4th May 2007. Georgemas Junction, northern Scotland.
The old Class 37 locomotive growled slowly into Georgemas Junction railway station, the last stop before the train’s final destination. The ‘Man from the Ministry’ (well actually the Electoral Commission), lowered the window on the carriage door, leaned out and opened the door. It had been a long journey from Inverness, the train never really going any faster than 20MPH, even on the better sections of track and he needed to stretch his legs.
It had been a long time since he had been further north than Inverness, indeed it had been quite some time since he had left his office in Stirling, so despite knowing that the journey would be long and tiring he had jumped at the chance of making it.
He walked along the platform to watch the sacks of mail and bundles of newspapers being unloaded for distribution to the village of Halkirk, which the station served, and other nearby smaller communities. Despite being officially a passenger train this service in fact only had two seating coaches, the majority of the train instead being made up of parcels vans. As well as mail, parcels and newspapers the man also noticed empty milk churns being unloaded, when the train returned the next morning these would be collected and taken south to Inverness.
Pausing for a moment to look into the distance the man reflected that Georgemas was only really a junction in name only these days. Oh it was true that the line to Thurso did still branch off from here, but just over a mile away from the junction was a set of buffers at which track maintenance stopped and the line became ever more overgrown; the surviving stub of the branch was used to store track maintenance vehicles and spare rolling stock.
While nobody had been down the Thurso Branch much beyond the buffers to check the line in all probability did continue to its destination although Thurso Railway Station was in all likelihood now a pile of overgrown rubble. Perhaps someday when Thurso had been rebuilt the railway line would again run from Georgemas.
Realising that the unloading was complete the man hurried back to the train and took his seat. As the ageing locomotive powered up again to pull the train out of the station the man reflected on his journey, which perhaps given the circumstances had not been all that bad.
*
As lucky survivors of the Third World War Stirling and Inverness had become important centres for government and administration. Indeed despite all the rebuilding work going on in Edinburgh Stirling was still the de facto capital of Scotland and was where the Scotland Office and Scottish Administration, the later the successor to the Commissioner who had governed Scotland from the Regional Government HQ at Kirknewton in the immediate aftermath of war.
As soon as it had been possible a passenger rail link was re-established between Stirling and Inverness, utilising the small number of High Speed Train sets that had survived in Scotland after the nuclear strike. At first the three times a week service had been solely used by government officials and others with official business but over time had begun to be used by ordinary members of the public, especially when it had ceased to be a non-stop service and the old intermediate stops at places like Perth and Blair Athol were reintroduced.
North of Inverness rail was now pretty much the only way for most people to travel, most roads being very poorly maintained and there being few surviving private cars anyway. Rail was now the lifeline for many of these remote communities and each station served as the local hub for a wider distribution network.
Newspapers, mail, parcels and other important goods would go north, while trains returning to Inverness would carry milk and other dairy products, meat, flour, fish and a variety of agricultural produce. Most trains traversing the Far North Line were freight trains these days, and indeed the few passenger trains were effectively freight services with two, or three passenger coaches tacked on.
While between Stirling and Inverness the passenger service was the domain of the HST, on the Far North Line all trains were pulled by that old stalwart the English Electric Class 37, a real maid of all works. They were versatile and generally reliable; spare parts might well be scarce these days, but the design of these locos was such that the maintenance depot at Inverness could manufacture most of the parts it needed.
Passenger services in the rest of Scotland were provided by an eclectic mix of Diesel Multiple Units and loco hauled services. The ScotRail sector of BR would have preferred to have standardised on a smaller number of loco and train types, but it was forced to get by with what rolling stock had survived the war.
Perhaps one day new trains would arrive, but it would be a long time yet.
Wick Railway Station, Wick, Caithness.
The Returning Officer glanced at his watch, worried that the train was late, but sighed in relief when he realised that in fact there was still five minutes to go until it was due to arrive. A group of Civic dignitaries and members of the public had gathered to welcome the ‘Man from Stirling’ and make the handover a proper occasion to remember.
