DART, and trains in England

[ailbhe]

We were driven to the DART (Dublin Area Rapid Transit) station to make the trip to Dun Laoghaire. It was excitingly modern. I remember the DART of old; I used to live right next to the Seapoint station, close enough that our terrace had a private entrance down the end of the shared front lawn. Now they have electric turnstiles and ticket machines and little signs to say when the next train is and everythign! And lifts for people in wheelchairs! Or with buggies. People in wheelchairs are still required to levitate on and off the trains, though, because the platform and the train floor are not generally anywhere near the same level. Perhaps they can pop wheelies or something. Whee!

We made it to the ferry with almost a minute to spare before departure. They were serving hot breakfast, which meant easy dairy-free hot lunch for Linnea, and then we romped and rampaged. I got a photo of the "WARNING" screen of the DVD this time, and there were two children's entertainers in the play area, making balloon animals. Linnea got a mouse that looked obscene after its nose burst.

The train at Holyhead was boarded effortlessly and I had a cup of tea. I couldn't use the loo though because it was too filthy to contemplate (it really was). In my pre-baby days it would have been manageable, but was it was, no. Anyway, I disembarked at Chester to get my train to Crewe, and had almost 3 minutes to make the transfer. I arrived on the correct platform, went to board through the nearest fdoor, and was directed to go to the other end of the two-carriage train. There was no room there unless the owner of the pram disembarked, allowed me on, and re-embarked - my buggy is nippy enough to fit in the space behind where she had her pram. But no. Upshot? I wasn't allowed to board the train, the chap who'd directed me to the other end of the station refused to ask anyone to move, and when I asked him what I was supposed to do next he looked up a train that would have made me two hours later than the connection I wanted to make, for which I had seat reservations.

So much for reserved seats, then. Hah.

I asked Rob to look up trains for me and he found me a much better connection, via Birmingham, and that went smoothly enough - I mean, it was late, but we got it, and there was a functional loo, and a man gave me his seat, and the person next to us was a maths teacher writing a program to make maths fun for kiddiewinks and wanted to test it on Linnea, who thought it was television and therefore enthralling.

By the time we reached Oxford, however, the train was so delayed they decided to terminate it. We were all chucked off and told to get to Reading on the next train. There was space by a door and it wasn't too long to stand, really.

So we got there, 11 hours after leaving Radegund and Niall's house in Dublin, all because of an officious little man about my own age who thought that a woman with a pushchair wasn't important enough to be allowed to board a train. I am quite, quite certain that had she been a large suitcase I'd have been allowed on, because two people with huge cases pushed past me and made it into the carriage. Can't manhandle a baby the same way though - and I wasn't feeling rude enough, I suppose. My fault again.

I do feel a letter in the making, if we can get a working printer.

Comments

"or can you complain by email?"

[feetnotes.livejournal.com]

but, either way, complain!

and if you give the train, platform & time you were attempting to board, they should have no problems identifying the pillule; you shouldn't need to include that you had reserved seats, but do, anyway. he should at least get an earful of a ticking-off from his boss - and preferably something as'll give him cause to remember that passengers - all passengers - pay his wages.