CARLISLE STATION

1973

My first glimpse of the Grade II listed Carlisle Citadel Station was in 1974, a boy soldier aboard a military train with dreams of exploration and adventure en-route to an exercise area somewhere in the North East. I can remember being frustrated at being forbidden to disembark, to explore the alien sounds that beckoned me like a proverbial Siren, to not see around the corners or past the shadows at the end of my vision was truly tortuous but, it mattered not, I was excited and soaked up every detail of what little I could see, for a 16 year country village boy,  head and shoulders as far out of the train window as I could manage this was the stuff of Gullivers Travels and Moby Dick and other great books of my childhood, the greatest sense felt was one of freedom, after months of perceived shackles in a gated military camp, I was free once again, and I think I knew at that time what my life was to be, of travel and mysteries, exploration and discovery, life didn't disappoint.

My memory now is more inclined toward it being a much darker rail station, as with all Major Stations of the era, they seemed dark and shadowed, dirty even ominous and well befitting any good spy thriller set in war years, though Carlisle did not feature in the Classic 1935 Hitchcock movie ‘’The 39 Steps’’ the film springs quickly to mind as I think back to lovely carriage cubicles and fold-out reclining seats, as standard! 

A far cry from its now ancient history, I incline my head skywards in this vastness, basking in light, the shadows have gone and the sounds are familiar I smell coffee rather than steam, I hear clanking of cold metal, I smell oil and stone, I hear air brake valves hiss as a train comes to rest, I feel the heavy and slow passage of trucks laden with coal, slate and other unknown jewels of trains long gone, I feel the powerful engines through the vibration throughout my entire being as weight trundles through the station, each one packed with exports and imports, people and goods, a different era yet some sameness exists.

As I open my eyes, not realising I had shut them, I find my memory supported by images of the trains of old that hang proudly on giant banners within the spaces of the station wall, each of the two pairs forming a border for the central plaques high in the limestone walls, one for the stations ‘150th  Anniversary, plain, green and simple, above it, something a little more ornate, a crest, an original piece of station furniture, the badge of the North Eastern Railway; did something truly trundle slowly through the station while I sat, eyes closed, or was it perhaps the effect of this grand old station working on my mind.

For 150 years this grand station has seen many things and almost needs a certain reverence to appreciate fully this Cathedral-like space, a space quite contrary to its namesake being that of a Fortress (a Citadel) as its name suggests, as trains come and go people seem in no hurry today, it is a Sunday, reportedly, during the longest Summer since 1976, the air is warm and there are no echoes now just a soft and peaceful white noise, even the PA System can be understood in a very customer friendly volume.

An architectural wonder of its time, the architect was William Tite who designed it with a mix of Tudor and Gothic styles, it cost £53,000 to build and probably employing a far greater workforce than modern man could expect, a princely sum for the mid 1840’s especially so when one considers that the most recent restoration and refurbishment program cost a staggering £1.5 million and took several years to complete.  Now finished, the dark and suffocating scaffolding, many of the original features have been cleaned up including the wonderfully intricate iron framework that supports the equally ancient windows, are they now of new glass or could they possibly be 150 years old I wonder, the sun comes from behind clouds and the light streams into the station and though I feel like a well cared for succulent plant inside a giant greenhouse I am brought back to real time.

While the buffets sharing a sense of nostalgia with their original windows and fabulous iron fireplace they invite you to stay for a little longer, to have a closer look, there is one other fascination which captivates me fully, the magnetism of the massive Limestone façade that runs the entire length of the station, beyond the rail lines and opposite platform 1, this wall stands two stories high with alcove bays along its entirety probably 500 meters or more in length, I am unable to resist.

This façade is outside of the station umbrella and, with lime blocks exposed to the elements, the effects of more than 150 years of exposure have married with the fumes of darkening diesel and smoke to create a massive gallery of individual artworks,  some figurative, some abstract, with an acute sense of Pareidolia this a feast of visual delight for me and often I have come close to missing my train, as I did the first time I stood before that wall; I have often wondered of the logistics needed to photograph each and every one of these canvases or even to capitalise on the patternations and to carve each one, always I end up coming to the conclusion that the project would for sure dominate my life and see me to my death bed, on with the train journey I think!

