Liverpool Exchange

I have clear memories of steam in Liverpool Exchange, in particular, Clan Buchanan heading a Glasgow express and the rebuilt Patriot, Bunsen, at the platform blocks. The adjacent hotel is where Chris’s mum and dad stayed for their post-war honeymoon. The old L&YR terminus closed in 1977 and its remaining suburban electric services were transferred to the new Moorfields underground station nearby. Demolition took place the following year, though someone had the foresight to retain the frontage of the old station and hotel and incorporate it into the offices that replaced the former entrance and concourse. It still looks splendid today, even when you are trying to get run over by taking a picture while standing in the middle of the road.

Todmorden, a tad disappointing

I had wanted to visit Todmorden for ages. I’d read about the Platform One Art Gallery on the station, an interesting location surrounded by the Lancashire hills, a railway viaduct marching across the old stone-built town centre and an increasingly youthful and arty reputation, not unlike that further downstream at Hebden Bridge. After walking the river bank alongside the Calder in the morning, starting off across frozen ground in temperatures of around minus three from the impressive Elizabethan house at Gawthorpe Hall, and noting dipper, heron, goosander and goldeneye along the way, we headed for Todmorden in the car down Upper Calderdale.

Plan A. Heading straight for the station, the art gallery door was locked. The notice outside said it should have been open but it wasn’t. The windows were misted up and possibly frozen up, too. The guy in the booking office said he “hadn’t seen anyone around” but made it clear it was nothing to do with Northern Rail, anyway. The station was busy enough and Class 195 DMUs set off in both directions, east towards Leeds and west for Chester, while we stood around getting cold.

Plan B. We sought sanctuary in the nearest coffee bar, which turned out to be just fine – warm and welcoming. We outlined the rest of our day, deciding on a quick walk round the town centre and then off to Hebden Bridge in time for lunch at the renowned railway station café. By that time, I’d checked online to see if there was an explanation as to why the station art gallery had been closed. There wasn’t, but it prompted us to check out our next move, too. Just as well we did. Hebden station café would not open until Monday, though it, too, had been expected to serve hot food on Saturdays until 2.00.  

Plan C. Instead, we would take a walk around Todmorden and stay for lunch. A bit of advance planning had shown there were a number of eateries to choose from, which was confirmed on a quick visit to the tourist information centre. We decided to head back to the café next to the one we’d been to before which occupies the old CWS premises, as indicated by an attractive blue enamel sign above the entrance. It was busy, but we found a table for four upstairs. Then we were informed that as there was already a forty-minute wait for hot food that was going to be it for the day. Presumably that was so that the kitchen staff would not have to work past their normal signing off time.

Plan D. We trundled back to the coffee shop next door. Snacks were in the form of pre-prepared, filled rolls in a glass cabinet, so once they were gone, they were gone. They were gone. We enquired about possible alternative venues. We were informed that the obvious place that came to mind had had a fire the night before so it was not open today. We were running short of options.

Plan E. An out-of-town pub at the top of a nearby hill was mentioned and we thought we’d walk back to the cars and see if there were any intervening opportunities along the main road back to the car park before heading along there. The first café we passed appeared to only have seating outside under a plastic tent affair, which might have been OK if it had been 15 degrees warmer. A little further on, there was one more possibility. We enquired about whether they were still serving hot food. “Not really” was the reply. Well, it was after 2.30 at this point, with the light already beginning to fade, the temperature dropping again and the park that led back to the car parking area a treacherous, uneven icy surface. At this point, we lost the will to eat, gave up and headed for home. We stopped at Morrisons for a meal deal, enjoyed at the wheel in the car park, but not before we’d been diverted via Rochdale to join the M62. The main road to Halifax had been closed, for reasons unknown, adding up to another hour to our journey time. Our visit to Todmorden had just fizzled out in consistently unspectacular fashion.      

