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Travel But No Sex On The Night Train Of Years Ago

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The night train goes between Halifax and Montreal, and Montreal and Halifax. You can’t get there from here in daylight . . . by train. The train chug chug chugs out of Halifax early afternoon, and out of Montreal early evening. The two pass somewhere in Quebec. Arrival in Montreal is early morning (breakfast time) and early evening (supper time).

Although I’ve had some association with trains for decades (the father of a next-door childhood friend was even the conductor on a train) I came to my pleasure and interest in trains from my first trip to Europe. Both in Great Britain, and the continent, I had great pleasure on the trains (much due to the scenery I had never seen). It was really after that first trip that I travelled with any seriousness by train in Canada. And, as I said, any travel from east to west must include the night train to Montreal.

I have been blessed in that I have never had to ‘sit up’ on this trip (though, these days, even that is not too bad). I’ve had berths (upper and lower) and compartments (these days – again – even with their own shower). And I love the dome cars, sitting there for hours even after dark. It is a grand sensation travelling though the darkened forests with often no more than moon light and stars. And the red and green signal lights of the track itself.

Back ‘in the day’ I even almost had a Night train romance.

This was in the upper berths, where nothing more than a curtain flap and a zipper kept the sleepers private. One usually undressed while supine upon the mattress, sloughing off one’s outer clothes.

On one particular journey to Montreal, in the dark of that Quebec landscape, across the narrow aisle, was a beautiful teen-aged gal, not many years younger than myself. And she indicated ‘interest’, with smiles and giggles and some gentle teasing of undress.

However, she travelled with her (I presume) parents, safely ensconced in the lower berths. And Daddy looked as if he:

a) would brook no nonsense

and (more to the point)

b) would cease and desist any interest by me

The sweet lass keep appearing from behind her curtain with smiles and gestures, but finally realized that an athletic leap from my side to hers was neither safe nor wise. We arrived in Montreal as pure as we set out.

*Sigh*

(image)http://www.museumoftheamericanrailroad.org/Portals/0/Gallery/Album/21/Women-in-Pullman-Section-Berths-January-1930-Hulton-Archive-Getty-Images_600px.jpg

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The Savages Are Within The Gates And Taking Over

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For those who think our North American culture has progressed  over the last fifty years, I offer this conversation I heard on a city bus mere hours ago.

This is between two gentlemen sliding out of their sixth decade. One was even wearing the garb, and affecting the  pony-tailed hair, of the actual Sixties of the last century. The other had a sports coat and neat pants, and was carrying a number of books.

Sports Coat (to bus driver): Do you go past the New Library?

Bus Driver: No, but I go past the end of the street. A ten minute walk.

SC: OK – I can do that.

Pony Tail: You taking books back?

SC: Yup. My Sunday chore. I’ll get others.

PT: There’s a closer library – right along here.

SC: Jeez – I can’t go there.

PT: Why?

SC: Loud as hell.

PT: What?

SC: The kids. They run the place.

PT: You mean after school?

SC: All the time I’m ever in there.

PT: They can be loud.

SC: They’re savages taking over.

PT: They’re just young.

SC: In my day, kids showed some respect.

PT: It’s a small library. Things sound louder.

SC: The librarian would shut us down.

PT: It isn’t that bad.

SC: She’d tell us to shut up, and that would be it.

 

He never – it is true – used the phrase: To Hell in a Handcart.

(image)i.huffpost.com/gen/1640210/images/o-LIBRARY-UNIVERSITY-facebook.jpg

 

 

 

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