Showing posts with label Steam Trains. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Steam Trains. Show all posts

Wednesday 11 May 2022

Wednesday Wittering

 
On this day in 1812 the Prime Minister, one Spencer Perceval, was assassinated.   I do not mention this as a suggestion for anyone to take note off by the way, I am just mentioning it in passing.  Security, by the way, has since been tightened somewhat at the House Lobby.  Spencer, a 'run-of-the-mill' Prime Minister had done nothing to upset his assassin except be PM while the gunman tried to get recompense from his trials, though the government as a whole was guilty in the assassin's eyes.  
One John Bellingham was the man responsible.  While in Russia during 1802 he had discovered an insurance scam in operation.  However, Russian corruption has not changed its spots and soon he was serving 5 years in prison on trumped up charges.  Eventually released, he demanded compensation and was ignored.  Back in the UK about 1809 he spoke to his MP and a Treasury official seeking compensation for this injury.  This led nowhere.  Advised to take 'whatever means he thought proper,' Bellingham obtained two pistols, quite easy in those days, and sat by the fireplace in the House of Commons Lobby.
When the PM entered said Lobby Mr Bellingham quietly rose, walked towards him, produced his gun, fired at Perceval's chest and stood quietly awaiting arrest.
The Prime Minister on the other hand fell to the floor and said "I am murdered."  He was not mistaken.  He did not rise again.
Bellingham dd not run, merely informing all those around him that he had been badly treated and Perceval was responsible for this.  However, now that he had found sufficient justice had been done he was satisfied.
The 'Old Bailey' was satisfied that he was not 'insane' as he pleaded, but guilty of willful murder, and thus sentenced Bellingham to hang.
His greiving wife was however, not left alone.  Public money was gathered and she was provided for, especially as within a year she was once again married.    


I spent some time watching the 'West Somerset Railway' today.  This is what today is called a 'heritage line,' but to many of us it is just a Steam Railway, a remembrance of times past.  Several stations here have live camera's available, though apparently not Minehead where I believe the line terminates.  
Any such line deserves respect.  Many were closed under the famous 'Beeching Report' in the 60's, I wonder if this is what happened here?  Watching two steam engines pull around eight renovated coaches in either direction was quite impressive.  The fact that these locomotives, not always young when bought, had to be paid for by donation, renovated along with coaches, station buildings and track, and all by many part time volunteers is very impressive.  Remember also that such railways cannot cut corners, all British Rail legislation must be obeyed.  Operation at all times must be according to BR best practice, anything else, apart from not being true to life, can be dangerous.  Inspections are tough and costly, each engine must have the boiler replaced every ten years, and that is not just a big job but a very expensive one.    
I had the live shot from Williton on in the background, and it gave me a very good idea of what working on such a railway in past times must have been like.  Certainly there would be more traffic, including goods vehicles, and very possibly a yard at the rear with a large hut and a couple of lines, plus space for coal to be deposited.   
Usually such stations had a Station Master, a ticket clerk, possibly a signalman if they had a yard, maybe in larger stations a shunter engine with driver and fireman also.  There would be two or three porters, and as the station was open most of the day I expect there were two shifts to operate.  Today, at Williton I saw one Station Master, a signalman, and two "cough" not so young porters moving noticeboards and talking to passengers.  Who knows how many volunteers work at the busier weekends or during the summer? 
It appeared to me working on such a line in the past would not be a bad job, though possibly not making the worker rich.  In between trains there may be long periods of silence, broken only by various duties, including at many stations tending flowerbeds, while preparing for passengers and trains to arrive and depart.  Such silence today I found enjoyable.  I suspect that when younger I would be anxious for adventure, now however, I loved the silence while we awaited the arrival of the next train.  Winter time in such exposed areas might be silent also, but I suspect not be so much fun.
Railwaymen in the past did tend to remain loyal to the company, though not all companies treated them well.  Often men followed fathers, and their sons followed them.  A good secure job, with possible promotion or movement elsewhere, and a guaranteed employment for life, after all nothing could overtake the railway, could it?


I notice someone has already claimed the £184 million from the Lottery win last night.  This means nothing to me as you know, though I have checked with all my family, friends, acquaintances and people passing my door, just to be sure it is not them.  I would not wish anyone to be ruined by such sudden wealth...


Tuesday 13 October 2020

Steam Dream

 

 
Another day with nothing to report, so here is a picture of the 'Night Scotsman' departing Kings Cross in the 1930s.  I acquired it on the web forums and canny make out the name at the top to acknowledge the pic, looks like 'Lake,' a photogrpaher.  It is an excellent image, full of action, striking at first sight and it is about railways, steam railways and this is always good.  
 
