2 DECEMBER 1995, Page 61

Not motoring

Travels with my plastercasts

Gavin Stamp

The withdrawal of a transport service leaves one bereaved, sad that a particular journey may never again be possible. It has happened often, of course, with the closure of railway lines but shipping services can also disappear. So I am very sorry to learn that Scandinavian Seaways has just with- drawn the ferry across the North Sea from Esjerg to Newcastle as I had travelled on it earlier this year. I did this as part of a memorable journey which was also of great interest in what it revealed about contrast- ing attitudes to public transport in Britain and Denmark.

I had been given — never mind why — a pair of full-size plastercasts of the celebrat- ed roundels of 'Night' and 'Day' by the great Danish Neo-Classical sculptor, Bertel Thorwaldsen. But the donors had not thought to work out how these immensely heavy and fragile objects were to be trans- ported from that most beautiful of institu- tions, the Thorwaldsen Museum in Copenhagen, to my home in Glasgow. As it is always a pleasure to be in the Danish capital, there was clearly nothing for it but to collect them myself and take them with me overland and oversea — they would never have survived the hold of an aero- plane even if I could have afforded the excess baggage charge.

So I arrived in Copenhagen with string, wire, pieces of wood, various tools and the largest wheeled suitcase carrier that I could find, and somehow strapped the things together so that I could pull them behind Inc. When travelling with Thorwaidsens, one develops some sympathy for the dis- abled over curbs and stairs, for any bump or obstacle is a threat, but Denmark is comparatively easy. A taxi to the fine turn- of-the-century Main Station — all on the level — and a lift took us down to the plat- form. The only effort required was to pull my companions up into the carriage. Then followed an efficient rail journey across Denmark, with the added delight of the train travelling on a boat from Korsor to Nyborg. But this experience will soon be a thing of the past: the ferry sailed by a colossal, elegant new suspension bridge whose towers disappeared into the clouds. A new fixed link is being made from the island of Zealand to Funen and, please note, it is for both road and rail (the trains Partly in a tunnel). This, of course, con- trasts with the attitude of the British Gov- ernment which, when it built a bridge across the Dornoch Firth, resolutely declined to make it carry trains as well as cars, so leaving the railway to Wick at a grave disadvantage. So much for fair com- petition.

And so on to Esberg on the west coast of Jutland. The platforms were adjacent to the terminal and a luggage escalator assist- ed the struggle to the upper floor. Then it was on the level with a luggage travelator all the way into the ship: easy. And, on board the big, clean boat — so different from our own cross-Channel tubs — my companions were locked in a space just off the main deck, so I was able to enjoy the crossing unencumbered. It was a cloudless night in late May, so warm that it was pos- sible to sit outside and read until late into the evening as we chugged across a glassy sea where,. 79 years ago amidst cloud and thick smoke, the British and German navies had shelled each other to bits.

Trouble began, of course, as soon as the Durham coast came into view next morn- ing. We had to hove to for an hour to wait for a tanker to emerge from the Tyne the river is not wide enough for two before we slowly moved upstream — but not to Newcastle, only to North Shields, eight miles downstream. Really the ferry companies ought to be prosecuted under the Trades Descriptions Act. And the North Shields port is, I am afraid, a dump, No travelators here: the shore crew merely put up a crude sloping gangplank with wooden slats, so it was impossible to wheel down my plastercasts; I had to ask a sailor to help me carry them ashore. The message is clear: in Britain only cars matter, not foot passengers. And there was no public transport available outside the shack which is the ferry terminal, and although the rail- way to Whitley Bay is nearby there is no direct connection. So, having been waved through customs (a relief as I was terrified my plastercasts would be broken in half to see if they were full of cocaine), it was a taxi to Newcastle Central and then a train to Glasgow.

So now I have my Thorwaldsens safely and triumphantly at home to enhance Greek Thomson — so big I don't yet know what to do with them. But I am sad I can- not make that journey across the German Ocean again, encumbered with yet more beautiful Danish plastercasts,