Saturday 17th August 2024

And another adventure.

In 2009, over some pints of beer, some rightminded folks thought it a good charity event to have buses run to the "lost" village of Imber on the Salisbury Plain.

Lost, because like those on the STANTA training area which my friend Simon K so well describes on his churches of Norfolk website, the War Department requisitioned several areas around the country for preparation training for the ground invasion of Europe that became D-Day.

In many cases, the land and villages were never given back, like at STANTA and here at Imber.

So, run some buses. Red Routemaster buses from Warminster one day a year to visit Imber, a village frozen in time from 1940.

To say it was a success would be an understatement, and after a pause for COVID, is back and bigger and better subscribed than ever before.

UK Railtours were running a trip starting at Tonbridge to Warminster, so it seemed a good idea to book and go along.

This did mean getting up at stupid o'clock, have coffee and be on the road before six.

Years ago, we bought a picnic basket, a traditional one in a wicker case with cups, plastic knives, etc, and have never used. This would be its first use, once I had cleaned the dust and cobwebs off it. Jools made ham salad folls, we had a bottle of fizz.

All was set.

We made good time to Tonbridge, getting tot he station along quiet roads and motorways, parking in the near-empty car park next to the station. But our plan to have breakfast was scuppered by the fact almost all places along the high street were yet to open, so we had to make do with a warmed up bacon butty and coffee from a small kiosk on the station forecourt.

That helped.

We still had half an hour wait before the heritage unit rumbled in, we had reserved seats, so found those, where we were sharing our table with a couple from Rainham, who were quite chatty, but not too much.

This is pretty much the only Southern "slam door" unit still running on the mainline, so it looks unusual, and all along the route people came to take shots and videos, or those not expecting us, looked on at something from the 1950s, chugging along.

Our route took us through the Surrey Hills to Redhill, then up through Croydon into Waterloo via a freight line.

This is where most folks got on the tour, so was crowded after that.

From Waterloo we headed out along the main line to Woking and Basingstoke where we had the last two pickups, before taking the non-electrified line to Salisbury before finally arriving at Warminster.

And that is where the queues began, and really did not stop.

It took half an hour to wait to get on a bus, and when we got near the front, all seemed to want to board a Routemaster, the modern air conditioned bus was less than half full, so we got on, which seemed fine as all buses stop at Imber on the way to the various further destinations.

The bus climbed out of the town, past the barracks I used to visit when posted to RAF Lyneham, then up onto the battle area, where there were observation towers, hulks of bombed out tanks, but mostly endless plains of wild flowers, just swaying in the breeze.

When the bus arrived in Imber, we saw crowds everywhere, as this is what people wanted to see, including me. We decided to go to the end of the route and come back towards the end of the day, so stayed on. The bus filled up with folks seeking to escape Imber, leaving with people standing hanging on for dear life as the bus lurched along the less-travelled roads.

We ended up at the village of Chitterne, where there was a fine, if plain church, and next door, the village hall that was doing refreshments. So, as there was a wait for a return bus, we had a bottle of water and a cheese scone before getting on the bus we had arrived on.

I had my macro lens in a backpack, and had taken it off before sitting down to eat, and little did I know that I left it leaning against the table leg.

Halfway back to Warminster, I realised my mistake, and so had to get off at Gore Cross to catch a bus back. There was no phone signal, and I had no phone number who to call.

So, I climbed on the next bus, meaning some poor sould got left behind, and made my way back to Chitterne. Jools had stayed on the bus and went back to Warminster.

My bag had been found and set aside.

I claimed it and revealed the grand of L-series lens inside, then had to wait for a bus back.

We waited on a hot and sweaty Lodekker until twenty to four, then myself and the old gentleman beside me, began to worry about getting back to the station to catch the train, which was to leave at five sharp!

The trip in a 1950s powered bus, that lurched over potholes, and struggled in first gear up any climb, struggled to get back to Gore Cross, then to Imber, where there were no crowds, but with just 40 minutes to get back.

At least I had a phone signal, so could let Jools know I was on my way, and finally at twenty to five, the bus lumbered down back into Warminster, round two roundabouts to the station, where Jools was waiting, releaved.

At ten to five we boarded the waiting train, and Jools popped the cold bottle of local beer she had bought me.

Phew.

The rain growled out of the station, and as the tour headed back east to Salisbury, we had either a beer or cider, along with one of the rolls that Jools had made. Once at Salisbury, we took the line south to Southampton, for a different experience to the outbound trip, before turning north through Eastleigh and then in the gathering gloom of a later summer's evening to Basingstoke and Woking to drop off passengers, and then arriving into Waterloo at dusk.

The tour was ahead of schedule, so we had to wait 15 minutes for the road to take us back out, then via the freight line at Battersea, then rattling at walking place though the southern suburbs to Selhurst, where finally we had a clear road and we sped up.

We got back to Tonbridge dead on time, leaving us with the task of dragging our weary legs and bags up the steps to street level, then over the road to the car park.

I turned the key, the engine fired. Jools set the sat nav and we were away, up the high street and out into the countryside, along quiet dark roads until we got to the motorway, then tuned south towards Dover.

We got back at half ten, the cats were non-plussed and much of the extra food left was uneaten. We put out fresh stuff, I had a brew, and at just after eleven, we went to bed.