Railway Station Silence

Williton WSR

Watching the station at Williton on the West Somerset Railway  it struck me how quiet railway stations can be.  Now I am hoping to visit one or two next week, I am being released for one day from this hermitage, and will travel by rail, not steam sadly.  Watching Williton I am struck by the silence.  

Normal railway stations of whatever size, follow a similar pattern.  People will stand about, at great distance form one another, looking at their watches and comparing what that reads to what the rail time indicator states.  They will follow this by glaring down the line in a bid to hurry their train.  Their journey may be for business or pleasure, the start or end of a holiday, or even just for a day trip to some town along the line.  Many and varied are their journeys. 

Others, and all platforms have at least one, stand at the far end of each, camera in hand, awaiting a train.  Many 'enthusiasts (I dare not say 'anorak') know what trains are running, their numbers, and possibly the drivers life story also.  I tend to keep aloof from such as they at stations.  

When the 11:47 arrives there is immediate action.  Passengers, sorry, today they are called 'customers' by rail companies, anyway, passengers move towards the doors expectantly, people tumble off, glad or not to be at their destination.  Movement fills the arena as bodies progress this way and that, luggage may be heaved on or off, children dragged in similar fashion mostly to stop them falling under the wheels.  A cluster ascend the stairs following the 'Way Out' sign, only those for the next, 4 mins late, train stand around once again checking the watches.  The anor enthusiasts discuss the departing '185' or '68,' and prepare for the next adventure.  

Suddenly it is all silence.

The last carriages disappear into the distance, a railway employee makes his way back into his office, all stands till.  Only the station cat moves, and that to be closer to the one woman sitting quietly awaiting the next train.  Station cats rarely belong to the railway, they live nearby and come into the station for company, and return home at eating times.  When one of the two station cats at Huddersfield passed away last year Twitter was full of tweets of condolence from those who have been subjects of the cat while waiting.  Some have fan clubs!

In the siding a pair of wagons stand tall.  No-one appears to know why they remain there, one day they will vanish and watchers will be none the wiser.  Now they stand silent.  Not to far from the station vehicles pass apparently ignorant of the railway.  They belong to another distant world.  A space surrounds the line, outside life continues, inside all stand quiet.  

For station staff there is always work to do, only a hand full operate a station today but in times past the station master ensured his men were always busy, and experienced men learnt how to look busy at quiet times.  

Silence reigns for quite a while.

Suddenly, as people begin once again to gather movement returns, platform staff wander about, in larger stations at least, passengers gather, the cat continues to dominate the public, and then in the distance a small object appears slowly heading this way.  

Again there is movement, noise of swishing doors, people speaking, seeking directions, shuffling towards the exit, then silence once again.  

I think I prefer the silence...

Talk

I have nothing to say, but people say that does not normally stop you saying it!

This I fail to comprehend.

Trying to think of something to say when in strangers company can be difficult.  I am not good at small talk, I come from Edinburgh, we only talk big.  Some friends I have known were brilliant at small talk, they could talk to anybody about anything without causing embarrassment or warfare, this I find difficult.  

It is one thing in Tesco to irritate the young lass by small talk there, it does not go deep, and in the museum in times past I could easily I found, deal with people arriving especially kids.  However, in more serious situations I flounder.  Not that I have been in any serious situation for some time, nor do I wish to be in one.  I am happy hiding away unless I wish fresh air.  

Women I say, can talk easily.  My mum could not go anywhere without finding someone to gossip with.  This was not chattering re the great moments of life, just chattering, and she, and I note many other women, could do this easily.  Not talking appeared to be a sin!  Just imagine what it was like with three women in our house!  How the neighbours coped I know not. 

Politicians talk is of course another thing.  Until recently a politician would never lie, they just did not speak the truth.  Any question put to them would get half an answer, the half they wanted to promote.  No lie passed their lips, but neither did they accept or speak the truth.  Today, since Boris Johnson, lying bare-faced to the questioner has become the norm.  Refusing a straight answer, basic lying and avoiding giving an answer is now Tory policy.  Even the Speaker of the House has joined in.

Children can lie, they also know when an adult lies.  Kids have a straight forward appreciation of 'right and wrong' you cannot fool them.  Maybe we should use them in speaking to MPs?

But as for me I have little to say at any time.  In fact, I often sit here and don't even talk to myself.  

There are many who wish to do this also.  Even scammers do not speak to me.  One called to day but when I answered the line went dead.  It was an 02039 number, used by scammers claiming to be the HMRC and calling about a tax bill.  Click No 1 to reply it would say.  However, I did not get that far and so have avoided yet more red tape, though this time fake tape, and someone somewhere in Pakistan will be sad about this.  Pity, I had something to say to him...

Cogitation on Silence and Noise

Late Sunday night and the world feels different.  It does not take long to recognise the reason, it is the resounding silence.  There is no football hullabaloo in front of me, no cars passing by outside, no young girls screaming in the park, no young males impressing them with their noise, there is school tomorrow and all that homework still to do.  There is even an absence of aircraft overhead, no quiet voices of passers-by, no footsteps.  All is still.  

Silence, something we are no longer used to.  Something I notice only when I have no radio or TV blaring, no football in front of me, no music, no sound.  All this silence appears a strange experience to me now.

Once, before the motor car and the radio it was always like this.  Small market towns had their own daily sounds, loud voices were not uncommon then as now especially when the pubs emptied but there were few if any motor vehicles with polluting engines, pollution was the responsibility of factories and they were closed on Sunday nights.  No workmen's carts would trot slowly by however the local gentry might pass in their Brougham on their way home from a free dinner.  On the edge of town animals in the fields might be heard, nocturnal creatures on the hunt, an owl or a few bats and in the country there are always noises nobody comprehends and does not wish to investigate. 

