There was a time, not all that long ago, when getting on the train from Galway to Dublin involved the astonishing prospect of being able to have something to eat.
Not just a packet of crisps bought hurriedly before boarding. Not just the sandwich you remembered to buy in the station. There was, believe it or not, a dining car.
And now, in 2026, we are invited to celebrate the return of the mere tea trolley.
The announcement that catering is returning to selected Galway–Dublin services, albeit on a six-month pilot basis, is therefore both welcome and faintly surreal. We have, after all, spent years treating the provision of a cup of tea, a biscuit or a sandwich on a two-and-a-half-hour intercity journey as some sort of extravagant luxury.
It is, in its own way, rather like celebrating the return of Wi-Fi after it had been replaced by a pigeon carrying messages between the carriages.
From Monday last, passengers on three Galway-to-Dublin services each day have once again had access to a trolley. It will not be every train, and the service will operate in both directions only on selected services. But for those who happen to be on the right train, the basic necessities of civilisation will once again be available at altitude: tea, coffee, snacks and sandwiches.
How marvellous.
For years, passengers in the west have been on the hind tit of the intercity service. Catering disappeared during Covid and, while it returned to the Dublin–Cork and Dublin–Belfast routes in 2023, Galway was left waiting. The explanation has always seemed remarkably difficult to understand. A trolley. An operator. Some sandwiches. Tea. Coffee. Biscuits. How exactly did this become an insurmountable logistical challenge?
There are, of course, those who point out that Galway and Heuston stations have plenty of takeaway options. This is true, and entirely beside the point. Thousands of people board the train at Athenry, Ballinasloe, Tullamore and other stations along the route. They cannot simply nip into Heuston or Galway for supplies.
And in Athenry, there isn’t even a vending machine where you can grab a KitKat. This is particularly galling when one remembers what used to exist.
Thirty years ago, the Galway–Dublin service had a dining facility that today sounds almost fantastical. The dining car could occupy two carriages and somehow cope with up to 40 customers. It was presided over by a café staff member who always appeared to be under pressure but somehow managed to feed an entire travelling population during his shift. He was a wonder worker and should have been given the Freedom of Galway for his Herculean efforts.
These were the days before avocado on toast, poached eggs and artisanal sourdough. The great culinary innovation was the traditional ‘bacon, rasher and eggs’ — a full Irish breakfast that could sustain you for considerably longer than a packet of ethicall-grown peanuts.
About ten minutes into the journey came the announcement: the dining car is now open.
Tired passengers would wearily make their way down the train, while a succession of local politicians seemed to have mastered the art of getting there rather more quickly. I have memories of being served rashers and a full Irish breakfast alongside local TDs, including hardy East Galway mercurials, Noel Treacy and Paul Connaughton.
It was, in retrospect, an extraordinary service. And we managed it.
Now, three decades later, we are delighted to have just a trolley.
There is an important point behind the irony. This pilot is not merely about nostalgia. Iarnród Éireann says it wants to establish whether catering can operate commercially and sustainably. That matters. If the pilot is to succeed, passengers in the west need to use it.
The service must demonstrate that even the most basic level of onboard catering can work economically. We should buy the tea. Buy the coffee. Buy the sandwich. Buy the KitKat.
Because if the pilot fails, it will be very easy to conclude that there simply isn’t enough demand.
There is demand. What is required now is that we prove it.
For passengers travelling from the west, this is about more than a cup of tea. It is a small but important sign that they are entitled to the same standard of service as passengers elsewhere on the intercity network.
So let us celebrate the return of the trolley. After all, when you have been denied something for long enough, even a cup of tea can feel like progress.
And after three decades, we can surely raise a paper cup to the extraordinary luxury of being able to buy one on the train.
