They put on a good gala weekend on the GCR. Double track helps a lot, of course, as it allows a very intensive timetable to be followed, but so does careful planning, including guest locos from other heritage railways. I was particularly pleased to see the new-build Grange Class No. 6880 Betton Grange making her first visit to the line.
An attractive postcard arrived from France. It shows an old South Eastern and Chatham Railway poster advertising the attractions of the spa town of Enghien-les-Bains in the northern suburbs of Paris. Christmas and New Year messages have been exchanged with the sender every year for well over half a century, since Chris, with her friend, Sue, went youth hostelling and hitch-hiking together in the Lake District. A Citroen 2CV pulled up at the roadside and Andre and Erol, young medical students from the French capital, offered them a lift. Dinner at a restaurant in Keswick soon followed. The girls had even packed their home-made evening dresses in their rucksacks for any such eventualities. On their way down south after their Lakes adventure, the lads stayed at Chris’s dad’s family run hotel in New Brighton, where they became quite attached to the full English breakfast. When we got married in 1972, we spent part of our honeymoon at Erol’s parents’ apartment in Paris. Later on, and by then with our children, we were welcomed to Andre and Nicole’s home in Montmorency, where we met their own young family. We were then given a tour around the sights of Paris. Although we have kept in touch, we haven’t met up for many years - but that could still change.
It’s a heart-warming story - reaching out across borders, overcoming language differences and an appreciation of acts of kindness. It helps recall the eagerness and optimism of youth and all those similar journeys of exploration made in the company of friends. Historic Anglo-French rivalry, jingoistic newspaper headlines and the fuss over Brexit pale when compared to the value of maintaining such contacts, bringing with them comforting memories of significant moments from the past.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
