Gareth O'Callaghan: The romance of rail travel dies somewhere between Limerick Junction and Platform 8

Irish Examiner

4 days ago

'There's something about the sound of a train that's very romantic, and nostalgic, and hopeful.' They're Paul Simon's words. I doubt he would have been feeling such wistful sentiments if he had been booked on the midday train out of Dublin to Cork last Sunday.
I'm a frequent traveller on the route. I use the service twice weekly, often more.
If you book your ticket and your seat online well in advance of your trip, you expect a hassle-free, two-and-a-half hour relaxing journey, when you can work on your laptop, put in your earbuds, or lay out your flask and tin foil-wrapped ham sandwiches. Or at least that's the impression the television commercials give.
I've been travelling on this service for so long now it's as though I've developed an antenna that kicks in by way of an adrenalin rush, telling me — usually minutes before the train is due to depart — that "hassle-free" and "relaxing" won't apply today. That rush coursed through my veins last Sunday while I stood staring at the Mark 4 train sitting idle on Platform 7.
With only minutes to departure time, over 400 passengers stared forlornly into space. There had been two announcements apologising for the late boarding of the train. But which train? My antenna was telling me there was a maintenance problem.
And then it happened: The announcement I'd been dreading. The Cork train was now, instead, standing at Platform 8 — a much smaller train with reduced capacity because it was a carriage short, which happened to be the carriage I was booked on.
In those moments, all hell breaks loose.
People cast aside dignity and manners as fast as a cigarette butt — somewhat reminiscent of the scenes in Titanic where passengers trample over each other to get to a lifeboat. Boarding became a scrum
The electronic reservation system was switched off. Within minutes, those who couldn't find seats were left standing in the aisles.
Some passengers were ordering others out of seats, claiming they had pre-booked those seats. A Liberace lookalike with beige-coloured hair pointed to a Spanish tourist sitting opposite me. 'That's my seat!' he informed her in an almost operatic voice.
I tried to explain that the reservation system didn't apply as this was a smaller train. He flashed me a stare that made my jaw drop.
'Was I talking to you? Do you work for the company?' he snapped, as if I was dirt on his shoe. He sat down opposite me. 'Don't talk to me, you're a weirdo.'
Severe overcrowding
I was speechless and offended in equal measures. I was also reminded of the words of the writer Stephen Jenkinson: 'Heartbreak is how you humanise your prejudices."
Raised voices and arguments over seats became like white noise throughout the carriage. It was a sensory overload. Then an announcement: 'Please stand clear of the doors — doors are about to close."
So that was it. Irish Rail was not going to resolve the issue. It was washing its hands of it.
Off we chugged, like a nightmare that doesn't end, packed like sardines into a train carriage that wasn't even air-conditioned, without a thought given to safety.
Severe overcrowding was permitted on that train last Sunday. It was clear from where I was sitting that no one could have moved in the event of an emergency
Then, when you might be forgiven for thinking it couldn't get any worse, just as the train pulled into Limerick Junction, the seating reservation signs above the seats lit up with people's names. A woman shoved her phone in my face. 'There's my booking – that's my seat,' she told me, staccato-style, stabbing the phone with her finger.
I explained as politely as my adrenaline would allow that I was one of the displaced from the carriage that didn't exist, so bookings were void. She continued shouting at me until I put my headphones back on and closed my eyes, praying my bladder might hold up until I arrived back in Cork.
Out of the almost 70 train journeys I have made so far this year between Cork and Dublin, at least a third of them haven't been "hassle-free" or "relaxing".
On my outbound journey to Dublin last weekend, all passengers were ordered off the train at Thurles because the doors were faulty. 'This train is defective,' the announcer told us, only to be told 10 minutes later that the doors were working again and we could re-board the train.
I could list a litany of issues that stretches back years, but who cares? Not Irish Rail, it seems. What's even more pathetic is that we just keep putting up with it.
'Beneath the sleek design of the Mark 4, which runs exclusively on the Cork line, lies a jaded train. Most of its locomotives are 30 years old.' Picture: Larry Cummins
Despite the intolerable conditions on board that train last weekend, no refunds were offered. That's not good business, but then Irish Rail don't have any competitors on the Irish railway network.
Not only should refunds have been given but, as a gesture of goodwill, passengers should have been offered complimentary travel on their next journey.
Cork to Dublin return is by no means cheap. Travel Friday and return Sunday, as I do, can set you back almost €70, or €65 one way if you buy your ticket on the day. Add an extra €20 each way to upgrade to first class, and for that you'll bag a Pullman-style seat and a free coffee.
People pay in good faith to travel in comfort and safety. When you book your ticket and your seat, then to discover that not only is the booking non-existent but so too is your train carriage, then that's grossly unacceptable.
As for the toilets? They deserve their own column
Every weekend — no exception — the smell from the train's toilets is nauseating. On those mis-timed occasions when nature calls, I've had to tiptoe around the cubicle to avoid the trails of urine on the floor.
It's hit and miss. There might be a breakdown, there might not. You might get a friendly host who'll chat with the regular passengers and tourists, or you mightn't see one for the entire journey. Mostly, the staff are sound.
I count myself lucky that the Cork service is hourly and runs on a twin-track system. When I lived in Galway, it was a single line all the way from Portarlington — which meant repeatedly pulling into sidelines to allow trains coming in the opposite direction to pass.
Beneath the sleek design of the Mark 4, which runs exclusively on the Cork line, lies a jaded train. Most of its locomotives are 30 years old. The DVTs, situated at the other end of the train which house the driver's cab, are almost 20 years old.
They're prone to maintenance problems, which is not good for the nerves if you have a medical appointment or a flight to catch at the far end.
Complaints to Irish Rail were running at an average 1,300 per month, according to 2023 figures, over 40 per day.
My idea of hell is being crammed into that tiny space outside a toilet that is in constant use — like those who found themselves stuck there last Sunday.
One couple who had to endure most of the journey standing outside that toilet told me they had purchased first-class tickets on the original train as a special treat for their wedding anniversary. Some treat that turned out to be.
There's no better way to witness the beauty of our countryside in all its splendour than from the train. It's such a shame that the journey is as unpredictable as the weather.