ST. PANCRAS STATION AND THE TRAIN FROM EUSTON
Sunday night my friend Spencer took me to the renovation of
the Victorian neo-gothic railway station of St. Pancras. The red brick and
spired edifice held great memories for me from my childhood as one of the
landmarks of the city.
Over the years the station had fallen into a state of
disrepair and was earmarked for demolition. A last minute rescue was launched
by preservationists, developers, and others who cared about history and wellbeing
of the city. This coalition was headed by the great poet laureate John Betjeman
who is now honored by a statue at the heart of the now bustling success story
that is St. Pancras station.
On the fast Virgin train from London’s Euston station headed
north tilting on computer generated Pendolino technology at speeds up to 135
mph. Three hours and three hundred miles later my brother Alan will be meeting
us at Penrith to bring us to his home in Cockermouth in the Lake District. The
older couple opposite us at our table appear as the archetypal Northerners: he
in tweed cap, navy jacket and yellow striped tie, reading the newspaper avidly
while wife sits almost meditatively in her olive raincoat.
The train darts through the passing landscape; stone walls
and slate roofs pass at dizzying speed. Only when we leave the suburbs and
emerge into the rolling green hills am I able to look outside and remain
oriented as acres of pastureland dissolve into miles of history.
