Text 1. Should sleepers wake up to a new age.

In the good old days of business travel there was only one way to get across Europe- by sleeper train. You would go to bed in one capital city and wake up in another, halfway across the continent, refreshed and ready for a full day's work.

But today sleepers are approaching the end of the line. Only a fraction of the services available 50 years ago are still running.

The railways tell us that this is because faster trains make overnight journeys unnecessary, but many travellers have simply become disenchanted with the standards of service on trains and have gone to great lengths to find alternative-and less environmentally friendly- ways of reaching their destinations.

Noisy, uncomfortable and all too often horribly cramped, the utilitarian sleepers of today are a far cry from the marvelous old wood-panelled cabins and luxurious dining cars so beloved by Hercule Poirot.

Four reporters from The European boarded some of Europe's remaining sleepers to judge for themselves the standards of service and decide whether there is still a place for them in the hectic business world of the 1990s.

France. Ian Harding competes with snoring companions and noisy SNCF staff.

THE four-coach-train, pulled by a rumbling diesel, drew in at the little station of Najac in Aveyron, in the south of France, and a surly conductor checked my ticket in a darkened corridor.

He slid open a compartment door and shone his torch at the bottom bunk, telling me to climb in. From the snoring I could tell that two bunks were already occupied.

After fumbling in the dark, I finally found an overhead light, and in its feeble glow, could just make out plastic bags on the bunk- one containing a very thin sheet and the other a very flat pillow.

I dozed off and slept fitfully for a short while before being jolted awake by SNCF workers clumsily clanking extra carriages on to the train. Sometime after midnight our forth occupant climbed noisily into the bunk above me and after a few minutes, dropped a whisky bottle which rolled around on the floor until I managed to retrieve it and hand it back to him.

I woke all hunched up and with biting back pain just after 6 am and climbed out of my bunk, only to find that queue for the bathroom had already formed outside in the corridor. I decided not to bother shaving.

When Ifinally got off the train in Paris at 7am I did not feel up to a full day's work. Instead, I chose to recover from the experience by checking into a hotel and going straight to sleep. I would not travel on a sleeper again if you paid me.

 

Germany. Anton Katz finds that he should have booked first class, after all.

As someone who has a natural aversion to pre-dawn dashes to the airport, I decided to travel to my early morning meeting in Munich in comfort and style, and catch the Bonn-Munich leg of the Trans- Europe Night express.

Despite the name, the TEN is not particularly fast. The daytime express covers the 600 km in 6 hours, but the TEN adds 30 minutes to the journey, perhaps as a token gesture to travellers like myself who consider six-and-a-half-hours the bare minimum necessary for a decent night’s sleep. Beyond getting two instead of six passengers to a compartment, the main difference between first and second class appears to lie in the dubious distinction of being able to share a tiny shower cubicle with the rest of the carriage, so I decided against the Dm215 supplement that first class carries and opted instead for considerably cheaper second class sleeper with six bunks which comes with a more modest Dm27 supplement.

The error of my ways became clear when it came to stripping off the bed. Space in a six-bunk compartment is at premium especially when in a top bunk there is even less room for manoeuvre. When, after some miracle of contortion, I managed to take off my clothes, I folded them carefully and placed them at the foot of the bunk – only to spend the rest of the night creasing them thoroughly with my thrashing feet.

After a short while a fellow passenger decided that the train’s ventilation system was inadequate and opened the window a crack. This caused such a racket that a compromise had to be found and the door was slid back instead. At last, sleep of a kind was possible – but not for long. About an hour out of Munich, the breakfast trolley came crashing down the corridor, and the smell of Wurst, cakes, soft drinks and coffee wafted into the compartment.

An undignified run to beat the stampede for the washroom and half an hour lying cramped on my bunk reading a book left me creased, tired and determined next time to travel first class.

