East vs west: which is the better British train service ending in “coast main line”?

The West Coast Main Line at Watford Gap. Image: G-Man/Wikimedia Commons.

Conflicts between east and west have shaped history. From the Cold War to hip-hop, there have always been some serious east vs west fueds.

And none more so than the East Coast Main Line vs West Coast Main Line rivalry. Infamously, the “Race to the North” turned dirty in 1851 when an ECML drivers gang shot three WCML train assistants dead in a drive by at Watford Junction [citation needed].

To settle this once and for all, we’re going to have a look at what each line has to offer and choose a winner, considering the destinations, the stations, the sights, the rolling stock, and the cost.

Where can you go? What are the stations like?

While a train journey can itself be a pleasure, when gauging the quality of a line, the destinations matter: after all, the Eurostar wouldn’t be very exciting if it only went to Ashford International.

The ECML stretches from London to Edinburgh, passing the cities of Peterborough, York, Durham, and Newcastle, plus a slate of towns such as Welwyn Garden City, which is not a city, and Stevenage, which has a truly revolting station. Stevenage aside, many of the stations are spectacular: trains speed from the arches of King’s Cross, round the curves of York, past the unnecessarily wide platforms of Darlington, through the gargantuan Newcastle, before coming to rest between the Old and New Towns at Edinburgh Waverley. Rating: 6 cities out of 52 stations.

The main railways of Great Britain. The ECML is in blue, the WCML in black. Image: Wikimedia Commons.

The WCML is somewhat more complex. It runs from London to Glasgow, but also has termini in Birmingham, Manchester, Liverpool, and Edinburgh. This is the result of the route’s history, formed by amalgamation of various intercity railways and town branch lines.

The main trunk line runs through the cities of Lichfield, Preston, Lancaster, and Carlisle. Several stations are brilliant: Carlisle is peculiar but quaint; Liverpool Lime Street is the oldest mainline terminus still in use and, just like King’s Cross, benefits hugely from revealing its facade; Glasgow Central crosses Argyle Street with a great glass-walled bridge; and Euston…

Ah. Euston does not bode well for any journey: just thinking about it leaves me with a general sense of dread, not the sense of wonder that King’s Cross imparts. Rating: 6 cities out of 51 stations (but -1 arbitrary point for Euston).

What can you see?

The WCML has something to confess to you. Despite its name, those boarding at Euston for seaside views will be sorely disappointed. Just north of Lancaster, it runs close to Morecambe Bay for less than five miles. For fans of hills and motorways, however, the WCML is just the ticket: the Watford Gap & M1 tease Cumbria’s highlight of the Lune Gorge and M6. Lichfield Cathedral’s triple spires are also just about visible.

The ECML  ndeniably has better sights. Over thirty miles of track runs alongside the east coast, offering superb views of the Northumberland coast, Lindisfarne, and the North Sea. The approach into Durham with the view of the castle and cathedral is marvellous, and the sight of the Royal Border Bridge (even if it’s not actually the border) with the excitement that the train will be crossing over it makes sitting on a window seat a must.


What’s the rolling stock?

The rolling stock operated on these lines has been a long-running competition. Before nationalisation, railway companies fought to run the London to Scotland route faster than the other, driving technological development and higher speeds, creating legends in the process: the East Coast’s Flying Scotsman, which broke the 100mph barrier, and the West Coast’s Coronation, which broke its crockery in the process of braking after breaking the East Coast’s speed record (got it?).

Today’s rolling stock is less legendary. The WCML’s curves necessitated tilting trains to increase overall line speed. Unfortunately, the Pendolino was commissioned by people with more experience with planes than trains, and who believed that windows didn’t matter. So if you were hoping to see Lune Gorge and the M6, there’s a decent probability you wouldn’t be able to. I’ve probably missed out some sights above because I’ve never seen them thanks to the tiny size of the windows. The line remains principally operated by Virgin Trains, which has had the franchise since the dawn of time (or 1997).

The ECML is dominated by the InterCity 125 & 225s, iconic British Rail trains with huge windows you can actually see out of. Sadly, post-privatisation refurbishment of their carriages has led to less space and smaller tables, but the sandwiches have got better. Today, the line is predominantly operated by LNER, with a handful of open-access operators, such as Grand Central.

