Leeds Midland Road Freightliner depot

They really don’t want you at the sheds these days. The resolutely high and sturdy fencing, the closed and locked gates, the no parking zones, the CCTV cameras, the warning notices and the double-yellows on the road round about the entrance, all serve to make you feel like an intruder, as your eyes search for convenient gaps in the fence big enough to take a picture through. It’s a world away from a leisurely visit to the sheds as it was in the sixties, when part of the fun was to get round without getting caught, ticked off or thrown out - a necessary game to be played in the quest for numbers. It’s a non-starter these days. These places are secure fortresses today sealed off from the world outside, as those inside protect their assets from graffiti artists, vandals and thieves. It’s sad that its necessary, of course, but I get where they’re coming from. The world has changed but we have lost something along the way. The innocent spotter and photographer has become a figure of suspicion. It makes you feel almost guilty to be there, at all, snooping around on the periphery at the weekend, where it appears from the outside that 7-day working is largely also a thing of the past. At least you could park the car near the entrance to Leeds Freightliner depot. There was no sign of life through the bars, but the stored Class 70s that had prompted my visit were there and a line of them could just about be viewed from the other side of the bridge after a short walk through the rain on an overgrown footpath strewn with rubbish as far as a brief gap in the foliage. Even with binoculars I couldn’t make out the numbers I was separated from by two sets of railings. I’m assuming that one of those in the middle distance was No. 70013, which according to other peoples’ online records has been parked up there for years, even though its place in the line has changed from time to time. Confirmation from elsewhere that I actually saw 70013 yesterday would help me rescue an otherwise rather depressing sojourn.

  

Leicester Diesels 6 June 25

Rather quiet outside UKRL at Leicester this morning. Class 69 No. 69010 lurking round the back and 57 No. 57303 leaving the depot light engine going south.

Birthday, to you

We headed for the National Trust’s estate at Longshaw and walked to the top of Padley Gorge, well-known for its ancient oak-wooded valley that hosts some interesting summer visitors. We heard wood warbler [with the help of the Merlin App] and common redstart had also been spotted. Patience was eventually rewarded with excellent views of a pair of pied flycatchers. Wandering down the road to Hathersage after lunch, an attractive little place overlooked by the millstone grit outcrop of Stanage Edge, we spent half an hour on the station. The Edale route between Manchester and Sheffield was busy, with Class 66-hauled stone traffic to and from the quarries at Tunstead, near Buxton, finding paths between the longer distance TransPennine units and the Class 195 local passenger services that link the two cities. After that, it was a dip in the modestly heated but very refreshing and well-run lido at Hathersage, bathed also in low sunlight. The Peak District looks fabulous when the sun is out. It was a great way to celebrate a birthday.

   

Market Drayton

There is a fundamental attraction in visiting a town I’ve not been to before, even, as on this occasion, when the station has long been closed and been replaced by a supermarket. The Wellington to Drayton Railway opened as part of the GWR in 1867 and closed to passengers in 1963 and freight in 1967. I had listened to trains on it in the 1950s, whilst enjoying a farm holiday with the family at Cold Hatton, but even though I marched my mum under a hot summer sun to Ellerdine Halt, I never saw anything pass by. I put it down as an early exercise in learning to deal with frustration.

The Shropshire Union Canal got there before the railway and there are some half-timbered Tudor style buildings, but Market Drayton seemed a little sleepy yesterday, kind of half-hearted and resigned to a lesser role than previously. The centre has its share of a tattoo shops, bookmakers, vaping outlets and empty units, in common with so many market towns around the country today. We found a warm welcome at Ford Hall Farm’s café, but others we sampled in the town seemed underused, uninspired, and when the lights went out and one half of the double-door was locked on the dot of 4’o clock, we knew that afternoon teatime was emphatically over, and that kind of summed it up, really. 

       

Nuneaton 28 March 2025

Varied traffic on a bright and breezy day. Classes 37, 56, 57, 66, 68, 70, 88, 90 all represented. Time they got round to fixing the men’s toilets on platform two, though, and the canopy between 4 and 5, as well, where jacks are in place to hold up the roof and it’s therefore still partly cordoned off.

Taking the breakfast train

We were at the Churnet Valley Railway in Staffordshire yesterday for our first lads’ train day on the heritage line. It was also the first time we had experienced a meal together in the dining car. This took the form of a cooked breakfast and Staffordshire oat cake combo that certainly did the job. The CRV has got it right in terms of the visitor experience. Plentiful, attentive and cheery staff served us well throughout the day. The day rover ticket allowed a second trip during the afternoon. We relaxed in our own compartment further up the train, while the hefty American 2-8-0 No. 6046 made light work of the gradients at the top end of the line. To top off the day, we all enjoyed a splendid Indian curry, once we’d found the lively Black Lion pub, hidden away above the main A520 road near Cheddleton to the south of Leek. 

   

Making Music at Toton

Last time I went to Toton bank I didn’t see anything new. This time, I thought I’d give mid-week a go instead of the previous weekend trips, which proved to be a good move. I’d not seen any Class 92s at Toton before, but here was 92011 sticking its head out of the depot and mostly hidden by other locos. Turns out it is called Handel. Two days later we are at the Minster in Southwell for a midweek concert performed by musicians from the Minster School. Second up is “Where e’re you walk” by Handel, unerringly and movingly sung by one of the youngsters. I have a soft spot for Handel [though certainly not all of it]. Every Christmas, I play sections from the Messiah that particularly appeal to me, including “He shall feed his flock” and “I know that my redeemer liveth”. In all 3 cases, it strikes me that Handel must have been a genius, writing such beautiful, melodic songs 300 years before Paul McCartney. It just seems like its such modern music to me. I know little about classical music [as by now you may have already decided] but I’m not aware of anything remotely as interesting coming before Handel, and yet to say that these songs strike a chord is a massive understatement for me. He must surely have recast the mould. On Wednesday, it carried all the way to the bank overlooking Toton MPD. I also copped 3 sheds.