Just imagine the train journey in the 20s or 30s.  This train, which I have discovered by 1932 only took passengers beyond Edinburgh, Edinburgh had the 10:35 service with 1st and 3rd class sleeper cars, this train, with varying coach numbers dependent on the season, could take 14 coaches half of which were similar sleepers, through the night to Glasgow, Perth, Dundee and Aberdeen.  The Mail coach went to Edinburgh.  
Imagine being cooped up with a stranger in a twin bedded 3rd class sleeper?  It would be hoped you got along.  If you used the sitting accomodation, six or 8 persons in a compartment, probably full of smoke, someone chattering, another snoring, the train rattling along at night with smoke coming in the window opened for ai, worse if the trip took you through tunnels, some wishing it closed, another wishing it open, the hazards of communal life.  
Consider also the war years when travel was restricted and the train over crowded.  Men in uniform sitting on kit bags in the passageways, smoke again filling the air, draughts however would get in somewhere in the corridor, they always did.  Of course during wartime no lights could show, just in case you were attacked, this would increase the crowded 'fug' all around.  
For myself, a quiet compartment and a seat at the window so I could look out at twinkling lights in the distance, not during the war obviously, would be cheery enough.  A sleeper would be nice, if I could afford the 1st class price and avoid snoring companions.  Not much of a view however.  The noise of the steaming train, the occasional whistle sounding warning, the shaking and 'clickety-clack' on the rails would lull me to slumber.  I'm in the mood for a late night train journey now.
 

Thursday 12 March 2020

Railways, a Book and a Trip




I have just finished reading ‘Eleven Minutes Late,’ by Matthew Engel, an excellent but rather ungainly titled book on UK’s beloved railways. ‘Beloved’ is the word I used but we must remember there are commuters who may disagree somewhat with that term.  This is not a book full of technical details, I would be dumb before it if it was, but an enjoyable romp through the growth off and present state of the railways in the UK today, well, in 2009 when the book was published.  

This brought to mind all the memories of good days on the railways, back into the nostalgia of the days of steam.  Obviously, none of my readers will be old enough to remember that grime filled time period.



Entering into the glass covered yet somewhat dim Waverley station via the long slow ramp, taxis lined up at the side, or by the wind-swept steps off Princes Street was always a pleasure, it still is!  Possibly it was dim in my memory because we usually travelled early in an Edinburgh July!  The confined spaces, taxis and cars passing by, people crowding John Menzies bookstall, crowds of people confused as to their platform, as indeed we were, possibly it is just my memory. 

Dad would make for the wooden ticket office in the centre of the station, a marvellously decorated hall, leaning down to the ridiculous small window from which tickets were dispensed at that time.  As kids we were just excited to be heading for Cowdenbeath or Dunfermline for a summer holiday glad to be out of school and in an adventure. 

Ah family, living off them is such fun, at least for us.  As I remember it my aunts and uncles then were all marvellous and quite used to children in the house.  Many had passed this way before us.  

After much fuss at Waverley we would head for Platform 18 where we approached the dark maroon carriages of British Railways.  How old were they I wonder?  Corridor trains that possibly came in to service before the war?  On occasion I would ask about the man in the blue, dingy oil covered uniform, to be informed he had been ‘under the train.’  This was a concept that intrigued someone well under 10 years of age.  The idea of crawling about under the train intrigued.  Had it been possible I would have ventured down myself to have a look.  This was not however encouraged.  These men were merely the crew ensure oil levels were correct, all moving parts greased to the driver’s satisfaction before leaving thus ensuring the dingy black engine would reach the final destination without hitch. 

I did not realise that such engines were no longer maintained to their best condition, the policy was to just keep them moving for a few years before diesel, the answer to all rail problems, would begin.

Another flawed railway policy.    

Inside we settled into a compartment, much to the delight of those who had got in previously who now contemplated the delights of travel with children!  Today I feel for those people.  

I would be entranced by the ridiculous system for opening the window on the doors, all leather strap and strength, however they usually remained shut, the small window of the compartment itself was half open, to allow air to enter and steam and grit to remain outside.  Some preferred sitting with their back to the engine to avoid such intrusions. 

The pictures above the seats, aged prints of highland glens, lochs and other delights unknown to those from Edinburgh’s corporation housing estates, sat next to the dim lights covered by even dimmer lampshades.  Switching them on made the compartment even dimmer still. 

On occasion a jolt would tell us the engine had taken its place at the front and soon we would be off.  