A special mention for the WCML’s Caledonian Sleeper, the overnight service to Scotland, and a moment of silence for its ECML counterpart, discontinued in 1988.

How long does it take? What’s the cost?

The WCML will get you from Euston to Glasgow in just under 4.5 hours for £30.

The ECML will get you from King’s Cross to Edinburgh in just over 4 hours for £26.50.

Who’s the winner?

After much careful consideration, the inaugural Chris Grayling Award goes to the ECML. With superior stations and sights, better trains, and cheaper and faster travel, it beats the WCML.

Hold on, I’ve just remembered: the ECML has got the dreadful Harry Potter tie-in. And Stevenage. Let’s call it a draw.

 
 
 
 

Canada’s gay neighbourhoods are struggling. Can queer pop-ups plug the gap?

Vancouver. Image: Getty.

Queer life was highly visible in Western Canada last year. In May, Vancouver declared 2018 the “Year of the Queer,” celebrating decades of service that the city’s cultural organisations have provided for lesbian, bisexual, gay, transgender, queer and two-spirit (LGBTQ/2S) people across the region.

Yet 2018 also saw the loss of multiple queer venues and gay bars. While economic forces, such as rapacious gentrification are part of the story and struggle, our research shows that something creative and generative is happening in the city as well.

In the face of changing urban landscapes, economic hardships, and more straights moving into historically gay neighbourhoods, queer pop-ups — ephemeral gathering spaces whose impact lingers among revellers long after the night is over — now play a large role in the fight for LGBTQ/2S equality.

Scattered gay places became neighbourhoods

Queer life germinated in “scattered gay places” across cities in North America from the late 1800s to the Second World War. Inside cabarets, bars, theatres or outside in public parks, washrooms and city streets, queers found spaces which could hold and celebrate transgressive sexual connections while also providing respite from daily experiences of discrimination and social exclusion.

After the Second World War, scattered gay places congealed into permanent gay bars and residential “gaybourhoods” in a period anthropologist Kath Weston calls “the great gay migration.” Queer people flocked to urban centres and sexual subcultures flourished in cities like New York, Chicago, San Francisco, Los Angeles and Toronto.

The formation of queer community spaces has always been controversial. Cultural and legal backlashes marred early developments. A host of laws and regulations tried to suppress and contain homosexuality in North America by limiting its presence in the public sphere.

These measures resulted in frequent hostilities, police raids and violence. Queers congregated together not just to find love or community, but to protect themselves, to protect one another and to find refuge. Pride parades, now celebrated worldwide, commemorate these early turf wars.

Pop-ups revitalise queer spaces

Researchers have written a great deal on the cultural and political importance of gay districts in urban centres, and they have grappled with concerns that these areas, along with the establishments they house, are fading.

But innovative urban forms challenge arguments about the death and demise of queer spaces in the city. Our research suggests that queer pop-ups, or temporary cultural gathering spaces, cater to diverse and often marginalised queers.

Some gaybourhoods are dwindling in their residential concentration and gay bars are dropping like flies. But new queer place-making efforts are emerging.

Two of the authors at the queer pop-up in 2018 at East Side Studios in Vancouver. Ryan is on the far left, back row, Adriana is on the far right of the back row. Image: author provided.

Unlike gaybourhoods and gay bars, pop-ups are intentional in how they address persistent, intersectional forms of inequality. Queer pop-ups offer patrons a space to explore non-binary forms of gender and sexual identities, and especially a place to experience collective effervescence among queer people of colour, and femme lesbians.

Some pop-ups create environments that are explicitly trans-inclusive, consent-focused, and sex-positive. Pop-ups are not panaceas for queer life. Pop-ups can also be places where issues around socioeconomic status, gender identity and expression, and racial inequality are called out.

Yet these spaces directly and indirectly encourage dialogue on inequalities within the queer community, conversations that help produce safer spaces for marginalised queers to find each other and forge enduring queer consciousnesses.

Turf wars

Queer pop-ups show similar trajectories of infighting and compromise that the LGBT social movement encountered from the late 1970s through the early 2000s when trying to forge a collective consciousness, gain social visibility and win legal rights.

