The Idea of North

On journeys to the northernmost extremities of the countries I’ve lived in or visited, I have always travelled by train. In the early winter of 1997 or 1998 (I have very little documentary evidence to remind me) I pushed further north than I’ve ever been since, arriving in St. Petersburg (59º 56′N) on a stiflingly hot sleeper train from Moscow. Then in May 2006 I travelled north from Winnipeg in Manitoba to the remote town of Churchill on the frozen shore of the Hudson Bay (58º 74′N). The journey took about forty hours, snaking up through prairie farmland towards thick forests and remote native settlements, before striking the bleak tundra that rolled on for hours until we reached the end of the line. The pair of locomotives that hauled me there (in the thrice-weekly rake of refurbished fifties passenger carriages) are seen above, rumbling away during their twelve hour layover before the return journey south. The engines of these trains always idle when stationed in Churchill in case the sub-zero temperatures seize them up and they can’t be restarted. And they always pull the train in tandem, no matter how short or lightly loaded the train is, since breakdowns cannot easily be rescued.

On Saturday I pushed further north in the British Isles than I’ve ever managed before, and unsurprisingly enough I did it by train, riding on Britain’s most northerly railway.

It should be considered a national disgrace that British trains don’t have the same majesty, sophistication or drama of Russian or American locomotives. The Far North Line from Inverness to Thurso (58º 59′N) and Wick (58º 45′N) traverses some of Britain’s remotest and most beautiful landscapes, taking four and a half hours to cover some 280-odd miles. But it now does so under the almost exclusive service of frankly piddly little two-carriage Sprinter railcars, the noisy, rattly, overcrowded and cramped scourge of my old cross country commute between East Anglia and Sheffield.

But then again, the scenery more than makes up for the discomfort of the journey. This was perhaps the coldest weekend of the winter so far, with the BBC expecting inland temperatures in the Highlands to drop as low as -15ºC. On Saturday only a light frost had touched the remote moorland seen from the train (above); my relatively busy train from Glasgow to Inverness had earlier crossed the Drumochter Pass in thick snow.

But by Sunday afternoon and the return journey, a heavy snowfall had covered the northern Highlands. We rattled across unwelded track (that’s what makes the clickety-clack, don’t you know?) and I sank into the seat, recalling Glen Gould and endless wintry skies.

One for the Macallan Club

There is, amongst successful architects, a fabled and very exclusive club. A club with a membership over which the member has no control; one which invites you in as you realise the fragility of the architect’s profession. In an extract from this article in Building Design, Charlie Hussey and Charlie Sutherland recall their tutor at the Glasgow School of Art, Isi Metzstein:

If you ever receive an unsolicited bottle of Macallan from Isi Metzstein, you have some cause for concern. This is a club with a select membership, to which James Stirling, Enric Miralles and Louis Kahn can all lay claim.

And certainly the distressing state of St Peter’s Seminary in Cardross, masterwork of Isi and his partner Andy Macmillan, is a testament to the founding of the Macallan Club, membership of which is restricted to those whose buildings are demolished, redundant or abandoned in the architect’s lifetime.

I am some way in my architectural career from joining these illustrious figures. To be honest, I’m not making much headway at all in that particular career, but that is no longer as much of a concern as it once was. But I have passed a modest personal milestone. Seen through the window of a moving train earlier this week, I have glimpsed what must be the first building to be constructed on which I have contributed to the design.

I say “contributed” because I was a lowly student architect, and most of my work involved hacking about with a the structural grid, parking garages and floorplans of a complex of curved apartment blocks. It was a harsh baptism of the reality of modern real estate in this country as I squeezed one bedroom apartments into a footprint of not much more than 52 square metres (560 sq. ft.). Not much room for storage and many with only single aspect. But inspecting the sales brochures online when I got home, I was touched to see that much was as I remembered it.

I have no idea how the birth of this complex into a global financial crisis has affected it, but I am reliably assured that the “entire first phase” has now sold out. No word, though, on how many apartments were in that first phase.

