A lady, a train, and a ticket inspector with a heart of gold

I was cutting it short. I ran as if my life depended on it just so I could make the last train from Peterborough to Nottingham. It was cold, dark, and I desperately wanted to stop and catch my breath. Joy egged me forward as the train in the dimly lit platform came into view - I was going to make it!

I practically lunged across the gap and nearly fell inside with the train doors slamming shut behind me. Gulping a lung full of air, I scanned the sleepy carriage and found a desirable seat by a window. I was going home. I grinned from ear to ear for a total of five seconds before my grinning face descended into a state of alarm. In those five seconds I had glanced at the platform display and read with increased horror:

“Train to London Stansted Airport is ready to depart.”

I was on the wrong train. Frantically I leapt out of my seat, ran for the train doors and hopelessly pressed the button again and again - and again. The doors did not open and soon enough the train departed.

Tears streamed from my eyes. I was a university student with coppers in the bank and a bar left on my phone. Hope seemed ridiculous. I had nearly paced through the entire length of the train when I finally found the ticket inspector. Before he had a chance to greet me, I launched into a hurried and bumbling retelling of my plight thus far. The ticket inspector looked perplexed - he probably thought I was crazy or at least drunk. Suddenly he smiled and I was surprised. The ticket inspector directed me to a seat and asked for my name. “Fiona,” I replied.

The ticket inspector smiled some more. It was a comforting smile. He got out his phone, told me to stay seated and disappeared behind me to make some calls. Shortly after, the ticket inspector returned and explained to me very clearly what I had to do next.

The train was going to travel through a closed station called March. He stated that while the station was already closed, station control and a couple of train drivers including the one on this train were now aware of his plan to have the train momentarily stop at March. The ticket inspector explained that I had to get off at that station and wait on platform one. With a slight frown he advised that I would have to wait patiently on the platform for about fifty minutes but try and remain calm during that time. He explained that the train I had missed to Nottingham was going to detour and pick me up there so that I could get home safely. I was speechless. I was nervous, unsure, but ultimately so utterly grateful of what was happening. I wasn’t sure if his actions were standard practise or not, but I thanked the ticket inspector profoundly - he was my hero.

As promised the train pulled into March station. As I made my way back to the doors I turned around and took one final look at the ticket inspector who had decided to stay with me until it was my time to go. I fought back tears as he shared a smile with me. It was a peaceful, kind moment. I stepped off the train and watched it disappear into the distance. Suddenly I was very alone. The orange station lights against the cloudy backdrop and the delicate nightly wind created a very spooky scene indeed! My phone was dead. The platform displays were dead. As I sat on a cold wooden bench, I very quickly lost any concept of time. I was afraid. However, through that fear, hope burned inside, and below that - resounding gratitude.

A lifetime later, something metallic and fast broke the eery silence - a train. I shot up with speed and squinted into the distance. I could see lights! Moments later a train filled with hundreds of probably disgruntled passengers slowed down to a halt. As the door opened, I heard the train driver’s announcement:

“Thank you for your patience. The next stop - Nottingham.”

As I carefully stepped onto the train, I grinned from ear to ear knowing that I was finally going home.