As a child in Wellington, Kansas there was a railroad yard not far from where we lived and although all the children were instructed to never go there, this was cheerfully ignored. Usually home to mountain like piles of gravel, sand, or piles of rails waiting to be used by the repair crews, on one occasion a passenger care from another time mysteriously appeared and stayed there only a short time before it was moved.
The interior was similar to the image shown here; the seats were a faded burgundy velvet with large tufts in the back seats. The ceilings were faded but showed glinting gold beneath layers of dirt and dust. The wooden floors were covered with old newspapers and more dust. Brass lamps, or what remained of them, hung periodically from the long ceiling. The windows were opaque with grime and dust.
We climbed up the steps at the back and took excited turns peering into the dim interior with a common sense we were seeing something very special. No one wanted to pry open the doors, no one wanted to climb over those seats, and no one wanted to play on this train. It was like the old woman we might meet on the street. We stood a little taller, remembered out manners, and politely took our leave.
Where did the car come from and where did it go? A true mystery of history about a day where a train out of its time paused to allow a group of children a glimpse into the wonder and glory of a past day.