Flying Scotsman - Plus ca change, plus c’est la meme chose

The chalk board outside the pub in the next village have flagged up their “Fresh Whitby Cod” for as long as I can remember, in spite of the fact that we couldn’t be any further from the sea. I visualise a regular special consignment – an express fish van with a police escort and flashing lights. Perhaps they temporarily close some roads, so as not to slow it down on its dash from North Sea to table in rural Nottinghamshire. Last week the notice was scrubbed out and replaced with an updated sales pitch, “New Menu. Whitby Cod.”

The more things change, the more they stay the same. That might equally apply to my planned activity for today. I am on my way to one of my favourite locations in a changing world, Sleaford Road bridge over the East Coast Main Line on the outskirts of Newark. This is the most convenient viewpoint I can reach from home and I have been here many times over recent years to witness the passing of steam hauled trains on this old racing ground.

Today is extra special. Today it’s the turn of the Flying Scotsman. The A3s felt completely at home here from the 20’s to the 60’s and though I was over the hills and far away at the time, I got across to see some of them, including this one, before they had almost all disappeared. For 50 years now, she has been the sole remaining member of her class and after her well documented recent problems she is with us once again. Virtually rebuilt, she is still essentially the Flying Scotsman, the railwaymen’s own definition being the permanence of her frames.  

Radio 5 has just broadcast a warning to onlookers not to trespass on the railway because its already leading to delays on the network. There is more traffic than usual at the bottleneck on the A46 at the entrance to Newark and I quickly park up with 15 minutes to spare. There are literally hundreds of people here rather than the usual 20 or so. The word is that she is late - 15 minutes, then 22 minutes. A class of kids from a first school turn up, filing in, two abreast behind their teacher. They just keep coming. It must be whole school full. The really naughty ones have to wear high-vis jackets.

I climb onto a roadside metal barrier so I can see over all the heads and I get a good view of the road, as well. Some motorists are clearly bemused, others smile, one or two beep their support. Only a few ignore the crowd completely. Orange-clad construction workers in hard hats have perched themselves on upper sections of their JCBs, which they have moved up to the railings on a nearby site. Three youngsters in an old banger with the window wide open yell insults and then are immediately held up at the traffic lights. They may now be reconsidering their choice of expletives.

Northbound, a Class 91 passes at 10.40, followed by another at 10.43 and a third at 10.50, held up no doubt by the over-enthusiastic spectators mentioned on the radio bulletin. Some of the children cheer the 91 and I wonder if they have been properly briefed. At 10.59 a 5 car unit for Hull goes through and then, at last, at 11.04, the Scotsman appears. Her headlight is a powerful beam, even on a very bright day. White steam and smoke stand out against the blue and cloudless sky. The sunlight gleams off her newly painted boiler. A ripple of applause is answered by a thin whistle from the A3. There are waves from the passengers and then she is gone. The helicopter and the three light aircraft that have been buzzing around disperse, as do the crowds. Amidst the smiles, the excited chatter and the checking of images on cameras, the crocodile of schoolchildren resumes its shape, as, at 11.09, a passing HST indicates that the railway is straight away back to normal.      

I make my way back home. The Scotsman has returned to the NRM at York and Whitby cod is still on the menu. Some things may change, but the affection the people of this country have for their railways shows every sign of continuing. It is an engrained part of our history and culture. It helps to define who we are.

A railwayana auction telephone bid [as imagined from my seat]

“Hello, the lot you wanted to bid on is coming up now, so please hold the line.”

“Hello.”

“We are approaching the lot you wanted to bid on, so please make your bids as quickly as possible. I will tell you the current asking price each time and if you could simply say yes or no straight away when I do, then we won’t be left with a hall full of people sitting around twiddling their thumbs for any length of time.”

“I’ve got that, just yes or no each time.”

“That’s it”

“What’s the first bid, then?”

“Wait a second, please. It’s just coming up.”

“Have I just got time to get a pen and the catalogue?”

“No, it’s here now.”

“Where’s that pen, dear? It was just on here.”

“210?”

“210?..... It’s over there somewhere. Have a look on the chair.”

“210 is being asked for. Do you want it at 210?”

“I can’t, I’m on the phone. Just pass me the pen and a piece of paper.”

“Hello, the current asking price is 210. Do you want it at that price?”

“Yes.”

“Did you put the kettle on?”

“230?”

“230?”

“230 is being asked for. Do you want it at 230?”

“Yes, I would, please - and just one biscuit.”

“Hello, 230?”

“A Bourbon.”

“Do you want it at 230?”

“230, yes.”

“Have you found that catalogue, yet?”

“250?”

“Is it my turn again?”

“Yes, do you want to pay 250 for it?”

“Have a look on the kitchen table. I’m still on the phone.”

“Hello, 250?”

“250? Yes.”

“270?”

“How can I? I’m on the phone. Try the cupboard.”

“Hello. It’s with you at 270.”

“I only wanted to go to 260.”

“Well are you prepared to offer 270?”

“Yes. OK, that’s only an extra tenner after all. What’s the buyer’s premium, again?”

“10% plus VAT. It’s all in the catalogue.”

“I can’t lay my hands on it. So that would be about 300 already, then?”

“Yes, thereabouts. Do you want it at 270?”

“Ok, just one more go.”

“290?”

“290?”

“Yes, it’s at 290. Will you bid 290?”

“That’s more than I thought…………………………………… She says its 290, that’s a lot when you’ve added the other stuff………………….. I know I did…………………… I’ll just have to tell her no…...................... Hello? I’m going to have to say no. I thought it would be about 250.”

