"Hello" smiled the conductor, stepping off the "down" train. "The sleeper train is running two hours late."
We had just spent 30 minutes driving at high speed along narrow country lanes on the edge of Loch Rannoch to Rannoch Station, ten miles down a dead end road.
Oh, dear, the four of us thought. Some of us may have thought stronger words than that. Rannoch Station consists, in round numbers, of three buildings. It's not so much a hamlet as a hamlet's baby brother. There's a tea room and a visitors' centre, which is very interesting for ten minutes. If you are a slow reader.
"What you should do", said the lady conductor, "is get on the down train with me. We'll go down three stops to Crian Larich, get off the train and then catch the up train thirty minutes later."
We looked at her doubtfully. Did we want to spent 90 unnecessary minutes sitting on a train? On the other hand, did we want to spend two hours at the remotest train station in the Civilised World?
"Come on", she said persuasively, with a charming smile. "I won't charge you."
All this time the train was waiting patiently on the platform, so we got on.
My word, what a treat! The journey took us across vast moors. At times, the railway line clung to the edge of a mountain, before descending - almost always descending - into forests and across bridges spanning rivers, streams and brooks. It was sheer delight, and our conductor gave us a smile as she went past checking tickets.
The cheerful trolley lady, Tina, came by and served us tea and coffee. Properly, including giving Colleen a spare cup for her tea bag. The little touches matter, don't they? We mentioned how kind Suzie had been and Tina said "Well, we couldn't just leave you waiting on the platform for two hours, could we?" I thought that pretty much any conductor in the South of the UK would have done so.
Too soon we were at Crian Larich and dismounted.
We toured the village in twenty minutes and returned to join the "up" train.
There was Suzie, the current holder of the Guinness Book of Records title for friendliest train conductor. There was the train. Shortly thereafter, there was the magnificent view again. Forty minutes later, as we pulled into the station from which we had started, she came around and sold us tickets for the remaining leg to Carour. We'd had two hours' viewing of the Western Highlands for free.
Thereafter we walked eleven miles across moor and mountain and, of fountains, not a few until we arrived for the third time that day at Rannoch Station.
A quick drive back to our lodge, a quick shower, a quick meal and then a two hour talk on effective and painful ways of killing your enemy, interleaved with a "How to tie your kilt" session.
A memorable day, well-spent. Or perhaps I should write "well-conducted."
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