The Forth Bridge
Painting the Forth Bridge
Doug JohnstoneHe was already awake when he heard the rush of the 6:20 heading south. Checked his bedside clock. On time. The first trains of the day were usually on time unless the weather was bad, it was the later ones that slipped, work on the line or technical faults. He lay in bed and listened to the whoosh of the approach resolving into the click-clack of wheels on rails as the train headed away.
He waited. Looked at the clock. Anticipated. Were the sounds already reaching his ears from the other direction but too quiet to hear? At what point could you say that you heard something? Then he was sure. 6:27, the first train north, bang on time. He tried to pick out the rhythmic clack, some order in the chaos. Angled his head and felt the gris
