Don't Mess with Revenue Protection...A Norwich Tale

This weekend I winged my way to Norwich by train to see my friends, Matt and Alina. Fun was had by attending a fireworks party, at which I met some lovely people; a pub, which is simply the best that I have ever frequented (The Fat Cat – really, look it up); and a Sci-Fi convention, at which I didn't feel completely at ease, but at least with my background in beer festivals and model railway exhibitions, I did not feel greatly unnerved amongst those who have specialist (and in some cases esoteric) interests.

Either side of this magnificent weekend were two journeys by train which were reflectively uneventful. However, what I realised on the outward journey, were the problems that ticket inspectors, sorry, 'Revenue Protection Officers,' (RPO) have to deal with. I'm not talking about the major incidents, I reckon they are pretty rare. No, I'm talking about the low-intensity conflicts they have with passengers who try and bend the rules. I don't know how many times a day RPOs hear ticket-based excuses, but they must hear some that could even stretch the phrase 'tall tale' to breaking point.

For my example I will recount the tale of the RPO on my journey from London Liverpool Street to Norwich. I boarded the National Express East Anglia train, which seemed to have last had a refurbishment in the 1990s, and settled down at a table seat. The thing about being a PhD student is that every mindless moment, however short, allows PhD type thoughts to slip in. Therefore, being at a table on a train is pure bliss, especially as I had no one opposite me (perfect for leg-stretching) and no one next to me (perfect for bag placing), and I could get my laptop out without bothering anyone.

Over the aisle from me, and a little way up, a woman settled down in her seat. Also, just behind me, another group of individuals were bedding in at a table. I presume they were students from their general demeanour and age. These people were a nuisance, simply because of what happened about an hour into the 1 hour 52 minute journey. The rallying call to attention for all of them was “tickets please.”

The woman just up from me was reached by the RPO first. She had conveniently forgotten that she couldn't buy Young Persons tickets without possessing a Young Person's Railcard. With no truth in her voice, she stated confidently “well, the ticket machine said 16 to 25 and I thought that meant that you received an automatic discount if you were between...” She was cut off. The revenue protection officer wasn't buying it, and he explained the situation to her. She'd have to pay the excess charge to make the price of the ticket up to a full single.

It was at this point that she again proclaimed that she didn't understand. I suspect this was a stalling method, and the RPO again explained the concept of a railcard to her. After much 'umming' and 'arring' by the woman, the officer lost his rag, but only slightly. “Look” he said with some force, “you have two options. I can let you pay the excess charge, which I shouldn't really do, or, you can pay the full fare of £52.” Faced with this choice, the woman relented, and still mumbled as the RPO moved on.

I produced my ticket, as did a handful of others, and the RPO reached the table behind me. He checked one person's ticket, fine, then another's, and then....oh dear. I heard “can I have your Young Person's Railcard please?” I don't know why it made me laugh inside, but I thought it highly amusing when the last of the group proclaimed “I have a photocopy.” What a pathetic gesture. He had obviously lost his Young Person's Railcard, but was now hoping that he could get away without having one with him.

This, naturally, was not good enough. “Sorry sir” said the RPO, “I will need to see the physical thing.” Because there was some, albeit weak, evidence that a Young Person's Railcard existed, a debate ensued based on this premise. “But why” another of the group proclaimed, “would my friend have a photocopy if he didn't actually have one at home.” The RPO drew himself up and made the very logical argument that anyone could use a computer to doctor an image of a railcard. The response did not have any logic to it. “Yea but is that realistic?” A stupid question, and the RPO said as much. He stated that it had been done in the past, and if they didn't insist on the physical railcard every time, people could potentially get away without paying millions pounds in fares.

Again, this did not satisfy the group, and with a supreme amount of naiveté, one of the culprit's companions piped up, “yea, but we're honest, do we look like criminals?” This was the point at which, for the second time, the RPO gave an ultimatum. “Pay the excess, or the £52, it is up to you.” He also threw in the argument that he couldn't apply one rule for “that person down there” and not enforce it for others. He did, however, throw this chap a bone. If he took the ticket, receipt and the physical railcard to a ticket office, he may be able to get the money back. There were no guarantees though. Naturally, the offender paid up, and after the RPO had left a in depth analysis of the exchange occurred at the table.

