The Only One in The World?

I’m a great believer that surges of adrenaline reshape the connections in the brain in the way a deluge of flood water might reshape a river valley. You are not the same person after an intense – hopefully positive – experience. As every Puffin is aware, the provincial northern English town is the greatest place in the world. The Puffin also realises too much can be had of a good thing. Paradise stifles. A life of milk and honey hampers a man. The wings must spread. A young adult, in particular, needs to soar. If he flies too close to the sun, so much the better. The classical hero learns more about himself and human nature when spiralling towards the earth than while cruising at altitude.

My early childhood in the colonies was a mixture. A demi-paradise to start with, the Devil has his way with us when the natives began slaughtering each other. An adrenaline burst saw us whisked to safety, to relatives in the north of England, to those idyllic green and pleasant Debatable Lands that lie with God given precision halfway between the mother country’s Land’s End and John o’Groats.

Too much of a good thing, I became restless. Travels ensued, providing more adrenaline bursts in a world of Cold Wars, Iron Curtains, and high and low latitudes and altitudes still unexplained by Google Earth and satellite navigation. One lived on one’s wits. The adrenaline surged. The mind reshaped.

In early old age, the channels created remain, albeit somewhat clogged. One likes being on the move – on occasion. The hubble bubble, the expectation, the movement of people. Fortune favours the brave, and cowards who are a whizz with a railway timetable may prosper too.

Which brings us to a concrete box at the country end of the long, parallel bendy rail stuff. They say London’s Euston is the worst railway station in Britain. Wiser minds than mine inform of a chaotic layout, constant overcrowding, lack of seating, uninspiring architecture, poor signage, endless delays and a dreary atmosphere. It feels more like a shopping mall than a transport hub, prioritises retail over comfort and leaves passengers stressed, confused, and frustrated.

I beg to disagree. If I am the only one who does, then so be it. The Puffin is a bird of independent mind. Far enough from home to begin with, it became for me a gateway to further adventure. The underground to Victoria. A stopping train to the Channel ports. The Hovecraft to the near continent. Long ago, the sixties concrete box became an adrenaline-enhanced anticipation of Delphi or the cliffs at Santori. Every bleached brutalist corner whispered tales of gods and heroes, inviting me to an exciting world where history and nature danced to the rhythm of a moving carriage.

In late middle age, it gets better. In the first class lounge on the upper level, there is the perfect stool (as if Seat 61 on a train) and on this day it is free. Sitting at a long work’s canteen counter allows a view of the terminus concourse and the information display that dominates it. At risk of being dull, I can remember when this was a ‘rattle board’, all electromagnets and rotating flaps.

Called Solari boards after the manufacturers, Solari di Udine, the first split-flap type display was instralled at Liège-Guillemins railway station in 1956, with the first UK example being included with Euston’s rebuild in the early 1960s. The boards are made up of cells that display a letter or number via a rotating split disk containing the alphabet. According to the US Patent Office, tilting plates are hinged on horizontal rotary drums and driven by two oval gears to display text as well as hours and minutes indicators. A fuller explanation of such things can be read in this previous G-P article, The Board Now Departing.

One of the most iconic and recognisable features of the station for decades, Euston’s Solari stretched across an impressive section of the main concourse and became a central reference point for passengers, a meeting spot, and, in many ways, the beating heart of the station. The mechanical board was both striking to the eye and aurally distinctive.

The rhythmic clattering sound it made as the flaps flipped to update train information created a sense of drama and anticipation, becoming part of the station’s atmosphere. For many, it was a comforting constant amid the hustle of travel. Over the years, it became more than a functional object; it was a cultural symbol that appeared in films, television shows, and adverts as a shorthand for the excitement, movement, and even chaos of British rail travel.

Despite the rise of digital technology, the board remained in place long after similar split-flap displays disappeared across the UK. Its continued use was a testament to its reliability and charm, and many passengers saw it as a piece of living heritage. However, in 2005, the board went as part of a wider modernisation effort aimed at improving the clarity and efficiency of passenger information. Replaced by digital LED screens, these were clearer and more adaptable but lacked the tactile character and nostalgic appeal of the old mechanical system.

The old board, though beloved, was difficult to maintain due to its age and the scarcity of spare parts. In contrast, the new LED system offered far greater reliability, flexibility, and ease of use. It could be managed remotely and updated in real time, which was important during periods of disruption. The digital displays also conformed to modern accessibility standards, using bright yellow text on a black background to ensure maximum legibility for all passengers.

The removal of the board met with public disappointment and a wave of nostalgia. Many regular users and railway enthusiasts mourned the loss, viewing it as another example of functional charm being sacrificed for bland modernity. While the newer screens were more practical, they lacked the physical presence and auditory impact that made the split-flap board so memorable.

Parts of the original board were salvaged and preserved by museums and collectors, ensuring that at least some of its legacy would live on. Likewise, the new layout was similar to the old. It was in the same position and about the same size, with columns of train details surrounded by a marble effect with Euston spelt out in classical font letters. However, to the left, ominously, a hoarding-sized advertisement space appeared.

Two years ago, the LED display had had its day and fell to be replaced by one ginormous display. At right angles to the LED board, new raised displays in the middle of the concourse appeared and contained the train information. Because, horror of horrors, the main display showed only adverts. Discontent intensified to the point that Network Rail, which runs the station, turned off the screen last October as part of a review ordered by the then-transport Secretary Louise Haigh. In December, it was re-energised, but showing train information again.

The new transport secretary, Heid Alexander (Louise Haig resigned over an undeclared fraud offence), said the change was in response to feedback from passengers “who wanted to see a return of a large focal point on the concourse for travel information”. She added, “We’ve been clear the station simply hasn’t been good enough for customers, and that’s why we recently tasked Network Rail with making immediate improvements to address crowding and give passengers the experience they deserve”.

More fool they. Travel first class in the middle of the afternoon during Storm Floris. Loads of room, not least in the first class lounge. There, Mrs AWS and I were the only two tucking into fresh fruit, tins of cola and shortbread. And all from the best stools in the building, from where I could marvel at the train information dancing on my beloved mega-board.

But. As if gorging on Eden’s fruit of wisdom, we must not only fall from perfection, but we must head for Carlisle – without reservations. Furthermore, trains are said by the information desk to be cancelled north of Preston due to the storm.

Not to worry, I have my eye on a 15:30 departure which marches along the board towards me as I munch my freebies. The chap who works the desk in the first class lounge, who we are on the right side of, promised us an offer we couldn’t refuse if we went back to his desk at ten past three.

To be continued!
 

© Always Worth Saying 2025