On the 9.22 train from Stockport to Stalybridge
Last year, on my way to Wakefield for a conference, I inadvertently caught the 9.22 Stockport to Stalybridge once a week train. I say inadvertently because then I wasn’t aware that it is a unique train and only goes to Stalybridge once a week – and it doesn’t come back – you have to return via Manchester.
The track gets quite overgrown between Reddish South and Denton as this is the only train that visits these stations. It’s a Parliamentary line and, although it is many years since the workers from Oldham Battery Company went on their annual trips to Blackpool, it would take a vote by MPs to close Denton station – which is why it is still here.
The train looks quite lonely waiting patiently in Stockport station for its weekly outing to Stalybridge. I felt it should have a name –like Thomas – or Toby – with coaches called Annie and Clarabelle – like in the Thomas the Tank Engine stories. The doors creak open and I climb aboard, the diesel engine leaps eagerly into life and we chug along the overgrown track heading for Stalybridge. The train travels so sedately that I can identify the wildflowers populating the tracks – toadflax, foxgloves and evening primrose –hedges rambling with honeysuckle and wild roses and the white trumpets of bindweed climbing over crumbling drystone walls.
The old-fashioned train ambles along through tunnels hewn in the hillside, rocky sides and ancient stone walls sprouting moss and ferns, then we trundle over viaducts crossing rivers and cobblestone roads. Stone bridges cross canals that remember the days before the railways, when horses plodded quietly along the towpath bringing coal to the mills and delivering wool to the busy market towns. These canals now guide tourists past lonely mills and warehouses with empty windows staring blankly at the world, haunted by the clamour of looms and treadmills creating endless patterns – and the tired hands that wove them.
Past towns whose spires pierce the sky and chimneys interrupt the skyline, warehouses old and new, wonderful old buildings now transformed into health clubs and conference centres.
Wheat fields marked with rain soaked patterns, sheep peacefully grazing hilltops they now share with telegraph poles and radio masts.
We stop at toy town stations with carefully tended flower beds, one person gets off, two people get on – the conductor knows them all as they are regular travellers – once a week!
Finally we arrive at Stalybridge (where I am told you can get a really proper English breakfast) but I don’t have time to find out as I am jolted back to the present boarding the TransPennine Express to Leeds – and on to Wakefield.
Published in the July edition of the Whitchurch Gossip and the Drayton Gossip