The moral of this story is this; RPOs are very jaded to false excuses and the lengths people will go to get round the system, because they deal with cases like the ones cited multiple times a day. As such, it is no point trying to dodge their scrutiny, because, quite clearly, anything you say won't get you out of sticky situations. However, this state of affairs isn't the RPO's fault. Nor is it the fault of those of us who genuinely make mistakes. Rather, it is the fault of all those who try and dodge the system and try to take it for a ride. They are the ones that have ground down any sympathy RPOs may have had...

Conferences, Academics and Railways...a busy week

Well I has been a very busy week. I attended an academic conference on Tuesday and Wednesday, at which I talked about railways, and then on Thursday I took a trip to York to see my supervisor who is based at the National Railway Museum. In these few days of activity I used, touched, caressed and talked about Britain's railways almost constantly. In fact, everywhere I have gone has meant that I have been in contact with railways in some way, shape or form. While far from a terrible thing, I suppose this is my own fault having supplemented my 'enthusiast' interest in railways with an academic one. Indeed, I find increasingly that my academic interest has usurped the enthusiast perspectives I used to take. This hasn't however diminished how the railways have affected my life and I find that they consume my mind in even more ways than I could have ever thought possible.

Predictably the story always starts with a journey 'riding the rails.' Interestingly, this week I have travelled the Hampton Court to London Waterloo journey on three occasions at different times of the day, early morning, rush hour and late morning. On the flip side I have got the exact same train back home each time. Thinking about the outward journey it is not really surprising that you get a different breed of traveller on each of the different trains. The 6.24 train from Hampton Court on day 3 of 3 was not, as may be expected, completely filled with business people. They made up the bulk of the travellers, but woven amongst them were a number of others laden with bags that looked as they required heavy lifting gear to be moved. I suppose they were heading for the slightly ambiguously named 'London Terminals' departing for northern or western climbs on holiday. The slightly later train that I caught on day 2, the 7.54, was as expected filled with men in suits and women in more varied attire. It is an injustice in this world that men essentially have to wear a uniform to work, whereas women feel far more pressure to wear make-up, have different clothes each day and invest far more in their appearance than their male counterparts. But I digress. The train I caught on the first day, the 10.24, was probably the most pleasant by virtue of the fact there was more space to spread out. Those individuals on their way into London at this time were an odd bunch, comprised of students, day-trippers, the late businesspeople (some of which I suspect were hungover). Evidently, London draws in its stragglers after 10 am.

While I went through the usual sweat, sweat and tears (stuck under someone armpit) on the tube all of the days, I had the joy of travelling to York by 'East Coast' on the last (York Station Shown). For all of you who are regular followers of my blog, you will know that some months ago I had a right-royal rant at First Great Western, who failed to provide me with a first class service even when I was residing in a first class carriage. Even though I didn't experience East Coast's First Class accommodation on Thursday, a glance through the window of the carriages proved to me that my assertions about the company's elite services were correct. There were cups and saucers on tables, newspapers ready to be read, and table cloths on standby to absorb the inevitable spillages. As I passed I lamented the fact that FGW had a long way to go and my mind questioned how such two companies can have two widely differing services even when they call them the same thing. Alas, I fear that is how my mind works now. I suspect everything railway-related is dissected as part of a construct of factors, policy decisions and balance sheets. And so, with those thoughts, I settled in my seat in standard accommodation and had a pleasant, but uneventful, journey to York.

It was on the way back that I realised just why sometimes encountering the travelling public is a trial. I should specify at this point that I journeyed to York with my model railway club colleague Richard. On arriving at out allotted seats to journey south we realised that firstly we were booked at a table, but also that we sitting diagonally from each other. As we sorted ourselves out a woman who was booked to sit next to us piped up, “er...have you young gentlemen got seat reservations?,” in a tone that betrayed the fact that she evidently believed we were 'stealing seats.' We replied we did and Richard sat down. The woman looked disgruntled, but went to sit next to her friend who had secured two seats next to each other that weren't booked up. I suppose there will always be an element of society that will always naturally distrust youth, (even though I am at the tender age of 28), and while Richard an I had consumed a few beers, we were polite and sensible. I suppose that is the problem with being in an enclosed space, people become protective, even territorial, about the space they have been assigned and it is at social flashpoints such as these that their prejudices come out.

