Nostalgia is good for the times we miss, as I sit here and reminisce. When I first left high school, I had a job in the city, an hour’s travel away. My father and older sister indoctrinated me into the noble art of commuting. We stood on a railway platform, where a single line became duplicated.

We waited in queues in all weathers, like foggy shadows now, waiting for the 7:07am to appear, for the epic journey to the big smoke. These were the days of red rattlers, trains most cities in Australia had then. Most days, for some reason, the 7:07am was cancelled. So we waited for the next train to roll along.

In the evenings, we would meet at the central city station and clamber aboard another red rattler at 5:15pm, for the crowded trip home. Men in suits unfurled their evening newspapers, or slumbered until they reached their suburb. Somehow, these snorers knew when to awaken, race off the train, heading home for meat and three vege, and the 6:30pm news.

Those red rattler trains had no heating or cooling. In hot, sweltering summer evenings, passengers would battle to push down the old, tiny windows, and travel in bulging carriages with the doors open, quite hazardous. Some carriages were labelled ‘smoking’, littered with cigarette butts and discarded news.

Yet, I headed off to the university, a commuter with my father and both sisters by then. We stuck to our schedule. We had a morning routine, so we would never be late for the 7:07am. My late dad had an endearing habit of winding every old-fashioned alarm clock to set them ahead of the actual time, at least 10 minutes. Hence, every morning was a panic dash to get dressed and have breakfast, never late. The trains could be late, but we could not.

Now I reminisce. I blink my eyes. Where did those red rattlers go? They have all faded into a past century, like the missing forms on the railway stations, the friends we would meet. I guess only the faces and trains changed. My father passed away, my sisters and I grew up and moved away. None of us are kids anymore, get off our backs.

Time’s vanished, like our youth, down life’s long track. I can recall the lives, times, and red rattler trains, all gone, foggy shadows. I guess nostalgia is good for the times we miss.