Crossing the Ribble

A green express engine crosses the Ribble on a low stone bridge, maroon carriages strung out behind and its steam trailing sideways in the warm air. The number 46113 is picked out on the cabside, and green scrub and small trees crowd right up to the parapet at either end.

Below the arches the river runs shallow and clear over pale stones, the fells rise green and gold beyond, and the whole thing sits under one of those wide, quiet summer skies.