Two hundred years ago, in a sleepy English town, a steam locomotive chugged out of Darlington, hauling ticket-holding dreamers on a 26-mile jaunt to Stockton. It was 1825, and the world’s first public passenger train didn’t just move people—it moved history. Britain birthed the railway, and with it, a revolution that stitched nations together. Today, as the world wrestles with carbon footprints and fractured families, I’m drawn to the tracks, where time slows and stories unfold. As a journalist who’s chased truth from war-torn alleys to forgotten villages, I find something honest in trains—they don’t pretend to be anything but what they are: a way to see the world, flaws and all. Tom Chesshyre, a train-obsessed writer, has logged 40,000 miles on rails worldwide, and his new book, Slow Trains Around Britain, marks this bicentennial with a love letter to Britain’s quieter routes. Let’s hop aboard and explore why these slow rides matter—and why they’re a quiet act of defiance against our rushed, reckless world.
A Journey Born in Steam: The 200-Year Legacy
The Stockton and Darlington Railway wasn’t just a trip; it was a spark. “We, the British, invented the trains,” Chesshyre told the BBC. “It was a proud moment.” That 1825 journey kicked off a global transformation, shrinking distances and opening horizons. Chesshyre, a travel journalist with 13 books under his belt, wrote Slow Trains Around Britain to celebrate this milestone. “The anniversary lit the fire,” he said, his voice brimming with a trainspotter’s glee. For him, it’s not just about history—it’s about seeing places others miss, from windswept moors to tucked-away villages.
Trains are more than nostalgia; they’re a middle finger to the carbon-chugging madness of modern travel. Studies show rail emits a fraction of the CO2 of planes or cars. Yet, as Chesshyre notes, cheap flights—£60 to Barcelona versus £150 each way by train—keep people airborne. “We’ve got a way to go,” he sighs. But Europe’s fighting back. Spain’s high-speed network now rivals flying for convenience, and the Interrail Pass lets travelers hop across the continent affordably. “It’s not just for backpackers anymore,” Chesshyre says. “Anyone with a few weeks can have an adventure.”
The Romance of the Rails: Why Trains Endure
Why do trains still captivate? It’s not just the clickety-clack or the plush seats of a bygone era. “There’s a nostalgia for the golden age,” Chesshyre says, conjuring images of Agatha Christie’s velvet-lined carriages, where royalty and rogues rubbed shoulders from the 1890s to World War II. Stations like London’s St Pancras, with its Gothic grandeur, add to the allure. “You step into a beautiful setting,” he says, “and it feels like something special.”
But it’s more than aesthetics. Trains let you see the world at human speed—green hills, crashing waves, lives unfolding outside the window. “You’re not stressed out in a car,” Chesshyre says. “You can read, relax, escape.” I’ve seen this myself, riding rickety trains through rural India, where the view told stories no highway could. Trains are for the underdogs—the folks who don’t need to rush, who’d rather savor than speed. In a world obsessed with hustle, that’s rebellion.
Chesshyre’s Favorite Rides: Britain’s Hidden Tracks
Chesshyre’s book is a guide to Britain’s “slow trains”—regional routes that dodge the spotlight. Here are his top picks, each a window into the country’s soul:
Inverness to Thurso (ScotRail)
“Up to the most northerly station in the UK,” Chesshyre says, his eyes lighting up. This ScotRail trip from Inverness to Thurso winds through desolate moorland, “like disappearing from modern life.” The Atlantic looms at the end, a reminder of how far you’ve gone. “It’s not expensive,” he adds, “just a regular train that feels like escape.” Read more.
St Ives Bay Line
From St Erth to St Ives in Cornwall, this short ride is pure poetry. “You go along a clifftop, waves crashing below,” Chesshyre says. “Sit on the right going in, left going out for the best view.” The old fishing village of St Ives, once a haven for artists, glows in the distance. Images capture its magic.
Craven Arms to Llanelli (Transport for Wales)
This three-hour jaunt through Wales is a party on rails. “It was a Saturday evening,” Chesshyre recalls. “People brought beer, wine, snacks, and started singing Welsh songs.” One carriage turned into a rolling singalong, green hills fading into dusk. “It was jolly, not rowdy,” he says, “a happy experience.”
New Romney to Dungeness (Romney, Hythe and Dymchurch Railway)
This narrow-gauge line in Kent is a history buff’s dream. Built by an eccentric aristocrat, it’s a “little toy train” to Dungeness, near a former nuclear power station. “It’s quirky, tiny, and full of character,” Chesshyre says. Britain’s 170 heritage lines, covering 600 miles, keep the past alive, often run by volunteers.
North Yorkshire Moors Railway
Near where it all began, this heritage line was revived by rail enthusiasts in the 1970s after motorways gutted Britain’s tracks from 23,000 to 10,000 miles. “You ride steam trains through remote moorlands,” Chesshyre says, “bracken and gorse all around, steam trailing past.” He got to shovel coal into the furnace, a nod to the 30,000 volunteers who keep these lines running. “It’s touching,” he says, “to see the pride in Britain’s railway roots.”
A Global Adventure: The Trans-Siberian Tale
Chesshyre’s love for trains isn’t confined to Britain. His favorite international ride? The Trans-Siberian Railway, a nine-day, 5,772-mile odyssey from Moscow to Beijing. “It was sheer adventure,” he says. “You see the Ural Mountains, industrial cities, pine forests, the tundra.” The train became its own world—drunken Russians, dining-car dramas, a waitress and steward sneaking off together. “You meet characters,” he laughs, “and the scenery’s unreal.” I’ve ridden trains like that, from Cairo to Aswan, where the journey itself is the story, raw and unfiltered.
The Bigger Picture: Slowing Down in a Fast World
Chesshyre’s book isn’t just a travelogue; it’s a call to rethink how we move. “Trains open up places you’d miss,” he says. No traffic jams, no carbon guilt—just a book, a view, and time to breathe. Data backs him up: trains emit 80% less CO2 per passenger than cars. In a world racing toward climate tipping points, that’s not nothing. “We rush too much,” Chesshyre says. “Trains let you slow down.”
I’ve seen the cost of speed—communities bulldozed for highways, skies choked by planes. Trains, especially the slow ones, are a quiet protest, a way to honor the overlooked: rural towns, forgotten stations, people who don’t need to be first but want to be present. Britain’s 200-year rail legacy isn’t just about invention; it’s about connection—to the land, to each other, to the truth of why we travel.
A Call to the Wanderers
As England toasts 200 years of railways, Chesshyre’s slow trains remind us what’s at stake. In a world of estrangements and border clashes, trains are a humble rebellion—against haste, against waste, against forgetting the places and people that make life rich. “There’s no need to hurry,” Chesshyre says, and I hear echoes of the farmers, refugees, and dreamers I’ve met who just want time to live. Hop on a slow train, see the moors, hear the songs, feel the steam. It’s not just a ride—it’s a stand for something better.
