Various names are mentioned which will mean nothing to some readers:
Auntie Bee: My great aunt who travelled trans-Siberia to Australia in 1908, with her friend Lukie who kept a diary which we still possess.
Marion, Jennifer, Timothy, Alice, Helen: All members of my family.
Adam, Ambar, Andrew: Grandchildren.
Rosalind and Bernard: My sister and brother-in-law.
Allison: My cousin in Australia.
John: Her husband.
Most other names in Australia are members of their family.
Michael Hort who is the son of another cousin of mine.
Charles Perry is also a distant cousin.
References to Africa are to our family overland drive to Kenya in 1972.

"I want to go to all those wild places, like Australia, Africa and South Wales." This was a remark I am reputed to have made at the age of about four. I have since been to Africa, and one version of South Wales, and now it was to be Australia, and a new South Wales.

Sunday, September 17th 1995.
Carmarthen Station. I failed to see the sign saying 'Hong Kong - 9,300 miles', but it was there in my mind. It seemed quite a long way. At 10:39 in the morning I departed. Marion and Carmarthen remained behind. At Ferryside, I offered the ticket collectress a choice of nine tickets that I had with me, but I selected one that merely said 'Carmarthen to London Paddington'.
A first exotic note to my journey: a Greek man, on his way home to Athens, was being instructed by a friend how to use the Underground to get from Paddington to Gatwick. He had been visiting his daughter in Lampeter.
Leaving Newport, I was reminded of a story told by an old Great Western guard, of an Irishman from Cork who remarked at this point, "well that's the worst part of the journey over; we've got through South Wales".
"Going up to London are you?", said the guard. "No", he replied, "I'm going to Shanghai".
So, we'll see.
In the Severn Tunnel I made use of an opening window to look out about halfway through for the fascination of seeing the daylight gradually approaching at 100 mph (something unthinkable when the tunnel used to be full of smoke for its first 80 years). This was the last train with an opening window until my discovery at Irkutsk. One of the chief delights of train travel has been abolished.
Approaching Paddington, I took note of several of the sleek Eurostar trains at their North Pole depot, being prepared to take me further on my way the next day. At Paddington I was met by Jennifer and Timothy, and so out to Deanscroft and Adam and Ambar for a last night almost at home.

Monday, September 18th
Waterloo. Rosalind and Bernard there to meet me. Rosalind characteristically proffering multi-vitamin tablets and apples. I accepted some of the tablets; I had two apples already on board. Then aboard the Eurostar express, direct to Brussels. Departed from beneath the curiously curvilinear arch of the new Waterloo at 10:27, the start of continuous electrification all the way to Karymskaya. Vauxhall, 10:31. Take particular note of Vauxhall. Very important. Russian railways could not exist without it, as we shall see. Then over the new curve on a viaduct to avoid Clapham Junction and divert trains from the South Western line to the south east. 'Waterloo for the south east' is a new concept born with Eurostar.
I had a seat next to a girl from Tredegar on her way for a holiday in Bruges. There were plenty of seats to spare. She soon left me for the greater attraction of a window seat as suggested by an itinerant conductor. The train seemed rather warm at the start but soon adjusted itself into a pleasant temperature. From Tonbridge to Ashford, we were on the longest straight. That is to say, the 20 mile longest straight railway in Britain (I think). But this is anticipation.
We entered the Channel Tunnel at 11:38. There's really little to say about the Channel Tunnel; it's all a bit dark; much braking towards the end. Exit at 12:02, but it was now 1:02. Lunchtime, and France. Then a stop at Lille Europe Station (for two minutes only), a dark depressing station, giving the impression of being entirely underground. There had been a distinct acceleration after the Tunnel, but it was only noticeable by watching the speed of the countryside. Now it was raining, after a sunny start.
Belgium. Where did Belgium begin? Houses gradually assumed more of that steep-roofed decorated-gabled Flemish look. A slow approach to Brussels for the last quarter of an hour, and we arrived there a few minutes late.
Brussels Midi or Zuid. One hour to spare in the rain. Spent a fascinating 20 minutes watching the trams scurrying to and fro and burrowing under the station at a major junction. I was accosted by two rather small girls asking for 'quelquechose a manger' or money for food. This seemed a pity. I thought Brussels was the centre of European prosperity. I gave them nothing. I thought all those Eurocrats ought to do it themselves. Were they perhaps 10 years old - or less? And rather aggressive too; just a smile or two might well have got them half a Kit-kat.
Then the Cologne train. It was crowded to the first stop and then plenty of room. A great deal of dull Belgian scenery to Liege then interesting wooded hill and valley scenery with frequent tunnels through the Ardennes. At Verviers, a sort of first taste of the East. A train pulled in alongside mine, bound for St Petersburg, with bright blue Polish sleeping cars, among others.
Two men apparently from Cardiff were sitting nearby, retired train drivers. In fact one was from Pontrhydfendigaid, and has frequently driven trains up to Devil's Bridge. They were travelling on free passes to Prague and then back home via Interlaken. They knew Moscow and St Petersburg; obviously widely European travelled. Oh, for a few free passes!
Then it was Germany, at Aachen. No passport check, of course. Then Cologne (Koln) at 6:45. I walked to the Youth Hostel by way of a footpath beside the railway over the massive Hohenzollern Bridge, over and alongside the River Rhine (L'eau de Cologne?), with the famous two spires of the Cathedral behind me, which would dominate my landscape for the next 24 hours.
The hostel was large and apparently very efficient, until my discovery that evening food had stopped at 7, and there was no members' kitchen, and no visible eating places nearby, apart from a drinking den just opposite. So I started on my dried apricots and peanuts and made coffee with the very hot water from the tap in my room. I was later joined by a Dutchman, but he had no German or French or English. I bought a first postcard of the hostel, (and Cathedral, of course), to post to Alice.

