Curtis

My name is Curtis. I'm 28, and I've wanted to work on the railways since I was eight years old, sitting on my granddad's shoulders watching the freight trains roll through Scunthorpe. He spent forty years maintaining the tracks, and he'd tell me stories about keeping the network running, the pride he felt knowing that every passenger and every ton of cargo depended on the work his hands had done. I keep train timetables in my bedroom, not just the current ones but the historical schedules too, tracking every service that's been cut and every route that's been abandoned. My partner thinks I'm obsessed, but I see it as caring about something that matters.

When the steelworks made my dad redundant in 2016, I got my HGV licence and started driving lorries. It was honest work, but every time I passed a railway line, I felt like I was in the wrong place. The roads are clogged, the air is filthy, and we're moving freight in the most expensive, most polluting way possible when the rail infrastructure is right there, underused and underfunded. I knew I could contribute something better.

In 2019, I applied to Network Rail's apprenticeship scheme. I'd researched every aspect of the programme, practised the aptitude tests, even visited some of the training sites. The response came back within a month: "Unfortunately, due to overwhelming demand, we are unable to offer you a place at this time. The programme is significantly oversubscribed." I thought that was fair enough. Popular programmes get oversubscribed. I'd try again.

I applied again in 2020. Same response, almost word for word: "The programme is significantly oversubscribed." I applied a third time in 2022. By then, the language had changed slightly: "We regret to inform you that due to budgetary constraints, we have had to reduce the number of apprenticeship places available this year."

That phrase stuck with me: budgetary constraints. I started asking around. I contacted North Lincolnshire Council about transport planning roles, thinking maybe I could work on the system from a different angle. The person who answered the phone was apologetic but clear: "I'm afraid that department was eliminated two years ago due to budget cuts. We simply don't have the funding to maintain those positions anymore."

I tried East Midlands Railway directly. Surely they needed train drivers? The recruitment officer was friendly but firm: "We've suspended all driver training programmes indefinitely due to financial constraints. The cost of running the training courses has become prohibitive in the current climate."

I contacted the Department for Transport's regional office in Leeds, thinking maybe they'd know about upcoming infrastructure projects that might need workers. The civil servant I spoke to was professional but blunt: "Most of our major infrastructure projects in this region are on hold pending Treasury approval for capital expenditure. There is no funding available for new initiatives at this time."

There it was again: no funding. Budget cuts. Financial constraints. Treasury approval required. It all sounded reasonable. Money is finite, right? Governments have to make tough choices. I accepted it the way everyone accepts it.

Then I took a walk through Scunthorpe town centre.

The old British Rail training facility is still there, right on Station Road. I'd driven past it a hundred times without really looking, but this time I stopped. The building is massive, probably built in the 1970s when the railways were being modernised. The car park is full of weeds now, and there's a faded sign reading "Northern Rail Training Centre - Temporarily Closed." But through the windows, I could see the simulator equipment still inside. Not just empty rooms, but actual working train simulators, control panels, signal training equipment. All of it just sitting there.

That same week, I was talking to three of my neighbours who'd been made redundant from local engineering firms. Good workers, skilled with their hands, experienced with heavy machinery and complex systems. They've been signing on for months, desperate for something meaningful to do. One of them, Dave, used to maintain industrial equipment. Another, Sarah, was an electrical engineer. The third, Marcus, had fifteen years in precision manufacturing. Every single one of them would jump at the chance to retrain for railway work.

I stood looking at that empty training centre, thinking about Dave and Sarah and Marcus sitting at home, about myself driving lorries when I wanted to be maintaining tracks, about all the delayed trains and cancelled services I'd catalogued over the years. The people existed. The skills could be taught. The equipment was right there. So what exactly was it that "there was no funding" for?

That's when I started to understand something I'd never questioned before. The government that prints every £10 note and £20 note in my wallet was telling me it couldn't find enough of them to connect willing workers to essential work. The same Treasury that had found billions for bank bailouts and tax cuts for corporations was claiming it was too poor to run a training programme in a building that was already built, using equipment that was already paid for.

The excuse wasn't a fact. It was a choice wrapped in the language of impossibility. They wanted me to think of the government like my household budget, where I have to check my bank balance before buying groceries. But my household doesn't issue the currency. The government does. The constraint was never the money. The constraint was the willingness to spend it into the places and the people who needed it.

I still drive lorries. I still keep those timetables. But I hear things differently now. When someone says "there is no money" for transport investment, I think about that empty training centre and those simulator screens gathering dust. When politicians talk about "tough fiscal choices," I think about Dave and Sarah and Marcus, ready to work, ready to learn, with nowhere to go.

I used to think this was just bad luck, poor timing, the way things are in a difficult economy. Now I understand it's the story of every place where the people exist, the need exists, and the resources exist, but someone in Westminster has decided that connecting them would be unaffordable. It's not just my story. It's the story of every constituency where the government that issues the currency claims to be too poor to spend it on the people who need it most.