This year Bradford is the UK’s City of Culture. This might seem unlikely. Once a town prosperous thanks to the textile industry which thrived there in the 19th and early 20th century, its vitality decreased thanks to the collapse of this industry during the mid 20th century, not long after the time that thousands of Pakistanis and Indians came to work in those textile mills. Now it’s once again finding its feet, and is a lively multi-cultural city. We don’t visit as often as we should.
But in late August, we did. We had to see the show that everyone was talking about. In Edith Nesbit’s 1905 book The Railway Children, often since adapted for stage and screen, siblings Roberta, Peter and Phyllis are forced to move with their mother to a country cottage after their father is unjustly imprisoned for espionage. Living by a railway, they become fascinated with the trains, stop a runaway train to save lives by waving flags, and befriend their mother’s wealthy, kind neighbour, an ‘Old Gentleman’, who helps their family and ultimately finds their father. Conveniently, in this Bradford production, the mother is an Indian woman whom the children’s father met whilst working there. This allowed the children to be played by British Indian actors, to celebrate the Indian aspect of Bradford’s heritage.
Well. Anyway. This wasn’t any old play. We had to report, several hours before the production began, to Keighley Station. Which is part of Bradford Borough. Why? Because we were to be transported by steam train to Oxenhope where the play would take place in a re-purposed engine shed.
A long queue formed there and at the advertised time, we all filed forward to be packed into elderly – but spick and span – carriages and transported several miles to Oxenhope Station. We all relished the background chuffing sound, the loud, echoing sound of the steam whistle, the rhythmic clanking of the running gear and of course the distinctive mildly sooty smell, and enjoyed the instant camaraderie struck up amongst fellow passengers.
Then we arrived. Long before the play started. That was OK. We had a picnic. There was a cheery market full of food stalls and relevant souvenirs. It was sunny. Everyone was in holiday mood.
Finally though, it was time to file into the theatre. Or engine shed. Two large banks of seats rose up on either side of a railway track, above part of which was a stage: a moveable stage, as we would eventually find out. Once we were seated, the cast, all costumed up for the afternoon drifted in and mooched round among the audience, chatting and laughing . My images come from those moments, as photography was forbidden during the performance.
Which, when it came, entranced us. We entered into a world of family disappointment, moving downmarket, and adaptation to a new way of life. How those children grew to love the railway line that was their nearest neighbour! And how thrilled we were when the children noticed a runaway train advancing unexpectedly along the track – an actual train, surging into the auditorium before our very eyes. Waving flags and the girls’ red underskirts as a warning, the children brought the train to a halt. Just in time for the interval.
More happily mooching around in the market and on Oxenhope station before returning for the second half, which brought the story to its happy conclusion.
Then it was back onto the platform at Oxenhope where our train soon appeared to take us on board and return us to the station at Keighley. A very special afternoon.
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