Blood on the train tracks

4th August 2017


I often have an ignorance of reality. The petrol just about got me to Crawley before the tin wagon surrendered from exhaustion on the climb of the hill. I managed to find a jerry can in the boot, grabbed my camera gear and strolled in search of the nearest petrol station. It was the era of pre Google maps on iPhones (2011 I think?).

I walked past a group of teens and stopped to ask where the nearest petrol station was. They kindly agreed to show me and before long we were on an adventure. We needed to cross either a really busy highway or the tracks – it was so long ago I cant recall. The group referred to the activity like it was a daily event and I followed their lead; hesitant but game. There were 4 of us and we scampered over the fence before making a dash for it.

Jerry can full and on the return we repeated the reckless journey. Suddenly one of the girls tripped and smashed onto the floor. We all screamed and hauled her up before running to safety. Hearts pounding and blood everywhere I recall the sudden realization of being the adult in the situation. I felt awful! What the hell was I doing running across death-ridden paths with teenagers in tow?? I apologized through panicked gasps and all of them giggled.

“Take a picture “one of them said.

Back at the car and slightly calmer we took some shots. I was lucky; thank goodness she was ok.

The next image is from the Danube trip. The androgyny of the child and my difficulty to place their age was intriguing. The others peeked from behind the fence curiously watching as we chatted. After about 20 minutes those little legs were peddling into the distance as the sun began to set.