Wick did not often get visitors from the South and it would be interesting to talk to someone who might know a bit more about the world. Newspapers, television and radio did report the goings on across Britain and the wider world, but it would be interesting to hear it from ‘the horse’s mouth’ for a change.
The tractor like growl of the locomotive caught everybody’s attention and the crowd began to cheer and wave as the train pulled into the station.
*
The ‘Man from Stirling’ looked down from the carriage door and reflected that he would need a parachute to get down onto it. Highland Railways had been notorious for penny-pinching when the line had been built in the Victorian era, but he had not realised that it had extended to building platforms so low.
Having descended from the train with as much dignity he could manage he exchanged hand-shakes and pleasantries with the welcoming committee.
As he had expected the local police had provided an escort for the items he had planned to collect and take to Inverness. To his surprise he noticed that the two constables who would travel on the train were armed with revolvers.
“Is that really necessary, Chief Inspector?” He asked the senior Highland Constabulary officer in Wick.
“Well, Sir, my predecessor ordered that whenever we were escorting the boxes at least two officers should be armed for to keep them safe from those who might seek to interfere. I felt it prudent to continue the practise.”
“Has anyone ever tried to interfere with the boxes?”
The policeman thought about this for a moment.
“Not to my knowledge, Sir.”
The Returning Officer handed the ‘Man from Stirling’ a piece of paper.
“Can I ask you to sign here, Sir; it will pass official custody of the boxes and the official result over to you. I do hope that when you scrutinise the process we have carried out you will be satisfied. We may be a long way from the Seat of Government, but we take our responsibilities very seriously.”
“I’m sure you do and on every occasion we have verified the count from Wick and the surrounding area we have found no discrepancies.” The Man replied, signing the paper. “Chief Inspector I request that you mount a guard on the train overnight and that two of your constables accompany me and the boxes to Inverness.” He asked, continuing the formal part of the procedures.
“Of course, Sir.”
The formal part of the visit over the official party walked from the station into town, pausing to inspect a monument to famous visitors to Wick, or at least those who had visited in the Nineteenth and early to mid-Twentieth Century.
“We’ve fixed you up a bed in a nice B&B for the night, Sir.” The Returning Officer said. “I’m sure you’ll find it very comfortable, and I do hope you’ll visit the reception we have laid on for tonight.”
The Man nodded.
“Of course, it will be a pleasure. I’m told you have a better supply of the ‘water of life’ up here than we have in the Central Belt.” He added with a smile.
*
Back at the station the British Rail porters loaded the ballot boxes onto the train under the watchful eyes of the police. Yesterday had been the day of the general election for the Scottish Parliament, currently sitting in Stirling, but due in the near future to move into a purpose built building in Edinburgh.
Devolution had been a natural progression for post-nuclear Great Britain; communications were poor, although improving with every day, making it hard for the Portsmouth Government to be as effective in governing the country as Westminster had once been. Moreover Civil Defence planning had already split the United Kingdom into eleven regions each with its own Regional Commissioner and Deputy Regional Commissioner, both government ministers. It had been relatively simple to turn these eleven regions and the staff of the bunkers in which they had originally been housed into the nucleus of devolved administrations which would be run by elected local politicians.
While the UK had been run under emergency powers for most of the post-war period and indeed many of the provisions of the Emergency Powers Act were still in force, democracy was so ingrained in the body politic in Britain that it had never fully gone away. Even as the Prime Minister and the Regional Commissioners had ruled by decree based on either the Emergency Powers Parliament had given them in the last days of peace, or based on Royal Prerogative there had never been any intention on their part that this would become the norm.
Despite the worries of some pre-war commentators there had been no budding Cromwell waiting in the wings to appoint themselves ‘Lord Protector’, neither had the army ‘taken over’, a fear which many on the Left had espoused.
In truth liberal democracy was taken for granted by the majority of people in Great Britain, whatever walk of life they found themselves in. Visits by representatives of the Electoral Commission to remote constituencies to ensure that proper procedures were being adhered to were now part of the democratic process.