How quiet life could be before the motor car and electronic devices.

Perhaps we avoid life by hiding behind such electronically produced sound and thus fend off the need to think and face the reality of our lives.  Bread and circuses for the many in the modern day.

   

After eight in the morning the contrast is clear.  Already the barking of happy dogs with wagging tails with torpor filled owners following has been heard.  The bread van snarls it pollution spreading diesel 7:5 tonner up to Sainsburys, cars driven by Monday morning blues ridden owners head for work in shop or factory, and soon dragging schoolbags behind them the future of the nation appear slowly making their way to the school Stalag.  By nine the streets are busy, shoppers appear and the sun decides to shine when most folks are in work, isn't that always the way.  On Radio 3 a soprano warbles uninvited and behind me the kettle boils noisily for third, or is it fourth time drowned out by passing white vans rushing into their busy day.  All we need is the police round the corner or the ambulance from up the road to announce their arrival by blare their siren and the day will be complete.

Maybe I ought to go back to bed...?

Going back to bed was a good idea, I heartily recommend it.  In fact I recommend it so much I may return there once I have eaten something for lunch.  

Lunchtime certainly is not quiet.  Next door the builders hammer and bang, lorries back up across the street, cars waiting for builders lorries to move allow me the pleasure of their poor taste in music while they wait, and on top of this I have been back in the BBC iplayer.  This gave me five Radio 3 Essays on the Great War by Sir Hew Strachan a historian of repute.  (Do you ever hear of a historian being called anything else?  They are never referred to as 'dodgy' are they?)  This series is about 'The Long Road to Peace' and well worth a listen.  These fifteen minute programmes suit me as if they get wearisome you can dump them soon enough, I listened to all five.

The noise levels grew also as the street life became busier and the world went about its busy business.  I added to the cacophony by setting aside a few minutes to listen to AC/DC offer us one or two of their melodies, well if 'melodies' is the correct term with AC/DC that is!  Just in case a neighbour was in I used small earphones and now I am not sure I can actually hear the traffic outside as tinnitus appears to last longer than I thought.  

Storm Ophelia has been filling the news today.  This was a hurricane at one time but now is referred to as a mere storm even though it manages to reach over a hundred miles an hour in parts of the Republic of Ireland.  This is not one of the usual left over US hurricanes, Ophelia never moved from the eastern Atlantic and has begun to move north picking up large portions of Sahara sand with it.  This sand is they say much finer than that found elsewhere, whether this is true or not the sky has turned a yellow colour above us this afternoon and in some places a deep red has appeared in the hazy clouds.  The picture is quite close to how it looked at one point and the air is filled with a heavy scent, with fine bits going up the nose I noticed.  As darkness falls the sky changes colour and with the storm heading north the sky will clear by the morning I suspect.  The storm has caused much damage and several people have been injured and a few killed.  Here the sky has changed colour, the trees shiver in the wind and the slow traffic reveals the rush hour at its height.
I may as well go back to bed...

Resting

Happy am I as my week is over and tonight I sleep!  I slept ast night but by the time I got home tonight it appears to have worn off.  I wish it wouldn't do that.  No need to check the clock in the morning, no need to iron a shirt, no need to wash, just be a normal slob for a while and catch up on the things not done.  I note the fruit and veg from Saturday has already turned a strange mouldy colour, the rubbish is piling up in each room of the Palace and the things dropped on the floor on Monday await putting in their place, I'll do that tomorrow. 

Another Armistice commemoration day comes to a close.  For days people have been buying Poppies, placing pictures like this on the web, talking about soldiers and groups, teams, companies andgovernment national and local have been talking about remembrance. 
I wonder how long this will last?
The remembrance acts have a shallowness about them.  Those who have served or have family who served are not shallow, the general population is however.  Certainly the plight of returning soldiers has been highlighted again, we will not forget so easily as before but the population in general will become tired of remembrance when other problems press them hard.
I wait and see...

Now there's a strange thing, silence.
For a few moments there was no noise, nothing.
No cars drove past, no kids screamed in the park, no aircraft high above, nothing.
Silence.
Even more astonishing the constant bang and flash of fireworks close by or in the distance ceased.
A repetitive drilling a while ago has stopped, silence reigns.

Now the occasional cars are passing by.  Normal service might be resuming. 
How strange that in the evening sudden silence can disturb as it is so unusual.

Thinking of Previous Post....

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Listen to the Silence

I switched off the TV, the laptop stood silent on the desk.  The kettle made no noise, the traffic was light outside the window.  I had no book in my hand, no letter to read, no booklet to study.
The silence suddenly appeared very loud.
I cogitated for a moment.  Maybe we use things to keep the world at bay, shielding us from that we do not wish to contemplate.  How much of the world is hidden behind the television set I wonder? How did we cope before Radio and TV?  I suppose we went to the pub, joined groups of like minded hobbyists, or, whisper it quietly, talked to one another.  Maybe that is pushing it a wee bit.
How often do individuals sit alone, quietly, and just listen?
We are only forced into this if we wake at three in the morning, then the silence can be agonising, the thoughts in our tired heads terror filled, peace hard to come by.  How strange, yet most people endure such moments.
That is different from silence by choice, a positive move I say.
Standing at Fort William looking over the Loch to the hills I was struck by the silence of such large objects, and the hills are very large.  A seagull swooped across in the far distance but no sound came, just loud silence.  Behind the town the bulk of Big Ben towered up into the clouds but again the silence was noticeable.  This type of silence refreshes the mind, encouraging thinking not making the mind afraid to think.  Silence amongst creation refreshes the mind and the heart.  
How rarely we listen to the silence, how often we block it out via the things that fill the mind.  Does this occur because that is what we wish or because we do not take time to stop, think, listen?
I will be silent now, for a time.     

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