Making tracks

The Cross Country train from Manchester had made good progress across the snowy wastes of southern England despite the increasingly heavy snowfall. Just outside Basingstoke we juddered to a halt. Eventually the news came through - a tree across the line - the sound of hearts dropping. but hopes rose as fifteen minutes later our train moved forward tentatively until it stopped once more. The guard addressed the expectant passengers: not one but THREE trees on the line whilst another had fallen across our carriage. The weight of snow on the trees on the wooded stretch of line before Winchester had proved too much. The situation seemed hopeless, but to the credit of network rail ( I surprise myself saying this) they were equal to the task and, as night fell,  a gang of men with chainsaws and head torches came to the rescue. I saw them pass my carriage and caught a brief glimpse of the offending branches. I twisted myself backwards and pressed the camera against the carriage window.