The end of the world today on First Great Western

The camera can lie - this is actually the scene of chaos outside Plymouth railway station this afternoon. All those people standing outside are First Great Western's displaced persons and the British Transport Police policeman was looking more necessary as the confused crowd grew.

Well, the end of the world didn't happen and a lot of people are standing around now looking very foolish and at a bit of a loose end. Yes, I'm looking at you First Great Western because you cancelled the 15:12 to Liskeard.

Like many other travellers, I knew the world wasn't going to end - not really. I'd finished work art midday today and gone into Plymouth city centre for a very good meal at Lorenzo's tapas bar with some workmates and chumrades and decided to get the 15:12 home to avoid the rush that had been predicted (accurately as it turned out). Consequently, instead of avoiding the rush, I became a part of it.

The next train to Liskeard was the 15:57. It was packed with two train loads of passengers. And their luggage.

I squeezed on into a seething heaving mass of irate humanity. We could have moved further down the aisle but there was so much luggage belonging to elderly passengers who weren't capable of moving it that only a lanky git like me who does yoga could get over it. I did quite a good job, made some more room, moved down the carriage, calmed cross passengers (justifiably cross passengers in my view) and made friends with two little ladies over retirement age, neither of whom you could accurately call elderly or frail but who were perhaps flagging a bit after long journeys into the west country to see family.

The things got worse. The guard said the train was too crowded to move, and this was a Class 150 carriage with the high-density seating. But, he said, there were coaches and taxis waiting outside the station to take us on our journey. He had to say this several times because those of us on the train were sceptical to say the least but as nothing was going to move some of us selflessly gave up our standing spaces so that others could depart the station.

There was also the slightly less altruistic thought that on a coach standing isn't aloud. My two little ladies with luggage who weren't old could also benefit from seats so off the train we got and in a great tide of angry passengers we made out way slowly to the station entrance to find that we had been lied to.

That's right.

Lied to.

And not about the apocalypse.

First Great Western lied to us to get us off their overloaded train. Their were no coaches or taxis at all, just many, many, many passengers with places to go but no means of getting there.

Things began to get ugly. One of my new travelling companions was going to Newquay and the other would have been getting off at Liskeard with me about an hour earlier if the early train hadn't been cancelled.

I overheard one passenger say they'd been told that the cancelled 15:12 that was due to terminate at Penzance had been turned around because it was needed near London.

"We're the wrong sort of passengers!" somebody else declared and it was about then that I noticed a British Transport policeman taking a discreet interest in the mood of the crowd.

In the face of irate passengers and management that ranged this afternoon from indifferent (in both senses) to downright deceitful, the Plymouth station staff performed heroically. They were as fed up as we were with the bullshit being fed them and were clearly frustrated at not being able to muster up a solution for us, like authority to book a fleet of taxis.

They did rustle up a couple of coaches, however, although one had a driver who was perilously close to running out of driving hours. He took passengers to Bodmin, St Austell and Par because that was as far as he could realistically drive. The other coach was prioritised for passengers for Penzance and St Erth.

I helped Jean (I think that was her name) into the coach for Snozzle and made sure her luggage was on it and showed the driver where it was to, too.

By now it was only twenty minutes away from the 1704 service, which hadn't been pinched for London, and First Great Western had run out of goodwill to all men and reckoned they didn't have to provide buses or taxis for us after all.

We were all a bit dubious about this by now - maybe understandably so from our recent experience - but the train did turn up and my dear travelling companion with the luggage, Myra, bought me a coffee to celebrate.

We got home and Myra's niece was at Liskeard to pick her up. All ended well for us - I just hope Jean and her luggage got to Newquay alright. She was cooking for a party of 21 over Christmas.

The solution is pretty clear. We need more trains. Not more consultants analysing how to "sweat the benchmark" - and let's be quite clear about this -  we just need more trains.

And the whole management structure of the rail network is not in the interests of the passengers. No operators own the stock or the rail infrastructure. If something goes wrong it's always somebody else's fault, which is very convenient for the various companies suddenly not involved but not the front line staff who hate being being put in that position and endeavour to help passengers who are so poorly served.

Apart from the one who lied to us, of course.

And I still can't believe they thought the prediction about the world ending was a true one - although it might have raised a smile instead of a lot of anger about us being the wrong sort of passengers.