Let the train take the strain

“Have you got our rail tickets?” says M.
I have been left in charge of them once we boarded the train at Kings Cross station for the six-hour return journey home to Scotland.

“Er…no…”
The electronic print outs were under the bundle of Sunday newspapers left on the train after we had been told to get off in a great hurry in Edinburgh because of signal failure at Larbert and we would not be going to Stirling after all.

Suddenly we had two problems: no tickets and no way of getting home- a distance of some 30 miles.

We plead with the ticket clerk.
“Sorry I must see a print out. I cannot accept evidence on an electronic device.”
So we pay up. Again.

“What happens when we get to Falkirk?” I ask the clerk.
She goes very quiet.
“I don’t know, she says.
We board the train for Falkirk.

A guard announces confidently that staff will be waiting to help us board buses to take us to our final destination.

He sounds authoritative. We believe him.

Nearly an hour later about a hundred of us disembark on to an empty dark railway platform.
There is no welcoming staff. There are no buses. Or taxis.

Eventually a railway official appears.
“Buses are being sourced. It will be about two hours.”

Pass the smelling salts. It’s been nearly seven hours since we began our journey. We could have crossed the Atlantic.

A Bright Young Woman steps forward
“Do you want to share a taxi with us to Stirling? I’ve booked one online .I thought something like this would happen.”

So all’s well that ends well for us.
But what happened to the other hundred or so passengers left stranded at Falkirk Grahamton station tonight waiting for a bus that may or may not appear in several hours time? or that elderly woman travelling alone who had to be helped off the train?

And my blip pic for the day? an advert on London underground where today’s journey began.