Irish Eyes

 

Let me get this out the way first: Dublin is lovely.  I'd never been before and I was delighted to find a charming, walkable city with plenty of history and architecture.  The Liffey running through the centre is truly inspirational, the people are wonderful, and the whole city feels abuzz and lively.  I saw the Steve Coogan production of Dr Strangelove, and it was funny and clever (although I'm not really sure why it exists when the film is already perfect) and it was great to fly to and from another country without the hassle of passport control and immigration.  If only we were in Schengen and the EU, eh kids?

You can sense the but, can't you?

Dublin's public transport network is principally built around buses, and long time readers of the blog (hello you!) will know how I feel about that.  Buses are fine for pootling around towns and cities; they're very valuable, and there should be more of them and at a reasonable price.  However, major European capitals should offer something more.

They do, at least have trams.  The LUAS network forms a cross overlaid on the city centre, meeting around the grand central avenue of O'Connell Street.  It runs out to the suburbs in the north and south on the Green Line, using a former railway track in the south of the city, and east and west on the Red Line from the new Docklands development area.  It's a good, modern system that has plenty of stops but at the same time, it feels inessential.  

The south side of the Liffey is the centre of Dublin; it's where the parliament is, the cathedrals, Trinty College.  The Green Line scrapes the edge of these, with a stop by Trinity and another at St Stephen's Green, but it's well away from the heart.  Similarly, the Red Line crosses the river and slides to the west of the centre, but the Castle, the City Hall, the national museums - these are all a walk from the tram lines.

It feels like there should be a third line somewhere, paralleling the Red, forming a square across the city.  This didn't stop me and the BF from riding it whenever possible, because we both like trams and both dislike buses, but it didn't feel like an option to explore the city.  The trams themselves were never busy - we always got a seat - so it also felt like Dubliners didn't prioritise using them either.  If we hadn't been going to see Dr Strangelove at the theatre in the far flung Docklands, it's possible we wouldn't even have bothered.

They also put their platform signs in the wrong place.  Rather than being at head height, so you can see them out of the window as you pull into a stop, they're at street sign level.  This might be neater and stop people from cracking their skull on them but it also makes them less than practical.  And if you're a dull middle aged man who likes taking pictures in front of transport signs, it's bloody annoying.

I'm forty eight, LUAS.  Don't make me bend down.

Dublin also has a commuter rail network, the DART system, which acts as an S-Bahn through the city and out the other side.  It's an electrified train system that runs through Dublin's main station, Connolly, but it suffers from the same problem as the trams: it's too peripheral.

We walked through Trinity College and out the other side so that I could ride the trains a little bit.  We were headed for Pearse Station, Ireland's second busiest station, its entrance buried under an elaborate viaduct.

Inside there are only two platforms, though this is clearly a relatively recent change.  Pearse has the high grand roof and expansive circulation space of a previously much bigger station.  It's a great space, and I was suitably thrilled by it.

Then the train arrived.

I should say, right up front, that these trains are on their way out.  Irish Rail has already commissioned their replacement, the 90000 Class.  They're going to be both electric and battery run, allowing the DART network to be extended without electrifying the tracks, and as a user of Merseyrail I can only say I hope that Irish Rail have kept the receipts.  So what we're seeing here is a relic of a bygone age, the 1980s to be specific, an era of railway design that will never be remembered fondly.

Look at the state of it though.  It's basic, ugly, and noisy.  I bet the people of Dublin can't wait for the replacements to arrive.  They make Pacers look like an attractive and vibrant transport option.

We took the DART to Connolly Station, Dublin's main terminus and the place where long-distance services end.  The DART platforms are out on the edge of the station, rather like 13 and 14 at Piccadilly, meaning there's a long walk up and down stairs to reach the main concourse.