Moving on, I should say that it was in York that I had the reality of my 'railway-filled' life brought home to me. My department, the grandly named 'Institute of Railway Studies and Transport History,' is housed in a rather ramshackle building next to the National Railway Museum. It is there that I have to go to meet Colin, my supervisor, roughly every two months for supervision sessions. It is for this reason that I am not really that excited by the museum or its contents any more, its all old hat as I have passed through it so many times in the last four years. The only discoveries I usually make are related to which parts of Flying Scotsman are strewn about the workshop. However, Richard's reaction was somewhat different considering it had been close to a decade since he had been to the museum. He was interested in everything and eager to see all. He was like an excited puppy who loved trains. I find this sad as it means I have been immunised against the joy of being interested in railways simply for the sake of it. I no longer see the objects of the industry as the sole interest, and in my mind frame every signal, every carriage, every locomotive as part of a process of management decisions. The physical objects associated with railway operation are now imbued with greater meaning, but diminished joy.

This is because of my academic life that has evolved since 2006. Part of this life occurred on Tuesday and Wednesday as I attended at the Institute of Historical Research's postgraduate student conference at Senate House near Russell Square. The conference title was, 'Politics and Power.' On the first day I volunteered to chair a panel of historians who presented papers on 'Print Culture Politics and Texts'. OK, I confess I know nothing about this subject, but it was very interesting all the same and I think I did well in the chair. Further, the day was peppered with papers on a range of interesting subjects regarding politics, as well as enough sandwiches to feed a small country. Throughout I answered the usual question I get, “so, what are you studying?” It is one of the strange and wonderful things about my own topic that people can relate to it easily. When I am asked about my PhD, my response almost always triggers from the questioner an anecdote, family story or opinion regarding the railways. This, I think, is a wonderful thing and stems from the fact that railways are something that everyone has to relate to, ride on and struggle with. Therefore, it was on the first day of the conference that everyone (who didn't know before) learnt what I was doing and subsequently I took joy in the universal appeal of my PhD.

It was on the second day that I had the highlight of the week. After another day of very interesting papers on politics, there, located at the end of the conference schedule, was my contribution. (In the picture above I am on the far right. Also on the Panel was Dr Helen Glew and the Chair was Peter Sutton) My paper was titled 'Moving a Locomotive Works: Politics, Agency and Decision-Making within a Nineteenth Century Railway Company,' a sample of which was featured in my last blog post. I have found that a feature of giving a paper is that the expressions of your audience do not change, that is unless a joke is cracked. I suppose if they were changing their expressions regularly it might indicate that they weren't listening and by default that what you are saying was duller than a paint-drying conference, or that they didn't like what you were presenting. But, having only ever presented three papers, the experience of unchanging faces is still somewhat unnerving for me. This said, I am sure I will get used to it. The paper tracked the London South Western Railway's plans to move its locomotive, carriage and wagon works to somewhere 'in the country,' and how the different managers engaged in internal politics to stop this happening.

Why was this the high point for me? I discussed how the joy I took in the physical objects of railway operation has diminished, and how I tend to view every object as part of a management process. But then again, when thinking back on the paper I presented, there is a new joy that I now have with regard to railways. Simply put, I love that my understanding of Britain's railways is more complex than the simplistic 'object-by-object' view. I now intimately understand why Britain's railways are the way the are and have a deeper understanding of the processes of their construction and operation. Therefore, it isn't a bad thing that I am consumed by railways, as those aspects of Britain's railways that previously gave me joy have passed, being replaced by a whole new set of wonders.

Sub-First Class on First Great Western

I start writing this Blog entry on the 16.30 train from Gloucester to London Paddington, two minutes after leaving Gloucester. The train is 21 minutes late, however I do have the joy of being in First Class, something that I was more than looking forward to. It is, in my life, a new travelling experience. I have only travelled First Class once before. Through a fluke of ticketing four years ago I had the joy of going to York via GNER's First Class service. My, what a service that was. While in GNER's First Class carriages I actually felt like I was a special traveller, like I was a cut above those in the standard class carriages.

When booking tickets to see my friends Jack and Katie in Cheltenham another quirk on the National Rail Enquiries ticketing website was that First Class would cost me only £5 extra each way. So, as I was on holiday, I thought I would pay the extra and enjoy those luxuries that my memory reminded me were part of the First Class experience. The only downside was that I would on the way back have to get a rail replacement bus service from Cheltenham to Gloucester because of engineering works. This was thankfully avoided by Jack driving me in a car. So here I sit (currently at Stroud – a beautiful building) in First Class on the return service. I have to be honest that First Great Western's version of First Class is so far below GNER's of four years ago (and which I hope has continued under the current operators of the franchise, East Coast), that I am thinking about writing a letter in aid of the common good. .

