The date might have been better chosen, but in all other respects the augurs for the official reopening of the Borders Railway on September 9 are good. Putting aside the fact that this is the anniversary of the Battle of Flodden, a ruinous event for the region, the presence of Queen Elizabeth, who will be carried by steam train from Edinburgh to Tweedbank, is a seal of approval.

There is particular piquancy in the queen’s appearance since on that day she will become the longest reigning monarch of these isles since the Norman Conquest. That is a subject for a different column, but for present purposes such happy timing is yet another reminder that history is being made. And, as so often in the past, the Borders are part of it. While for Elizabeth and the politicians at her side it might be little more than an enjoyable jaunt, however, for the people of the region, it could – and one hopes it will – be life-changing.

Before it was axed in 1969, the old Waverley route was a lifeline, keeping the population within easy reach of the rest of the country, north and south. With the railway’s demise, towns like Hawick and Galashiels were cruelly cut off, accessible only by car, or by buses whose intermittent departures and arrivals were more like unreliable signals from an ouija board than a service around which a working life could be run. In the decades since the rails were lifted and willow herb allowed to run riot, the once humming region of mill towns and farms has withered, employment and optimism drying up, and deprivation, drug-addiction and their associated ills blighting communities that were once a byword for industry.

Of course, 30 miles of shiny new rails cannot effect miracles, but they can go a long way to making transformation possible. The most obvious initial impact will probably be on the popular and affluent Melrose, which sits like a honey pot amid the empty jam jars of its neighbours, still the biggest lure in this area for tourists or retirees in search of a bijou haven in which to enjoy their autumnal years. For months now, in the hope of attracting more and younger residents, and higher prices, estate agents have been trumpeting the railway’s return. If only they could also boast of a decent broadband service, crowds would flock.

But there is a great deal more to the Borders than Melrose, which least requires a financial boost or makeover. It is places that lie deeper in the hills and valleys who are in most urgent need of this umbilical cord, and whose fortunes could be dramatically improved if they take full advantage of it. Whether it’s villages like St Boswells and Walkerburn, or towns like Selkirk and Jedburgh, the railway offers hope of renewal and reinvention. In the short term, it is probable that some currently living in the central belt will choose to relocate south, within reach of the line. In so doing they will reinvigorate the housing market, to the benefit of all those involved in property. But one’s aspirations for the region go far beyond it becoming yet another leafy commuter zone.

A more far-reaching and meaningful consequence could be the railway’s effect on local trades and businesses. Not only will it bring them closer to a wider pool of employees and talent, but it will also make their location seem less remote, thereby allowing them to compete against rivals in the cities. Added to this, tourism will almost certainly flourish, as will the service industries that support it.

But there is an even deeper significance to this route’s resurrection than improved economic prospects. In political terms, the Borders will no longer be seen as an afterthought. It has been put back on the map. Whether the line is extended, as many would like it to be, to follow its old route through Longtown to Carlisle, a major symbolic step has already been taken. And as all who work in PR know, symbolism carries weight. What was allowed for many decades to become a backwater has at last been given a second chance, an opportunity to rethink its options.

The man whose name the route carries would approve. Running from Edinburgh Waverley Station to Tweedbank, near Abbotsford, Sir Walter Scott’s stately home, trains will follow in the writer’s wake. At one terminus, in the capital, is a landmark to his literary endeavours, at the other a gothic statement of graft, imagination and ambition. His is an example and an influence the Borders should be proud of. Certainly, no other railway line in the world is named after a novel. That, however, is just one of the Borderlands’ unique charms. Thousands more will soon discover others, from the comfort of a carriage.