It's nice enough, as a station; it reminded me a little of Preston, with its red brick walls and overarching roof.  The biggest problem with it was the stench.  The DART is the only electrified system in Ireland, meaning the rest of the routes are diesel run, and the trains waiting on the platforms gorged a thick noxious scent of fuel.  The emissions had nowhere to go, trapped under the roof, and so we walked through a horrible cloud of diesel.  The BF, who is asthmatic, found it especially revolting.

Unsurprisingly, the passenger concourse is separated from the tracks by doors to try and keep a little of the muck out, but I do wonder what it would do to your lungs taking that route every day. 

Much like the trains, the passenger space has a 1980s feel to it, specifically the food court of a town centre shopping mall.  It was a bit tired and in need of some love.  This is your introduction to the city, and it deserves to be better.

I wandered outside for the sign shot.  There's a tram stop here too, though it gets a limited service; the Docklands extension left it bypassed, and so signs urge you to walk round the corner to Busáras stop instead for more frequent trams.

Connolly is currently sponsored by Flamin' Hot Cheetos.  Again: do better.

What Dublin really needs is a metro.  That way it could send its trains underground, through the historic areas, linking up with the suburbs and also getting to the airport (at the minute you have to get a bus into town, and that's simply not on).  Fortunately, there is a plan for that: the Metrolink - although, you'll be unsurprised to learn it's mired in controversy, political animosity and going through a lengthy consultation phase rather than putting any spades in the ground.

The hope is that it will be open by 2035, though that's a lot of crossed fingers and smiles.  I must once again note that it skims the city centre, shadowing the Green Line to such an extent that it's proposed it'll actually absorb one of the branches eventually.  St Stephen's Green to O'Connell Street is currently three stops on the LUAS, and Metrolink will reduce it to two; I'd have thought it was an ideal opportunity to open up new journeys across the city.  You'd lose the interchange with the DART at Tara but you could use the Red Line to get to there.  

There are plenty of nice computer graphics, mind, and a sense of optimism on the website, and I really hope it gets built.  I just feel it could be a little better.

That was all far more negative than I planned on it being.  I really did enjoy my time in Dublin, and would happily go back any day.  It's a great place and I want it to be the very best.

Choose Your Own Adventure

Welcome, weary traveller!  You have reached an obscure corner of the internet, known to few and read by fewer.  It hides away waiting for visitors to entrap, offering jewels that invariably turn out to be unworthy of attention.  You are beckoned into a small tavern.  It smells of old ale, as though the innkeeper started drinking twenty years ago and never stopped.

"But why is this happening?" you ask.

"A desperate attempt to make this interesting," says the fat twat behind the counter, hiding his hideousness with a hood.  "I write of railway stations, but sometimes, I write of towns; when these two places occur on separate dates I am forced to split the posts."

"Isn't this a blog?" you ask.  "Can't you write anything you want?"

"Shush," says the fat twat.  "I'm clutching at straws here."

You apologise.

"Choose, adventurer, and choose wisely.  Do you seek tales of medieval market towns and industrial boilers?  Or do you yearn for railway platforms and service patterns?"  He waves his arm in a manner that's probably meant to be a magical flourish, but actually comes off as a bit camp.

You have a decision to make.

To read about the fat twat's visit to Tewkesbury, and his thoughts on the town, click HERE.

To read about the fat twat's journey to three separate railway stations, click HERE.

If you don't really understand what's going on because you weren't around during the gamebook craze of the 1980s, click HERE to educate yourself.  And stop being so young.

History Boys

I needed to collect two stations at the bottom of the West Midlands Railway map; Ashchurch for Tewkesbury and Worcestershire Parkway.  They were a long way away and too far apart to walk between so they were a bit of a blockage.  It became clear that the only proper way I could visit them - short of simply getting off one train and getting on the next without any exploration - was to stay overnight.

Fortunately I had Shrewsbury on my side.  The BF had been absolutely delighted by the ancient town when we visited it back in the autumn.  "We should do that more often," he said.  "Go places in England and explore".  I didn't have the heart to point out that I've been doing exactly that for the best part of two decades but I certainly used it to my advantage.  

