An ode to Bristol Temple Meads

When you tell someone that one of your favourite parts of Bristol is the train station, they probably assume that you appreciate its architecture or its rich history as part of Isambard Kingdom Brunel’s industrial revolution. Nah mate, I’ve never even been to that museum next to the station. I think it’s a museum? Or it was?

The real reason I’m writing an ode to Bristol Temple Meads is because it’s been the only real constant in my life since, well, forever. It’s always been there for, bricks and mortar that won’t ever disappear, sure it’ll change but it’s essentially still the same.

I attended a private school in Bath. I’m not rich, I just got a bursary on pure luck really. The luck was that it had just been made a co-ed school and I lucked out by identifying as female.  Attending meant that when I was younger Bristol Temple Meads became a big part of my life as a travelled back and forth for five miserable years. It wasn’t the journey that was miserable though. Well, sometimes it was. Every so often my tinny headphones connected to my Argos CD player spinning Marilyn Manson, would inflict the ire of an older tourist visiting Bath. But, seriously who’s visiting Bath for fun?

Bath was an emotionless void when I was 14, filled with awful private school kids, tourists and relentlessly dull Bath Stone buildings. Travelling to Bristol Temple Meads was like coming back to the universe with its graffiti, pollution and murder. I should say that living in Bristol to kids in Bath was the equivalent of saying I live in South Central LA.

Temple Meads was also a source of joy for me when I was a child. I used to be able to smoke ciggies before school without anyone caring; I could get a waffle sometimes after school (who the hell closed down that waffle place?), they used to have a blue light in the toilets, which I later learned was so addicts couldn’t find their veins and shoot up rather than to hold sweet parties like I thought. Train stations also house AMT coffee shops, which was so much better than Starbucks. It was there before Starbucks. It was the rich man’s Costa. Anyway, it sold giant pretzels which I’m sure were there since the dawn of time until my sister and me bought one that one time in 2003.

It was also a shelter to me and lots of other people whenever it snowed. Typically British weather and typical British traffic meant that a light patter of snow brought traffic grinding to a halt. I once waited three hours after school as my mum battled traffic to get to the station. It didn’t matter though; I had a waffle, I hung out, they even let me in the pub for warmth! I told everyone at school.

In my 25 years I’ve moved house eight times and lived in three different cities so I’ve never felt particularly connected to what would be construed as the ‘solid’ aspects of my surroundings. Like street names, postcodes, corner shops etc. I’ve even learnt to say goodbye to those special takeaways that you grow to love (RIP Bento Boss, I still visit but it’s not the same).

Bristol Temple Meads feels connected to me in a way that houses never have. Because of its imposing constant dominance in every facet of my life, it feels more like a home than maybe any home I’ve lived in. Mainly because of what it represents and its appearance in every major life event I’ve ever had.

Being in a long-distance relationship has also strengthened my love affair of the station. I’ve been bouncing from Bristol-to-London trains and now to Bristol-to-Oxford trains for the past five years. Giving up an hour and a half of my life to First Great Western (now Great Western Railway) is a sacred ritual. Okay, so, parting with the thousands of pounds I’ve spent of trains has been a bit more on the sweet sorrow side. However, it’s still great leaving the hellish terrain of Paddington where you have to pay 30p for the pleasure of pissing and where platform announcements mean every businessman/women losing their mind and running for their train on a Friday night at 7.30pm (First Super Off-Peak train you see) and heading for the calm of the South West.

I digress. Simply put, Bristol Temple Meads is an important part of Bristol in regards to commerce, commerciality and sustainability – but who cares about that really? The feeling around it is similar to an airport to some people. It holds adventure and the feeling of coming home to a lot of people, which is why I think it’s pretty rad and magical. I know lots of other people probably feel the same about specific places, but there’s something about a place that transports you somewhere else, or brings you home. 

So here’s to you Bristol Temple Meads. Bring back the waffle place though.

Read more: Are craft beer pubs ruining Bristol?