Whoa below there

Before the winds got up this evening, the day had been bright warm and sunny, and the usual dog walk around the allotments was really enjoyable.
Later in the afternoon I went to collect my youngest daughter from the station. With 10 minutes to spare I thought I would see what photo presented themselves. After several hedge bottoms, rickety fences, rusting pipes, and crumbling brickwork the underside of the bridge looked interesting with its dark forboding tunnel.
The other features of a ghost story, a red light, deserted track and rusting rolling stock were in evidence but the station master's hut was missing. I was ready to shout, "whoa, below there." Imagine being part of a story.