Tracking Memories
Trains evoke memories for me. Something about the clickety-clack rhythm as the scenery flashes by, reminds me of an old film reel rattling as images of my life are evoked from the recesses of my mind.
This December our family boarded Jessica, a vintage steam engine from the Ceres Rail Company fleet, put back in to service in 2012 as part of an initiative to reopen a nostalgic way of traveling through the Western Cape. The romantic in me couldn’t wait to board, so you can imagine my delight when the conductor offered us the unique opportunity of traveling part of the way up front with the driver.
The noise in the cab was such that we could not hear each other over the engine so, after my fascination with the gauges and dials, the furnace and the whistle, I turned my attention to the view rushing by. As it shifted from harbor views to suburban backyards, a soundtrack started playing in my head: an Afrikaans song by Jak de Priester, Reis Na Gister, that sings of traveling back to find the dreams of our childhood in the places from our past. I settled back in to the rhythm of the tracks being swallowed up beneath me and started thinking of the places I’ve been and the things I’ve seen that have shaped my life.
I settled back in to the rhythm of the tracks being swallowed up beneath me and started thinking of the places I’ve been and the things I’ve seen that have shaped my life.
I thought of my childhood and the stories my grandmother would tell me of her trips across the country, even across the continent, by rail. I loved the sound of her voice, rising and falling, and dreamed of becoming as adventurous as her.
The backyards of Somerset West evoked memories from the years spent in London where I’d wrestle for a window seat to watch the row houses go by on my way to work near Waterloo station. I'd practice my storytelling skills as I imagined the lives of the people who could set their clocks by the 7:10 train as it rattled past their window. I devoured books, dreamed of writing my own, learned how to practice solitude in a crowd, and how to fold my newspaper so it wouldn’t impede on my fellow passenger's privacy.
As we passed through the township of Khayelitsha, barefoot children waved from their zinc homes with a delight that belied their poverty. I was reminded of the lessons of humility I'd learned in community placements as a physical therapist that informed my worldview and gave me a deep love for people and their dreams for a better future.
The steep climb up Sir Lowry’s pass afforded snapshot views of ostriches, zebras, antelope, forests, and vineyards, before providing sweeping views of the coastline as we leaned out to look back. I was stunned by the beauty and diversity of my home country and the privilege of my vantage point. A privilege I wrestle with daily as I dream of changing the world. Clickety-clack, huff, chuff, we climbed the hill.
I remembered other train trips: riding third-class overnight through India with the chai-wallah chanting up and down the aisle as he passed out steaming cups of tea. The time we trained to Edinburgh for Hogmanay, stayed up all night, and took the first train back to London so we didn't have to pay for a hotel. Even the steam train from Durango to Silverton in Colorado flashed through my mind's eye, where I remember taking in the beauty of my new country and contemplating the enormity of the choices made and dreams sacrificed to get there.
As we settled back in to an easy rhythm after the climb, we were embraced by the majestic Hottentots Holland mountain range and the apple orchards quietly bearing fruit. We disembarked at the Elgin Railway Market and enjoyed food stalls and live music, craft beers and conversation.
I couldn’t help thinking that this might be like heaven one day.
I couldn’t help thinking that this might be like heaven one day: welcomed in to the generous arms of our Father, rewarded with relationship and refreshment after the steep climb of life. All Aboard!