Stogumber Station
A Somerset Railway Relic Revived
A station here? No, who would think that village folk would traipse the lanes, or tramp the hedgerow-bordered fields to catch infrequent broad-gauge trains?
But come they did. All third-class fares, no doubt, from coomb and hillside farms, whose busy, bustled wives would wait with wicker baskets crook'd in arms.
A small red sandstone lodge provides the booking hall. The rest is made of wood, and occupies a ledge carved from a scarp with pick and spade.
The goods shed and the camping coach are gone, yet lanterns have returned to light the platform after dark, though no more paraffin is burned, but eco bulbs. Still, that's no price for gleaming steam trains to the coast some forty years since men in suits decreed that profit matters most.
I sit here dreaming. Blackbirds sing sweet phrases from a timeless tune, while water-spangled ferns reflect the haze of August afternoon.
Jeff Vinter
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