***
The old Class 37 locomotive growled slowly into Georgemas Junction railway station, the last stop before the train’s final destination. The ‘Man from the Ministry’ (well actually the Electoral Commission), lowered the window on the carriage door, leaned out and opened the door. It had been a long journey from Inverness, the train never really going any faster than 20MPH, even on the better sections of track and he needed to stretch his legs.
It had been a long time since he had been further north than Inverness, indeed it had been quite some time since he had left his office in Stirling, so despite knowing that the journey would be long and tiring he had jumped at the chance of making it.
He walked along the platform to watch the sacks of mail and bundles of newspapers being unloaded for distribution to the village of Halkirk, which the station served, and other nearby smaller communities. Despite being officially a passenger train this service in fact only had two seating coaches, the majority of the train instead being made up of parcels vans. As well as mail, parcels and newspapers the man also noticed empty milk churns being unloaded, when the train returned the next morning these would be collected and taken south to Inverness.
Pausing for a moment to look into the distance the man reflected that Georgemas was only really a junction in name only these days. Oh it was true that the line to Thurso did still branch off from here, but just over a mile away from the junction was a set of buffers at which track maintenance stopped and the line became ever more overgrown; the surviving stub of the branch was used to store track maintenance vehicles and spare rolling stock.
While nobody had been down the Thurso Branch much beyond the buffers to check the line in all probability did continue to its destination although Thurso Railway Station was in all likelihood now a pile of overgrown rubble. Perhaps someday when Thurso had been rebuilt the railway line would again run from Georgemas.
Realising that the unloading was complete the man hurried back to the train and took his seat. As the ageing locomotive powered up again to pull the train out of the station the man reflected on his journey, which perhaps given the circumstances had not been all that bad.
*
As lucky survivors of the Third World War Stirling and Inverness had become important centres for government and administration. Indeed despite all the rebuilding work going on in Edinburgh Stirling was still the de facto capital of Scotland and was where the Scotland Office and Scottish Administration, the later the successor to the Commissioner who had governed Scotland from the Regional Government HQ at Kirknewton in the immediate aftermath of war.
As soon as it had been possible a passenger rail link was re-established between Stirling and Inverness, utilising the small number of High Speed Train sets that had survived in Scotland after the nuclear strike. At first the three times a week service had been solely used by government officials and others with official business but over time had begun to be used by ordinary members of the public, especially when it had ceased to be a non-stop service and the old intermediate stops at places like Perth and Blair Athol were reintroduced.
North of Inverness rail was now pretty much the only way for most people to travel, most roads being very poorly maintained and there being few surviving private cars anyway. Rail was now the lifeline for many of these remote communities and each station served as the local hub for a wider distribution network.
Newspapers, mail, parcels and other important goods would go north, while trains returning to Inverness would carry milk and other dairy products, meat, flour, fish and a variety of agricultural produce. Most trains traversing the Far North Line were freight trains these days, and indeed the few passenger trains were effectively freight services with two, or three passenger coaches tacked on.
While between Stirling and Inverness the passenger service was the domain of the HST, on the Far North Line all trains were pulled by that old stalwart the English Electric Class 37, a real maid of all works. They were versatile and generally reliable; spare parts might well be scarce these days, but the design of these locos was such that the maintenance depot at Inverness could manufacture most of the parts it needed.
Passenger services in the rest of Scotland were provided by an eclectic mix of Diesel Multiple Units and loco hauled services. The ScotRail sector of BR would have preferred to have standardised on a smaller number of loco and train types, but it was forced to get by with what rolling stock had survived the war.
Perhaps one day new trains would arrive, but it would be a long time yet.
Wick Railway Station, Wick, Caithness.
The Returning Officer glanced at his watch, worried that the train was late, but sighed in relief when he realised that in fact there was still five minutes to go until it was due to arrive. A group of Civic dignitaries and members of the public had gathered to welcome the ‘Man from Stirling’ and make the handover a proper occasion to remember.
