It seems the newly privatised railways have got it in
for Barrow supporters. London expatriate, Michael Gibson,
suffered at their hands when he tried to get to one of
Barrow's matches at Colwyn Bay. If you really need any
persuading to stick to the car or the bike, read on...
COLWYN BAY 0 BARROW 1
Northern Premier League Premier Division
9 January 1996
by Michael Gibson
I thought I'd have ample time to get to Llanellan Rd. before kick off. Yeah okay, it's an evening match and I've got to cover the 220 miles between London and North Wales by 7.30pm to do so. But I finished work at 2.30pm, enough time to catch the 15.10 train from Euston, change at Crewe for the 17.26 to Holyhead and get in to Colwyn Bay at 18.35. A gentle stroll to the ground and plenty of time to buy a programme and savour the pre-match atmosphere.
However, everything started to go pear shaped as soon as I got to Euston. On the departure screen in big, bold letters was '15.10 LIVERPOOL - CANCELLED. CUSTOMERS (note 'passengers' is a word that no longer features in BR's vocabulary) FOR STATIONS TO LIVERPOOL SHOULD TRAVEL ON THE RE-TIMED 15.10 MANCHESTER SERVICE AND CHANGE AT STAFFORD.'
The same information was repeated over the tannoy with reference to a connecting service waiting at Stafford. So, onto the Manchester train, which was heaving. Black holes and Calcutta came to mind as I squeezed into the corridor and stayed there, swaying shoulder to shoulder with my travelling colleagues for the two hour journey.
Into Stafford fifteen minutes late, at 17.03, and find that connecting train. There was one at 17.23 going to Crewe, which connected with the 17.53 from Crewe to Chester, which in turn connected with another train which got into Colwyn Bay at 19.12. So there was still a glimmer of hope that I could still make it in time for the kick off.
Forget it, mate! Said 17.23 was running fifteen minutes late. 'We apologise for the late arrival of the service to Liverpool,' went the announcer, 'but as Railtrack can't organise a piss up in a brewery, there's no chance of them getting the trains to run on time.' I've made part of that up, but the worry of missing the kick-off was starting to prey on my mind and I'd started to hear voices in my head. If I didn't get there on time I wouldn't be able to file a match report. The new editor would never ask me to do a report again. At this rate, I'd be getting a reputation like his for getting to games after the kick off (Watch it, Michael. Leave the smart arse remarks to me. Ed.).
Anyway, back to Stafford and the growing realisation that I wouldn't make it in time for the kick off, unless Barrow's coach got stuck in a 20 mile tailback on the A55. But that only happened in summer. Who'd go to Colwyn Bay in the middle of winter? I would? Well, yes, but I couldn't imagine enough traffic on the roads to cause any hold up. In fact, the only delays were on the railway where things were going from bad to worse. I'd finally got on a train out of Stafford, only to be held up due to a signal failure at a place called Norton Bridge somewhere between Stafford and Crewe. While I was waiting, it was as If I'd passed into a parallel universe where nothing ever happened. Then I remembered that that was exactly what I'd done that fateful moment when I'd walked into Euston Station some three hours and several lifetimes ago.
The train finally staggered into Crewe at 18.12, only 24 minutes late, just in time to catch the 18.24 to Bangor which arrived at Colwyn Bay at 19.30. So I might miss the first few minutes of the game but that wouldn't be too bad. Don't speak too soon. Just as at Stafford, my optimism was severely crushed seconds later by the operating efficiency of the new railway companies.
"This is a special announcement for customers (translation; passengers) waiting on Platform 9 for the 18.24 Regional Railways North West Express (trips off the tongue, doesn't it? Last year it was called a train) to Bangor. This service has been delayed by approximately 30 minutes due to another very lame excuse." They should have played that record to cheer us up. You know, the one that goes, 'Didn't we have a lovely time the day we went to Bangor.' Well, I was having an absolutely brilliant time at Crewe, having the p¡$$ taken out of me by Regional Railways North West, who'd taken a large amount of my hard earned cash under false pretences. Get to Colwyn Bay by 18.35? Don't make me laugh. It was 18.56 before I left Crewe. At 18.57 the train stopped, just as it left Crewe station. No explanations this time, and I was beginning to wonder if I'd get to Llanellan Rd, in time for the final whistle, let alone half-time.
At 19.30, just as the game was starting, I was passing through Shotton, that graveyard of the British steel industry, still more than thirty miles from the ground. My nightmare came to an end (if that's what you thought, you hadn't seen the game yet. Ed.) as the train squealed and groaned its way into Colwyn Bay station at 20.12.
Outside the station, one lone taxi at the cab rank. The driver turned out to be a sometime Bay supporter when he wasn't working. He had to sound his horn when we got to the ground because all the turnstiles were closed, and eventually, he attracted the attention of one of the stewards. As the half-time whistle had already gone, the steward didn't charge me to get in. And he gave me the good news that Barrow were already 1-0 up from a Billy Kenny goal scored in the first five minutes.
The ground resembled a ploughed field. Perhaps they let the sheep use it between games; saves money on a lawn mower, I suppose. There were a number of new faces in the Barrow side. McAuley on the wing, new signings Andy Green up front and Oliver somebody or other at full back. The game was no classic, unlike my journey from London, although Barrow were the stronger team for most of the second half.
Five minutes from the end Colwyn Bay quite rightly had a penalty appeal turned down. Obviously the small group of Bay supporters at the car park end weren't watching the same game as everybody else. Barrow almost snatched a draw from the jaws of victory on the stroke of full-time by needlessly giving away a corner. Luckily it came to nothing and the three points were ours, moving Barrow up to second in the table.
Originally appeared as 'The Train to
Nowhere' in issue 025 - April 1996
