The Railway Station

On Sunday evening I went to meet my daughter at York station coming back from her Children in Need weekend in London, where on Friday night she saw various celebrities and singers live at the BBC raising money in the annual extravaganza. I know they do a great deal of good work with needy kids, but charity is no substitute for a fair society - perhaps one day we will really have that ? Just because a banker earning a few hundred grand phones in every November to donate fifty quid doesn't mean we should all cheer - it does more to salve their conscience than really create a more equal Britain.

I used to travel quite regularly on trains, but now rarely get to see our nearest major station at York. Growing-up in a railway city, which some might say was more of a chocolate city or even a heritage city, it was hard not to be sucked into the magic, particularly as we have such a majestic structure to contain all the comings and goings, enhanced by stepping outside to see the ancient city walls right in front of you, and over to the left the soaring Minster. It's no accident that York is home to the wonderfully free National Railway Museum; even if we have lost our carriage building works down at Holgate.

My partner thought it strange that I'd want to go and stand around waiting for so long before our daughter arrived, but I just wanted to absorb all the atmosphere, which was extra strong on a dark and foggy November tea-time - shame there were no steam trains to enhance the mood yet further. The place was extraordinarily busy with people milling about the concourse, in the newsagent/bookshop, getting a hot drink, sandwich or giant pasty.

I saw the Sir Bobby Robson locomotive arrive from Newcastle on its way to London; such a shame that the great footballing legend is no longer with us, and I'm sure that the hundreds of passengers were much more concerned with their personal journeys than noticing a shiny nameplate commemorating some old guy who died of cancer.

The basic structure of the station hasn't changed much since I first visited as a lad in the sixties; I'm pleased to say I was never a lonely train-spotter clutching pad and pencil - just an ordinary youngster gazing-up at the soaring curved canopy of metal and glass, railway clocks and sturdy footbridge. Of course, the cafes and other outlets are now trendier and more expensive, and the general ambience of the station is much less grubby than it once was, but the business of (hopefully) rapid transport will always be the same.

My daughter's train was only a few minutes late, unlike the journey down when it broke down and they had to swap to another one, resulting in a delay of one-and-a-half-hours. Mum had told her that I'd be waiting on the platform, but perhaps recalling the days when you used to purchase a cardboard platform ticket, I was hanging about at the front near WH Smith, which allowed for a few more minutes idling around in the no-barrier open station - they have talked about bringing back the fence and ticket-checking, but I hope they don't. It will only restrict those who wish to simply wander and take-in the busy beauty of one of England's finest railway cathedrals.