Signing On.

Clear skies all the way? One hundred fifty miles in three hours, just one change, and reserved seats. The rails sing of the approaching train. Sparrows flit around my feet, pecking up crumbs from the Greggs pasty, and more tidbits of golden-flaked pastry rain down as I stand and brush my hand over my jumper.
Trains are my favourite means of travelling long distances. The modern trains, such as the Class 700 I was about to embark upon, are not designed for long journeys. Siemens Mobility, which built the train, may argue otherwise, but they must never have travelled on one. They are no fun at all. Compared to the trains of my youth, the 4-CEP from the Eastleigh Works, with their ‘bangy-slammy’ doors (to quote my sister who worked as a Slapper for British Rail). Those trains were so comfortable compared to the Class 700s with their paper-thin cushions and knee room built for songbirds. I’m only 5’8” and find the new-fangled trains cramped and spartan. The old ones had sprung seats and felt secure, solid. Most of all, they had character. Today, it’s all about speed and convenience (stress), rather than comfort.
My first train of the day arrived in a squeal of brakes and grinding steel. The announcer rattled through the list of stops with disinterest. I watched the yellow ticker tape on the overhead sign until it scroll past St Pancras, named after a 14-year-old boy martyred in 304 AD at the request of Emperor Diocletian because he refused to renounce Christ. Just two people, besides myself, boarded the train. The sparrows cleared the remaining crumbs and departed the station as my train rolled out and my journey began.
Eight minutes later, we paused at Gatwick Airport, buried beneath the 160,000 m2 south terminal. What started as an airfield in 1928 has grown into a sprawling 674-hectare site with a 3,316-metre runway, serving over 40 million passengers annually to more than 200 destinations. I half-listened to the announcer reel off a list of familiar stations to London Bridge, and it was then that I realised for the first time I would be crossing London on an overground train. Nothing extraordinary, I know, but it was my first time traversing the city without having to get an underground train to do so.
Less than three-quarters of an hour later, I’m crossing Blackfriars Bridge onto the north shore of the Thames. Here, the Black Friars of the Dominican order established their church when they relocated from Holborn circa 1276 (Thornbury, 1878). London has a long history dating back over 2000 years. We credit the Romans with naming it Londinium around 43 AD (City of London, 2024); in one guise or another, it remains to this day, despite numerous conquests and fires.
Every time I commit a new experience to memory, I replay it repeatedly until it is engraved in a permanent neural pathway. The downside with this method is that there are things I wish I could forget. Despite its brevity, I will not forget the journey to Loughborough to collect my student ID.
Onward.
Papers rustled, and backs straightened to a chorus of grunts and wheezes as cases slid from under seats and inadequate storage racks. Passengers burdened with bags and wheeled cases shuffled to the door as the train slowed to a halt. The racers jockeyed, grinding at the bit for the gate to open. Trepidation peaked as the doors to oblivion hissed open. Passengers tumbled onto the platform in a torrent of autumn colours (mostly Marks and Spencer beige). Swinging my grey canvas bag over my shoulder, I disembarked and searched for food.
Lunch was an easy choice; the Cornish Pasty Company has a shop at St Pancras, where there is more pastry, meat, and coffee. The food of choice for a Boomer on the cusp (I prefer to think of myself as Gen X). Many people have expressed their thoughts about what I am over the years, but hey, ho. I do not live by other people’s views and opinions of anything.
Ten carriages of the London North Eastern Railway (LNER) Azuma were waiting for me. I wanted clouds of steam and the smell of coal fires. Alas, this was a diesel hybrid. These beasts are built for the long haul with a red go-faster stripe down their entire length. They boast 7 cm of extra legroom, WiFi, charging points, and locally sourced food. Fortunately, I had my provisions for the 2-hour journey; childhood memories of British Rail sandwiches and tortoise-shell pies (so named due to their inedible crusts) still haunt me.
The world blurred by the window as I settled into my book, Unnatural Causes, by Dr Richard Shepherd. Who knew the world of forensic pathology would be so fascinating and traumatising?
An almost endless assembly of students boarded the train at every stop until the only choice was to stand. An excited babble of voices filled the train as the next generation of intellectuals shared their hopes for the future and its potential. When I mentioned to one student, who, like me, was signing on for their first academic year, that I was going to Loughborough University, they assumed I was a master, not a student. Was that flattering, or did I look old? Was I now thinking that all university teachers are of a certain age?
More stations, more students. Towns that had once seemed so far from home, such as Kettering and Market Harborough, were lodged into the memory as part of the route for future reference. Leicester, the penultimate stop, where a mass exodus of students left a plethora of vacant seats for the few new faces heading north.
I felt the first fluttering of nerves, although I couldn’t understand why I should. After all, I passed the interview, received my unconditional acceptance, and was offered funding, etc. Why should I start worrying now? To quote the National Health Service (NHS) (2021), ‘Anxiety is often described as a feeling of fear or unease – and it’s something everyone experiences at times. Feeling anxious is a perfectly natural reaction to some situation​​s.’ So it was OK to feel a little anxious.
Thoughts swam around in my head,’ ‘What if I can’t find the place?’ ‘Will I get through security?’ ‘Why am I putting myself through this crap?’. Why could I not accept I had been deemed worthy of a spot? I had something worth researching (it needed a better question, all in good time). Was it too late to turn back?
The rustling of papers began, and feet shuffled around bags and suitcases. The world slipped back into focus as tarmac replaced fields and concrete blocks filled every space like Lego gone crazy. Slipping my bag over my shoulder, I disembarked and took in the alien landscape. Normal. Loughborough was, as expected, or as Douglas Adams (Adams, 1979) once wrote in the now classic The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, ‘mostly harmless’.
Loughborough, like many ex-industrial towns, has lost its visitor identity. After leaving the railway station, I searched for something to tie my memories to. There was nothing. However, I recently discovered that the town has the largest bell foundry in the United Kingdom, which I must explore on my next visit in 2025.
According to my map app, the university was within walking distance, but the taxi was nearer. I decided to maintain my relaxed mental state and opted for the cab. The driver whisked us through the town; every road looked alike. Nothing stuck in my head amid the whirr of thoughts that spun like free electrons in an atom. There’s not much brain for the thoughts to fit in. Everything was shrinking away.
‘Which building?’ The driver asked, his dark eyes shining in the rear-view mirror.
‘James France.’ I hoped, not being one open to trust.
‘I can drop you near.’ He gave an assuring nod.
A minute later, I stood at the end of a concrete pathway and stairs leading to my final destination. Arrows pointed to so many things, but only one was of interest. A young woman stopped to ask for directions; I had to confess I was a new student and not the professor she had thought. Oddly pleased, I went to the hall and acquired my student identification, whereupon I was informed they could have sent it. I turned and left for home.
A bus to the railway station ran through the campus at regular intervals. Before an hour had passed, I was on the train home, and the next part of the journey began.

Chapter 2 – First Term – Too broad.