From: mar@physics.su.OZ.AU (David Mar)
Subject: Postcard from a train journey
Organization: School of Physics, University of Sydney, Australia
Date: Fri, 6 Nov 1992 02:36:50 GMT

There are times when you just can't go past the simplicity of pen and
paper. That's how this post is being written.

It is just past 9:30 pm and I am sitting on Sydney's Central railway
station, waiting for a train home after seeing _Sneakers_ (neat film!).
I just missed the previous train, so have a wait of (I think) thirty
minutes at this time of night.

It's currently raining, so I'm thankful for the covered platforms here.
A chill breeze is blowing, whipping past and ruffling my shirt. I could
use a jumper for warmth, but the bracing freshness of the air isn't _too_
cold.

The rain is spattering down out of a slate grey sky - visible only by the
reflected lights of the city from the underside of the clouds. It's
brightest to the north, where the plentiful lights of the CBD and
entertainment areas are. The majestic shape of the Central Station clock
tower rises from the grand old terminal building just a hundred metres
away. Over the building, a few tall office blocks rise, aglow from within
their geometrically patterned sides. Th spire of the Sydney Tower pierces
the sky further behind, it's very top lost amongst the swirling cloud
deck above.

Trains bustle to and fro, emerging from the night to lie alongside the
station platforms like great beasts, their skins slick with the rain which
adds further design and motion to the patterns as I watch. Individual
people pass almost unnoticed, boarding their trains and vanishing from
sight - as subliminal as the flash of an insect crossing one's field of
view. Then the gleaming silver shape slides again out of the haven of
light and life that is the station.

The swish of water is heard as cars rush past on a nearby road. Headlights
can be glimpsed between billboards, as well as the oily sheen of their
refelctions from the black tarmac.

A train pulls up on the adjacent platform. Tha familiar pneumatic smell of
the brakes is weakened by the rain, so I just catch a faint whiff.

A man walks past, carrying a black umbrella and a bag of tomatoes, ripe
and ready to feed his family. A PA announcement blares, indicating the
destination of a train.

...

And now I am aboard my train. I take a window seat on the lower deck and
watch as the station slips smoothly to the rear. Its pool of light give
way to blackness punctuated only by the glow of the rare streetlight
visible from the tracks.

A stop at Redfern and then we are off again into the inky night. You
cannot see the rain from insid the train. The night is too dark and it
does not strike the side windows of the carriages.

As the journey progresses, the surrounding land undulates beneath the
level line of the tracks. Here, we are deep in a cutting, exposing walls
of rock now long covered with hardy plants. In such a cutting, the windows
present a black face. There, we ride tall on an embankment, looking out
on a fairyland vista of sparkling lights which stretch to the horizon in
all directions. And here, you can look back and see all the tall buildings
of the city centre, as well as the Harbour Bridge, aglow like a crystal
castle of intricate design.

The rain blankets the suburbs in a deeper darkness. No stars are visible,
nor the moon. The pale glow of the clouds from reflected light cannot be
appreciated from within the brightly lit interior of the train.

We pass a large suburb and an office building flashes past. It is very
close to the tracks and the individual desks within can be made out clearly.

As the train moves, the click-clacking of the wheels on the track is
filtered through the insulated walls to become a bass undertone to the
noises of people conversing or rustling newspapers in the carriage. The
whine of the electric motors can also be heard softly as we accelerate.

The gentle swaying mation rocks everyone from side to side, and becomes a
little rougher as we round corners at high speed. And the pressure of hard
acceleration pushes you into your seat as the train leaves another stop
along its route.

Merely by glancing out the window and seeing the flash of an illuminated
sign or a familiar pattern of lights, I can tell exactly where in the
journey we are - so often have I made this trip. Checking now, I see we
are between Auburn and Clyde stations, and about fifteen minutes of my
trip remains.

A patrol of three police officers walks through the carriage, checking to
make sure everybody is all right and nobody is making a nuisance of
themself. They vanish through the doors connecting this carriage to the
next one.

Another train rumbles past, travelling in the opposite direction. It is
only a few tens of centimetres away but I am unable to catch any of its
interior details as its windows flash by.

Stopped at a station, I can see that the rain is still falling. It
punctures shallow puddles on the platform, which glisten with reflected
fluorescent light. People stomp over to the carriage doors, causing small
splashes as they walk.

Now we cross a bridge over a main road, where the streams of cars form
fuzzy lines of red and white, stretching into the distance between
converging lines of yellow sodium lamp dots.

And here is the last stop before mine. We accelerate again and reach
cruising speed. The driver sounds the warning horn before we fly through
a level crossing. The flashing lights and clanging bells which hold back
the cars make a raucous spectacle as people rise to make their way to the
doors. And here we slow... time to disembark!

- Danger Mouse.
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