. “You can hear them before they arrive”, he exclaimed,
“and they hoot for the crossings”. His wife finally went through the gate. I
breathed a sigh of relief. I did not know if another train was coming from the
Nottingham direction, while all our attention was directed towards the freight coming
the other way. If so, she could have been taken unawares and put herself in
real danger. At the last moment, he too withdrew to the right side of the gate.
“Arse”, I thought.
“Cheers, then”, I said.
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