New Tracks, Old Tracks

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Journeying on a restored railway line for the first time – what is it like? A new line may have its own thrill, an old familiar line another. But a restored line that is both familiar and new?

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Many years ago I had lived and worked in the country town of Armidale. Often, I walked past the grand railway station, which forlornly awaited trains that never came along disused and dilapidated tracks. Often, I would cross the line itself, on foot or on bicycle, pausing and looking up and down the tracks as though a train might be coming. Often, I travelled by bus to Tamworth, more than 100 kilometres to south, in order to catch the train there. On our way, we would follow the unused railway line, with its occasional station and signalman’s cottage. Wouldn’t it be wonderful, I thought at the time, if this line was restored? All of the hard work had been done almost a century ago: easements, rail-beds, cuttings, tunnels and the route itself. Restoring the line would merely require some tracks, signals and repaired bridges – and political will.

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And then it happened: someone with political will decided to restore the line. Work began while I was living in Armidale, but it proceeded with its usual caution. Days, weeks, months passed as the line slowly found a new life. Eventually, the day came when a train once again arrived at Armidale station … but I was about to leave town, seeking my fortune elsewhere. So I never had the opportunity to catch that train.

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For more than two decades it has been on my mind – a desire to take the train to my former home. Towards the end of a hot summer, my chance came: a few days cleared and I jumped at the opportunity. My simple bag packed, I stood on the platform at my local railway station, awaiting the grand train to the northwest – all six carriages of the ‘Northern Explorer’.

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The initial part of the journal was familiar enough, winding up the Hunter Valley through vineyards, horse studs, mines and farms. We chugged over the Liverpool Range and into the Goonoo Goonoo Plains, before pausing at Werris Creek – a true railway town – to split the train. Two carriages went west to Moree and four turned northwards. Now the real pleasure of the journey began, for I was travelling on the restored tracks.

A curious experience it was. I have travelled old lines aplenty, following familiar paths, well-known habits – so much so that some are able to evoke the memories and even the feel of moments in my life decades ago. From time to time I have also journeyed on freshly laid tracks, enjoying the novelty of the experience, testing myself, before they too became habitual and were drawn into the network of the familiar.

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But the run from Tamworth to Armidale was different in unexpected ways. I knew this territory from decades past. Much of the line, the lie of the land, the occasional stops were all part of a former fabric of life. Yet to travel this way, along the railway line itself, was a new experience. I had never before seen the cuttings and twists and tunnels of the Moonbi Hills. I had not stopped at Bendemeer or Walcha Road or Uralla by train before. And I had never in my life disembarked onto the railway platform at Armidale.

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At the same time, it was an old, old line. Many decades ago trains full of people had travelled this line. When roads were rougher and cars slower and fewer, the railway line was the vital link – for people and food and produce. After being closed, it had lain idle for many a long year before being restored in a different era. I felt as though it was simultaneously a very new experience, a new venture, and yet an old one, which I knew intimately. Perhaps I can put it this way: I was discovering a way of journeying, touching other lives that felt both strange and familiar.

At some points, especially on the climb up to the New England Plateau, we travelled at the speeds of older trains – 15 or perhaps 20 kilometres an hour. The engine strained, the curves were tight, the gradient steep. Once on the plateau, we sped along in a way that older trains might have only imagined. The rolling plateau was still full of trees, perhaps more now that farmers had understood the benefits of bush on their land (instead of seeing it as a curse). The villages and towns seemed largely the same, for in country towns you do not have the sped-up process of destruction and building so characteristic of cities.

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I have to confess that I remained glued to the window, relishing each point passed, each turn of the train, each announcement of a station and the leap onto the platform to stretch my legs. But too soon did it arrive in Armidale, for the run from Tamworth is barely over 100 kilometres. At Armidale, the line stops and the train itself is parked into a secure bay to rest before the return journey the next day.

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Long did I look further up the line, where the tracks remain in a state of disrepair. The railway line once continued through the rest of the plateau, making its way eventually to Brisbane via the overland route. I began to anticipate that the remainder of the line would one day be restored, as no doubt it will when people realise the need to do so. I hope it happens in my lifetime, for I will take that train as soon as it begins that new journey over old tracks.

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