I was never into trains as a child but our local train has been in the spotlight (From Watford Observer)

I was never into trains as a child but our local train has been in the spotlight

1:20pm Thursday 29th July 2010

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I NEVER collected engine numbers as a child. I had a Hornby clockwork train-set and my father brought back a German train and tender in 1945, which was the envy of my peers, but then like Bob Dylan, “I went electric”, and so moved onto a Hornby ”double o”.

But the real thing did not really capture my imagination. We have a train which cuts across country out here. It goes from the equivalent of Bovingdon to Chipperfield and on to Sarratt, Chenies and Little Chalfont, although the distances between the villages here are far greater than these examples.

It has two carriages in the morning and runs thrice more each day up and down the single track, usually a solitary carriage, with fewer than 20 people on board. We caught the “flier” down to Limoges, at the request of one of our visitors who is a train-buff.

He was delighted with the entire concept because our train has a corridor that runs alongside the driver’s cab. So, if you are that way inclined, you can stand beside the driver, separated by a narrow partition and look out onto the track ahead.

Apparently this is a singularly uplifting experience and he kept coming back enthusing over it and expressing surprise that we were content to sit and look out of the window instead of viewing the unfolding track up front.

Talking of that train, we returned from our holiday in Spain on Sunday and caught up with details of a major event out here. One sunny afternoon, the local flier brought two passengers to Marsac, a sleepy little village which contains a builders’ depot, a small Spar supermarket, a garage and a state of the art swimming pool.

Now this may seem less than sleepy but villages out here are often equipped with more than their English counterparts, and Marsac does have its moments but when we pop down for our weekly session at the English-run bistro, there is not a soul to be seen outside the bar.

The two travellers were teenagers, a boy and a girl. The boy had a hold-all. They had come up from Limoges, we assume.

They headed for the Spar and entered. There were a couple of pensioners creaking down the aisles.

The young man pulled out a gun and ordered the manager to hand over the cash. The manager hesitated and then the youth responded by firing into the air.

The two pensioners ceased their perusal of the shelves and moved up to see what the fuss was about. They arrived in time to see the youth shoot the manager in the buttocks. Whereupon the youth attempted to reach behind the till, giving the pensioners a chance to grab him, force him to the ground, disarm him and sit on him until police arrived.

The girl high-tailed it out of the shop.

Sleepy Marsac awoke briefly with a start, took in the development through half-shut eyes, turned over and went back to sleep. The next morning, the village was quietly a-buzz with the saga when the inhabitants met up outside the baker's.

The manager had to have the bullet removed in hospital, Spar closed for a couple of days, but life has since returned to normal in a place that would make Chipperfield appear to be a metropolis throbbing with vitality by comparison. Anyone seen out on the streets stands out, for there is seldom a soul to be seen.

One mystery remains. Supposing the money had been handed over. What was the youth’s game plan when armed with money, he stepped out into the empty street?

You see, the flier does not go back to Limoges during the afternoon for another three hours