Snails on the line? Even Southern Rail hasn’t tried that one . . . yet!
Trains are the last symbol of sanity in the gender meltdown, the sole surviving proof that men and women are not identical creatures.
The diktats of equality have airbrushed all other differences away. Both sexes have become so homogenous that doctors are not even allowed to call pregnant women ‘expectant mothers’ so as not to offend transgender people. We’re all unisex now.
But not where trains are concerned. Whether elbow- deep in grease under the axle of a halfrestored Victorian carriage, or standing on a platform in freezing sleet with a trainspotter’s notebook, the obsessive railway enthusiast is a bloke.
Just about everyone Chris Tarrant encountered as he trundled down the tracks of Morocco in Extreme Railway Journeys (C5) was male. Drivers, engineers, ticket sellers and of course the bonkers German called Eddie who ran a train service to the sahara twice a year — all men.
Let’s face it, there is no more blokeish presenter than Tarrant. Meeting a chap named abdelatif, he retorted: ‘Chris is easier to say!’
and when he was introduced, in a first-class carriage, to a lady called Layla, he immediately started playing air guitar. spotting a man asleep in a fez hat, Tarrant swiped it and started doing Tommy Cooper impressions. Only a man could act like that. if you don’t believe me, try to imagine Professor Mary Beard behaving the same way.
Tarrant never stopped moaning about the heat. ‘Hell in a tin can!’ he grumbled, and showed us how the soles of his shoes had melted on the pavements — but he kept his anorak on throughout, even when the thermometer topped 44C.
He was delighted to discover the Tangier express had an attachment to spray sand under its wheels, to keep it from slipping when there were snails on the line. There’s an excuse southern railway hasn’t thought of yet.
and he admitted the sight of a bridge across a floodplain, built to carry the latest high-speed trains, brought him close to tears. no woman ever cried to see a bridge.
But this wasn’t quite an all-male preserve. The exception was the owner of rick’s Cafe in Casablanca, who was american and female, a sort of Humphrietta Bogart. The place was a tourist trap, celebrating the classic 1942 movie. at least the piano player was a man. ‘Play it again, sandra!’ doesn’t have quite the same ring.
East-Enders actress June Brown was very clear about the gender gap, in Women At War: 100 Years Of Service (BBC1), marking a century since women took up roles in the armed Forces: ‘We’re not equal, are we!’ she snorted. ‘i like to know there are men and women, and we’re not all the same.’
remembering her days in the Women’s royal naval service or Wrens during World War ii, June revealed why she volunteered – ‘the uniform suited me complexion’. she didn’t like the regulation handbag, though . . . barely big enough to hold her cigarettes. she worked as a cinema projectionist, showing training films to men before D-Day and rolling ciggies for them. The only time she stepped on board a navy vessel was to drink pink gin with the officers of a submarine, moored in the harbour.
Chatting to a female officer in today’s navy, June wondered: ‘are there many romances on board?’ ‘ no! Definitely not!’ came the emphatic reply. June arched a disbelieving eyebrow.
This low-budget documentary series, running every weekday morning until remembrance sunday, might be cheap and cheerful, but it’s a tonic to see proud women war veterans.