Eight fifteen for Ayr

On Friday, 10 October 1997 a train en route to Ayr from Glasgow derailed near Knockinlaw, killing six people and leaving 20 injured.  Five people died on the train.  A sixth died whilst being airlifted to Crosshouse Hospital in Kilmarnock.  She, a 19-year-old from Ayr who was studying English at the University of Glasgow, was found unconscious and it was determined that she had died from internal bleeding.

She was considered ‘a good student, well liked by her friends, a member of the University Photo Society and an accomplished flautist.’  With all due respect for the young woman, she was a decent flautist, taking up the instrument at age eight, but losing all real interest in lessons—in favour of an interest in the lads—by age sixteen.  She hadn’t performed publicly since she was 14 and when she died the flute was stowed away neatly under her bed at her parents’ home in Doonfoot, Ayr.  But she did in fact possess a warm personality, assisted by her sky blue eyes and kind smile.  Those very eyes had been on her boyfriend’s mind when he received a phone call from the young woman’s older sister that evening.  Perhaps overdramatically, he would grow to hate the odd sunny day with its blue-sky reminder for many years to follow.

It was considered a miracle that only six people were killed among the 61 passengers and two staff.  Of the three carriages of the SPT Class 318 train, the six fatalities were confined to the first two.  Four people, including the aforementioned young woman, were in Coach A and two were in Coach B.  Sitting in Coach A, seat 6 was a tall, thin young man of 24, asleep at the time of the accident.  When Coach A fell onto its right side he was flung across the carriage and into a windowpane just before it shattered, suffering a fractured skull.  He remained unconscious until he bled to death a short time later.

At his funeral, as is probably the case with most funerals, a great many untrue things were said.  Everyone is made a saint in death.  Some men are fathers and some are not.  Among the fathers, some are good fathers and some are not.  With regard to his relationship to his seven-year-old son, he was a father of this latter type.  But this young man, who had in the eight months and seventeen days leading up to the accident, been part of a local methadone programme in the Priesthill area of Glasgow, wanted to change.  When his body was discovered it was still clutching a late birthday gift for his son.  The package contained a pair of size 12 green and white Nike football boots.  An attached note read:

Callum,

I’m sorry I missed yer birthday.  I promise I won’t miss any again!  I promise that we’ll go out to the park by yer house and play fitba every Saturday from now on.

Daddy loves ye very much!