Firstly, and this is just happening as I write, the Buffet car is not open because of staff shortages. So, evidently I won't be getting my complimentary cup of tea and/or coffee. Now I don't know whether I have any rights in this regard, but I was under the impression that if you sell a service at higher cost based on a range of perks and then fail to deliver, then this would constitute a breech of the trade's descriptions act. I mean the complementary drinks are there, plain to see, on FGW's website. They hope (although the member of the train crew who made the announcement seemed unsure) that some staff will join them at Swindon to open the buffet and operate a trolley. In all honestly I doubt this'll happen (it didn't by the way). That's no great loss though, the tea service wasn't up to much on the way in

On the GNER service there were cups and saucers on the table, a staff member with tea and coffee pots to pour on demand, and real milk in a small jug on every table. I think I replenished my tea three or four times...I consumed to the maximum and it was bliss.

This is a lot for FGW to live up to. All I can say is “Oh dear.” In no world, in no parallel universe, in no moment of time, is a card cup, lukewarm water and UHT milk 'first class.' This was bad tea. Now I know I may be being picky as the tea was free, but in a way that is not the point. Running a First Class service isn't just about giving away free items that I'd have to pay for as a standard class traveller. First Class travel is about being provided with a service that is better than that I'd get in standard class. I have paid extra money to avoid those slightly rough-and-ready aspects of standard class. But what about the other services that I have supposed to have paid for? How did they manifest themselves on my journey?

Well, on my inward journey I got the impression that one newspaper was divvied out amongst six people and now, on the way out, where is it? Is this a mythical newspaper? As far as I can see, throughout the carriage, there are no newspapers on tables. In fact come to think of it I haven't seen any staff yet. At least on GNER the newspapers were there waiting for you and there was one per customer. Indeed if, as I witnessed at one point, the paper was missing, you could go to the buffet bar and get one. This strikes me again miss-selling a service. Again it is only a small point in the grand scheme of things, but my complaint is that I have paid extra money for a degree of service that I simply haven't been receiving. Is this because FGW staff simply forgot? Is this because FGW are being cheap? I can't tell you, but I am a disgruntled consumer and at this point I don't care.

I suppose I can't slate every aspect of FGW's First Class service. I have a big, comfortable seat that reclines. However my slight complaint with it is that the arm-rests are a bit tacky, simply being made out of very hard plastic. But let me try and be positive, I have a lovely table. I can't really say much about it, except that, and this won't surprise you at this point, the plug socket doesn't work. I have just mentioned this to the ticket inspector. It seems he can't do anything about it and mumbled something about the fuse coming out. It's lucky on this occasion that I have a long-lasting battery on my computer. However, again this a case having been sold an advertised service (on the website is says there is a plug socket on every table) that I am not receiving.

I am now at Swindon, the home of the Great Western Railway. I have to be honest that if the company's managers of 100 years ago could see how their successors run their First Class service, they would be horrified. My conclusion is this; don't buy First Class tickets from First Great Western. I feel that it is a waste of money. Maybe I am being old-fashioned. Maybe my GNER experience set my expectations abnormally high. Now as I only paid £5 extra for the pleasure of sitting in First Class on each journey I can't really complain. I have received some services, mainly on the way out, that were approximately equatable to that value. Yet if I was someone who hadn't been fortunate in getting a good deal when booking, if I had paid an extra £20 or even £30 pounds as a treat perhaps, I would be very disappointed with a service which in my opinion was simply standard class with a few add-ons. Having a First Class service is not just about hand-outs, better seats and a bit more space, it is about a superior travelling experience. If it isn't, then it should just be named 'Standard Class+.' Sorry First Great Western it's simply not good enough and you will be receiving a letter soon...

NOTE: This was posted when I got home

An alcoholic journey home...

