No wheels on my wagon

Over the years I must have taken pictures of dozens of these superannuated railway goods wagons in the countryside. You find them on the edge of farmyards, in the corners of fields and horse paddocks, perched up on hillsides and submerged in bramble patches. They're used as haybarns, feed stores, wood sheds, chicken houses, stables or lambing shelters. Most of them now are rotting or crumbling as the weather and the decades take their toll. They've served their purposes - twice over.

The old wagons date in the main from the 1960s when Britain's railway network was slashed by a third thanks to the infamous Dr. Beeching who was appointed to report into the loss-making transport system. As a result of his recommendations sleepy rural branch lines carrying few passengers and little freight were closed by the thousand and the wagons were snapped up by farmers with ever a keen eye for a bargain.

This one stands among a mixture of agricultural buildings of different ages at a disused farm on the coast. I noticed only today that it retains its original closure mechanism: an iron rod with a hasp that's secured by a heavy pin on a chain. The hole at the bottom of the door is used as an access route by a feral cat who's made a home here. I glimpsed it before it made a rapid retreat. I like to think that the cat is still using the wagon if no one else is. It's warm and dry inside with a few hay bales for comfort. I've decided to leave some cat food next time I pass this way.