"Have you ever fancied visiting Tewkesbury?"

Which is how we found ourselves on the town's high street on a cold January morning.  I will say, right up front, that we probably weren't experiencing Tewkesbury at its high point.  The snow had barely melted away and, as the point where the Avon meets the Severn, they'd clearly experienced a great deal of flooding in the thaw.  

It couldn't detract from the wide array of historic buildings that littered the centre.  This is an ancient marketplace, and the views reflected that, ticking off every prominent era of British architecture.  There were even some 20th century incursions, which got the BF absolutely furious; he does not share my love of modern buildings.

This being the United Kingdom in - blimey - 2025, the High Street wasn't in great shape.  There was a preponderance of charity shops, going from the standard ones you see everywhere to obscure one issue stores that you suspect are a front.  There were a disproportionate amount of takeaways too; there's something vaguely obscene about seeing a grand Victorian building with Chick'N'Kebabs wedged in its ground floor, LED signage and neon lighting glowing.  There was also an Edinburgh Woollen Mill, and you can imagine how I felt about that.

The town museum was sadly closed for the whole of January, continuing my run of managing to visit a place at exactly the wrong time to appreciate it, but fortunately there were plenty of helpful signs posted around to fill you in.

One of the more interesting facets were the various alleys and courts that ran off the streets, each with their own name and history.  The alleys were introduced as a way to increase the density and profits of the properties, with the homeowners fronting the street building on their land at the back or converting the rear to lettable space, then cutting a passageway through to give access.  An art project had seen tilework erected to give you an idea of where the name came from.

This one didn't have a tiled explanation, which the BF claimed was because "Lilley's Alley" was probably a euphemism for homosexual antics.  I don't think this is based on any actual facts but he made me take a picture of it so here it is.

We wandered down to the fields behind the main street, which were, at that point, basically a large lake.  It was amusing to see signage for the cricket club outside what was too all intents and purposes a pond.

This area was notable as being the site for the Battle of Tewkesbury, one of the decisive conflicts in the Wars of the Roses.  This is where I have to hold my hand up and say I don't really understand the Wars of the Roses.  It's Lancaster versus York, yes, and there was Richard III and Henry VII at the end, but it's all a bit vague.  I actually know more about the 1989 film The War of the Roses starring Kathleen Turner and Michael Douglas than I do about this important period of my nation's past.  As is usual in this country, we've got way too much history, so we tend to only focus on the most interesting bits.  There was a proper civil war a couple of hundred years later where they actually chopped the king's head off; we'll concentrate on that one instead.

Indeed, one of the helpful information boards started talking about a different civil war in England, The Anarchy, which I had never heard of, despite it having a gloriously metal name.  This was a conflict between the heirs of Henry I, where, in a story that will be familiar to anyone with a passing knowledge of gender politics, his daughter Matilda lost the throne to his nephew Stephen because basically people preferred someone with a penis.  On the plus side, it means we got a "King Stephen", which continues to sound made up, like if there was a Pope called Kevin.

One of the reasons Tewkesbury was so important in both the Anarchy and the Wars of the Roses was the presence of its Abbey.  It survived the dissolution of the monasteries after the locals bought it off the King and turned it into their parish church; it continues to be wildly out of proportion to the town around it.

Sometimes, when you've been in a relationship for a long time, things can get lost.  You wonder if you're together out of habit.  You vaguely think that you might not have anything in common.  Then something happens that reminds you, no, we were absolutely made for each other.  

The BF and I stepped into this magnificent building, a stunning showcase of craftsmanship and artistry, a building constructed to inspire awe and devotion.  And we both let out excited noises.  Not at the opulence of the nave.  No, we both spotted this at the same time, and dashed over for a better look.