These turf wars, expressed as contests over space and inclusion, are generally sparked over three perennial concerns: privilege, race and gender. One interviewee, a 20-year-old self-identified queer, trans person of colour (QTPoC), who spoke about Vancouver’s gay district told us:

“I tend to avoid the gay bars on Davie [because] a lot of the gay bars there have now been taken over by cis-gender, heterosexual people. I’ve [also] heard from a lot of QTPoC friends that they are often uncomfortable going to gay bars on Davie, because it’s usually very dominated by cis-gender, white gay men.”

A 28-year-old white, cisgender, queer male found pop-ups more politically and culturally radical than gay bars. He put it this way:

“It’s very rare that we’ll ever have a conversation about politics [in gay bars]. It’s just about partying and things that we kind of see as very stereotypical portrayals of gay culture: like going out, dancing, drinking, fucking.”

Historically, gaybourhoods have served an important role in the fight for LGBT rights, but they have also developed to cater to a specific cis-gender, white, middle-class, male sensibility. One 30-year-old, white, trans DJ put it bluntly, “the mainstream scene is just not welcoming to trans people, in my experience,” adding that verbal transphobic harassment is common in the streets of Vancouver’s gaybourhood.

At Vancouver Pride this year we were reminded of this schism at a local pop-up event. “Gay men won’t come here, it’s too trashy,” shouted a white Australian lesbian playfully to friends over loud music. We were at Eastside Studios, a large warehouse turned into the newest collaborative queer venue in Vancouver.


The comment was striking because it highlights the visible bifurcation occurring in queer life and queer consumption in Vancouver. Many gay men tend to patronise businesses and events in the West End, Vancouver’s official gaybourhood; whereas, other members of the LGBTQ community are scattered across the city at events and venues that are far less permanent. Eastside Studios attempts to break through the homonormative bent some gay bars perpetuate. It is a space that generously houses some of the struggling pop up events who lost space to gentrification in Vancouver’s out of control rental market.

Historically, pop-ups arose as the first signs of urban sexual transgression. They continue to emerge as spatial innovations which nurture transgressive queer diversities that do not have space or representation in the gaybourhood. Weekly social media blasts via Facebook or Instagram and word-of-mouth dissemination play an important role in linking queers around the city to these events. Pop-ups take different tones and establish different vibes among patrons. Collectively, pop-ups highlight the many important projects local queers are undertaking to increase the plurality of what queer life looks like and how it is expressed.

Struggles for equality

Marriage is the leading story in many headlines these days, but queer struggles for equality were never only about relationship recognition or acceptance into the mainstream.

Queer struggles are also fights to resist oppressive normativity, to end racial inequality and white supremacy, to end sexualised violence, to reconcile generational traumas associated with colonialism.

Continuing these fights is perhaps what makes queer pop-ups unique. Organisers of these events are intentional and responsive to such concerns. They seek to create new worlds that soften the impact of inequalities, both in gaybourhoods and in other parts of Canadian cities as well.

Pop-ups nourish queer lives; they emerge as temporary meeting grounds where diverse, oftentimes marginalised, queers flock for community and collective, momentary release. Here an image from a Man Up pop-up event in Vancouver. Image: Shot by Steph/Facebook/The Conversation.

Many of these spaces are an opportunity for patrons to travel in a re-imagined world, even if only for the night. While not all pop-ups that appear survive, the ones that do matter, fundamentally, because they create spaces that resist heteronormative culture and homonormativity, address intersecting inequalities, assert and anchor queer cultural and political identities, and promote well-being for a wider portion of the community in ways that gaybourhoods used to and have always had the potential to.

Pop-ups nourish queer lives in ways that gaybourhoods and gay bars historically had. They emerge as temporary meeting grounds where diverse, oftentimes marginalised, queers flock for community and collective, momentary release. They allow patrons to dance and comfortably explore the implications of their gender and sexual identities around like-minded individuals. At times they are more than friendly social gatherings, becoming sites where the moral arch of the community is shaped through demonstrations on urgent issues impacting queer lives and the surrounding community.

Queer pop-ups are vibrant locations that work to push forward the unfinished projects of social justice first envisioned during gay liberation.

The Conversation

Ryan Stillwagon, Ph.D. Student, Sociology, University of British Columbia; Adriana Brodyn, Ph.D. Candidate, University of British Columbia; Amin Ghaziani, Associate Professor of Sociology and Canada Research Chair in Sexuality and Urban Studies, University of British Columbia, and D. Kyle Sutherland, PhD Student, Department of Sociology, University of British Columbia.

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.