The relationship between alcohol and travel is not one that I think anyone thinks about that much. I am, of course, talking about the attempts by the inebriated to negotiate the joy that is an integrated transport network after a night out and 6 beers down the hatch. I write with experience. On Wednesday night I made three of the most fatal errors the stumbling, bumbling, alcohol infused, London commuter can make. These were, firstly, walking around a large unfamiliar tube station for an unspecified time, then getting on the wrong train and, lastly, failing to check out with my Oyster card at my destination. Does the level of shame rank alongside whoofing down a whole chocolate orange when I got home...possibly. Actually why am I laying out the whole sorry story in my blog? I suppose to give the entry a point I'll end with some analytical observations, but I may just get there and give up, the shame bearing down on me like a massive cask of ale. Well, here goes.
After a pleasant evening at my monthly Humanist meeting I left with a couple of friends and headed to King's Cross-St Pancras tube station to make my way home. On the journey we passed the Gothic St Pancras station. Alcohol always tends to make me more in awe of the building, I also could, if I didn't hold my tongue, talk about it for a couple of hours. So we passed with my usual thoughts swishing round my head, 'its a temple of railways,' 'a testament to the industrial age' and quickly followed by 'shut up David, no one cares,' and so we headed down to the tube station, went through the barriers and said our goodbyes. It was at this point that alcohol had its first joke of the evening with me, which a quick glance at the map would have remedied. My beer addled brain forgot that King's Cross is not on the same branch of the Northern line as Waterloo and I gleefully went down to the Northern Line station.

By this time, I think it was about 10.55, I could see that time was pressing as the Hampton Court train left Waterloo at 11.30. Now if I'm right I must have been wondering around the depths of King's Cross for about 10 minutes. I dunno really, time slowed down, sped up, came into existence and went out of it. I somehow found myself on the southbound Victoria Line platform which, ironically, was the correct one for getting to Vauxhall where I could also join the Hampton Court train. But alas I didn't take the opportunity handed to me by fate. So I followed the signs to the Northern Line and then, for some inexplicable reason (I'm going to venture it was a portal in the space-time continuum) I again found myself on the Victoria Line southbound platform. Fate struck again, I again spat in its face. I pootled off, right-royally confused, to find the Northern Line...again

I did this quickly. But in my joy I again failed to look at a map and got on the first Northern line southbound train at about 11.05. This, for a railway enthusiast and historian, was an inexcusable action. I was on the wrong train. When it comes to railways I should have no problem with getting on the right train, and in my inebriated state I can usually spout endlessly about the railways, describe locomotives and get home OK. This said, it was railway knowledge that saved me. Angel is the first station on the Bank branch of the Northern Line and as it was read out there was a a few moments of realisation that I had to sit through. “Am I...yes I...Oh Dear God!” Now my options were open. Either I could go back to King's Cross and chance it on the Victoria Line, or I get a connection to the other branch of the Northern Line and attempt to reach the train at Waterloo. At this point I would like to say that if TfL ever think of making a tube map which shows the journey times between stations, I'd support it. Now I am not saying I'd have been able to use it on Wednesday, given my state, but at least it might have helped a bit. Anyway. I took the former choice and managed to get to Vauxhall at 11.32.

I like to run. It is a past-time of mine. However that morning I had done a 2-hour one. Yes, I think I have the mind of a lunatic, but I like it. Anyway I figured at 11.32 that this would leave me between 1 and 2 minutes at Vuaxhall to get up the stairs, through the barriers, into the station and onto the train. Therefore I did my second run of the day, much against my will. I reached the train, panting and puffing, with literally seconds to spare. With all the failures of my journey home, you would think that this small success would allow me to be free of trouble for the rest of it. To my surprise the barriers at Vauxhall railway station were open, thus allowing me to reach the train in time. However, I'm a good commuter, and slapped my Oyster on the reader to 'touch in'. The problem was when I woke the next morning, with more than a slight headache, I remembered the alcohol had had one last victory. I had failed to touch out at Hampton Court, costing me a good £6.

So this is my tale of woe. Therefore I suggest that TfL, South West Trains and you, the reader, consider the following point. While TfL have banned alcohol on public transport, except when it is being carried inside someone, how much has it earned them through people getting on the wrong train and having to take other modes of transport home, or by individuals forgetting to touch out their Oyster and being charged the full fare? Surely TfL should quantify how much it may be earning them and encouraging alcohol consumption? Of course I say this with my tongue firmly in my cheek, but it is an interesting thought that in some way the alcohol industry is an indirect contributor to the public purse.

Fighting with Richmond Station

Richmond Station is a bit stupid. Now don't get me wrong I love the place, but I feel that it is where all the problems of interchange stations come to the fore in a microcosm. Where at Waterloo the missing of trains, food arrangements and general the general scuffle of commuters are well spaced apart and not much of a nuisance, at Richmond the same problems are compacted within very limited area, which makes the affair somewhat of a trial.