United Kingdom. Affectionate memories of upholstered wood are soon dashed for Sally Malcolm-Smith

I have very fond childhood memories of travelling by sleeper. We used to take theovernight train from Edinburgh to London on our way to holiday in France. Тhе train journey was always the most exciting part of the trip – the old-fashioned carriages trimmed withwood,the ceramic chamber pot in a cupboard under the sink, which cleverly emptied onto the track, the anticipation of biscuits and morning tea served in green British Rail china cups. My sister andI, who invariably shared a compartment used to race up and down the upholstered wooden ladder to the top bunk until, tired from our excitement and lulled by the clickety clack of the wheels on the tracks, we fell fast asleep, having stuffed our clothes out of the way in nets beside our beds. So it was with some nostalgia that a friend and I booked a sleeper оn the same journey back to London Euston.  But it wasn’t long before excitement gave way to trepidation. “Have fun”, smirked the man at the ticket office insinuatingly, but, as we approached the train, I knew it was going to be difficult to relive any memories.

The old light blue carriages had long since been scrapped, to be replaced by fiberglass orange and cream modern lettering. When we reached our compartment I looked for the chamber pot with sinking heart. Sure enough, it had been replaced by a black wastepaper basket. The wood had also gone. All around was plastic. Only the old Irish guard who came to ask us what time we wanted to be brought ourtea was consistent with the past. But the biggest let-down was the journey itself. Pulling out of the station, there was no rumbling from the wheels, just the smooth tug of the train gliding at speed over welded tracks. For hours we lay sleepless in the cramped berths as we were thrown around at every curve in the track.

When we arrived at Euston bleary-eyed andtwo hours late, we realized that the ticket office man¢s smirk was only a tease - there must be more romantic and ways of traveling south.

Single from Edinburgh to London first class 100 pounds, 2nd class 59 pounds (plus 5.25 for a shared berth). Passengers travelling alone are booked into compartments with someone of the same sex.

Italy. Judith Harris says those who travel together seldom remain strangers long

A lot of people I know detest over-nighters, but if you are fond of trains and a sound sleeper there can be few more pleasurable ways of travelling. The journey from Rome magnificent Stazione Termini to Paris on the Palatino train is one of the world's most delightful. The sights you see on the way are quite unforgettable.

At around 8pm, as the sun is just setting, the stark outlines of thousand-year-old castles proudly stand guard over the Tyrrhenian coast before giving way to snatched glimpses of rocky inlets and huddled fishing villages bathed in the moonlight. And beyond Genoa... well, by then I have succumbed to the gentle rhythm of the train and fallen fast asleep.

The compartments are basic but comfortable. All have soft, cotton sheets, plaid blankets, comfortable mattresses and a corner washstand with hot and cold running water.

First class compartments have one bed but I usually travel second class because other people's snoring does not bother me. I also like the camaraderie.

In my numerous nights spent on the Palatino, I have shared my compartment with a female psychiatrist, a 35-year-old matron who simply likes to travel, and an Italian princess's lady-in-waiting, who had a remarkable store of gossip about her mistress's life style. When you travel together strangers seldom remain strangers long.

 

WHAT TO DO:

1. Find in the text English equivalents for the following phrases and use them in sentences:

Путешествовать ночью, уровень обслуживания на поездах, тесные купе, сесть на поезд, открыть дверь купе, нижняя/верхняя полка, беспокойно спать, проснуться с болью в спине, приятный способ путешествовать, путешествовать вторым классом, зарезервировать место в спальном вагоне, билетная касса, разобрать на металлолом, падать на повороте, часть пути, мять одежду, попутчик, тележка с завтраком.

2. Give the Russian equivalents for the following words and word combinations:

a rumbling diesel, to snatch glimpses of smth., upholstered ladder, replaced by fiberglass, pre-dawn dashes, a decent night’s sleep, to decide against smth., to opt for smth., to fumble in the dark.

 

3. What is meant by:

a far cry from, wood-panelled cabins, hectic world, jolted awake, (not) to feel up to a full day’s work, a sound sleeper, basic compartments, consistent with the past, to open a door with a crack.

