Of Gods And Terminuses

We’re at the front of the queue on platform one in the concrete trench that is Euston terminus, tipped off early by the steward in the first-class lounge as to which platform we’d be departing from. The context: returning north during Storm Floris after chaperoning a VVIP from the Lake District to London. Although discretion demanded second-class tickets down to the smoke, no one cares if Mrs AWS and I are kidnapped or kneecapped, so it’s first class all the way back home.

Home is north of Preston — where Floris cancelled all the day’s trains except two. Ours is one of them; the 15:30. Our original train isn’t running — the 14:38 — so we don’t have seat reservations. Not to worry, there’s a plan. When the barriers open (the train is being replenished with catering trolleys), we will sprint to the first carriage, turn left, and left again, into coach K. For the uninitiated, this is a short seated area truncated by the presence of the kitchen and that end’s driver’s cab. Our original seats were 15 and 18, a table for two lined up with a window.

We’ll look for green dots indicating unreserved seats — if any. If need be, about-turn and trawl coach J. After that, it’s standard premium — same as first but no food. After that, horror of horrors, second class: a scene from Hades, complete with packed aisles, screaming kids, devil dogs, and luggage everywhere. Not to worry. Mrs AWS has been briefed and is up for it. Do what you can, where you are, with what you’ve got. The barriers unlock. Game on. We sprint to the door, press the button, and in we go. Turning left, all the seats are empty — as we’re the first aboard — and… K15 and K18 are on green. We dive into our seats feeling, prematurely, pleased with ourselves.

But it’s quiet. Too quiet. Meanwhile, unknown to the unwary traveller, in a harmless Midlands suburban garden, the milder southern entrails of storm Floris are preparing to do their worst. Upon departing bang on time, our only other companions are a party of three sat on the opposite side of the aisle, two middle-aged parents and a grown-up child. They are very chatty – a mixed blessing. Apart from thee and me, Puffin, everybody is a bit strange. Although a joyful part of life’s diversity, it can grate. If, upon embarking on a three-and-a-half-hour journey, nerves are jangling before Camden Tunnel, then ‘Euston, we have a problem’.

The lady of the party had hearing aids that didn’t work. I wear ear buds calibrated via a mobile phone and tried to explain how they worked at the top of my voice while she was on her phone. However, she couldn’t hear the phone, even on load loudspeaker max, so she passed it to the gentleman who yelled the conversation back and forwards. On the way back from a funeral, the lady kept bursting into tears. Top class bantz – but not solid from three-thirty in the afternoon until seven pm. I excused myself for a scouting trip and spotted with pleasure lots of empty seats in adjoining coach J. I returned to rescue Mrs AWS, who bundled her stuff together and sprinted out of there mid-sentence.

Relaxing in coach J, (if you need to know; 20 and 23, twin seats lined up with a window facing east), Mrs AWS pointed out, ‘They’re not really first class people.’ Quite. Prices must be raised. All is well as we thunder north through Willesden sidings. The Wembley arch stands majestic in the afternoon light framed between high rises. When did Wembley turn into Manhattan? Used to be a giant car park with a national stadium plonked to one side as if an afterthought. Better times.

The next problem is getting fed. As he collected the tickets, the Senior Train Manager noted that because of the storm-cancelled trains not getting there in the morning, he didn’t have a train crew to head north with. Not to worry, we’d spotted the catering trolleys at Euston. Shuffle together what you can, guard, and get pushing. And he did. Later, himself and an assistant manned a trolley along the aisle. Cold snacks and hot and cold drinks were available, but no hot food.

I had a chicken sandwich, which was very nice. There was lots of shortbread and chocolate. Both Mrs AWS and I hit the wine. The hot food was no great loss, the portions aren’t great on Avanti West Coast. Being a transatlantic airline kind of chap, where the customer is king and the first class passengers are the big spenders, Branson was better at this kind of thing when Virgin had the franchise.

Then we ground to a halt near Stafford.

At the beginning of the Odyssey, Homer reminds us of the disappointment the gods feel when mere men blame the immortals as the source of their troubles, when it is their own transgressions which bring them suffering. As the minutes passed and the countryside beyond the window didn’t, we all began to think of our Delay Repay refunds. But is it the fault of the railway? They can’t help the weather.

Speaking of Gods and terminuses, if one wants to get out of Staffordshire in one piece and terminate safely in Carlisle, one might pray to the Roman god Terminus, from which we get our word, erm, terminus. As well as a proper noun in Latin, terminus was also a common noun meaning a boundary, an end or a limit. It’s where we get our words such as term, terminate and terminal.

If you expect a statue or shrine to pray at for a successfully completed journey, think again. Unlike many Roman deities, he had no human form; instead, he was symbolised by boundary stones. His worship emphasised stability, law, and respect for land ownership. The festival Terminalia, held on February 23, honoured him with offerings at boundary markers. While actually on the move, the Roman god associated with journeying was Mercury.

He was the god of travel, communication, commerce, and also of trickery and thievery. As the swift messenger of the gods, Mercury was often depicted with winged sandals and a winged helmet. Not uncommon in the early days of the railways were company logos featuring a winged wheel motif.

Amongst others, traces of this can be found in the logos of the Austrian Federal Railways, Slovak Rail, Bulgarian State Railways and the Danish State Railways. In the States, although the Union Pacific reminds one of a striped shield topped with ‘Union Pacific’ in white capitals on a blue background, there is an expanded version bounded by outstretched wings. In further proof that not much changes, all of Mercury is depicted at the top of New York’s Grand Central Terminal.

Perhaps surprisingly, the English words merchant, mercantile and mercenary also come from Mercury via the Latin word Mercari. Think of the successful movement of goods or services for profit. Likewise, ‘Commerce’ from commercium, which in turn is rooted in mercari. I digress. Or do I? Read on.

The ever-helpful guard informed us there was a problem with the overhead wires and a queue of trains in front of us. We limped into Stafford. Ominously, the doors opened to allow for a wander about the platforms. Another service pulled in a neighbouring platform and, in the fullness of time, terminated, with the passengers transferred to our train with first class de-classified to allow them all a seat.

We were informed, and this is where the tail end of Storm Floris had done her worst in a fine Midlands town, there was a gazebo on the overhead lines. Which reminds us of the Hindu god Ganesha, known as the remover of obstacles, and often invoked to ensure smooth passage and success. We were relying on men in a Network Rail van, and, sure enough, inspired by the gods or not, they did their job and off we set again.

With the other train’s passengers on board, the stopping pattern changed, necessitating a halt at Crewe – which cost more time. This brings us to Fortuna, the Roman goddess of fortune, luck, and fate. Perhaps predictably, one of the most worshipped deities in ancient Rome, her role evolved over time to represent prosperity, abundance and the unpredictable nature of fate. She could be generous or capricious, a bringer of great wealth or sudden ruin and was often depicted holding a cornucopia, symbolising abundance.

On to Carlisle and, arriving more than an hour late, Fortuna’s cornucopia is stuffed with a Delay Repay full first class refund. At her feet, the battered remains of a Staffordshire gazebo.

THE END
 

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