GREAT BRITAIN: The Train That Went

Palace Gates is a spur-line railway station in the drab reaches of London’s northern suburbs. Into Palace Gates one morning last week panted the little two-coach train which invariably leaves at 10:15 for Seven Sisters, where commuters invariably set down at 10:21 on the dot, transfer to the main line to London’s financial district. With a few minutes to spare, Driver Percy Playle and his fireman left the cab for a quick cup of tea.

While they were gone, at exactly 10:14, the ancient steam engine began to huff & puff, and without a human soul aboard, the little train slowly pulled out of Palace Gates.

The fireman gave chase, but the train hit a downgrade, soon outdistanced him. Driver Playle rushed to the telephone to warn stations down the line. There were passengers waiting at Noel Park, three-quarters of a mile away, but the little train puffed past them. Half a mile farther it whipped through West Green. In the next mile it picked up more speed, but just outside Seven Sisters a steep upgrade slowed it down. It puffed into Seven Sisters at eight miles an hour.

Station Foreman George Buckland took a flying leap into the cab, pulled hard on the air brake. The little train slowed down, came to rest just where it should, at the end of the Seven Sisters platform. Time: 10:21 on the dot. Down the snow-covered track from Palace Gates came panting Driver Playle and his fireman. They had made the 2% miles in 16 minutes. At Seven Sisters a lone passenger got in. The little train, once more under human control, pulled out for the return trip to Palace Gates.

Said a British Railways official: “It was just one of those things.”