 

4. Look for synonymous and antonymous meanings to the following words and word combinations used in the text:

to become disenchanted, to be available, to board a train, to judge for oneself, hectic world, business travel, bottom bunk, sleep fit fully, to detest smth., sound sleeper, sights, a let-down, to strip off for bed.

 

5. Answer the following questions:

1. In what way could one travel on business in the past?

2. Why do many travelers become disappointed while travelling on trains today?

3. What was the journey that Ian Harding made like?

4. What made Judith Harris like the journey she made on the Palatino train?

5. Do you agree that those who travel seldom remain strangers long?

6. Does snoring on trains bother you?

7. Do you have any affectionate memories of travelling by sleeper?

8. Do you prefer conventional or ultra-modern high-speed trains (e.g. Shinkansen in Japan) to travel by?

9. Why did Anton Katz wish he had booked first class?

10. What is the practical application of different kinds of doors - sliding door, swing door, revolving door, etc.?

Text 2.                          LET THE TRAIN TAKE THE STRAIN

 

There are a few small rural railway lines left in Britain, and whenever I ride on one I ponder the miracle of the fact that it was ever constructed. If you announced today that you wished to hack down woodlands, gouge out cuttings through hillsides, drain water meadows and slice through fields with vast embankments like Roman fortifications and then lay down two strips of steel track on which a great, stinking, smoky, fire-breathing metal monster would roar several times a day, the protest rallies would have begun before you even drafted the private bill to go before Parliament. It's not remotely possible that you would be allowed to build it, any more than you could hope to run a motorway down the Trough of  Bowland or put up a multi-storey car park in Bourton-on-the-Water.

Of course, in the days when the railways were built, the countryside was not regarded as a place you might simply wish to admire and enjoy. Land was property and a workplace. The landowners who did object to the railways usually did so because they feared the line would reduce the value of their holdings and frighten the livestock. The biggest and richest sometimes had to be bought off with the promise of their own personal station, and so today your express north may well thunder past a small halt where the London train would once stop at the request of Lord This or Sir Somebody That.

Now, environmentalists regard railways as a thoroughly good thing, and fight against their closure with the same vigour with which they oppose the construction of motorways.

These thoughts occurred to me as I settled into a carriage on what must be one of the loveliest lines left in Britain — the track which runs from Whitby, on the North Yorkshire coast, inland in a great sweep to the industrial town of Middlesbrough. It travels through the Cleveland Hills, which have given their name to one of the new administrative regions of England, and is at the very top end of the North York Moors; indeed, the famous moors private railway links up with the British Rail Line at the village of Grosmont.

We set off from Whitby on a day that might be charitably described as 'bracing'. The first station, a mile or so out of the town, is at Ruswarp — cattle pens, fussily neat market gardens, flat meadows and the hills beginning to rise sharply from the coast. The line follows the River Esk. At Sleights there was apple blossom, small tidy houses with front gardens filled with flowers, pigs and lambs. Here the valley opens out and you catch a glimpse of the hills beyond; soon afterwards it closes in again, and the train and river run together through arching trees and banks filled with forget-me-nots.

At Grosmont, the junction with the North Yorkshire Moors Railway, there are old steam engines bright and gleaming in lovingly repainted colours. It's one of the few places on the line with a lot of tourists; for once we feel smug in the real train used by the real locals as we watch the visitors mill about looking for ice creams and tea.

We travelled a few miles further on, and climbed off the train at Leaholm. There is a pleasant enough pub here, a village green and a welcoming antique shop where my wife bought some jewellery which would have cost her twice as much in London. Then we walked high on to the hills to walk back towards Glaisdale, another near-perfect little village where even the signal box on the railway was lavishly decorated with potted geraniums. The day was still not warm, but we tucked our coats up round our faces and strode out. By the time we reached Glaisdale the weather had begun to clear and we stood happily on the humped Beggar's Bridge and walked through the trees by the river for a short way. After an hour or so, the train bucketed into the tiny station and we trundled back to Whitby.

