Introduction
Acklington is one of 3 stations on the Northumberland stretch of the East Coast Main Line (ECML) that only have 3 trains per day. About 2 years ago, I visited Chathill (the terminus of the services), but Acklington is the least used station, both in Northumberland and on the entire ECML. It was one of the few minor stations on the ECML to survive both pre-Beeching and Beeching cuts. However, its service was cut substantially, due to electrification and associated faster InterCity services, and rolling stock shortages.

The Journey
Although two return trains run (one in the morning, one in the evening), the northbound morning service does not stop at Acklington. Thus, the only way I could visit it by train was using the northbound evening service, and then picking up the southbound evening service on the way back. This suited me well; although I am prepared to wake up very early for the railways, I generally like a lie in. I didn't lie in all the way to my 4pm train because I'm not a hibernating brown bear. I'm also not an awake brown bear, or a brown bear of any sort. Just in case you were confused.

With tickets that were not valid via Newcastle, I had to get off at Morpeth. With apologies to all for bringing up politics, this was the notice that greeted me on the ticket machine at the station.

Sharpie written political commentary aside (those last two words used in their loosest possible sense), I had a train to catch. I switched platforms and sat for an hour on a bench, occasionally managing to get semi-competent pictures of the passing trains.

I continue to be amused at the fairly awful pronunciation of places by computers. This time, it was Alnmouth's turn to be called “Olma” for no reason. I have heard many variations (Alan-mouth, Alnn-mouth, An-muff etc.) but never “Olma”. (For those interested, I think the way to pronounce “Alnmouth” is “Alnn-muth” - no “Alan” and not emphasising the “mouth”.)

Linguistics (if this even counts) aside, my train arrived late and managed to regurgitate the entire population of Newcastle from its 2 coaches. I got on, had my ticket checked by the conductor, and observed passengers getting off at the other 2 stations that see such a limited service (Pegswood and Widdrington). A handful of passengers got off at each. I was surprised that 2 other people got off with me at Acklington. They left the station quickly, and I stayed to have a look round.

Acklington
As would be expected, the facilities are fairly basic. There are all the normal signs and lights and a bin. The stationhouse on the northbound platform is now somebody's home, and there is a shelter on the southbound platform which is the same as the one that was at Chathill: small, wooden, and rather sweet.

The top third of the northbound platform is pointless because the yellow line is so far back that it makes actually walking on it nigh on impossible.

It's also fun to play a game of “spot the way out” on the southbound side. I don't think the signs give too much away.

The way from one platform to another is via the road bridge. This is actually a fair distance because the entrance to the northbound side is at the other end of the platform. There's about 200m of walking to get from one platform to the other, 150m of it on road. The village is located half a kilometre to the east. I didn't visit it.

With the pictures and exploration finished, I spent the remaining 20 minutes in the shelter, popping my head out when trains passed. Like the top third of the northbound platform, the yellow line comes so close to the shelter that walking along the platform behind it becomes difficult. Like a tightrope, but with unenforced gravity.

Back Home
My train back to Morpeth arrived. It was the same one as before.

The conductor checked my ticket, but queried my route (I don't think they were aware where Haymarket was). Once I explained, they ticked the ticket off with their pen and went back to their other duties. Nobody else got on or off at Widdrington or Pegswood on the way back.

Morpeth arrived and I changed. I didn't have too much of a wait before my train back north to Edinburgh. When I got on, quite a few got off, and I had an entire carriage to myself. Or, I thought I did. A rather imposing walking cane accompanied me. I reported it to the train manager when she came around, and she took it to her office.

The rest of the journey did not involve any other walking sticks.

