From a Railway Carriage
by Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-94)
Railway Rhymes edited by Peter Ashley, Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets

Faster than fairies, faster than witches,
Bridges and houses, hedges and ditches;
And charging along like troops in a battle,
All through the meadows the horses and cattle:
All of the sights of the hill and the plain
Fly as thick as driving rain;
And ever again, in the wink of an eye,
Painted stations whistle by.

Here is a child who clambers and scrambles,
All by himself and gathering brambles;
Here is a tramp who stands and gazes,
And there is the green for stringing the daisies!
Here is a cart run away in the road
Lumping along with man and load;
And here is a mill, and there is a river:
Each a glimpse and gone for ever!

I used to love trains. When I was younger there was usually a seat, a table and a cup of tea, and for the duration of the journey a smorgasbord of countryside to amuse me. I’ve been across the Nullarbor Plain on the Indian Pacific, which takes three days and is a fantastic way of familiarising yourself with the vast space that is Australia.

But imagine, if you will, that your train is 45 minutes late. It eventually arrives and you climb aboard. You obtain a seat by racing a mother with three toddlers down the aisle and squeezing past them to get to it, so you don’t have to stand, your bad back aching, for interminable hours. The train pulls in at an unscheduled station where the guards turf everyone off because this train, despite being a “through train” to your destination, is being inexplicably taken out of service. The second train, which is sent to collect the discarded passengers, takes 85 minutes to arrive. Two stops farther down the line the second train is also taken out of service without explanation. This time no arrangements have been made to complete the journey of the increasingly frustrated passengers, so you all collar the only member of staff you can find and threaten a revolt, which results in the appearance of a minibus some two hours later to take you all to your final destination. But the minibus is in the control of a madman who doesn’t slow down for bends, and when you all beg him to regard your safety he turns on you, taking his eyes fully off the road ahead, to curse at you. One of the passengers being an off-duty policeman – and making this fact known – is the only thing that makes the necessary difference.

This was one of the last half a dozen train journeys that I experienced, all of which contributed to my decision never to travel on a train again if I could avoid it. So this poem, which was one of my childhood favourites, I regard with nostalgia because it reminds me of a time when my train-related experiences were joyful ones.

The rhythm of the poem is the rhythm of the train; it scans beautifully and is irresistible as a result. Stevenson compares the speed of the train to the imaginary speed of airborne magical beings, and the “bridges and houses, hedges and ditches”, which of course are not going anywhere, but are nonetheless being overtaken. Every verb is chosen for its ability to propel us forward. “All of the sights of the hill and the plain/ Fly as thick as driving rain” also brings to mind the manner in which rain hits the windows of a train, streaking horizontally as the train is driven forwards.

Individuals are identified as they momentarily come into view; a scrambling child; a watchful tramp; a man with his cart going about his business. Lives cross as the passengers on the train glimpse those who are not, who are living at a different speed.

For all those who still love trains, the Queen will be opening the new St Pancras station on Tuesday 6 November, 2007.

Times Recommends

• Superfreakonomics by Steven D Levitt and Stephen J Dubner
• The Times picks the 50 best paperbacks of 2009
• Vincent van Gogh’s letters show the soul of the artist