Cowgate: the 7½-hour Cork-Dublin train journey

A century after an audacious ambush at Soloheadbeg, the Co Tipperary townland was the scene of another dramatic hold-up when Wednesday's 5.25pm Irish Rail service from Cork to Dublin hit a cow on the tracks.

The “host”’ – for that is what Irish Rail attendants are called nowadays – was just finishing his dinner across the aisle at the time. The impact coincided with another train passing us at speed and passengers looked at each other in alarm. Our host leapt into action, bounding off to the front of the train to assess the damage and the driver.

For the poor beast, the end was surely swift. But it had done damage in its search for pastures new and the train sat on the tracks at Soloheadbeg for the next 3½ hours.

Our host hadn’t necessarily been given an extensive communications training programme but boy, did he know what to do. While some turned to social media, the rest of us knew we could rely on our hero to give us every latest twist in the story.

‘Michael was mine and he was real’: Mother of Stardust victim thanks public for support

---

Garda unable to track down 8,000 wrongfully convicted motorists

---

Canadian diver paralysed following incident at Lusitania

---

Call for closure of Burren pending development of parking

---

We knew the maintenance team had been called, that they were on their way from Limerick, that it was taking a while for them to get to us, that the driver had walked the tracks back to the end of the train where they were getting the engine ready to bring us back whence we came. At that point, movement in any direction was welcome.

At first, the stoicism and good humour was impressive. The host was moving through the train taking details of destinations and transfers. People missed flights and train connections, bravely faced the prospect of being “stranded in Portlaoise”, made alternative arrangements for work and family. We bonded over stories of how passengers in European trains were treated to all manner of delights when trains were delayed.

Free tea and coffee was offered and a queue immediately formed, until the hot water ran out. Things started to get a bit testy when word spread that the rest of the food and drinks were gone and the dining car closed down. The state of the toilets went downhill very quickly indeed.

The three catering staff, who admittedly, had nowhere to run, came under fire from the hungry and thirsty. A number of smokers started to get antsy, looking for doors to be opened. The staff were models of restraint and courtesy in the face of some strident passive aggressive questioning. “I know you have your job to do, but I am getting really, really thirsty, like.”

The host, both in person and on the intercom, moved to dial down the agitation levels. “I know some of you are getting frustrated, but we are working as hard as we can to get this sorted out.” He was on our side. We heard the hurt in his voice as the later train from Cork shunted past us on the tracks, instead of waiting for us in Limerick Junction as had been promised. We could have done with fewer apologies – it wasn’t his cow after all – but that’s just splitting hairs.

Back at Limerick Junction, we finally decanted onto the platform, where the host’s last announcement of the evening was greeted with a round of applause. We arrived at Heuston five hours later than scheduled at 1.10am.

Late, but home at least – unlike the unfortunate cow.