The coming storm
Looks idyllic, doesn't it?
It’s what the photo doesn’t show that comes to mind when I look at
it. Out of the window on the other side
of the carriage, the sky was black. Not
just grey, but black-with-menaces. The
sort of black that a daytime sky has no business being.
As we rounded toward the small town and seafront station of
Dawlish (which is now famous for the railway line being washed away there in a
later, rather more massive storm and equally famous for the Herculean work of
the 'Orange Army' who repaired it), the heavens opened. As those of us who were getting off the train
there did just that, and those who weren’t getting off looked smug, we were
lashed by horizontal rain, salt spray and rather stiff winds. The passengers who had a particular
destination in Dawlish made a run for it, but I just took shelter in the
station, wondering whether my trip was in vain.
Luckily, the storm was reasonably short-lived although I did watch several more squalls going past out to sea during the morning. I did get my quality time with the cliffs (Permian sandstone, as you ask) - and a long journey back to the Flatlands of the East, tired but happy, afterwards. That said, it will be a long time before I forget that storm!
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