Strangers on a train
16:40
Was sitting opposite a young woman. Well, I say young which just goes to show my age: she’s probably mid-twenties. It’s not really that long ago I would have seen that as an older woman. She reminds me vaguely of someone I think was called Vicki who I used to see at Planet Earth nightclub, who used to work in the corner shop near me when I lived at Harlow Green.
I notice she’s wearing white trainers, as she stands on my foot.
16:55
Eighty pages of my book to go, two hours and forty minutes of the journey left. The maths doesn’t work. I visit the station WH Smiths but the book of the week offer does not appeal, and I do not relish paying eight pounds for any of the other books I don’t particularly want just so I’ve got something to do on the train.
Although I’m getting increasingly concerned about the ‘non-fiction’ section these days. It’s all about ‘Confidence’ and ‘the new you’ and ‘the rules of the game’ (dating). Why do we constantly need to be made over into new people?
Isn’t this sort of makeover culture part of the problem (the old you isn’t good enough!), rather than part of the solution (enjoy the fact that you are you; don’t try to be anyone else)?
17:40
I get on the train, rucksack on my lap, squashed into the corner. As I get my book out, my mouse falls out and falls behind me. Young lady to the right of me (this time I’d say early twenties) demonstrates something you don’t see so often these days: kindness, courtesy, and a willingness to go out of her way to help others.
She crouches down on the floor to reach under the seat for my mouse, passes it back to me, and then as I finish stuffing it back in the rucksack, asks if I would like her to put my bag on the luggage rack for me.
Unexpected kindnesses.
Reminds me of emails I shared with an old school friend today. We weren’t really close at school, but it’s nice to have made contact with him after … well, fifteen years … and he said some nice things about me, which I really appreciated.
Makes you appreciate the connections we all make: the invisible strands joining us to those we’ve interacted with, the fact that we all do contribute to each other in minute little ways we probably aren’t aware of ourselves at the time.
Like I say, unexpected kindnesses. Easy to hand out, delightful to receive.
19:10
There’s a louder, boisterous party further down the carriage. They’ve obviously been out for the day and are — how shall I put it — suitably refreshed. I presume it’s a family grouping as they’re quite a mix of ages, from the teenage bloke up to who I presume is granny. But they aren’t being any trouble: they’re just having fun, having seemingly had a nice day out in York.
19:30
Another woman sits diagonally opposite me. She’s dozing, jolting back to wakefulness every now and again. She asked me the time five minutes ago. Five minutes before that, she was stretched out like a cat, feet in silver ’strappy’ sandals on the seat beside me as she tried to doze off.
Age? I’d guess probably early thirties. What’s most striking though, is both how peaceful she looks — I mean, you don’t generally see people you don’t know asleep, do you? — and the fact that she’s quite happy to nod off in a carriage full of strangers.
19:40
No change in people, but the skies around me are greying and starting to get darker. On the one hand, signs that there’s rain about, as evidenced by the flecks of water against the window of the carriage. On the other, a sign that as the seasons change and we move towards autumn it starts to get darker earlier in the evening.
A young girl — about four or five, with straw-blonde hair — has just wandered up the carriage to peer closely at sleeping beauty opposite me. Her mother looked mortified when she realised her child was staring into this woman’s face, only inches from her.
As they disembark, the woman wakes like a cat: her eyes open to check out her surroundings, she spots she’s at Darlington — no need to move yet — and closes them again.
I could quite fancy a nap myself.
19:55
Sleepy woman wakes up; we talk. She’d been on the train since Manchester too, only had moved further up the train when the boisterous people got on at York, which had led me to presume she’d got on there too.
We talk about working away from home, about three-hour train journeys, about the fact that you end up half-tired and half-desperate for a pint. We laugh about the standard nonsense that happens in life. Enjoyable train conversations help pass the time.
My wife would probably — and does — say that I’m a flirt. This isn’t because I am flirting, it’s because I enjoy talking to people. I make them feel like I am genuinely interested in what they have to say. This is because I am genuinely interested in what they have to say. And I’ll talk with pretty much anyone, pretty much anywhere.
Only the other week I bumped into a couple I’d met on the train (him from Italy, her from Hong Kong) on the train back from a couple of months earlier; we stopped in the street and said hello. Like I say, lots of little invisible connecting strands…
…and then we pull into Newcastle and it’s time to go home. Not to strangers but to my family.
Hello. I am 
I loved this post, Jack! I agree that those small connections are fascinating and fulfilling. I am always amazed by them, especially when you really feel like you do sincerely connect with someone you’ve just met for some unexplainable reason. I also think a big part of it has to do with people’s genuineness and openness when talking to each other. Makes all the difference. Loved this timeline!