In the main concourse great limestone blocks also form the main station entrance, on the main wall, the royal coat of arms of Queen Victoria and the badges of the Lancaster & Carlisle Railway and The Caledonian Railway companies each sitting proudly on their sand coloured support, the empty spaces that remain, these were for other rail company badges but who failed to contribute, their place in the Citidel Station history lost.

INTRODUCTION

Flimby - SPACE - THE ULTIMATE LUXURY

As I  photograph, sketch and write of my experiences and discoveries in this Jewel of a County and before the full extent of 21^st Century fully engulfs present day, this is an account of my first mini adventure as I travel from the Cumbrian coastal harbour town of Maryport southwards to the shipbuilding port of Barrow-in-Furness 

I have always traveled, for many years and most often alone, from the tiny beach community of my childhood in North Country to the Far East, the Middle East, Africa and Europe tirelessly as I moved from one place to another in just about every conceivable form of transport it seems, whether hanging on to  quasi-modern bicycle driven carts on rail tracks or mesmerised by the skill of two men guiding a dug-out banana shaped canoe, what skill it must have taken, from high-speed train through France to horse and cart  living within a Germanic Religious closed community, a hitched lift in the days of Long Distance Lorry drivers giving lifts,  all of these things remain as great memories in my head.

Though my roots are well entrenched, retirement it seems is not to be mine yet, the  making of this travel blog depicts a journey of redemption, not having the luxury of social media as well as the tragic loss of all personal photographs, sketches and documentation, I was not, and am not, able to share or even to look back on some of my greatest travels, written in mind for those whose good fortune has not yet brought them to the West Coast of Cumbria, yet. 

 To travel, to draw and to write, there is no greater a joy for me, I am curious to know more of this land and what it is that keeps me harboured here, at the very least, to document my findings in order that I have something to read of the 'old towns' when I reach my old age.

I have seen it happen many times I see nothing to suggest that this will happen to the once sleepy county of Cumbria,  with mass tourism on the agenda for expansion, corporate interests and Marketing are already creating 'new attractions for a new kind of tourist;  I see the signs of change all around me, first dilution and decline, then dominance and finally, the loss of all things familiar and loved, even that of the land and culture, will Cumbria fall to the Kiss me Quick Hats and Whitehaven Rock of a Cumbrian Blackpool, I hope not.  

I think back to how the Greek and Spanish Islands have changed in my lifetime they, and other places, have lost so much of what once made it special and genuine, gone the Peace and relative solitude gone the beach combing, beautiful music, fine wine and sunset watching, replaced instead by clubs and Pubs, Pints of Guinness , Wet T-Shirt Competitions and Sunday Roast beneath blistering Sun, the smell of Bouganvilla with that of Sun Tan Oil.   

Around the world Rail Tracks and Motorways cut a swathe through some of the most stunning landscapes , Cumbria in that respect is no different, except perhaps the quality of its Landscapes!  Rail will be my primary transport, some would argue that this is the only and true way to follow the route, I for one agree;  from Maryport to Barrow-in Furness I shall be stopping along the way to explore, to draw and to enjoy the the watering stops and the narrow streets and Harbours that I find on the way, from snippets of Historical interest and notes of present day an exploration, not only that which is lost and will never be seen again but also of what may become lost to the winds and sands of time.

I do not intend to include the stations between Carlisle and Maryport for it is at this first Harbour Port that My Journey begins proper, between Carlisle and Maryport sits the towns of Dalston, Wigton and, Aspatria, each with its own brand of invitation to ‘stop off and visit’, but, like the rivers and streams that lie along the rail route I am unstoppable in my bid to reach the coast, their invitations I leave for others to follow for none are sufficiently compelling to distract me from my purpose; ahead of me lies Maryport, Flimby, Workington, Harrington, Parton, Whitehaven and 21 other stops before I reach my final stop, the shipbuilding port of Barrow-in-Furness.