The Flying Scotsman flies again

I was thrilled to see the Flying Scotsman when she came into Carlisle today. Being a railway child (the railway line between Blackpool and Preston ran past the bottom of our garden), it was a real trip down memory lane as I have a clear childhood memory of her racing by on her way to Blackpool (and thanks to the interweb, I now know it was in October 1966!)  Despite her being in black wartime livery today, it was a wonderful and emotional moment to see, hear and smell that beautiful, proud, steam engine as she rode the tracks again. 

The Tornado

On Friday the Tornado steam train roared into town.  I’m something of a closet railway child, having been brought up with trains at the bottom of the garden.  I clearly remember the fiery monsters steaming past as, hanging onto the top rung of our home made ladder, I fought my two brothers for the best viewing position.  Intoxicated with the unmistakeable smell of the Tornado’s smoke, I watched ecstatically as she came tearing into Carlisle station, whistle shrieking, steam hissing and brakes squealing.  For a few all too brief moments, I was transported to the glorious, bygone age of steam.