It is almost a scene from Harry Potter - Central Railway Station in July.

The black steam engine with its coal tender showing in gold lettering, "New South Wales Government Railways." Boarders from the Great Public Schools in their 'preppy' uniforms: girls with round straw hats, the boys in their boaters, school emblems on their left pockets, all ready to return to their 'Country' homes. Pistons wheezing steam, the iron driving wheels scraping the rails, the train pulls out from the station.

"No more school for three weeks, whacko the diddle oh!"

We pass slowly by the old stone mortuary siding where coffin'd corpses await motor transportation to the Sydney cemeteries - wealthy farmers not wanting to be buried in their small towns. Their school days are definitely over.

On through the blue collar suburbs without giving a second thought to the mums preparing their 'ubby's teas.

That night and bored by the several hours of chatter, we look out at the backyards of some small country town, sheets hanging from the wash line propped up by a forked, eucalyptus branch. Cats sit on unpainted windowsills, dogs laze in the yard and chooks peck at their scratch. Smoke rises from brick chimneys protruding from the corrugated iron roofs. Much later looking out at the darkness, the air is ice, the black heavens are swept with winter stars, white and still; the dark hills are just visible in the starlight.

Staring out the train window produces thoughts now long forgotten - surely not the recent exams or what my future holds. Turning out the compartment lights I see the tiny bright pinpoints of settlements far in the distance - large sheep stations, small hardscrabble farms.

Flash! Flash!

Another train passes in the opposite direction too fast to see its passengers.

Flash!

We pass a fettlers' tent settlement but it's too late to expect their cry for "Paper!" - their request given to the daytime trains for the latest Sydney edition.

Later, the conductor yells, "Werris Creek". I jump up and race to the exit. It's coffee time and only two hours to go. Hurry to the cafeteria, "Milk coffee and a meat pie, please."

"One and three, son."

I fork over the money and the midnight meal brings me to life.

It is almost a scene from Harry Potter - Central Railway Station in July.

The black steam engine with its coal tender showing in gold lettering, "New South Wales Government Railways." Boarders from the Great Public Schools in their 'preppy' uniforms: girls with round straw hats, the boys in their boaters, school emblems on their left pockets, all ready to return to their 'Country' homes. Pistons wheezing steam, the iron driving wheels scraping the rails, the train pulls out from the station.

"No more school for three weeks, whacko the diddle oh!"

We pass slowly by the old stone mortuary siding where coffin'd corpses await motor transportation to the Sydney cemeteries - wealthy farmers not wanting to be buried in their small towns. Their school days are definitely over.

On through the blue collar suburbs without giving a second thought to the mums preparing their 'ubby's teas.

That night and bored by the several hours of chatter, we look out at the backyards of some small country town, sheets hanging from the wash line propped up by a forked, eucalyptus branch. Cats sit on unpainted windowsills, dogs laze in the yard and chooks peck at their scratch. Smoke rises from brick chimneys protruding from the corrugated iron roofs. Much later looking out at the darkness, the air is ice, the black heavens are swept with winter stars, white and still; the dark hills are just visible in the starlight.

Staring out the train window produces thoughts now long forgotten - surely not the recent exams or what my future holds. Turning out the compartment lights I see the tiny bright pinpoints of settlements far in the distance - large sheep stations, small hardscrabble farms.

Flash! Flash!

Another train passes in the opposite direction too fast to see its passengers.

Flash!

We pass a fettlers' tent settlement but it's too late to expect their cry for "Paper!" - their request given to the daytime trains for the latest Sydney edition.

Later, the conductor yells, "Werris Creek". I jump up and race to the exit. It's coffee time and only two hours to go. Hurry to the cafeteria, "Milk coffee and a meat pie, please."

"One and three, son."

I fork over the money and the midnight meal brings me to life.