A 1950s poster. Sleeper trains, says Clive Anderson, can be like “being in a friendly B&B on wheels”
One of my earliest memories is of travelling from London to Scotland on the sleeper. Though actually it is so long ago now, and lodged so deep in my subconscious, I sometimes wonder if I just dreamt it. We often went to Scotland when I was a child—to visit my grandparents and to go on holiday—but almost always by car. But I think I remember the one trip by train. But real or imagined, this overnight rail journey obviously made an impression on me. And the Caledonian Sleeper remains a favourite with me to this day.
As it happens, I have slept on many trains around the world. I don’t mean just nodding off over a book or long enough to miss a station. I mean bedding down for the night on a bunk or couchette or even something rather less comfortable.
A couple of times my family and I have used the rather austere French Motorail that whisks British holidaymakers and their cars from Calais to the Côte d’Azur. No buffet car; bring your own food. And I once made a BBC documentary—a Great Railway Journey—by rail from Hong Kong, through China to Ulaanbaatar in Mongolia. That was indeed a great train to sleep and, for that matter, eat on. And the changing of the bogies in the middle of the night at the Chinese-Mongolian border (the two countries have different gauge railways) is a memory that will stay with me. I have passed an interesting night speeding through the Alps sharing a cabin with a man with smelly socks. More fun, though less comfortable, was attempting to sleep on a wooden bench travelling third class overnight from Nairobi to Lake Victoria. The main difficulty was getting through the endless cups of very sweet tea which my fellow passengers insisted on bringing me.
Though these overseas trips were fantastic, I remain true to my first love of the Caledonian Sleeper. You can use it to travel between Euston and Glasgow or Edinburgh. But the distance isn’t really long enough. To get the most from the experience it is better, in my view, to start or end your journey somewhere in the Highlands.
This means you can begin your night in London, one of the great and populous cities of the world, and wake up just a few hundred miles further north in one of the last wildernesses in Europe. It can be magical.
Taking the trip in the other direction, I have often got on the Sleeper at Tyndrum, a village on the border of Stirlingshire and Argyll, familiar to hikers who walk along the West Highland Way. You wait on the platform of the unmanned Tyndrum Upper station, a lonely spot. The presence of one or two other passengers might reassure you that at this rural halt the London-bound locomotive will in due course arrive in all its glory. Suddenly it does. An industrial strength monster roaring out of the gloaming. Once you have boarded you can settle down for a late supper as you roll past mountains and glens just visible in the last light of the long Scottish summer’s day. (Not applicable in the long Scottish winter).
There is a communal feel to the dining car. Even in Britain, passengers are chattier on sleepers. I don’t know why. Perhaps there is a hint of romance or adventure on a sleeper which has been captured on film in classics such as The Lady Vanishes, Shanghai Express and Murder on the Orient Express. I haven’t experienced that sort of excitement myself—certainly no murders. But travelling with children or dogs—which is how I have often done it—has usually provided some entertaining complications. Going by sleeper is quite a good way to move dogs around as you can keep them with you but away from your fellow passengers. And children usually find the experience of a sleepover on the move great fun.
The guards and stewards get to know regular passengers and seem to enjoy welcoming strangers on their train as well. Overall it is like being in a friendly B&B on wheels.
It has to be said that actually sleeping on a sleeper isn’t absolutely guaranteed. Although you are going from one end of the country to the other, there is plenty of time for the train to make its journey. There is no rush. This is not a bullet train. But here and there during the night the train grinds to a noisy halt. Carriages coming from or bound for different start and end points, such as Fort William and Inverness, are brought together or pulled apart with a range of metallic grunts and groans and the odd railwayman’s shout. Music to the ears of train lovers, but not everybody’s idea of a lullaby. Sleep comes in fits and starts as the train starts and stops. If you do the trip often enough, perhaps the sounds of the night train pass over you. Just as city dwellers become oblivious to police sirens and late night drunks and country folk can happily sleep through the sound of an early morning cockcrow.
But the night passes and, at last, an early morning breakfast is brought to your cabin by a cheerful member of staff together with the news that we are just pulling into Euston, or as the case may be, still stuck outside Crewe.
Using the sleeper does have other problems. The special carriages are getting on a bit—they provide you with a bunk bed and an en suite sink—and there may not be any great enthusiasm to replace them. The service is terrifically popular with the travelling public—so much so that it can be difficult to book a place at many times of the year especially around a holiday or half term. But I wonder if the rail industry sees a profit in the whole enterprise. Over the years attempts have been made to stop running the Scottish sleepers and the similar service to and from Cornwall. But the enthusiasm of travellers has kept them going for now.
I have found booking, paying for or checking that the service is actually running on any given night difficult to do by phone. But once you have got over that obstacle course, travelling at night, while you lie on the edge of sleep, is plain sailing. And delightfully, still something of an adventure. Something of the night, but in a good way.