This is a Gurney Stove, installed in the 19th century to heat the cathedral through the burning of anthracite.  There was something about its elaborate iron form that immediately appealed to us, and we spent a good few minutes cooing over it.  We are not very interesting people, but we found each other, and that's the most important thing.

This is not to say that Tewkesbury Abbey disappointed.  It's a really beautiful building, well restored and stunningly lit, with a surprising amount of colour and decoration; the sort of thing you thought the miserable old Puritans stamped out.  

It's just that, well, abbeys and cathedrals are all a bit much of a muchness after a while.  Oh look, another stunning piece of stonework intricately carved by a master mason over years.  And another one.  You end up looking for oddities, like the scale model of the abbey above.

Or the tomb of Hugh le Despenser The Younger, who was apparently a "favourite" of Edward II, which caused me and the BF to purse our lips and roll our eyes like Cissy and Ada.  He was subsequently hung drawn and quartered, though looking at his Wikipedia page, he seems to have been a bastard on several different levels so this probably wasn't a bad thing.  

We wandered past the shop, and a book exchange, guarded by a chalkboard listing the Ten Commandments.  Thou Shalt Not Steal was underlined and dotted with exclamation marks, and the whole thing was finished with The Lord is watching - so is the CCTV!!  

The Nativity was still there, tucked in an alcove at the back.  Seeing the baby Jesus in all His glory in mid-January made me feel a lot better for still having my Christmas tree up so long after Twelfth Night.  

We stepped out of the abbey and back into the town.  It was early afternoon but they seemed to have shut up shop for most places; Tewkesbury is definitely not a twentyfourseven town.  We ended up in the Costa having a large latte and a panini.  It's a nice, decent little spot, a handy day trip if you're in the area, but I can't say we'll be rushing back.

Your visit to Tewkesbury has ended.  To continue to the railway stations, click HERE.  To go somewhere far more interesting, click HERE.

New and Newer

 

Here's a fact about rail maps: they lie.  Ok, perhaps lie is too strong a word.  Misinform is perhaps better.  They often write a cheque they can't cash.  They place all the stations at the same distance from their neighbour, implying that they're all a nice even gap apart.  They expand city centres to fit in all the stops and make them look more important than they are.  They tell you that the best way between two points is to take a train from here to there and change and then over there when actually you'd be better off walking because it's actually round the corner (I think we all know which bit of the Underground I'm referring to).  And they make it look like there's a nice direct service between two stations when there's nothing of the sort.

Actually, that's not fair.  There are direct services between Ashchurch for Tewkesbury and Worcestershire Parkway.  Three of them, provided by CrossCountry, spaced four hours apart.  Which is hopeless, considering they're right next to one another.

It meant that when I arrived at Ashchurch for Tewkesbury station I headed for the southbound platform, rather than the north; I was going to have to go to Cheltenham Spa, change trains, and then head north again.  This was irritating for many reasons, chief of which being that Cheltenham Spa isn't even on the West Midlands Railway map, so it was an absolute waste of my time going there.  

As you may have guessed from the name, Ashchurch for Tewkesbury isn't exactly well placed.  It's a whole two and a half miles from the centre; a sign outside the station says Welcome to Historic Tewkesbury then signposts a 56 minute walk to reach the actual town.  

There was, at one time, a branch line that crossed from Ashchurch through Tewkesbury and on to Great Malvern.  Unsurprisingly, Dr Beeching (boo, hiss) took one look at this and closed it.  The route of the railway line is a footpath, while the station was where there is now a Morrison's.  

Ashchurch closed at the same time, but, as usual, everyone almost immediately realised this was a mistake.  The station was reopened in 1997 with a bare bones construction; two platforms, footbridge, car park.  No ticket office and a couple of glass shelters.

Its services have been slowly stripped back, too.  Now there's only one train an hour in each direction, one to Worcester, one to Temple Meads, with the aforementioned three CrossCountry services threaded in between.  These are the only services that get you to Birmingham.  