Tuesday, September 19th
Youth Hostel feeding arrangements redeemed: cornflakes and muesli for breakfast, scrambled egg, meat rolls, orange juice, coffee and rolls unlimited. I confess to exploiting the system by preparing two extra rolls to secrete for a future occasion.
A fine, sunny day as I walked back over the bridge alongside the rumbling trains. I deposited my rucksack in a locker on the station with some difficulty; assistance was needed to dismantle the door to turn the key after putting in the money. A great many tourists around.
Cologne Cathedral: As lofty and slender and elegant inside as expected. Dark. Therefore the many brilliantly-coloured windows were all the more effective. The famous tomb of the three kings was only visible in the distance behind the inaccessible high altar.I went back again later at midday, for a 5 minute service of prayers preceded by impressively reverberating organ music. An ancient, wooden, mobile fire-escape ladder, with solid rubber tyres, was an unusual feature parked in one corner.
Stamps were difficult to buy, machines were empty and I had to track down the head post office in order to send two postcards. Most of the time it was just pleasant to sit under the trees by the riverside and watch the boats going by. Barges and pleasure boats, long distance and local; and bicycles - and the trains forever trundling overhead. The bridge is a six-track railway.
Back to the Youth Hostel for lunch for what seemed to be the best value for money for the main meal of the day (or perhaps the week). Wrote another postcard to post to Helen.
An afternoon river cruise up and down the Rhine to view the townscape for an hour or so.
A surprise at 5:57 while walking past the Cathedral again, when a peal of bells broke out from a building across the road. A carillon of two pendants of twelve bells each, on either side of a clock. On either side of the bells, a procession of figures was appearing from a balcony and moving along about six feet before disappearing again into the wall. The figures were about 2'- 6" high. Above and below the clock were heraldic shields and devices. Several tunes were played rather loudly in succession, for the few minutes before the clock struck six. All this was on the wall above a restaurant; and all rather ancient, I should imagine. A pleasant surprise while waiting for my 7:16 train.
The train duly arrived: Aachen to Moscow. Immediate Russian atmosphere: my travelling companion was Russian, the conductor was Russian, a genuine Russian train, in fact. So I had to get out my Russian phrasebook straightaway, and it was 'auf wiedersehen' to Germany and 'stravstvuitye' to Russia. However, it turned out that the passenger could also speak German and a little English. Later he even read some of my book to me, and understood it. Darkness outside had brought out my book, 'Jenny' by Paul Gallico. We also had some successful conversation. He had been to Cologne for a holiday from Moscow. He gave himself a large supper of bread and sausage. Sleeping accommodation was definitely cramped; making beds and preparation for the night had to be done one at a time. We went to bed at about 9:30.I was distressed to find later, at Hanover I think, that yet another man had settled in. It was in fact a three-berth compartment, all on top of each other, which explained why I was rather near the roof. But at least I was out of the way of his arrival. He was a Russian-speaking German.

Wednesday, September 20th
3:15 am: Frankfurt-an-der-Oder, and a passport check. First German, then Polish. But no need to get out of bed. A reasonably smooth ride with occasional sudden jerks when braking.
I got up at 7; the Russian a bit later. The new arrival stayed lying on his middle bunk making it impossible to convert the beds into seats. They carried on a continuous conversation in Russian.
Breakfast was one of my rolls kept from the Youth Hostel and an apple; no sign of food on the train or at stops. Countryside was all very flat and intensively farmed with wide strips of field without hedges; plough, stubble , some uncut maize, only an occasional Friesian cow and no herds visible. Cabbages and potatoes.
The German finally got off his bed at 9, and we were able to fold back his bunk to make three seats and a more spacious atmosphere.
Warsaw 9:25. Looked like a small country station, and we stopped on a grass grown track, not even a platform, so no getting out, and no windows open to be able to look out and see what was happening. Crumbling platform edges, everything very grey without any splashes of colour. But no; that was only a suburban station; after 20 minutes there we moved on into Warsaw Central; equally grey and dark and semi-underground, but in rather better condition. We stopped here for only 5 minutes and left 20 minutes late. Then a longish tunnel, then through a bit of town, across the Vistula by a long bridge, past a large street market and through Stadion (stadium) station, then stopped again at Warszawa Wschodnia, this time for over half an hour; several people got on and this was the main Warsaw stop. I was able to get out and take a couple of photographs, a more pleasant open station. So now we must have been nearly an hour late. The slow progress through Warsaw was nevertheless rather quicker than Auntie Bee changing stations by horse-drawn cab back in 1908.

