If you look at a map, you will see that Surdon is a tiny dot. Getting there is not straight forward and involves a journey along narrow country roads.
From Argentan I take the D958 in the direction of Sées and cut to the left onto the D240 towards Médavy and onwards to an intersection where I have to rely on the Sat. Nav. to tell me where to take a left as there are no road signs. The roads thus far are flanked by fields, with any habitation being sparse and distant. I keep going steadily and eventually I come a small, almost hidden, sign indicating the route to the station. I follow, and as I get closer to the railway lines, I come across parked cars.
The vehicles seem to go on forever, but actually culminate in a large space right next to the rail tracks that is jam-packed full of motors. I stop and explore on foot. I cannot believe the quantity of cars in this remote place. There is nothing here other than the parking area, an old building and a newer one further along the tracks. Not only that, apart from myself and one gent sat behind the wheel of his Renault, there is no one else here. I spin around, taking in the acres of cars, the tracks on my right and the complete silence and isolation. I can’t help but think that this location might be a good place to use in a fictional capacity. Perhaps I’ll use it as inspiration for the siting of a body in one of my books. Naturally, I would have to rename it and move it to somewhere in the Cévennes… But the idea has now formed, and I quickly make a note on my phone.
Ideas for novels put away, I make my way towards the old building. A red-brick building, very much a mid-nineteenth-century building. So, the passengers on the Paris Express of October 1895 may have seen this building. Back then, the station would have been manned, and as I look around the perimeter, I can see evidence of a waiting room, a ticket office, and perhaps a space for the stationmaster, if there was one.
A sudden rumbling in the distance and I’m aware a train is due. The LED display confirms my suspicions. Within moments, the modern train races into the station and stops. Half a dozen people alight and go on with their days. As I walk back to the car, I see the gentleman in the Renault is collecting a traveller. His wife, I assume. But then that idea I had earlier pops back into my head. By the time I’ve reached the car, I have a whole backstory for a woman who got off a train in a location like this one...
There will be more from my journey following the Granville-Paris Express next
month.
If you enjoyed this post,
you can find the previous posts by clicking the links Granville part 1, Granville part 2, Vire, Flers, Briouze, Argentan and my
review of the book, The Paris Express, is Here
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