There is something lovely about sleeping cars. Maybe because it’s the only way grown-ups get rocked to sleep.
As a child, I would ride the Blue Train from Johannesburg to Cape Town and fight with my brothers for the top bunk. The excitement of travelling without Mum and Dad would keep us awake until the steady rocking and creaking would send us to sleep.
We’d be woken in the morning by the steward, smart as paint in his starched white uniform, delivering tea. We’d roll up the
