ALL CHANGE AT GRANGE COURT The carriage was very nearly empty when Chris boarded and chose

a seat. Chris always felt compelled to sit near any "fellow traveller" he happened upon, so that he could "have a chat" and today was no exception. He located the only other passenger and sat down directly opposite. Chris smiled cheerfully as his travelling companion looked up nervously from the papers he was studying. Chris shut his eyes and listened for the whistle, the slam of the final few doors, the hiss of the vacuum brakes depressurised, the roar of the engine getting up steam; he relaxed as he felt the steady motion of the train starting to roll forward. He was warm and comfortable. He loved the railway. With something of a struggle, he opened his eyes again and observed the gentleman whose fortune had been to spend the journey between Hereford and Gloucester in the company of a certain Mr Christopher Vaughan. He was a substantial man in a tight suit with a waistcoat, slightly balding and sporting a neatly clipped moustache. He held a report in his left hand and a pen in his right, and judging by his furrowed brow, was considering his work carefully. Either that or his eyesight was poor, as he held the document rather close to his face. A logo on the report revealed that the man worked for ICI. "I see the train's mostly empty again." Chris offered. The man continued to read, as if he believed Chris was addressing someone else. "It's not like the old days." No response. "You're going all the way to Gloucester or stopping at Ross?". Forced to reply, the Technical Director of ICI looked up and politely explained that he was going to Gloucester for a meeting and had to read the report before he arrived. Chris was silenced. But not indefinitely. "Mr grandfather was station master at Grange Court" he announced, as if to no-one in particular - although he had only one possible listener "back before the days of the British Transport Commission. But it's been all downhill since then. The problem is the motor car, you see. Oh, it's all very convenient I'm sure but where's the elegance? Where's the community spirit?". Despite never being bored by his own pet subject, Chris was feeling strangely dreamy and struggled with his eyelids. "I heard that they're losing money, not making it! And half the lines bring in hardly any money at all." These words somehow cut through the noise of the train, the figures of the ICI report and the social embarrassment. Although he made no remark, something changed in the heart and mind of Dr Richard Beeching, as when a killer first sets eyes on his future victim. Even the murderer may have no idea what lies ahead. But in the same way, while Beeching gave only a fraction of his attention, the course of history was altered inexorably. When he was appointed chairman of the British Railways Board six years later, Beeching identified an operating deficit of 159M per annum and found that 50% of

the stations generated only 2% of the railways revenue. Accordingly, Beeching closed nearly 2,000 stations and tore up 6,000 miles of track (1/3 of the network), including every branch line in Wales, the West Country and north of Inverness. 8,000 coaches were scrapped, 68,000 staff were sacked. Chris felt a strange sense of doom as he began to drift into a less comfortable doze. The clouds seemed to gather unnaturally rapidly, turning the sky a dirty grey and rain started to pelt the windows of the carriage. The track seemed to be on a sharp incline, the sound of the engine faltering in his ears. Then an alarm bell sounded now distant now nearer. A man's voice called "All change at Grange Court, please, all change!". It sounded like his grandfather but that wasn't possible. He tried to get out of his seat but he couldn't move. He tried to cry out. Chris woke to his alarm clock. Climbing uncomfortably out of bed into the cold station building that was now his home, he struggled again with the dream and the memory of that train journey so long ago and that chance meeting. Had that man possibly been Dr Beeching? "All change at Grange Court" he said aloud, as he searched through his chest of drawers for some warm clothes. "Nothing has changed here for nigh on fifty years." Steve Rhodes 15-Nov-2002