Where did we go wrong? Avoid winter. It can be very cold and that can be consequential. Check ahead at every stage - by phone rather than depending on the most recent online post, which might not be all that recent. All our fault, then? Todmorden’s reputation as a laid-back, good-life sort of place might mean its also a bit of an anything goes, half-hearted, not-too-fussed sort of place, too. I’ve been struck by the lukewarm attitude to catering and services that is often noticeable when travelling in Britain. As a nation, we obviously lack drive and a bit of umph, when compared to meeting similar expectations, in the States for example. Our version of the all-day breakfast can mean as long as you’re there before two in the afternoon, if you’re lucky. It’s no wonder to me that we languish around at the foot of the economic productivity charts. We are so easy-going as a people (which I also believe has its advantages, but that’s another story). But when you feel you are on the receiving end of some unenthusiastic, can’t be arsed responses one after the other during the same afternoon, it’s a tad disappointing, to say the least. In fact, I can’t even be bothered to write about it anymore. 

     

Maghull

I had read about Maghull station and then heard good things about it from friends. The main attraction is the Coffee Carriage café. It was excellent and not surprisingly was being well-used, even on a freezing cold day in January. I suspect that most folk there were not taking the train, either, but had discovered, as we had, that it provided very good food at a reasonable price.

Maghull was on the old Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway’s main line between Liverpool Exchange and Preston, though since relegated to the frequent Merseyrail suburban services to Ormskirk, currently operated by the recently introduced Class 777 EMUs.

There is more to the station than that, however. Maghull was voted Britain’s best railway station in 2024, a testimony not just to the café but to the work of Community Rail Lancashire, Maghull Volunteers and Merseyrail, itself. A bulging glass cabinet in the small station entrance is packed with framed certificates representing its previous competitive triumphs. There are murals and planters, as well as a platform display board dedicated to Frank Hornby, the creator of Hornby model trains, Dinky Toys and Meccano, their factory having moved from Binns Road in Liverpool to Aintree, just down the line from Maghull. Frank Hornby, himself, had lived near to the station at Maghull.   

 

A brief sortie to Leicester

My morning trip from Lowdham to Leicester, with a change of trains at Long Eaton, provided route mileage that was new to me in the form of the short west to south curve at Trent Junction, though I realise that this might be of only marginal interest elsewhere. As it happened, the Class 222 express from Sheffield to St Pancras was absolutely rammed, due to the cancellation of the previous service, so it was standing room only all the way to Leicester.

UK Rail Leasing’s depot held Class 68 No. 68026 in the yard with Class 56 No. 56098 just visible from the platform and peeking out from the shed behind. The highlight for me yesterday, however, was the unexpected arrival of Class 59 No. 59004 Paul A Hammond, which was heading south, light engine. 

Talisman

Not for the first time, I sauntered along to Talisman Railwayana Auctions at the Newark Showground. Talisman RA is effectively the last man standing. Before 2020, all the dedicated railwayana auction houses held regular live sales, so a choice of locations and opportunities to attend came up every few weeks. Then Covid hit. To survive at all, the auctions went online and that is where most of them have stayed. Amongst the most prominent players, Talisman now stands alone, with live events remaining as their mainstay. For this, Roger and Sandra Phipps deserve great credit for their perseverance after difficult times and for recognising the importance of the theatre that the live auction provides. There is a slice of humanity in that hall that can’t be replicated online.

The pandemic appears to me to have had quite an effect on some of the other railwayana auction houses. Of course, they would all have benefited from the reduced overheads by not having to stage live events. My guess is that the clarity and visual appeal of the websites has become even more significant than it was before. This is the way that the world views them now. The online presence has got to be good. In the case of GW Railwayana Auctions, for example, it is excellent. Cover of what is on offer is comprehensive, auction result history readily accessible, overall presentation and navigation around the site first class.

For many years up until the pandemic, I met up with my friend, John, at a convenient rendezvous point that lay between us geographically. It gave us a chance for a general catch-up surrounded by the railway paraphernalia of our youth. John’s background is in art and design and we share an affection for many of the items of paperwork that reflect the prevalent styles of the inter-war and post-war periods. The implication of the changes mentioned above means that this is no longer an option for us, so for some time now I have been going along by myself. It’s not quite the same. Indeed, I often wonder why I’m here. I’m not really a true believer. I have a few railway hardware items at home but not enough to call a collection, nor do I really want one. I have acquired some paintings, posters and carriage prints over the years but rarely add to my haul these days. I have no more wall space in my office and so I can only reasonably replace what is already there. A degree of inertia has set in. Yet I still look through the Talisman catalogue when it drops on the mat and I pick out any personal highlights. The most appealing this time was displayed across the front cover. It was a painting by the well-regarded railway artist, John Austin. This painting of a Coronation Class locomotive at speed is very attractive. It communicates power and speed effectively, is technically very sound and is a great reminder of my favourite class of steam engine.

