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Train 85 arrives in Kitchener |
Lloyd
had never been on a train before.
Now
retired after owning a plumbing business for 45 years, he was on his way to
London to see his niece.
Lloyd
was sitting beside me on Train 85, VIA Rail from Toronto to London in
November. I was only going as far as Kitchener this day.
As the
train—all two cars of it—rolled through the southern Ontario countryside, he
exclaimed about the views out the window.
“You
see a city differently from a train than from the highway,” he said.
Later,
as we rolled through the countryside, we talked about the many fields and
farms you could see from the train—things you
couldn’t see from the highway.
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Train 85 at Union Station. |
It’s
not that Lloyd was unfamiliar with trains. He grew up in Newfoundland near the narrow
gauge tracks that carried the famous “Newfie Bullet.”
The
Bullet—it’s official name was “The Caribou”—was much-loved by Newfoundlanders.
It
got its ironic and affectionate name because of how slow it was, taking 23
hours to traverse the 900 kilometres from St. John’s to Port-aux-Basque.
Lloyd
told me a joke about the train’s slowness.
A
pregnant woman asked the conductor if the train could hurry up—she was about to
have a baby and needed to get to the hospital in St. John’s.
“Well,”
said the conductor, “if you were pregnant you should never have taken the
train.”
The
woman replied: “I wasn’t pregnant when I got on it.”
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Union Station concourse. |
I had boarded Train 85 at Toronto’s Union Station. Construction started in 1910.
I
travel through Union station several times each year, either taking VIA or
using the Union-Pearson Express between downtown and the airport.
Whenever
I’m there, I look up at the arched concourse roof and think of my father.
During
the war years, he worked making armaments at a factory in Peterborough.
He
had tried to enlist in the army, like his friends, but poor health prevented
him from doing “his bit” in that way.
So
he made the materials that helped the troops win the war.
Being
from St. Catharines—my hometown—he made frequent trips by train between
Peterborough and that southern Ontario city.
Each
time, he would have changed trains in Toronto. And when I am at Union station,
I think of him: Did his eyes turn upwards at the same roof? Did he walk the
same platforms?
Sometimes
the walls between past and present collapse in one’s mind and I can see a young
man in his mid-20s, waiting for a train in a long coat and fedora.
My
dad.
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The renovated train shed. |
But
that’s not what you can see these days. The day I was there a couple of VIA
trains were on nearby tracks, and a GO Transit train entered and left the
station while I was there.
I
left Lloyd when I de-trained in Kitchener for the night. The next day I caught
the same train (85) to London, where I changed to Train 73 to Windsor.
Snow
was falling when the train arrived, and we traveled through it to London.
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Train 85 arrives in the snow. |
My
seatmate that time was a woman who put in her ear buds and checked messages on
her phone during the trip; no conversations with her.
But
that’s OK. I enjoyed the rocking of the rails and looking out the window as we
slipped through the snow.
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Arrival in Windsor. |