The little blue steam engine Bunty takes around twenty-five minutes on the two mile journey between Heatherslaw and Etal. The fifteen inch narrow gauge track of the Heatherslaw Light Railway follows the course of the River Till around Letham Haugh, a low-lying meadow near Etal village. On such a short journey, with plenty to see on either side, it wouldn’t seem too big a deal on which side of the tiny carriages you choose to sit, or in which direction you’re facing.
It was a big deal, however, for the father of two young children at Heatherslaw station one morning in July. I lost count of how many times he shuffled them between the carriage they’d chosen and the one in which his parents, the children’s grandparents, were sitting patiently. He had very specific, if not entirely logical, opinions on what constituted appropriate seating arrangements for a family excursion on a narrow gauge steam railway. He remained calm, but his need to control what was happening and direct where his children sat was as disturbing to witness as it was embarrassing.
I was reminded of the scene in the movie Jurassic Park in which the children Tim and Lex Murphy are deciding in which vehicles they’ll explore the park. Played by Sam Neill, palaeontologist Dr. Alan Grant is doing his best to avoid sharing a vehicle with Tim, whose enthusiasm for dinosaurs and need to share everything he knows about them is relentless. (I wouldn’t want to ride with Tim either!) After switching vehicles, only to have the boy follow him, Grant asks, “Which car were you planning [on riding in]?” “Whichever one you are,” Tim replies. His sister joins them. “She said I should ride with you,” Lex declares, speaking of Laura Dern’s character, palaeobotanist Dr. Ellie Sattler. “Because it would be good for you.” We’re meant to side with Sattler, but I feel sympathy for Grant. His wishes are being overridden by someone who believes they know better.
I wondered what the children on the train thought about it all. Were they used to their father’s need to control what they did? Did they actually care if they sat facing the direction of travel or not? Would they grow up to resent him?
The guard blew his whistle and the train started with a jolt. I jotted a few notes in my phone.
Do you face forward or do you face back?
Train Heatherslaw to Etal
Dad trying to organise his family’s seating
Need to control things and people vs letting them choose for themselves
I put my phone away and settled into the journey. The train rattled its way along the wide loop of track. Open fields on one side, the narrow water of the Till on the other. I’ve seen heron along there in the past. Cattle in the fields. Deer watching from beneath the trees, or running along the track ahead of the train. It’s a pretty journey with plenty to see if you’re paying attention, no matter which seat you chose or in which direction you’re facing.
In the weeks that followed, I kept returning to the notes I’d made on my phone. Do you face forward or do you face back? There was something there I wanted to explore, I just wasn’t sure what it was. It happens that way sometimes with my blogging. The shape of the piece doesn’t emerge until I get in there and begin writing. I opened a new document and gave it a working title. I chose a photo from the many I took that day, and wrote an opening paragraph or two. Where was this going, though? I was still in the station. Literally, in terms of the narrative, but creatively too. What finally moved me on was a conversation with my friend Jen. I told her I’d started a new blog post inspired by what I’d witnessed at Heatherslaw that day.
“So your post is about preference?”
“I’m still working it out, but yes. Preference, and how it affects what we see and experience.” I paused to reflect on that. “You might prefer to sit facing forward,” I mused, “and I might choose to face the other way. Our experiences of the journey will be different but one isn’t more correct or valid than the other.”
“Like it doesn’t really matter where you sit?” Jen asked.
“Yeah. I think so. Maybe.” As we chatted I was watching a TV adaptation of Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple mystery 4.50 from Paddington, in which the witnessing of a murder depends on where the character of Elspeth McGillicuddy chose to sit on the train. “— Except in this show I’m watching it matters,” I said. “Because if the woman hadn’t chosen that exact seat she wouldn’t have seen the murder and the killer would have gone free!”
Apparently trivial decisions have consequences. I’m fascinated by air crash investigation videos. (One day I’ll blog about my fondness for disaster documentaries.) There are many examples of a seating choice making the difference between a passenger surviving the event or not. The consequences aren’t usually so dramatic but we’re often required to choose where to position ourselves and in which direction to face, literally or otherwise. Only the Roman god Janus (for whom is named the month of January) and the Pushmi-Pullyu, the mythical, two-headed creature from Hugh Lofting’s Doctor Dolittle books, can look both ways at once. I asked Jen in which direction she prefers to travel.
“You know,” she replied, “it’s been a long time since I rode a train or a bus. I’d have to think back to [when I visited] England because I drive most of the time.”
“Best to face forward when driving!”
Later, Jen told me she’d thought about it and decided that if she was on a train and knew the route she’d be happy to face in either direction. She'd prefer to face forwards if the journey was new to her. That was something I’d not considered, and I’ll bear it in mind the next time I’m travelling somewhere new. In general, I don’t have a strong preference. On my commute to and from the office I choose seats which face in towards the centre of the carriage. In our new Metro trains all the seats face inwards. You can’t choose to face forward or back, even if you want to. It’s an interesting design decision, psychologically speaking, and one I know not all travellers endorse. Our conversation shifted to other preferences in seating and how they affect our experience of the world.
“I tend to be really picky about where I sit,” Jen told me. “For instance, when I go to the Millstone [restaurant], I have two or three places where I love to sit. No matter where I am, I prefer to be by a window. I like looking out at the area around me. It’s probably kind of odd.”
I didn’t think it was odd at all. “I totally get what you mean.” I told her. “I used to go to Caffè Nero in Newcastle every Saturday. I always sat at the back in the corner. I had a direct line of sight to the door and outside, and only had someone sitting next to me on one side. I like corner seats.” I’m rarely at Caffè Nero these days but in my local coffee shop I choose a table near the back of the room against the wall. It’s not quite in the corner but I have the same sense of what’s going on around me and outside.
“So you can people watch,” Jen asked.
“Yes! Though when I’m writing I’m scarcely aware of who else is in the place beyond a general awareness of whether it’s busy or not from the noise level. I’m in a little world of my own!” I thought of other times I choose where to sit. At work, I prefer a desk next to the aisle, facing into the main body of the office. I’ve only been on a plane once but if I ever do again I’d choose an aisle seat over one at the window. There’s more leg room, for one thing. (I’m six foot two, these things matter!)
I’m grateful to Jen for that conversation. As is often the case when we discuss my blogging ideas, she opened me up to thinking about things from a different perspective. That was especially relevant in this case. I’m reminded me of the Two Guys on a Bus meme based on a 2013 cartoon by Brazilian illustrator Genildo Ronchi. It features two men sitting on opposite sides of a bus with one looking out the window at a rock wall and the other looking at a beautiful view. It’s a somewhat clumsy metaphor. We can’t switch from depression to health and hopefulness as easily as we might change seats on a bus. It nevertheless conveys something useful about perspective and preference. Forward or back, left side or right side, we have some agency in how we see the world and our place in it.
Perhaps that’s what the father wanted his children to understand, though I’d contend it’s something we have to figure out for ourselves. In any case, I hope the family had a pleasant day. If you ever find yourself in Etal village, check out the Lavender Tearooms. Great coffee and the best Singing Hinnies! Tell them Marty sent you. (They won’t have a clue who you mean but hey!)
Over to You
Do you prefer to face the direction of travel on a train? Aisle or window seat on a plane? Do you have a favourite table at your local café or restaurant? More generally, are you someone who looks to the future or back over what’s happened in the past? I’ve kept a diary for over fifty years and used to spend a lot of time poring over past experiences. These days I tend to focus on the present and near future. Whatever your thoughts and perspective, we’d love to hear from you, either in the comments below or via our contact page.
Photo of the Heatherslaw Light Railway by Martin Baker
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