Things looked up a bit at 11:15, when 'chai' was dispensed by the conductor; that is to say, hot water in which a tea bag was suspended, in a glass held in a metal container with handle. The Russian ate another large meal; the German didn't even have tea. I had another roll and biscuits. Terespol: end of Poland. A long stop with Polish passport check. I had previously had to fill in currency and customs declaration forms, all in Russian, with help from the semi-English speaking conductor. I hoped the right answers were in the right places. We continued for about two miles into Byelarus over a long bridge over the river Bug.
At Brest, or near Brest, we stopped at another station. An even longer stop, with declaration forms to be stamped and Russian passports and visas to be checked. We moved off again at 2:45, but it was now 4:45.
Then a further half mile to the bogie-changing shed. A fascinating one and a half hours in here. I was allowed out to watch proceedings; no one else seemed interested. The gauge actually widens from one end of the shed to the other, and the difference is so small that the smaller bogies can, in fact, be used on the wider gauge at slow speeds. It changes only from 4'- 8.5" to 5 foot. This is what happens: the standard gauge loco comes off the front of the train and it or another one is attached to the back and pushes the train into the shed. The front coach is detached and the rest pulled back 4 yards or so. The next coach is detached. This continues until the first four coaches (half the train) are separated on one track of the shed.
The other half of the train pulls out and re-enters the shed on a parallel track, and the same separating procedure follows. Meanwhile, work has begun on each bogie of each coach. The drawbar is first removed by lifting by a travelling overhead crane, and pulling out by hand, and a different heavier one put into position. On each side of each bogie is a vertical hydraulic crane with a projecting horizontal arm, which is inserted under the body of the coach. All four cranes then raise the whole coach simultaneously, slowly into the air for about 3 feet and the bogies left standing on the rails. So you now have the curious sight of eight wheelless coaches supported in mid-air with all the passengers (except me) still on board. A casual passer-by might well not believe that this is a train on its way from Cologne to Moscow.
Then the bogie train starts. New wide gauge bogies are pulled forward from beyond the end of the train, attached to a continuous wire rope beside the track. As they reach the first coach they push the old bogies forward too; and so this bogie train continues until each new bogie has been detached from the wire when it arrives under the appropriate coach. Each coach is then lowered onto its two new bogies, a tapered locating pin on the bottom of the coach entering a hole in the frame of the bogie. As the weight descends, the massive bogie springs are compressed to half their original height, and the brake levers attached by hand with pins. Now each coach is ready, but there is still the lengthy shunting operation to get all the coaches re-formed into one train. Finally the brakes can be tested and the train is ready to move off onto the Russian 5 foot gauge railway system.
If only a modicum of foresight had been available to the Tsar or his engineers 150 or so years ago, when most European railways were already 4'-8.5". But St Petersburg was rather a long way from any other railway.
What happened in 1908? No mention of it in Auntie Bee's diary. Was it Russian gauge all the way from the change of stations in Warsaw (Poland was then part of Russia)? And how about through Manchuria?
Eventually we did arrive at Brest Vauxhall. Vauxhall? Yes, Vauxhall again, as predicted. In fact every major Russian station is called Vauxhall. They spell it 'Bokcal' but it is pronounced the same. Their 'b' is our 'v', and 'kc' is 'x'. So, as I said, Russian railways could not do without Vauxhall. Another long wait here. We left at 7:15; by now, it seemed to me, two and a half hours late. It was raining. An afterthought: perhaps it was those same engineers who are reputed to have been sent over to England to find out how to run a railway. Being based in London somewhere near Vauxhall, they were so impressed by the station there that they decided that all Russian stations should be called Vauxhall. Is this myth, or the truth (Pravda)? It sounds so unlikely that it could well be true.

Thursday, September 21st
A better sleep, and I did not get up till 8:30, when another offer of free chai soon got me out of bed. Breakfast was chai, dried apricots and still some digestive biscuits left. The tea was sweet, without milk, and very refreshing. A slight frost on the ground, as one might expect in Russia.

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