I got on the surprisingly clunky train for the one stop journey.  Up here in t'north we think we've got easily the worst trains in Britain; the ones the south chucks our way when they've finished with them.  This train reminded me that there are shit trains all over the country.

I'd actually been to Cheltenham Spa once before, late in the last century.  An old college friend had moved there and so a few of us went down to see her for the weekend, staying in a B&B.  While we were there I bought a black shirt with a flame design which I then wore out in public; I'm not sure what the hell was going on in my head back then.  I think I may have been temporarily possessed by the spirit of Guy Fieri.  

The point is, I remembered it distinctly for its charming white stuccoed building, like an escapee from a Poirot.  I was delighted to arrive and see it looking like this:

I continue to have the worst timing for my visits.

I went up to the road and took the station sign - may as well, while I was here.

There's a second entrance to the station, opposite a row of shops, so I walked round the block to reach it.  The railway bridge was decorated with a huge mural declaring that Cheltenham thanks... those who risked their lives to keep the country running during the Covid outbreak of 2020.  It was starting to look dishevelled and worn; some of the colours were fading, and there was graffiti over the top.  I wonder how many of these memorials will be allowed to quietly disappear over the years, how many Thank You NHS rainbows will be painted over, as we all try to put the pandemic behind us.

I went down to the northbound platform to wait for my train.  There was an extremely good looking despatcher there, plus this button, which I stared at for way too long.  I really wanted to push it.  I didn't.  But I really wanted to.

Another reason for Ashchurch for Tewkesbury's relative failure as a station is that Worcestershire Parkway came along in 2020 and stole its thunder.  This was another station built with a car park close to a motorway junction, except this one was bigger and brighter and it had interchange facilities!

This is the point where the east-west services from London and Hereford cross the north-south services to Birmingham and Cardiff; as such, it's a great spot for an interchange.  Unfortunately, there is nothing around here except fields so there was no real impetus to build it.  Worcestershire County Council, however, saw the potential for a new development centred around the crossover.  They pushed through the construction of the station and it'll soon be the hub for what they're definitely not calling a new town, even though that's basically what it is.

The service pattern is still getting there.  More trains need to pause here to make it properly worthwhile, but it's been promised those in future timetable changes.  Its passenger numbers have already exceeded expectations, once again proving that if you actually build transport infrastructure, people will use it, so crack on with it, Government.

What they've constructed here is what we can politely term efficient.  The problem is, I've been spoiled.  My little wander round Stockholm has shown me what you can achieve with transport infrastructure if you actually try.  Daniel Wright's Beauty of Transport blog shows it too.  There's a world where stations are recognised as important human places, as crossings and meeting spots, as fixed points in the movement of worlds.  
 

Great railway stations call out to us and inspire us.  They bring joy.  There's a lot to like about Worcestershire Parkway - the dark wood ceilings, the curves, the sheer space to allow for movement between platforms.  But it's a little bit boring.  It doesn't make you want to cheer.

There are still signs that it's been done on the cheap.  There's only one platform on the east-west line, which is asking for trouble.  They've created a bottleneck.  There are plans to someday introduce another platform; of course, if you'd built it all in one go, you'd have the convenience of that facility on opening day, plus you won't have to find funding and close the railway for construction at some vague point in the future.  Saving a few grand today means spending a few hundred grand in ten years' time, not to mention added inconvenience.

Still, the ticket hall is reasonably grand, and includes actual ticket windows with real human beings behind them.  It could do with a little shop to create a bit of animation.  At the minute, there's only a coffee cart outside.  There's not really anywhere to sit and wait for your train.

Let's celebrate a transport facility being designed, planned and opened in the 21st century.  Let's cheer a new station.  Let's hope there's more to come.

I waited in the car park for the BF to arrive in the car and drive us home.  I got in and turned to say thanks - but wait!  That's not the BF!  That's a gelatinous cube!

Your journey is over, adventurer.  Next time, be more careful who you get into cars with.