One of my earliest memories is of travelling from London to Scotland on the sleeper. Though actually it is so long ago now, and lodged so deep in my subconscious, I sometimes wonder if I just dreamt it. We often went to Scotland when I was a child—to visit my grandparents and to go on holiday—but almost always by car. But I think I remember the one trip by train. But real or imagined, this overnight rail journey obviously made an impression on me. And the Caledonian Sleeper remains a favourite with me to this day.
As it happens, I have slept on many trains around the world. I don’t mean just nodding off over a book or long enough to miss a station. I mean bedding down for the night on a bunk or couchette or even something rather less comfortable.
A couple of times my family and I have used the rather austere French Motorail that whisks British holidaymakers and their cars from Calais to the Côte d’Azur. No buffet car; bring your own food. And I once made a BBC documentary—a Great Railway Journey—by rail from Hong Kong, through China to Ulaanbaatar in Mongolia. That was indeed a great train to sleep and, for that matter, eat on. And the changing of the bogies in the middle of the night at the Chinese-Mongolian border (the two countries have different gauge railways) is a memory that will stay with me. I have passed an interesting night speeding through the Alps sharing a cabin with a man with smelly socks. More fun, though less comfortable, was attempting to sleep on a wooden bench travelling third class overnight from Nairobi to Lake Victoria. The main difficulty was getting through the endless cups of very sweet tea which my fellow passengers insisted on bringing me.
Though these overseas trips were fantastic, I remain true to my first love of the Caledonian Sleeper. You can use it to travel between Euston and Glasgow or Edinburgh. But the distance isn’t really long enough. To get the most from the experience it is better, in my view, to start or end your journey somewhere in the Highlands.
This means you can begin your night in London, one of the great and populous cities of the world, and wake up just a few hundred miles further north in one of the last wildernesses in Europe. It can be magical.
Taking the trip in the other direction, I have often got on the Sleeper at Tyndrum, a village on the border of Stirlingshire and Argyll, familiar to hikers who walk along the West Highland Way. You wait on the platform of the unmanned Tyndrum Upper station, a lonely spot. The presence of one or two other passengers might reassure you that at this rural halt the London-bound locomotive will in due course arrive in all its glory. Suddenly it does. An industrial strength monster roaring out of the gloaming. Once you have boarded you can settle down for a late supper as you roll past mountains and glens just visible in the last light of the long Scottish summer’s day. (Not applicable in the long Scottish winter).
There is a communal feel to the dining car. Even in Britain, passengers are chattier on sleepers. I don’t know why. Perhaps there is a hint of romance or adventure on a sleeper which has been captured on film in classics such as The Lady Vanishes, Shanghai Express and Murder on the Orient Express. I haven’t experienced that sort of excitement myself—certainly no murders. But travelling with children or dogs—which is how I have often done it—has usually provided some entertaining complications. Going by sleeper is quite a good way to move dogs around as you can keep them with you but away from your fellow passengers. And children usually find the experience of a sleepover on the move great fun.
The guards and stewards get to know regular passengers and seem to enjoy welcoming strangers on their train as well. Overall it is like being in a friendly B&B on wheels.
It has to be said that actually sleeping on a sleeper isn’t absolutely guaranteed. Although you are going from one end of the country to the other, there is plenty of time for the train to make its journey. There is no rush. This is not a bullet train. But here and there during the night the train grinds to a noisy halt. Carriages coming from or bound for different start and end points, such as Fort William and Inverness, are brought together or pulled apart with a range of metallic grunts and groans and the odd railwayman’s shout. Music to the ears of train lovers, but not everybody’s idea of a lullaby. Sleep comes in fits and starts as the train starts and stops. If you do the trip often enough, perhaps the sounds of the night train pass over you. Just as city dwellers become oblivious to police sirens and late night drunks and country folk can happily sleep through the sound of an early morning cockcrow.
But the night passes and, at last, an early morning breakfast is brought to your cabin by a cheerful member of staff together with the news that we are just pulling into Euston, or as the case may be, still stuck outside Crewe.
Using the sleeper does have other problems. The special carriages are getting on a bit—they provide you with a bunk bed and an en suite sink—and there may not be any great enthusiasm to replace them. The service is terrifically popular with the travelling public—so much so that it can be difficult to book a place at many times of the year especially around a holiday or half term. But I wonder if the rail industry sees a profit in the whole enterprise. Over the years attempts have been made to stop running the Scottish sleepers and the similar service to and from Cornwall. But the enthusiasm of travellers has kept them going for now.
I have found booking, paying for or checking that the service is actually running on any given night difficult to do by phone. But once you have got over that obstacle course, travelling at night, while you lie on the edge of sleep, is plain sailing. And delightfully, still something of an adventure. Something of the night, but in a good way.