There is little to compare with the noise of an engine, whatever size, chuff, chuffing its way out of a station.  People who dislike train travel who come across such an event will be unable to pass without watching as the iron monster belches out steam from far too many parts and slowly noises its way up the track.

The leaving of Edinburgh heading west or north takes the train through the garden’s underneath Edinburgh castle high above.  Those sunbathing, for a few weeks of the year only, would watch the clouds of white steam rise as each train puffed its way along.  Then would come the short, dark, tunnels, always an engine driver’s delight as he was engulfed in the steam alongside any watery drips falling from above, tunnels always have drips falling from above.  The two dark tunnels, lit by dim lights at regular intervals, wound under Edinburgh taking us quickly to Haymarket station where the populace filled the time while waiting for their train by discussing the latest design for renovation of the site above. 

They are still discussing this today!

Trips in the sun by steam train were always special for a child.  He has no understanding of the problems around him, except the shortage of sweets to gobble on the way.  He does not comprehend the effort of the fireman stoking tons of coal into the fire, expertly keeping the pressure correct enabling the driver to work the steam power.  Real men’s work in those days. Today, some lines that run occasional steam trains often have two firemen to fire the boiler.  Even these men are not strong enough to work single handed on some tough lines as in the days of steam.  Just how strong was a fireman on any such engine?

The railway headed west until the outer reaches of Edinburgh, soon after turning towards the north, leaving the main line to run on towards Glasgow, we looked for the lights at Turnhouse airport, always hoping unsuccessfully to see aircraft come and go, very different today of course.  Fields full of green crops, sheep or indifferent cattle passed by and usually without stopping at Dalmeny we raced over the vast cantilever bridge that crosses the Firth of Forth.  




The ‘Forth Bridge,’ never to be called the ‘Forth Rail Bridge’ by anyone born within Scotland, is one of Scotland’s greatest feats of engineering.  Of course, few Scots actually built it, but we will ignore that little problem.  Erected in such a manner as to ensure it would not collapse in a storm as had the Tay Bridge not long before when the centre girders collapsed in a violent storm taking a train and its contents with it.  The engineers were not going to risk that and so far no storm has endangered the bridge.  The only danger came from down south when a proposal to close the bridge to save the cost of painting it constantly. Typical southern thoughts.  Now, to save money, the bridge wears a new coat of paint that will last 25 years – they say! 

From the bridge we would look down on many light blueish grey Royal Navy ships lined up on both sides of the Forth, part of the fleet based at Rosyth.  Further upriver at Grangemouth more blue grey ships were based, and under the centre of the bridge on Inchgarvie fortifications that once defended the port lay deserted but enticing to every young lad on the train high above.

The rocky outcrop at North Queensferry soon opens up on the right-hand side of the train to a view of the bay beyond.  Here, throughout the 50s and well into the 60’s it was possible to see the shipbreaker's yard.  Always two large ex-Royal Navy ships lay together, large chunks cut out as Britain’s huge war effort was diminished to fit in with her more realistic political position.  Navy ships no longer stand there but the yard still exists, work permitting.

Then it is on past Inverkeithing, slamming doors, cries from the porters, sailors abounding leaving and arriving, and onwards into Fife.  Again, fields of cattle and sheep, many gardens featuring huts that once were railway trucks, a sight rarely seen today.  How long these had been in situ it was difficult to tell, nor was it asked how they had got there.  Also no longer seen was the use made of the land at the side of the tracks.  On many occasion vegetable gardens were seen at the end of small gardens attached to smaller houses. Possibly some of these had been installed during the war and remained until much later British Rail little Hitler’s arrived to end the practice.

Today the view from the train contains more houses than sheep, more roads and cars than cattle, this is in my view, last noted some years ago, less interesting.  Progress I suppose.

The station at Dunfermline Lower was a magnificent building according to my memory, today the Edinburgh platform has seen the waiting rooms and covering shed demolished and replaced by a Scotrail bus shelter.  I hope that has improved since my last visit.  Dunfermline ‘Upper’ has long gone along with the engine sheds and sidings that once sent the clang, clang, clang of railway wagons being shunted across the night sky.  Now recently built overpriced houses fill the space, the only clang coming from pots and pans wives and girlfriends pass over their man’s head.  


Our journey ended at Cowdenbeath, once the ‘Chicago of Fife,’ the centre of the Fife coalfields and home to several coal pits.  In 1851around one thousand souls worked the land around Beath Church, Iron Ore and then Coal were found and by 1914 25,000 folks lived there, most worked the mines.