I made sure I was at the auction in time to see it go. I obtained a bidding card, even though I rarely bid for anything these days. I told Chris I might have a go at it if I can have it as my Christmas present, but I knew that to qualify for that it would have to be on offer at a bargain price of no more than £400 at the hammer, with premiums to add. I positioned myself with a clear view of the chair and the auctioneer started at £300. I gripped my card, poised, but hidden behind my catalogue. Bidding shot quickly to £500 and stopped there. I couldn’t justify it to myself to wade in at that point. There was no guarantee that a further bid would be any more than a token gesture and before I knew it we would have been at £600 and beyond. In that moment, time suddenly rushes by. It can be a weird experience, especially for us part-timers.

I know it sounds weak-kneed but that actually sums up my attitude to the whole thing. I have to feel I’ve got a bargain, so I inevitably price myself out of the running. So be it. I’ve never felt that I was totally on board with it. I’m neither in, nor out. I don’t know anyone else present, yet so many people seem to know each other well and the chairman seems to know half of the serious collectors by their first name. I’ve been going along for years and years yet I still feel like I’m an interloper, only peripherally part of the set-up, wafting around at the margins.

This is certainly a very distinctive sub-culture - very male, very white and very old. I suspect that it is composed almost entirely of a cohort of trainspotters who grew up in the 50s and 60s. They are boys who happened to share the same hobby and who just won’t let it go because it has come to characterise how they see themselves ever since. Kate Fox, the author of the book, Watching the English, would have a field day here.

I wonder if it’s really just all about permanence and impermanence. The stuff stays exactly the same but we grow old then leave it behind. Additionally, there is substantial knowledge and expertise on view here. There is also real friendship and fellowship encouraged by a common cause. Our railway heritage has been shattered into pieces and then reassembled in a jumble and out of context in this place, but the fragments are rightly being treasured all the same. It encompasses multitudes of designs from different but recognisable eras, innovative artwork of its time and vast quantities of skilled engineering and carpentry products. It represents decades (now nearly centuries, in fact) of development in craftsmanship, now all superseded by the digital age, modern materials and replacement fabrication techniques.

I’d had enough after about an hour and a half. I’d obviously had my fix. I’d toured the unchanging side stalls staffed by the same faces as before and found nothing that grabbed my attention. After lunch another copy of the New Brighton poster by Wilcox that I recently gave to my daughter and a Wallasey Grove Road station totem were coming up. Mine is of Wallasey Village. Surely this is from the same collection and belonged to a Wirralian, just like me? This is how a part of me will eventually be disseminated for the benefit of any takers, not that that matters. I will have had my enjoyment from them, too.

Covid changed the way this system operates but it’s still strong and has survived, as most of us have. We just move in slightly different ways, perhaps. When I approach anywhere that’s crowded, I may now reach for my mask. I used it last on a crowded rush-hour London tube last month and its always readily available in my jeans back pocket. In any environment, I now walk away from anyone that’s coughing or sneezing, and I still hold my breath when I’m close to an audible sniffler or a nose blower. Its not neurosis, its conditioning. Its what we did to try to get through it, and for those close to me it worked, as I had promised them that it would if we were careful.  

I will no doubt remain ambivalent about my participation in this rather obsessive world of railway memorabilia. Mostly, I don’t need to own it to admire it or for it to serve as a reminder of good times. There’s greater perspective there for me now, gained gradually by the passage of time. You really can’t take it with you. I’m more like to sell some of the bits I’ve already accumulated from now on, in order to afford that one special painting when it appears, especially if no-one else can see why its so good and I can get it for a bargain. Eyes still wide open and bidding card in hand.