I can’t claim any credit for the appearance or basic design of the building, nor can I defend myself for some truly mediocre space standards. But if you would like to buy me a glass of Macallan 12 the next time you see me, I’ll gladly reminisce about my first steps in this profession.

Snapshot: commuter feet

On a train from Waterloo to Strawberry Hill, Wednesday afternoon.

Snapshot: Caution

Seen on board the ScotRail Caledonain Sleeper last week en route to London.

A bed in the capital (and elsewhere)

How does £36 sound to you for a bed in London? The capital is an expensive place to spend the night, but last week I found a comfortable single bed with clean linen, soft pillows, a good reading light and a sink with plentiful hot and cold water. There are some downsides to this cosy bed, though. Namely that the room this single bed is in is quite small, with only a narrow standing space beside the bed.

And that when you wake up in the morning, your bed will have moved by as much as 800 miles from London.

£36 is the cost of a standard berth reservation on board the ScotRail Caledonian Sleeper between London and Glasgow. For £51 you can have a first class reservation, which guarantees the same size of cabin but without having to share it. You’ll need a ticket for travel in addition to those upgrades, although all inclusive “bargain berths” are available online from £19 when booked in advance.

It can still come as a surprise to some British people to discover that our little country still supports full service sleeper trains. There are five routes still in operation: London to Penzance (the Night Riviera); London to Edinburgh and Glasgow (the ScotRail Lowland Sleeper) and London to Aberdeen, Inverness and Fort Wiliam (the ScotRail Highland Sleeper), all operating six nights a week. There are about sixty additional intermediate stations, although the services between London and Scotland’s two biggest cities are relatively uninterrupted. If you find yourself booked in the last compartment of the last carriage (as I did a southbound journey last week) you may feel a jolt as different train portions are shunted together at Carstairs or Edinburgh. But aside from that, the sleepers offer a smooth and extremely comfortable way to cover the miles. I find the gentle lateral rocking of the train particularly comforting, and bonded rails mean there is much less of the disturbing clickety-clack than you might think.

This photograph just about shows you everything you need to know. The sleeper carriages are specially constructed variants on the basic design of the Intercity 125 carriage, normally with twelve compartments. They’re smooth riding, solidly built and well heated and ventilated, although opening windows aren’t included in the cabin. The cabin is simple and compact, with two bunks (limited British railway clearances mean that we don’t have enough height for European-style couchettes or, for that matter, the double deck sleeper trains you’ll find in Germany and Switzerland) in standard class or a single lower bunk in first class. There’s a small sink under the lid by the window, and space for suitcases and bags under the lower bed or above the window. The panel between the door and the beds has switches for the main light and the reading lights, and a call bell for the attendant. Behind the door (on the left of this picture) is another door allowing two compartments to be conjoined for a family.

My train left Glasgow Central just after half past eleven on Thursday night and arrived in London almost an hour early at six the next morning, although if you would like to slumber a little longer, passengers aren’t disturbed until nearer seven when the attendant brings a hot drink and snack breakfast box. I snubbed the offer of the breakfast box, preferring instead a cab over to Smithfield Market for a greasy breakfast and mug of builder’s tea.

At the end of the day’s business in London, I adjourned with trusted friends and colleagues to a pub off Oxford Street. We discussed work and studies over pints of independently brewed Yorkshire lager and I watched the bright afternoon sunlight fall on the rooftops of Margaret Street. At about half past six though, one of our small circle had to leave. He was watching the clock for his journey home, which would consist of a tube over to Liverpool Street station, followed by a train to Stansted Airport. Then check-in, security, a long walk to the Stansted satellite terminal, boarding, taxi, take-off and then a short flight to Newcastle Airport. Then two buses to get home.

I, however, stayed for another pint. Then I took a bus over to Clerkenwell for another couple of pints and dinner. It wasn’t until nearer ten that I began my journey home. A bus to Euston and then… I slept my way home. I know how I want to travel between Scotland and London from now onwards.