The house now lived in by my mother’s eldest sister was also the miner’s cottage where they were all born.  Granddad had managed to get through three wives and ten children, only one child of whom did not survive. That meant after my grandmother died, in childbirth like the others, granddad had a two roomed house, a kitchen attached at the rear with a tap, an outside toilet and nine children!  Not uncommon for the time, my mother was born in 1915.

The ground behind the house sloped downwards towards the large football ground.  This was built so large as the expectation as for the town to continue growing.  It is claimed some 70,000 could fit in when completed!  Not now!

Next to the football ground entrance stood Pit No 7.  Here my granddad and his sons all found work.  There was no other.  For generations the family had been miners, coal being found in the 1500s in Fife, and they were to be the last generation of miners.  All the boy’s sons were forced to learn a trade, none were allowed to endure what these men had to endure for 50 years!

Behind the house, we rarely went out the front onto the street, lay the path up to the bridge we crossed as we came in.  From here we looked down the embankment at the constant flurry of railway life passing by.  Trains running from Aberdeen to London perhaps, fish trains also passing, leaving behind a stink, many long coal trains, heavy wagons with no brakes, controlled by a guard at the rear, local passenger services running around Fife, goods trains abounded and we waved at each one and never failed to get a response. 

Today there is a much-improved rail service for commuters.  For a while it was pretty dingy.  Many complaints can be heard but few can complain about the view, either from the crossing of the Firth of Forth or the many scenic views when running along the coast towards Kirkcaldy.  Fife is worth looking at, even if they say “If ye sup wi a Fifer, do it with a lang spoon.”


Saturday 22 June 2019

Colne Valley Railway Day Out.


Having lived after climbing Castle Hedingham the other day I considered it was worth while exercising my bulk once again by going half a mile further up the road to the Colne Valley Railway.
The line opened in 1861 and passenger services pasted for a hundred years before ending in 1961.  The line was closed to goods in 1965 and the tracks lifted.  It lay dead until 1973 where for two years work began recreating one mile of line.  There was no infrastructure so the original 'Sible and Castle Hedingham' station buildings were taken down and rebuilt here and the disused wooden top half of the signal box at Cressing was transferred here also.  Today, after much work and a recent attempt to throw them off the land, the railway still runs.  The line is short, just over a half mile in either direction, with plans to go further if they can and when money is provided, but in spite of the short line I found two hours worth of enjoyment wandering around the collection there.


The value of heritage railways is the way they bring back memories to the mind.  This first sight, the gate, the old signal box, signals, water tower, all the way I remember them from days of yore.  Not that I was ever down here of course but the similarities with the many rail trips, hauled by steam, are numerous.  They also educate the young not only in local history but national history also, so many great events had at least a side show on such rail lines.


Not a special picture but it evokes memories of such scenes throughout the country in days of British Rail.  British Rail?  Bring it back!





The original Colne Valley and Halstead Railway (CVHR) remained independent until 1923 when it was merged into the London & North Eastern Railway (LNER).  Some names changed but the oil lamps and heavy trolleys remained the same!  The railway evokes memories well with the objects left lying about, such as the passengers box, the Avery weighing scales and other items we find.




With so much reconstruction occurring it is no surprise to see rougher areas.  These were however covered in an abundance of Poppies, these were all round the site and this chap picking hos way through them was only a few feet away from me and quite used to people.  He did not however pose properly and soon disappeared. 




I made my way there by using the bus pass and a Hedingham Omnibus, No 89.  I mentioned the railway to the driver and was told he would not drop me there, instead he would take me further on into Great Yeldham, turn around and drop me in the way back.  This because there is as yet no bus top at the museum.  This would be fine I thought but as it happened the road being quiet on a  Saturday he dropped me opposite the Railway and I crossed over in between speeding automobiles.
Hedingham Bus drivers are usually good.




The gates had just opened as I arrived and one other man was before me.  Of the two women on the till one was clearly efficient and experienced at her work, all volunteers of course, and the other tried to charge me full price, considering I "Did not look old enough," which I understand.  I did pay the £6 and not the£8 she demanded however.  The staff I spoke to appeared competent, friendly and knowledgeable concerning the questions asked.  However chatting up the friendly young women in the Buffet did not get me anywhere, £2:50 for coffee, not bad.  




In the days of proper railways, British Rail and Steam, passing trains were either completely maroon or this half and half style.  The coaches were never better dressed and never looked as good as all maroon did.  How lovely to see all these names on coaches everywhere.