Wick did not often get visitors from the South and it would be interesting to talk to someone who might know a bit more about the world. Newspapers, television and radio did report the goings on across Britain and the wider world, but it would be interesting to hear it from ‘the horse’s mouth’ for a change.
The tractor like growl of the locomotive caught everybody’s attention and the crowd began to cheer and wave as the train pulled into the station.
*
The ‘Man from Stirling’ looked down from the carriage door and reflected that he would need a parachute to get down onto it. Highland Railways had been notorious for penny-pinching when the line had been built in the Victorian era, but he had not realised that it had extended to building platforms so low.
Having descended from the train with as much dignity he could manage he exchanged hand-shakes and pleasantries with the welcoming committee.
As he had expected the local police had provided an escort for the items he had planned to collect and take to Inverness. To his surprise he noticed that the two constables who would travel on the train were armed with revolvers.
“Is that really necessary, Chief Inspector?” He asked the senior Highland Constabulary officer in Wick.
“Well, Sir, my predecessor ordered that whenever we were escorting the boxes at least two officers should be armed for to keep them safe from those who might seek to interfere. I felt it prudent to continue the practise.”
“Has anyone ever tried to interfere with the boxes?”
The policeman thought about this for a moment.
“Not to my knowledge, Sir.”
The Returning Officer handed the ‘Man from Stirling’ a piece of paper.
“Can I ask you to sign here, Sir; it will pass official custody of the boxes and the official result over to you. I do hope that when you scrutinise the process we have carried out you will be satisfied. We may be a long way from the Seat of Government, but we take our responsibilities very seriously.”
“I’m sure you do and on every occasion we have verified the count from Wick and the surrounding area we have found no discrepancies.” The Man replied, signing the paper. “Chief Inspector I request that you mount a guard on the train overnight and that two of your constables accompany me and the boxes to Inverness.” He asked, continuing the formal part of the procedures.
“Of course, Sir.”
The formal part of the visit over the official party walked from the station into town, pausing to inspect a monument to famous visitors to Wick, or at least those who had visited in the Nineteenth and early to mid-Twentieth Century.
“We’ve fixed you up a bed in a nice B&B for the night, Sir.” The Returning Officer said. “I’m sure you’ll find it very comfortable, and I do hope you’ll visit the reception we have laid on for tonight.”
The Man nodded.
“Of course, it will be a pleasure. I’m told you have a better supply of the ‘water of life’ up here than we have in the Central Belt.” He added with a smile.
*
Back at the station the British Rail porters loaded the ballot boxes onto the train under the watchful eyes of the police. Yesterday had been the day of the general election for the Scottish Parliament, currently sitting in Stirling, but due in the near future to move into a purpose built building in Edinburgh.
Devolution had been a natural progression for post-nuclear Great Britain; communications were poor, although improving with every day, making it hard for the Portsmouth Government to be as effective in governing the country as Westminster had once been. Moreover Civil Defence planning had already split the United Kingdom into eleven regions each with its own Regional Commissioner and Deputy Regional Commissioner, both government ministers. It had been relatively simple to turn these eleven regions and the staff of the bunkers in which they had originally been housed into the nucleus of devolved administrations which would be run by elected local politicians.
While the UK had been run under emergency powers for most of the post-war period and indeed many of the provisions of the Emergency Powers Act were still in force, democracy was so ingrained in the body politic in Britain that it had never fully gone away. Even as the Prime Minister and the Regional Commissioners had ruled by decree based on either the Emergency Powers Parliament had given them in the last days of peace, or based on Royal Prerogative there had never been any intention on their part that this would become the norm.
Despite the worries of some pre-war commentators there had been no budding Cromwell waiting in the wings to appoint themselves ‘Lord Protector’, neither had the army ‘taken over’, a fear which many on the Left had espoused.
In truth liberal democracy was taken for granted by the majority of people in Great Britain, whatever walk of life they found themselves in. Visits by representatives of the Electoral Commission to remote constituencies to ensure that proper procedures were being adhered to were now part of the democratic process.
***
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