The way in which the line appears to slide into people's lives, running past their farm houses, their back doors, their gardens and allotments, gives you a faint sense of being a voyeur – of having a glimpse of people who are unaware of you. It's not an uncommon feeling in this part of the world. Take, for example, the tiny fishing towns along the coast. Originally these were simply safe landing places or natural harbours. A thousand years ago few people lived on the coast because of the fear of attacks by Danes; after that danger passed dwellings were built right on the shore, often at the bottom of tall cliffs. There the villages were cut off from the world. The roads swept by them half a mile away; they had few reasons to leave, and few people visited them.

Now they have built car parks to discourage people from driving down, though you would have to be a fool to do so: a bicycle would have difficulty turning in some of the streets. We stayed in Runswick, which is really two villages — a nondescript collection of houses on the road, and then, down a short hairpin path, a group of homes clustered round each other, connected not by roads or streets but by tiny paths. There is hardly any space, and the houses seem piled on top of each other, impossible to tell where a garden ends and the path begins. If Runswick were on the Italian coast or even in Cornwall, it would be world-famous, but in this part of England only those who live nearby seem to know of it. They drive there for their Sunday lunch and to gaze out over the curved bay and the glowing yellow sand.

We headed north again towards Redcar and Middlesbrough. The approach to Middlesbrough is startling. The city was once the fastest growing centre in Britain, with a population which rose from 19,000 in 1861 to almost 100,000 at the end of the century. It's a steel and chemical town — the vast ICI Wilton complex is here — and from the main road it looks like some more industrialised version of Manhattan, except that instead of skyscrapers there are crowds of chimneys, fire stacks and cooling towers. Many of them are constantly pouring lurid smoke into the air. On the day we arrived there was a grey, lowering sky occasionally slashed by the sun, so that the smoke and sky together seemed to combine in forty shades of grey and orange. The centre of the town is, in fact, perfectly agreeable and some pleasant Victorian industrial architecture is still left.

Later we headed west towards the Georgian town of Yarm. Yarm was once an exceedingly important trading place, since it had the lowest bridge over the River Tees until 1771. It has a stunning setting on a great horseshoe bend in the river, and is dominated by a handsome railway viaduct which slices through the town.

Finally we drove into the lovely Cleveland Hills. Our circular route took us round to the handsome village of Great Ayton, then on to Newton, where we found a pub with a lavish bar menu. Round the back rose the splendidly named Roseberry Topping, the best known though not the tallest of all the Cleveland Hills.

Determined to lose the calories we had consumed in the pub, we set off from the small car park discreetly placed at the foot of the hill, and marched upwards, first through a wood thick with bluebells, then on to the steep open moorland. As we climbed, the view beneath us opened out, revealing the dull browns and greens of the distant hills, the occasional yellow scar of oil-seed rape fields. The height of the Topping is barely more than 300 metres, but standing there on the peak, the Cleveland Hills stretching out through the rolling miles, the keen east wind roaring in our ears, we felt as if we were on the roof of the world.

WHAT TO DO:

1. Give the Russian equivalents for the following words and word combinations:

Holdings, halt, inland in a great sweep to, a junction with, steam engines, to bucket into the tiny station, to mill about, to trundle back, a steel track, to be perfectly agreeable, stunning setting, a horseshoe bend, a railway viaduct, to slice through the town, a circular route.

                                                                                          

2. Explain what is meant by:

Vast embankments like Roman fortifications, to draft a private bill, to be bought off, the day might be charitably described as ‘bracing’, to feel smug in the real train used by the real locals, a nondescript collection of houses, the keen east wind.

 

3. Answer the following question:

1. What made the journey described in the text particularly enjoyable?

2. Why can travelling by train for some people simply be a way of getting from A to B or a positive pleasure for others?

3. What is your understanding of a railway journey?

4. Are you a railway enthusiast?

5. What is your favourite train route?