The steaming black giant arrived exactly on time. Old men in beige jackets hurried towards the end of the platform to click away on their cameras catching a glimpse of nostalgia. Above them, on the platform, hangs a sign announcing an area for women - a waiting room out of the chill of winds.
As the train came to a halt, passengers scrambled aboard the carriages and seated themselves for the short journey. Excitement was a long ago feeling, now the elderly calmly awaited the whistle that the station master would blow when all the carriage doors had been slammed shut.
A baby cried, the carriage echoed its screams. The mother could not calm it and everyone became restless. Then silently the train rolls forward and the journey began. Soon the rhythm and rocking motion comforted the child and countryside scenery gave the passengers delights from the windows. A golf course, a windmill, rotting old boats by a shed in a field, the sea in the distance and soon, a stop at a station where the signal tags were exchanged by the guardsman and station master. In a buffet café on the station, people sat sipping tea and eating scones - it seemed like time had stood still.
The black uniform of the conductor and his ticket clipper gives him an air of authority. He is a volunteer in his 80's. His friend, Mr Briggs was on the train, hearing aid turned up and shouting across the aisle as his wife made comments about politics. The carriage heard his views on UKIP, the Prime Minister and the state of the world today. A far cry from the world it was when, as a lad, he travelled this way before.
When a diesel engine passed by on the other line, full of school children on a trip out, the steam train edged forward again then smoothly continued on its journey.
At the terminus everyone clambered out onto the platform - no electrically opening doors but passengers reaching out through the pull-down window to the handle that opened the carriage door.
More cameras, more chatter of how the engine would get hooked up to take the carriages back again. They stood and watched as the engine uncoupled from its coaches, shunted forwards, changed line, then reversed to the other end of the coaches to recouple and commence its return journey.
Soon there will be no-one to remember when these beasts were the crème de la crème of transport, only day trippers out for a Sunday ride.
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