|Plant a flag: the English way to conquer the world.|
So, we set off in the morning by bus to Wootton (it can be hard to know where to get off, but busdrivers are always helpful that way), which was one end-station on the small bit of track left for the steamtrain. We weren´t the only excited holiday makers waiting, and if I hadn´t known that Mick Aston was no longer on this Earth, I would have thought he was there. Doppelgänger!
The central railway station was Havenstreet, and we stayed there for about an hour while the train made one turn back and forth between Wootton and Smallbrook Junction, where we were eventually getting off to take the railcar to Shanklin. Actually, that was an old London tube train that had been retired to summer duty on the Isle of Wight.
some pretty interesting flavours, if that´s your thing.
|Consumption may be a thing of the past, but spitting is still objectionable.|
As it was Saturday and lunchtime, we were lucky enough to see and hear a band while we had our Minghellas. It was really a great day, lots of people, and that generosity of spirit that make them hold the train for five minutes so that even the slower folk can get on. It was simply my favourite kind of place to be!
tʃaɪn) is a local word for ravine, and in this particular ravine, a park has been built along the stream that runs through it. They have some birds in cages, a small museum, a café (of course), and I imagine it would have been a cool place of refuge from the hot sun for the ever properly dressed Victorians. There is also on display, in situ as it were, a piece of the PLUTO, the PipeLine Under The Ocean, that supplied the allied troups with fuel after the D-day landings. How cool is that?
All in all, a glorious day, which is just the thing to sit and remember when the darkness of winter envelops us as early as four o´clock in the afternoon...