Good training: the etiquette of train travel

The conga line was not warmly received by other commuters.

Ah trains, those magical machines that whisk you through the picturesque English countryside or a dingy Tube tunnel to a destination that would have been entirely unreachable without their superb assistance. Or just a five minute walk down the road. With their enclosed and limited space, trains force us to co-operate with each other. While the official station rules include helpful suggestions such as don’t run across the tracks or leave any baggage unattended if you would like it back in one piece, this reluctant union has also produced many unwritten rules.

A great many of these rules relate to seating, which is perhaps unsurprising given their crucial role in a train journey. The ugly truth is that everyone wants a seat, which turns the carriage into a battlefield. Of course, one of the unspoken rules is that certain people must be given priority. However, when the particularly frail OAP and obviously-pregnant lady have been cheerfully waved on to seats, it is an open playing field.

As the train pulls into the platform at a tauntingly slow speed, the crowd surges forward. There is a quick, tense moment when everyone guesses where the doors will stop, and a sweet, smug sense of victory when they stop with the space down the middle directly in front of you. Of course, because this is Britain and we are fine-tuned to obey announcements given out in an authoritative voice over a loudspeaker, we grudgingly let the people off the train first, tutting at anyone who barges on ahead. However, when the last suitcase has been dragged across the gulf between train and platform, the starter gun has effectively been fired, cuing a mad scramble for position.

The first seats to go are the window seats, because why stare a piece of wall when you can stare at various sheep or a train tunnel. People travelling alone will head for the pairs, perhaps surreptitiously placing a bag beside them to mark their territory. Others will head for the fours, preferring to spread out over as wide a space as possible. And people on the Tube will sit anywhere, even if it’s that ledge at the back which is more of a challenge than a seat.

A person’s behaviour in a train reveals much about them. Do they sit on the seat furthest from the aisle, bag by their feet leaving the other seat free? Or are they the self-absorbed jock who casually slumps into the aisle seat, dumping his bag next to the window and plugging into his MacBook, seemingly completely unaware of the crowd of people gripping onto the handrail for dear life, silently glaring at his back? Everyone has seen this latter person, and either you are them, or you hate them and relish making them move over.

This battlefield is complicated by the presence of reserved seats. Clutching the precious reservations (valid only with ticket) that offer proof of their advanced organisational skills, the efficient passengers glance nervously around at the miscreants, those airheads who didn’t think to book in advance. As the train pulls in and the swarm begins, they either hang back, assured of their seat, or rush forward, determined not to let the organisationally-challenged reap the benefits of their forethought. That seat, in its prime window position, is mine, and I will argue with anyone who tries to claim it.

The claim to ownership is somewhat complicated if the reservation slips identifying the reserved seats are missing. This will ultimately bring it down to a game of resilience, with the victor settling back for a comfortable journey while the loser clutches the hand rail or sinks into a lesser seat and steams silently. All these battles must be waged in either absolute silence or exaggeratedly polite terms. To respond in any other way would be to reveal the unacknowledged malice that lurks beneath a supposedly casual train journey.

You have claimed your seat: what now? Most people on trains manage to entertain themselves, whether by gazing gormlessly out of the window or reading something which will, unfortunately, probably be Fifty Shades of Grey or some equally dismal equivalent. However, there are also those who are perfectly willing to disrupt everyone else in their quest for entertainment. These generally fall into three categories. Firstly, there is the unwitting disturber; this might be the person on the phone whose mundane conversation is being involuntarily followed by the entire carriage, or the person who has turned up the volume on their MP3 player so loud that someone three rows back and is wondering what happened to Muse on that fifth album. Then there is the chatty person who wants to tell you their life story before you escape to the delights of Melton Mowbray. “Where are you going? It’s been awful weather hasn’t it? Reminds me of the time I went to Scotland in 1979...” Short of feigning illness or deafness, this one is absolutely inescapable.

Finally, we reach the third kind, the group of disturbers. Generally formed of teenage girls or football fans, these will carry on conversations at a volume hitherto unknown to man and about things inane enough to bore a particularly stupid toad. Whether it be drunken ramblings or a two hour discussion of which side of the train the doors will open on at Peterborough (sadly a true story), these passengers will leave the rest of the carriage envisaging throwing them out of the window. Although they will probably just seethe silently instead.

For most people, trains are an unavoidable fact of life, and as such, it is better to be prepared for the mad scramble that that overpriced ticket will provide you. So get your fake smile and elbows at the ready: the train is now ready to depart.