Notes
Acklington station was never going to be used well, but its patronage will still be throttled somewhat by the infrequent service and the odd destination in the north. Few people will want to go to Chathill, and even though one can change at Alnmouth, the connections to Berwick aren't great from there. One of the major gripes of railway users in Northumberland is that, although there are quite a few trains from Newcastle to Edinburgh, most of them only stop at one or two stations between the two cities. Thus, there is a very infrequent service between the various stations in Northumberland. There is no train from Alnmouth to Berwick-upon-Tweed from 10am to 4pm; no train from Morpeth to Alnmouth for over 6 hours (06:38 to 12:57); and no train from Morpeth to Berwick for nearly 7 hours (11:51 to 18:49). If Northern could use electric rolling stock capable of 100mph, then there could well be space in the timetable for an hourly or bi-hourly local service from Newcastle to Berwick-upon-Tweed calling at all the stations en-route. Some enhancements are planned, but they are still only in the planning stage and could well be pulled/deferred.

I had about an hour at the station, which I used trying to take pictures of the outside of the station without too many locals questioning my sanity, and taking pictures of the trains which passed occasionally.

My train onwards to Barry Links was showing as on-time, but was held at Dundee for a late-running express to Aberdeen. That meant it arrived 15 minutes late. Nobody got off, but I got on (slightly obviously).

Slightly too soon, my train to Golf Street arrived and I boarded (but only after taking a quick snap).

Introduction
Like many other long, rural railway routes, the Cambrian Coast Line has numerous small stations which serve little hamlets that wouldn't otherwise get a railway service. Most of these are request stops. Tonfanau itself is 5-10 minutes north of Twywn (by rail). Although it used to serve a military training and refugee camp, this no longer exists. Only a few houses and multiple abandoned and derelict buildings exist now. In fact, British Rail (BR) attempted to close the station in the mid 1990s because it didn't serve anything anymore. This request was declined.

Given the above, you would be forgiven for thinking the annual patronage for Tonfanau fell under 1000 passengers per year. However, it doesn't. It was used by over 3000 people last year, one of the highest figures in this series. I can only estimate the reasons for this, but it may have something to do with the 4 annual Tonfanau Road Races which take place near the station (hence the name).

The Journey
Being based in Scotland means getting to any part of Wales takes a long time. The previous day, although brilliant, had resulted in a very late night, so I got barely any sleep before I had to be up for the 06:52 service from Edinburgh. This took me as far south as Warrington, the jewel of Cheshire. There, I changed onto one of the “new” services operated by Northern: the Leeds to Chester service. I took this to Chester, where I made my second change of the day to my service all the way to Shrewsbury. Both these changes were quite tight (>10 minutes).

At Shrewsbury, my 14 minute change became twice as long because the service from Birmingham that I would take to Tonfanau was just over quarter of an hour late. This turned out not to matter, because there was sufficient allowances in the timetable to mean that, by the time it departed Tywyn, it was only 2 minutes behind schedule. But, at Shrewsbury, Tywyn was still 2 hours away and I had the single track Cambrian Coast Line to admire. Although pleasant, the views only really get going after Dovey Junction, where the line to Aberystwyth splits off south, and the line to Pwllheli works north. Tonfanau is on the Pwllheli branch, and I was on the Pwllheli part of the train (services divide at Machynlleth with one part going to Aberystwyth and the other to Pwllheli). The line between Dovey Junction and Aberdovey hugs the cliffs round Dovey Estuary (that may not be the official name of the area, but it works as a description), just above the water. This produces some excellent views.

Aberdovey came and went, as did Tywyn shortly afterwards. Tonfanau is only a few minutes north of Twywn, so I prepared myself for getting off the train. I made sure that the train was stopping at Tonfanau (it is a request stop), and stood by the door for the remainder of the journey.

Tonfanau Station
Having watched the train depart, I had to put on my coat because the rain had just started to fall. This is typical of British weather: Indoors for half the day then the moment when one leaves shelter, the rain starts.

Although Tonfanau station is remote, a new build house has been built directly next to the platform. There were also a number of cars parked up by the level crossing, so the place felt quite crowded. I decided to walk to the beach and derelict military buildings first.

The Surrounding Area
The derelict military buildings are visible from the station. There are a small number of them standing, with numerous other patches of concrete which signify where other buildings or installations once were. One of the sets of buildings had a caravan parked right next to it, a caravan which contained more people.