I think I'll start with a brief history of the stations, as this sets my complaints about it in context, please use the map that I made shows when everything was built. The Richmond and West End Railway (Clapham Junction-Richmond) opened the first terminus on 27^th July 1846. When the line was extended to Windsor by the Windsor, Staines and South Western Railway this company opened a new through station in August 1848. Soon after their opening both companies were taken over by their main backers, the London and South Western Railway (L&SWR). The old terminus station was used as Richmond's goods station until 1936. On the 1^st January 1869 the L&SWR connected the West London Joint Railway's station at Addison Road (now Kensington Olympia) with Richmond, and to accommodate the extra trains the company built a new northern terminal station. This was how the station remained until 1937 until the Southern Railway rebuilt the main station buildings, decommissioned the 1848 through station and moved the through platforms to align with the terminal ones. Currently South West Trains operate the main line through services and Transport for London operate the District Line and London Overground services from the terminal station. Unless you want to get into the nitty gritty of the history of the station (and lets face it that is a wild prospect), I think that this is all that will be required for what follows.

The first thing about Richmond is that from any vantage point from within a train, the movements of all services can be observed. This creates a situation were making a connection between the terminus and through stations is like some weird psychological torture, a device formulated by past railway builders to spite the railway traveller. The journeys that I take through the station usually means either leaving the main line services and getting onto the trains that run out of the terminal station (all of which run to my usual destination of Kew Gardens). I also do the return journey. The former journey is always fine, I suppose, as missing a connection isn't an issue. There is usually another train to Kew within 5 minutes. It is the return journey that is the nightmare, something that makes me want to kneel down on the station concourse and beat my fists against the ticket machine. In this journey I will have to catch a particular main line train, at a particular time, usually at either 29 or 59 past the hour. So I travel along in the Overground or Underground train, winding its way through lovely Kew, passing the temple of commerce, Homebase, and I marvel at the skips and general decoration of the line side. The time is 6.21, the train takes 3 minutes, and I believe, foolishly, that my interchange will be a smooth transaction. The train trundles into the approach to Richmond and then STOPS! This is the terror of which I write, a nightmare of limitless proportions, of a clock that is my enemy. 6.24 passes, and no movement. 6.25, 6.26, 6.27, and then like a great instrument of torment the train home on the main line sweeps by on my left hand side. Plastered up against the window, like a 6 ft tree frog, I realise that I'll now be sitting in the Puccinos for half an hour, cursing some railway engineer for the torment he has inflicted. At least at Waterloo the train you miss doesn't go right past you....

So once the journey is completed, there is the second great hazard of Richmond station, a plague at rush hour that in itself is a trial of epic proportions...that includes a balancing element. I of course mean the rush to the barrier. I'm not certain how many of you know Richmond station's layout, however at the end of the terminal station, on the lower level, are the ticket barriers. Therefore getting off the train at rush hour is like those nature documentaries where you see ants going along a branch in either direction. For one thing waiting at the station are those people who are going to be getting on the train when you get off. Now most people observe the unwritten rule that you let people off the train before you get on. I say most people, because I have noticed a increasing propensity for these travel hawks to attempt to get on the train even when crowded, just as the doors open. I know what this is about; its about them desperately trying to get one of those 8 'single' seats on District Line trains. You know the ones, the ones by the window. Once off the train, you then face a fight to the barriers against commuters going one way, and slow moving people, walking in your direction, going the other. What's more this merry dance is all played out on the narrow platform of the terminal station, forcing most people, usually including me, to the edge. I walk along it at this point, looking down at it like some abyss (and the thought of electricity down't make me wild either). At the current time I have never seen anyone fall off the side, but I am sure it has happened. Some poor sod, casually going about his business, takes one wrong move and falls arse-over-tip onto the track below. Perhaps it was when a traveller lost his rag with someone trying to get on a train...and pushed him, I wouldn't put it past a rushed commuter. Once past this peril, like water through a nozzle, 200 or 300 people, are forced through 4 ticket barriers, that are wholly inadequate and always leave someone hard-done-by! There's is always one individual who feels that the person ahead pushed passed. Not once have experienced in this curfuffle a time when an evil look wasn't thrown, or a bad word wasn't said, and once or twice I have witnessed people come nearly coming to blows. At least at Waterloo there are plenty of ticket gates and you don't fall off the platform...

