Encore: Transport for Wales Premium

This is not so much an exciting post about a journey, but an addendum to a not-exciting post about a journey.

My last attempt at enjoying the Transport for Wales Premium Service from Manchester Piccadilly was scuppered by bad weather which — lest I remember — led to me and far too many other people being stuffed in a two-carriage bone-shaker as it wheezed its way through the dreary grey of winter with steamed-up windows and little more than perfunctory enjoyment afforded by a free cup of coffee and a slab of cake.

I decided I would try again today, and after a very short train ride from Manchester Airport arrived with an hour to spare to poke around Manchester Piccadilly and its immediate environs. I wasted no time in getting into the dry from one of the through platforms and ooh-ing and aah-ing at the overall grandiose traininess of the Victorian arched roofs as I tried to work out where I needed to be next and what I was planning to do. It’s a good twenty years since I’ve been near the station with excess time to kill but the first few minutes were spent mourning the demise of the Little Chef that used to be near the entrance. My lament was cut short by a nice man with a wheelie bin full of ice cream stuffing something inanimate into my hand and, invigorated after my free Magnum, I wasted more of my precious minutes trying to find a wastebin in which to dispose of the stick (no joke) and wrapper.

This quest eventually led me outside the station where right outside the entrance a statue entitled Victory Over Blindness depicts seven blinded First World War soldiers not looking for an Olympic Breakfast or a dustbin, but leading one another away from the battlefield with their hand on the shoulder of the man in front. Inside the station, a string ensemble played their interprations of modern pop while my exploratory mission led me round the side of the building where I found van-loads of Magnums and a bag full of empty Magnum boxes in which I could finally dispose of my sticky stick. I bought a newspaper and poked about waiting for the 14:30 Transport for Wales train to Cardiff Central.

The journey from Manchester Piccadilly to Cardiff takes three hours and twenty-five minutes, although my journey was only two hours long. I was getting off half-way, so set about taking many near-identical photographs of moist landscapes and an excited finger puppet.

This relatively new Premium Service uses carriages originally built for Virgin Trains so they are super-comfy and very quiet, apart from four or five other people who were quickly ejected by the train manager who did not accept their protestations that they didn’t realise they were in first, despite it being written in two languages and numerals and over/on pretty much everything. In a last attempt to proclaim innocence one announced with faux surprise that they thought “it was a bit fancy”. Another even had the audacity to bewail that they were going to have to “slum it with the plebs”, a plea for sympathy which garnered none from the remaining passengers who avoided making eye contact and studiously studied the drinks menu.

The remaining passengers were a little too talkative for my liking but thankfully only shared their conversation about the worries of motion sickness on high speed trains with me as far as Crewe, where they left me with the whole carriage to myself. I paid £35.70 for this pleasure – only £4 than an advanced single ticket for second.

Part of the TfW Premium offering which I have been very keen to try since learning about it is the on-board catering offering, and but for my free ice cream I had resisted all food purchasing opportunities in the run up to departure. This turned out to be an unwise decision – the train manager later explained that they don’t run a catering service on “rugby days” as it was “likely to be carnage” at some point or another, even more so with fans consoling themselves after the at-home defeat. Not even a trolley. Had I known, I’d have explored the food offerings available in Manchester Piccadilly – including civilised options where you can sit down to eat as well the standard things to grab as you’re dashing to your train.

As this is not the world’s fastest train I was rather disappointed; the menu looks wonderful and there’s time enough to enjoy a lovely relaxed hot meal from proper plates with cutlery. I had at least had the forethought to have an apple for breakfast so that, combined with the sustenance offered by vegan chocolately ice cream goodness, kept me alive and mostly awake for the journey. Although the view outside the window was slightly glum it was mercifully not waterlogged, so between bouts of snoozing off the sugar rush and yawning at the newspaper, I watched the world go by in blissful peace and quiet.

After Crewe, the desolate connurbations of Cheshire finally give way to open expanses of fields dotted with sheep and trees as some of England’s finer green and pleasant takes over upon penetration of Shropshire. Following Shrewsbury, the Welsh Marches Line snakes through the Shropshire Hills and in even better weather still it’s almost certainly glorious.

Just after Craven Arms I once more failed to take a photograph of Stokesay Castle (As Seen From A Train) as I was temporarily distracted. Similarly, just outside Crewe, I had failed to take a photograph of a locomotive called My Lovely Horse. I hope it will be there next time.

Before the mid-fifties, the station at Leominster was much more grand with five platforms serving trains running east to Worcester and west to Kington, in addition to the services operating on the Shrewsbury and Hereford Railway. The latter is all that survives and is now part of the Welsh Marches Line, served by two remaining platforms.

Shortly before our on-time arrival at platform two, the train manager invited me to move up the train as it is too long for all of it to fit on the platform.

In the car park my steed was waiting.