Yesterday’s jaunt started with a Facebook message “We’re going to Pembroke Dock on the train, are you interested?”. I considered it for a while, had a look on the web to what was in the vicinity that I could go and photograph and decided I would join the small party travelling to the end of the line. The journey started off uneventfully enough, three of us got on the three-car Class 175 train that would take us to Carmarthen where we would change trains for the Carmarthen to Pembroke Dock train. The closer we came to Carmarthen, more and more persons got on the train, it was clear they were all bound for the seaside with their buckets, swimming rings and hordes of littl’ uns. We could foresee a bit of a battle to get on the next train and sure enough, all the passengers on the three-car-train dashed across to the other platform to squeeze into an elderly two-car 150 Class train. It was an interesting ride, with many standing for the hour’s trip as far as Tenby and then, all of a sudden the contents of the carriages were disgorged onto the platform and we had the train to ourselves for the twenty-minutes trip to the end of the line. Many sections of the line from Whitland to the terminus are laid with old-fashioned fish-plated track producing the clackety-clack we associate with railways but very seldom hear, all very evocative of a past era.
The group I was with went straight into the Station Inn where we were going to eat and then planned to while away the few hours with nostalgic talk of the past before catching the train home three hours later.
I had other plans though and after having lunch in their company wandered off into the small town with my camera to see what I could find to photograph. I had been told the town was a little uninteresting with not much to see, but I was quite impressed with the wide streets and the layout of the place and found it quite attractive. I had a destination in mind however, and that was the Victorian Gun Tower down on the river front and made my way there where I amused myself trying to capture the unusual structure from every angle possible. It was here that I noticed a gentleman with binoculars strolling along the beach-front, wearing a wide-brimmed hat it was difficult to see his face but as he passed I realised it was a member of Bridgend Camera Club to which I belong. We spent a half-hour or so exploring and photographing the river frontage together before I had to leave him to catch my train home.
The journey home on another ancient 150 Class two-car set was less eventful and the train took us straight into Swansea where we alighted and then caught an Inter-City 125 which took us back in relative comfort to Bridgend.