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Declan Maxwell

 

Neilston Station 100 Years Ago

You wander slowly along the street early in the morning; the cobbles clack below you. The grass is moist and damp with dew. The f og covers all around you as you walk slowly down the stairs toward the station.

You find your way through the fog to the ticket officer's hut. Asyou push the swing door you walk in. A humble oil lamp burns above you. As you walk toward a man, wearing a blue suit, behind the ticket counter, he smiles vaguely at you. "A ticket to Glasgow," you say. "Half a crown, please," he says in a tired voice. Your money clatters off the old rusty tray as he swipes it up and hands you a small slip of paper. "Thank you," you say softly, as you leave the room.

As you exit you are greeted by the bitter cold. You see a powerful light cutting through the fog; the loud chugging sound grows closer ever more and there is a huge blast of the whistle as the train appears in f ront of you. It clatters along to a steamy stop as the huge beast?like train comes to a halt. The black doorssqueak open; you enter the beast with one huge stride ? 100 years ago.

Declan Maxwell 51
Eastwood High School