Further on is the beach and mouth of the River Dysynni. I thought here, at least, I would be able to enjoy the wind-and-rain-swept delights of the Cambrian Coast alone. But, as has become the theme of today, a single human in a black kagoule was also on said beach. I had a short wander down to the sea, enjoying the fact that my shoes were (and still are) waterproof, before going back to the station.

Back to the Station
After my antics (and I use that word in its loosest possible form), I had an hour to look at the station before my train that would take me back ultimately to Edinburgh arrived.

Tonfanau has the normal facilities that I have come to expect. There are a number of signs, a basic shelter, a bench, a salt bin (but no litter bin), a bike rack (one hoop only), a BT payphone, a digital information screen and an automatic announcement system. The automatic announcement system was fairly awful, in that it couldn't pronounce the word 'operated' properly, instead going for “approted”. You can imagine how awful the pronunciation of the more complicated Welsh place names were.

I left the platform for a bit to get some pictures from the other side of the track. As I did this, more people arrived. They went onto the station platform. Another person also arrived in a truck. All the people (so many people) were now on the platform. However, only the couple were hand-in-hand. If you get that reference, you win the prize of slightly understanding my weird brain.

I went back onto the platform, and was asked by the man if one could buy tickets on the train. I told him that he could. I continued to wander up and down the platform for the remaining time until the 15:16 service arrived. As it rounded the corner, the driver gave a toot. I spun round and stuck my arm out to flag it down. The driver responded with another blow of the horn, and I put my appendage away so as not to annoy him.

The Journey Home
The train did stop, and the couple and I got on. My ticket was checked and I settled down for the ride back to Shrewsbury. There were long waits at Machynlleth (timetabled) and at Talerddig (not timetabled – we were waiting for a delayed eastbound train). We arrived at Shrewsbury 10 minutes late.

In the 6 hours between visits to Shrewsbury a points failure had occurred near Chester. A lot of trains were quite late, but my service to Manchester was mostly unaffected. It was only 7 minutes late. An almost perfect run to Manchester was brought to a stuttering halt outside Cheadle Hulme. We were stuck behind a train which was having some problems with its doors for a few minutes, causing the delay to run up to quarter of an hour by the time I arrived at Manchester Piccadilly. Getting stuck behind delayed services turned out to be a theme of my return journey.

With an hour to wait for my train to Edinburgh, I decided to leave Manchester Piccadilly station and walk to a take away to get myself an overpriced burger and chips.

I consumed most of the food back at Piccadilly, watching a fare dodger vault the barriers and run away from staff. The British Transport Police officer looked on and said “I'm not running after that” to the staff when they shouted for help. The tracksuit-based fare-dodging clot got away. I hope he face-planted into the escalator.

Re-focusing on my burger, I finished it before my train to Edinburgh arrived on platform 14. I boarded it and settled down in my reserved seat for the 3 hour journey. I spent the journey tracking trains, listening to podcasts and watching the light fade outside until there was a dark nothingness, much like Alexander “Boris” Johnson's conscience.

This dark nothingness turned out to be a field near Lockerbie, a field which I got rather too acquainted with over the next 70 minutes. The train ahead was experiencing the Great British Tradition of a drunken Wednesday night fight. This meant the police and ambulance service had to be called, statements taken from passengers, and associated administration and problems. That train was 90 minutes late getting going, and we finally moved 70 minutes behind schedule.

The train skipped Haymarket station where I had hoped to get off because it was so late that Haymarket had shut down for the night. Instead I was deposited at Waverley at quarter to one in the morning. I boarded a night bus (which cost £3 – great price Lothian Buses(!)) and got home at gone 1:30am.

Notes
I may not have mentioned this before, but there were too many people at Tonfanau. I like going to least used stations (partly) for the solitude, something that didn't exist when I was there. For a station that looked so remote on a map, it felt overcrowded when I got there. Worth the 18 hour round trip though.