Lastly there is the positioning of the over-bridge. Now I like a good walk, and am a regular runner, however the positioning of the link between the through and terminal stations is in the most difficult places. Say the train, that I may or may not have missed, is coming into Platform 1, and I have to get to it from the terminal station, the only way is to go to the back of the station, through the pandemonium of the rush hour, and over the bridge. Again this is a case of visual psychological torture, with a physical element thrown in. I can see my connecting train all the way through, as I negotiate the people, some smell, some move slowly (not in itself a crime, but bloody irritating) and some think that the station is a good place to have a natter. “Excuse me” I ask as I move through the swathes. Once past the crowd for the barrier I run, like a whippet, through the station, all the while observing my chariot home on the opposite platform. Up the stairs I go, upwards and onwards, across the bridge, and then a sound so terrible as to make we weep, fills my ears. That, sadly, is the sound of a class 450 combined power handle being thrust forward, propelling the train onward. I slow to a walk down the steps, watching it gradually pull out on my left hand side, and consign myself to Puccinos...again.

Richmond Station is quite simply a badly laid out. Whose fault is this? Who is the master of my torments? Well I know I cursed engineers above, but in reality the blame should be placed on the development of the rail network. As any railway historian worth his salt will tell you, the British railway network was left to be formed without strong Government oversight or planning. Therefore many lines were built opportunistically, in an ad hoc fashion and in an adaptive manner. Richmond is the finest exemplar of how railway builders adapted stations over hundreds of years to their immediate requirements. So for example the over-bridge now is in exactly the same place as it was at the older station built in 1848, despite the through station moving. This places it at the back of the station and means it takes far longer to cross between the two stations than a closer footbridge would allow. Why couldn't there have been another footbridge at the other end of the platforms? Secondly when the northern station was to be built in 1863, Richmond town was built up. Thus the station had to be fitted into a smaller space than if where it had been built had been farmland. Thus the platforms on the northern station are too narrow for current demands. Better Government planning may have allowed for the station to be cited in a better place, or that more platforms could have been built. These are just a few of my concerns, however overall, what is true of Richmond is that it is still not one station, it is remains two, something it is still trying to come to terms with.

Loving Clapham Junction (even if it is a bit shit)

I actually like stations...sometimes. Clapham Junction particularly is one of my favourites, even though it is cold, there are no waiting rooms and travelling from one platform to the next is like a continual re-enactment of siege of Constantinople. Indeed so bad is the Junction that the recent "Better Rail Stations" review from November 2009 described it as the second worst interchange station in the country, scoring a paltry 39% in the satisfaction stakes (The number one offender being Manchester Victoria). That said, I'm gonna stick my neck out and say I like it for a number of reasons

Firstly, it is possibly one of the most pretentiously named stations in the country. A glance at the map will rightly place Clapham Junction in Battersea, Clapham being a mile to the east. Originally when the main line was built between London and Southampton there was no station built there. The area was really just farmland, inhabited by the poor, a few ducks and a Daxon named Colin ("...and thank you Colin") The nearest station, a mile away, was Wandsworth, which was later re-named to Clapham Common. It wouldn't be until 1863 that the current station was built by the London and South Western Railway (L&SWR), the London Brighton and South Coast Railway (LB&SCR) and the West London Extension Railway (WLER), to act as an interchange between the Windsor and Southampton Lines (for the L&SWR), the Line to Victoria (Built by the LB&SCR in 1860) and the WLER. Keen to attract a better class of clientèle, the companies colluded to call it Clapham Junction, significantly raising its status, and since then the name has never been changed. Therefore to my mind it is a bit of an upstart station...

Secondly I like that being an interchange means there is a real sense that its a place where people come together. OK they may not talk to anyone but the station staff, the guy in the AMT coffee or the toilet attendant, (who has one of the worst jobs imaginable) but there has always been to my mind a tacit understanding that everyone there is going about their business commuting to their various destinations. Having observed many people there (and it is great for people watching), there is a mutual respect between the bulk of commuters, embedded in the knowledge that they are in it together. They may all be crammed into steel tubes, but they all made a concious decision to suffer 35 minutes of that existence...together, in silence...and sometimes in awkward silence...

