Home again, home again jiggity jig

As you might imagine, I am safely back in St. Andrews. Contrary to the fears of my parents, grandparents, and close friends I was not thrown into an Italian jail or spirited away by Albanian terrorists. And yet, as you also might imagine, my life has become increasingly prone to fun-loving misadventures. Transportation from England back to Scotland was no exception.

I should have known that, despite rising with the dawn to be at the train station on-time, my journey would not be all sunshine and roses. Sure enough, about fifteen minutes before my train was set to arrive, a dapper Englishman came over the loudspeaker and announced in lilting tones that, “the train from Bath Spa to Bristol Temple Meads has been delayed due to a fault with the signaling equipment. We apologize for any inconvenience.” Not only did this recording play over and over again, but another one far more disturbing could be heard from the opposite platform, “the train from Bristol Temple Meads to London Paddington has been canceled due to a fatality on the line. We apologize for any inconvenience.” Nothing like the clipped, British way of expression to be direct!

Thankfully, no one died on my line and the train did arrive, eventually. Of course, when we actually stopped in Bristol Temple Meads, the train to Edinburgh had been long gone and I had to wait an hour before the next train arrived; this chap, also waiting for the train, and I struck up quite a wee conversation to pass the time. Sooner rather than later, a train appeared at the station. Unfortunately, my reservation was about an hour up the line and I found myself obliged to hop around the carriage until I found a seat that wasn’t marked with that tell-tale piece of paper. Happily, I sat beside a woman who was also devoted to her assignments but, unfortunately, we were across the aisle from these two old chaps from Birmingham who spoke very loudly about toilets, the War, and the upcoming election. Birmingham, apparently, produces a host of interesting people.

When we stopped in Sheffield, the train became incredibly crowded, I lost my seat and had to move to the back of the carriage, you know that space in between the cars. Turns out, seven other blokes who were football fans (soccer to Americans) from the Midlands, West Brommies to be exact, were also in the carriage. I was the only woman. Despite standing rather uncomfortably, I found the entire circumstance hilarious. Really, if I couldn’t have a window-seat watching the English countryside pass my window, I would much rather be laughing with a bunch of football fans half-way to the game and a state of drunkenness. Our conversation dipped into a bit of hot water by talking about the American Revolution and dipped back out again when I brought up sports. Those honest guys got off in Sheffield and, after a few more stations, I found a seat for the rest of my journey.

I knew I was in the North by simply watching the hills change in contour and color. Something stirred within me as we crossed the Scottish border. I felt like I was coming home. I’ve never been head over heels for any one person, but I think what I feel about Scotland must be close.

Assignments were waiting for me on my desk as soon as I arrived back at New Hall. These last four weeks of the semester will be full of work but, hopefully, also full of the same passion and drive to learn which propelled me through the first half of this year. Until next time!