The waiting room was equipped with all mod cons, including a vast radio, so passengers could enjoy 'Workers Playtime,' 'Listen with Mother,' or 'Housewife's Choice.'  It was off today.  An atmospheric waiting room, table and chairs and a phone for those who need to inform someone the train is late.  No private calls here as it is placed by the door.  




I liked the way the wall was decorated with pictures of various railway types.  Also several rail employees who died during the Great War were remembered by these print outs on the wall.  A very good way to connect with the railwaymen of the past.  Father and son often worked all their lives on the railway, many companies treating the staff as well as they could, not all did of course and strikes in some places occurred before the Great War.  Whether it affected this region I do not know.

  



While there was still few around it was time to get on the train.  With so many volunteers not on duty there was a problem with this.  As we went in the first northerly direction the driver has to get off and open the gates, nobody else around to do this job.  He also had to fix things when we did stop.  However the guard, a friendly helpful woman, kept us informed and no-one appeared bothered much, it was bringing a real life situation into the line I suppose.  




At the buffers the driver came through to the other end of the 'Bubble Coach' and, once he and the lass had worked out how to open the door, he took his place assisted by two young trainee drivers.  This I thought marvellous.  This is what such railways are for, to teach kids what it was like in the past and to give them a thrill of pushing buttons to make horns work and standing at the front of an engine giving the H&S man a heart attack.  We went straight through the station, worrying the family waiting for us, and down to the far end, half a mile away in a southerly direction.  As we had been kept waiting the driver took us back, not stopping at the station causing panic for the family awaiting, and back down to the far end.  Then we returned to the beginning and alighted.  Not far, and we could keep going back and forward if we wished, but it gave an inkling of times past and a railway network long gone.







As is normal in such places every time you turn a corner, in every nook and cranny, there are things either lying about or placed to be seen.  No corner is allowed to be empty unless something is planned for it.  I like that.  Many items are bought or donated or work their way into the heritage railway and may not be used for many a day, that however is not a reason to hide them let them lie in public view and one day they will be restored.





Talking about something lying about!  Merchant Navy Class, No. 35010 Blue Star, built 1942 is no longer heading out of Waterloo towards Bournemouth or Salisbury but resting here awaiting renovation.  What a powerful looking loco she is, especially compared to the smaller 'pugs' around her.  The 0-4-0 has had an outer restoration, clearly no chance she will run again but it was fun trying to board as my stomach did not wish to go between the gates!  




These places always have a Royal Mail coach, these services have long since disappeared.  I avoided the temptation to follow the command, "Have a go at sorting letters," which hung above, enough of that!  The stretcher is from the Great War and maybe one day there will be a hospital train coach here also.







The line has several sub lines containing a variety of coaches, some look as if they could be used while other require more than just a lick of paint.  Some huts appear from other railways and one day will find a home on the line.  




The coal, or is that coke, for the steam engine which will run on Sunday.  I am not sure if it runs on coke these days, many are now oil fired.  I would think these chaps would prefer coal myself rather than oil.  The model rail layout did not run today however in a hut at the back a tremendous model railway can be found.  The young lad running it had several trains moving in different directions.  The model was made by one man over 30 years and when he passed away the layout was donated to the museum, an ideal choice.  The two lads running it knew what they were talking about and enjoyed it immensely.  One mum told me they were having trouble getting one son out of there.  I forgot the picture but it was an immense layout, worth looking at.  





  
Everybody has to have a 'Barclay' also!  The 'Pug' reminds me of the Cowdenbeath one that pulled coal wagons across the High Street to the marshalling yards.  These little engines, and others like them, were found in all major factories, dockyards, industrial areas almost all gone and replaced with gentrification or nihilism.  




 Some messages never change.












The old wooden coaches are hard to find now, being made of wood they were easy to break up when no longer required.  When we went to fife we often saw aged truck bodies in allotments and gardens where they were used as huts while they and their owners rusted away.  Not so many seen these days.  




The abundance of Poppies was joined by other flowers, clearly someone takes good care of these just as station staff did in times gone by.  The purple thing I think is the one that came from the Himalayas and 'escaped' via little birds and winds onto the nearby rail lines and was swept throughout the land leaving people to consider it a 'British' plant.  A gardener will correct me soon.
I had a great day out in the sunshine.  The Colne Valley Railway is small and desperate to grow bigger.  The staff were friendly and knew their business, the short train ride can be taken several times, occasionally by steam, the buffet and other services were good and the buffet staff friendly.  
The kids there, few today it must be said, were clearly enjoying themselves, especially 'driving' the train!  Soon they will have a proper museum built to tell the history of the line and the area around and in years to come the big engines will also run along the small line, well worth seeing.