It was only recently, when friends talked about planning a holiday travelling on New Zealand’s train network – although I am not sure that network is quite the right term for the few lines that still exist – that I discovered that the Southerner has been discontinued.  Admittedly, I was rather slow to catch up on this news.  Twenty-one years to be precise.  The Southerner has not run since 2002.

I was fortunate enough to travel on the Southerner in 1992.  God, what a train.  I picked up the Southerner in Kaikoura, on the east coast of New Zealand’s South Island, venturing south as far as Dunedin – a city, which to my shame, I pronounced at the time as Dun-EEE-din.  Looking back now, with the benefit of hindsight, I wish that I had taken the Southerner all the way to Invercargill; at the time the most southerly destination, which could be reached by train.

My memory of the Southerner was that it was surprisingly slow – the best part of 6 hours just to travel the 200-mile leg between Christchurch and Dunedin – particularly for what was designated as an ‘express’ train, but also that I was perfectly happy for it to dawdle along as slowly as it liked.  I didn’t care how long it took to arrive; I could have quite happily lived on the Southerner.

It was August – NZ winter – and it was blimin’ cold outside.  Inside the Southerner, it was warm.  And it was comfortable.  My memory is of wide seats, covered with sheepskin.  Could this have been possible?  I would happily believe wood panels lined the walls, but this would have been a false memory.  Whatever, it was luxurious.  I had been bed-hopping from one cold, cheap hostel dormitory to hostel dormitory; whilst, here, was genuine comfort.  Travellers’ accounts seem most often to reminisce about the Southerner’s dining car; I never made use of this facility, but I still found the experience of travelling on the Southerner a delight.

Outside the Southerner was a dark, harsh, cold environment but, within its reassuring embrace, all was calm; all was safe.

Dunedin Station – respect due; it’s a magnificent building – was finally reached with a modicum of regret.  I knew a new adventure lay ahead of me – mainly involving Yellow-eyed Penguins, Royal Albatrosses and New Zealand fur seals at Taiaroa Head on the Otago Peninsula – but I could already picture the backpacker hostel, which would be my temporary home: shared rooms; cold beds; having to raid the house-keeper’s store-cupboard for extra blankets.

The Southerner’s sheepskin seats were already fading to a distant memory.

© E. C. Glendenny

E. C. Glendenny takes her comforts where she finds them.