Quintinshill

There was a long meeting in the morning, unusually interesting but featuring more tooth gnashing. I scarpered at lunchtime for the train home, which was stuffy and busy. I survived by alternately reading and dozing and doing a crossword.

Just after we crossed the border I was gazing somewhat idly out of the window thinking how green it all looked when I realised I was looking at a section with an additional rail track. This would be for, say, parking a slow-moving goods train whilst an express sped past on the main line. It's the very section that the goods train from Carlisle would have been waiting on, as the Quintinshill rail disaster unfolded,  just over a hundred years ago.