 

Darlington

I’d been there before but I couldn’t remember anything about the place. It was a school railway society visit by train from Liverpool Lime Street on 21/12/63. With trips round the works and sheds, I copped an amazing 190 for the day. I have no photos and only one image in my mind’s eye from the whole experience. It was of A4 Class No. 60004 William Whitelaw with her connecting rods missing. I thought for ages that she was on her way to be torched, but, apparently, she was there for overhaul as she lasted until 1966 when she was one of the last batch of the class to be withdrawn. Also in the works were 3 Clans, which really were there for scrapping, plus one A1 and three A3s. On 51A, there were 2 A1s, 4 A3s and V2 No. 60809 The Snapper [etc]. The works, itself, closed a couple of years or so later in April 1966, so we were just in time, once again.

The revitalised railway museum at Darlington is called Hopetown, which is also the name of that district of the town. It’s recently been done out very nicely with clear signage and explanations of the exhibits as well as some very modern, interpretative and interactive features designed to attract all age groups. The early locomotive Derwent, built for the Stockton and Darlington Railway at Darlington in 1845, is still there as she was in 1963, as is NER No. 1463 of 1885 and a more recent addition in the form of the last English Electric Type 3 to be built there, No. D6898. The A1 Locomotive Society has its base in the purpose-built workshop on an adjacent site where A1 Class No. 60163 Tornado was assembled and which is now home to the new-build Class P2 2-8-2 No. 2007 Prince of Wales.

At the foot of the extensive car park opposite the entrance to Hopetown is the Grade I listed Skerne bridge, the oldest railway bridge in the world to have seen continuous use since its construction, as part of the Stockton and Darlington Railway, which opened in 1825 - something we are likely to hear a lot more about during 2025.  

 

Sunderland

Its difficult not to conclude that Sunderland currently gets a bad press. As if to confirm a suspicion, on the day of our visit regional TV was talking about the city having the highest reported rates of domestic abuse in the country. Employment and social problems go hand in hand, so its really no surprise that like many urban areas that made their wealth in times past, the present is visibly so much more of a struggle. Their raison d’etre has often long since evaporated.

Sunderland was of great interest to me. Chris’s great grandfather, Hugh Robert Jones, captained ships that were built here in the nineteenth century. In the case of the Province, Captain Jones made the journey from Liverpool in advance of construction to advise the builders, Doxford’s, just upstream at Pallion, about exactly what his employers required. The Province was a four-masted, iron-built ship of 1,800 tons. She was launched in 1886 and named by Hugh’s wife [and Chris’s great grandmother], Mrs Jane Jones [formerly Williams].

Our visit was primarily to Sunderland Maritime Heritage, run by a group of enthusiastic volunteers to collect and collate objects and documents that tell the story of Sunderland’s glorious and influential ship-building past. Located in the east end of the city and up the hill above the mouth of the River Wear, the building is not quite what you might expect. It occupies a considerable space inside a modern industrial unit and from the outside resembles a giant lock-up garage. Inside, however, it’s a hive of activity as skilled carpenters employ their skills in harness with a range of modern machinery, on all sorts of commissions that provide funds for the advancement of their collection.

We were shown round by Ian Murray, one of the trustees of the enterprise. We could not have had a better guide and I’m very grateful to Ian for giving his time so readily, even delegating to a colleague when someone came to discuss replacement carpets, following an unfortunate leak to the roof in the upstairs library and archive, just so that he could complete our tour for us. I left a copy of Seafarer Jones for their library, with the Jones connection explained and with thanks to Chris’s brother, David, who did the spade work on his family history, which I had then subsequently made use of.

We wandered back into the centre through modern replacement housing estates and then through some elegant and stately inner urban, stone-built terraces, where the successful entrepreneurs had lived, when the town was at the forefront of the industrial revolution, making use of the coal and iron that was on its doorstep, exporting its goods and building a new breed of ships in which to do so. George and Robert Stephenson came from round here and a number of early railways bringing coal down to the coast preceded even the Stockton and Darlington Railway.

We found a very presentable and welcoming café for lunch, where a large pizza and salad was advertised at pre-Covid prices at £6.00. Sunderland has obviously been hit hard by post-industrial trauma, but there is a lot of work going on in the centre to give it a facelift and some greater self-belief. The modern station of steel and glass with its a spacious entrance hall is a statement of intent, even though the platforms are sub-terranean and rather gloomy by comparison. I came away feeling that I really wanted Sunderland to find its way again before long. The people we met somehow deserve better. Just as long as that doesn’t involve recalling Jordan Pickford from Everton any time soon.