Another fragment has been recovered from the papers associated with Arthur Cecil Ingram — the man we have come to know as the Mysterious Railway Engineer.
The precise date of this entry is uncertain, although the surroundings described by Arthur suggest the latter part of the twentieth century.
There is nothing particularly unusual about his apparent intention.
Arthur wanted to travel by train.
Unfortunately, before doing so, he first had to buy a ticket.
11:03 — No clerk behind window
Arthur's difficulties appear to have begun almost immediately.
11:03 — No clerk behind window.
For somebody accustomed to railway tickets being purchased from another human being, this was evidently unexpected.
Arthur nevertheless seems to have investigated his surroundings and discovered that the railway had provided an alternative.
11:05 — Machine requested coins.
This appears to have reassured him.
Briefly.
11:06 — Machine rejected coins.
Arthur had encountered his first automated ticket machine.
The relationship does not appear to have begun well.
The plastic card
One minute later, assistance arrived.
11:07 — Gentleman suggested a plastic card.
Arthur provides no description of the gentleman, nor does he record his explanation of the mysterious piece of plastic.
We can only imagine the conversation.
To Arthur, money was something comparatively straightforward. Coins had value. Banknotes had value. One presented them to another person and received goods, services or, in this particular case, permission to travel on a railway.
The machine apparently understood the same basic arrangement.
It simply disagreed with Arthur about the acceptable form of money.
Two minutes later, Arthur recorded his solution:
11:09 — I have decided to walk.
For a man fascinated by railway engineering, this represents a surprisingly comprehensive rejection of the system.
A railway without a booking clerk
Arthur's confusion is understandable.
The traditional booking office had been one of the most recognisable interfaces between passenger and railway.
You approached the window.
You stated where you wished to go.
Someone who understood the railway worked out what you required.
Money crossed the counter.
A ticket came back.
The process might not always have been quick, but its purpose was obvious.
Arthur had apparently arrived in a world where much of that conversation had been transferred into a machine.
The passenger was now expected to understand the questions.
The machine expected the passenger to understand the answers.
And somewhere along the way, Arthur discovered that even possessing money did not necessarily mean the railway was prepared to accept it.
Progress
Among the material recovered with File 007 is a separate note carrying one of Arthur's observations:
“Progress is not always understandable in the moment.”
It would be easy to read this as Arthur rejecting the technology.
His other papers suggest otherwise.
Arthur was rarely frightened by new machinery. If anything, unfamiliar technology usually encouraged him to investigate further.
What seems to have troubled him here was not that the railway had changed.
It was that something previously obvious had become difficult to understand.
The machine may have been faster.
It may have required fewer staff.
It may even have been capable of issuing a greater range of tickets than the booking office it replaced.
None of those advantages were particularly useful to Arthur while it was refusing his coins.
Progress, he seems to have concluded, should probably still make sense to the person expected to use it.
A ticket was eventually obtained
Fortunately, Arthur's decision to abandon the railway was not permanent.
A later addition to the page records:
“A railway ticket was eventually obtained with assistance.”
There is no explanation of who provided the assistance.
Nor do we know whether Arthur finally persuaded the machine to accept his money, acquired the necessary plastic card or found somebody capable of operating the machine on his behalf.
We do, however, know that he eventually travelled.
Among the recovered material is a British Rail ticket marked:
SINGLE — ADULT — ANY PERMITTED ROUTE
Arthur had successfully negotiated the modern ticket office.
His assessment of it was characteristically concise:
“A most peculiar ticket office.”
Considering that the machine had requested his money, rejected his money and then apparently required the intervention of a stranger before allowing him to travel, the archive team considers this description remarkably restrained.