This said my third reason is conflict. No, it's not what you are thinking...very rarely do I see commuter on commuter action. Rather the conflict stems from a phenomenon at Clapham that I have never witnessed at any other station. At rush hour a member of the station staff continually broadcasts on the PA system things like 'please stand behind the yellow line,' 'please let people OFF the train first before getting on,' 'move down inside the carriage,' 'there's another train along in two minutes,' and so on and so forth. Now I understand why he's there, he's the Lion tamer, the microphone is his whip. It does however suggest that the great British travelling public are in conflict with the railways, that while they are all travelling together, they are also pushing against the boundaries of what the railways can offer. They want to so badly get on the train, but he has to stop them. This guy therefore is the negotiator between the warring parties and where at other stations people just deal with this conflict, at Clapham the is another factor, a bold, and ignored, member of the South West Trains staff...the commuter tamer.

Lastly I'll go with the obvious one...History. Whatever you think about the railways, Clapham has had the most trains going through it of any other station in its lifetime. Therefore when I see the modern trains rush through, I see steam, smoke and wheezing, imagining a past I will never see and never truly understand. This history is also ingrained in the fabric. Clapham, whether you are on the platform or in the overpass, hasn't had its basic fabric altered in about 100 years. Oh there are a few more platforms, there have been some changes in its lifetime, but at the end of the day most of what was built before 1900 is still there and you can see its history in the bricks, the iron and the rivets. It is a place that is filled with everything wonderful about the Victorian Railway...do it well, build it sturdy and make it functional...

Therefore while many rightly deride Clapham's failings, I do think it has got a life of its own, I love it and long may its character remain...

Waterloo isn't what it used to be

Waterloo is a dump! There I said it. We can of course applaud the cleaners, I didn't see one Metro or Evening Standard dumped floorward today. I did see plenty loitering the train. In fact in a bit of a tangent I think it is weird that Network Rail get a good cleaning job done at Waterloo, while South West Trains clearly don't give a shit about the carriage interior. Different priorities I suppose...anyway

I think that the problem with Waterloo is that now the romance has gone. If anyone has seen the 1961 John Schlesinger film 'Terminus: 24 Hours in the Life of Waterloo Station' they will know what they I mean. Since the station's building in 1848 (with the current station being the product of a re-build between 1900 and 1921) there has always been the bustle of commuters, and the film expertly portrays individuals going to their varied occupations. Yet what I think has changed is the fact that people don't interact with the station in the same way. The film expertly portrays the station as a social arena, where drinks were served, meals were sat and eaten and lovers came together and spent time talking. Now people drink on the move, the meals are over-salted and speedily scoffed, and I see most people arguing, yelling, or moving so fast that others nearly topple like dominoes. Waterloo is now one part in people's a-b-c lives and not an interactive part of it. In short the station experience, while still essentially still about travelling and meeting, has sped up.

The biggest indicator of the 'quicker' station experience are the barriers, designed to catch those devious travellers who were moving in too fast to buy a ticket. Pesky, ugly and unnecessary is my opinion. Oh the Train Operating Companies love them so much that I bet they get aroused by the mere site of yellow circles and flashing lights. I bet every time they see one open they can just hear the money jangling into their pocket. Of course this poses problems for the majority of travellers that are 'honest.' They place anyone who previously would have very willing pay for their ticket on the train or those who make simple errors with regard to ticket buying, in the category of a fare dodger. For all those who fail to have a ticket the mantra is now no ticket...no excuse - you are getting a fine. This is a problem especially prevalent on South West Trains where many stations have been equipped with barriers, most notable amongst them being Waterloo.

Are these revenue-generating, money sucking, fare evasion instalments worth it? No. As Richard Malins at 'Transport Investigations' has just commented in the latest issue of RAIL magazine, they are only profitable at larger stations because of the extra cost of staffing them at the small ones. Thus all the Train Operating Companies have done in their efforts to slow the public down, catch fare dodgers and claim the money that is (rightly or wrongly) there's, is that they have dehumanised the travel experience and set them selves up for grief with their customers. Would it be terrible if at that at the cost of a few dodged fares and turning a blind eye to the errors of the travelling public they could have fostered good customer relations? In truth at the end of the day they just pissed us off, but then again they are monopoly Train Operating Companys with no others to challenge them. Thus this goes to show, in my opinion, that they don't really care about customer relations at all, rather bleeding our pockets dry is all that matters.