Stations where I have loitered — without intent

Press, 18 July 1978, Page 17

Stations where I have loitered — without intent

By

TERRY SMITH

aerants and drunks seeking a warm place to sleep or sober up are making things difficult for passengers at the Christchurch Railuay patron.”—N ews item, “The Press,” July 8.

What to do with railway stations in the wee small hours seems to be a world-wide problem. Last year I travelled across Russia and around Europe by train, and while I arrived at, left from, or passed through too many stations to remember them all, I have strong memories of at least two. These are at Copenhagen and Hamburg. One stayed open all night and the other didn’t. In day time and usually till late at night European stations are busy places — but from midnight until perhaps 6 a.m. there’s not much demand for their services, so should they be kept open for the few persons, respectable or otherwise, who want to use the facilities, or are just seeking shelter? I had written to a Danish man with whom I shared a cabin on a ship many years earlier and told him when I would be arriving in Copenhagen. Unfortunately my letter arrived after he had gone on holiday, but at the time I didn’t know that. I searched the crowd for anybody who might be

Danni 12 years older,then took a taxi to his address. After the taxi left I found that it was an apartment with a locked entrance to the foyer, and there was no response to Danni’s bell. After a long wait another occupant of the apartment arrived and he agreed to hold my luggage while I had a look around and I would return later in the hopes that Danni would be home. Danni wasn’t home later and I did not have the nerve to disturb the man who was holding my luggage so I made my way back to the station. As the night was half gone . I was reluctant to try for a hotel and get charged a full night’s board. Also it didn’t seem quite the thing to turn up without any luggage. An obstacle of my own making, I have now decided. I arrived at the station about 1 a.m. and sat down thankfully on a bench. Five minutes later I was up again, heeding the instructions of industrious men with brooms and buckets who were sweeping everyone out. The

doors were locked with a sorry looking collection of the public outside, including me. I sat on a bench on the wide footpath outside the station and was thankful that the night was mild and that I had a jacket. I was entertained for a while by the antics of patrons leaving a high-class club across the road; in particular by a couple who were apparently meant to be going their separate ways but could not unglue themselves, while a taxi-driver held a door open and waited, and waited, and waited; then he shut the door and drove off. But on the whole there was not much of interest, and the hours went by very slowly. The bench got very hard and walking around was boring. At long last the station doors were reopened about 5.30 a.m. and we “derelicts” scurried in. The toilets were still shut but that was a minor detail. We were back in. After the toilets were unlocked my next objective was the accommodation bureau,

and that involved waiting another couple of hours. I found an empty bench, hard and cold, but no feather bed felt better. I stretched out and slept with one eye open because station attendants don’t like people sleeping on their benches and they keep waking them up. You may sleep standing or sitting, but not lying down. The accommodation bureau opened, I booked into ' a very handy and comfortable hotel which I went straight to, had a bath, and then collected my luggage. The rest of my stay in Copenhagen was pleasant and uneventful.

My next stop was to be Amsterdam, but I decided to spend a few hours at Hamburg on the way. I arrived at 3 p.m., saw all 1 wanted by 10 p.m. and went back to the station to wait for my train at 4 a.m. That was a long wait. Hamburg is Germany’s largest seaport and like most ports it seems to

have more than its share of weird and wonderful people. I think they were all in the railway station the night I was there. Hogarth would have thought he was in heaven. All those fascinating faces and forms; the dress; the actions — some sleeping, some fighting, most just sitting, waiting.

I noticed a good-looking young woman and a

young man, both dressed in jeans, talking in a group and drinking coffee. Soon after a woman in her 40s and a younger woman, perhaps aged 20, entered the restaurant and bought coffee. They had just sat down when the young man and woman approached them. It was soon apparent

that the two women were being questioned by police officers. The women produced identification cards and train tickets but they were led away, making only token protest. I had no idea what led to their arrest. A group of uniformed police arrived about 2 a.m. and we were told “All with tickets, upstairs; no tickets, out.” So up I went, past several persons who had no tickets but wanted to stay, and I didn’t blame them. Upstairs was gloomy and shabby but there were plenty of seats. I happened to sit by a woman I had seen earlier. I learned that she was English and had arrived in Hamburg earlier that day to see her husband but that he had been called away on a job unexpectedly and she had missed him. She was making her way back to London, dead

tired and running short of money. She had been “befriended” by a tough-looking young man who appointed himself her protector earlier in the evening. She was as frightened of him as she was by those he was “protecting” her from, but she could think of no way of declining her services without offending him. Fortunately for her he was not one of those allowed upstairs but her troubles were not quite over. This time an older “tough” decided she needed his company. He offered her the use of a hotel room which he had booked for himself, but she wasn’t sure whether he went with the room, so she declined his offer. He was a worker on the North Sea oil field. At last 4 a.m. came and we climbed aboard our train. I was gallant enough to be my English

friend’s “protector” until our ways divided an hour or two before Amsterdam. Yes, she was rather attractive. Those were just two stations among many. I have memories of others — Novosibirsk in central Siberia at 1.30 a.m.; Moscow and Leningrad; Helsinki where we were shocked by “Western prices” for a cup of coffee; a little old station on the Finnish-Swedish border where we waited while the rain poured; Oslo, with the greatest concentration of drunks and vagrants that I saw anywhere; Munich, where I had spent several eventful hours years ago; Paris, drinking coffee after an all-night trip from Nice, talking to girls from New York and Kansas City; Dover Station and the funny English voices; and finally, Victoria and the hordes of tourists. I was one of them.