“So, no bid at 290?”

“Well, maybe just one more.”

“290 then?”

“Yes.”

“310?”

“310……………She said 310…………... I know I did………….…..I already said so……….….. that’s what I said …………….I’m not going to……………………….That’s too much. I thought it would go for much less than that.”

“So, no bid at 310?”

“Not this time, thank you, but I’ve got another one coming up later. When would that be, then, because I’ve got to just nip out to the shops in the mean time? I’ll just slip and find that catalogue and then I’ll tell you what number the next lot is.……………………..…..                        Hello……………….Hello………..… Are you still there?...... I think they’ve rung off. Would you believe it? Sometimes I just don’t think they want your money at all………… No, I said a Bourbon.”

Will the real railway enthusiasts please stand up

I prefer to emphasise the positive, but every now and then I feel obliged to make a stand. The trivialisation of railway enthusiasm usually boils down in the end to an opportunity to give train spotting another good kicking. I feel especially let down when the criticism and dismissive attitudes appear to come from insiders -  those you might have expected to be a bit more sympathetic because they had chosen to write about railway issues in the first place.

A tendency that I have noticed amongst some writers is that they feel obliged to publicly distance themselves from any connection with train spotting, as though it is some sort of affliction or contagion. The inference is that “proper” railway enthusiasts are not tainted in that way. Of course, the folk that they recognise as proper enthusiasts were often train spotters themselves in a previous life, even if number taking is no longer a part of what they do. That is how they became interested in trains in the first place.

These commentators are presumably fearful of the ridicule that they might attract by association, if they were not to keep their distance. Perhaps the premise is that unless they have formally dismissed any suggestion that those interested in train spotting could actually find gratification in other aspects of the railway hobby in addition to taking numbers, their own work will lack credibility. In short, it seems that they just can’t wait to wash their hands of those of us who are not at all ashamed of that particular aspect of our past.

Michael Williams makes sure he gets his disclaimers in more than once in “On the Slow Train: Twelve Great British Railway Journeys,” [Arrow, 2011]. “This is not a book for rivet counters or number spotters.” Why should I not find his book interesting, even if he is so obviously trying to put me off? Describing the passengers on the Cathedrals Express, leaving from London Victoria, he adds, “Most, I suspect, have no interest in rivets, nor have ever owned an Ian Allan ABC spotter’s book, let alone stood at the end of the platform collecting numbers.” [P.86] Just in case you are in any doubt as to where he is coming from, on the next page he spells it out again, “We must not mistake the Cathedrals Express for an excursion for railway enthusiasts – we are as far away from the world of anoraks, Thermos flasks and pork pies as we can get.”

What a relief it must be for the prospective passengers on future runs of the Cathedrals Express to learn that. Indeed, perhaps it is part of the booking process for the Cathedrals Express to run a check to make sure no ex-train spotters have sneaked on board by pretending to be ordinary members of the public without any previous form. His book is all about making enjoyable rail journeys in Britain, yet he has gone out of his way to pour scorn on anyone who might describe themselves as an enthusiast before he has even left Victoria. Incidentally, I imagine rivets are quite useful and important things in certain specific engineering circumstances. It is not a topic that I know anything about.

Jonathan Glancey introduces his book, “John Betjeman on Trains,” [Methuen Publishing, 2006] with the observation that, “John Betjeman was a lifelong railway enthusiast. Not, I hasten to say, one who stood with duffel bag, Penguin biscuit and fish-paste sandwiches on murky days at the ends of platforms taking down the numbers of locomotives; but a poet who loved railways from the bottom of his heart.” [p.VII]

Though it is good to see that the typical train spotter’s diet is apparently a little more varied than first thought, the key assumption that someone who takes an everyday interest in what is passing through the station can’t love railways, too, is clearly laughable. So is the implication that spotters are incapable of refining their hobby and finding other avenues of interest within it. You don’t have to be a poet to love trains. Do you think that John Betjeman always stayed at home on murky days?

Stuart Maconie, in “Pies and Prejudice: in Search of the North” [Ebury Press, 2008], notes that train spotters are often thought of as “melancholic and misfitted to the world” [p.45], but encouragingly concludes that, “It says something about our world that if you are an enthusiast for anything, if you dare to lose your ironic modern detachment and world-weariness, you become “sad” or a “loser.”” [p.46]

Not only have I not hung up my anorak [ cagoule, these days, to be accurate] and not burned my combined volume, but I have proactively enhanced my spotter’s kit by purchasing a pair of goggles. They would actually have been much more useful between 1960 and 1968, when they could have certainly saved me occasional physical pain, but it is never too late. I have already made use of them from the window of the front coach on the Scarborough Spa Express, behind Royal Scot Class, No. 46115 Scots Guardsman. I found the enhanced, goggle-eyed, experience most invigorating. I am also hopeful that they will not restrict my view of the wider world or encourage me to become blinkered in any way. Additionally, and if I’m feeling particularly brave, I reserve the right to venture out with them on murky days, after all, smuts are smuts, whatever the weather.

Flying Scotsman - What a waste of money!

Not this time the chant usually reserved for expensive and under-performing footballers, but recent mutterings about the pricey reassembling of Flying Scotsman, now back on the tracks after 10 years out of action. What’s so special about her anyway? She was the first steam locomotive in the world to reach 100 miles an hour in 1934, making her an iconic record breaker and a champion of British engineering at its best, when designed by Sir Nigel Gresley and built for the London North Eastern Railway in 1923.

“You have to think of her as a stately home,” remarked a supporter on the telly, on the occasion of her recent and belated return to steam at the East Lancashire Railway. According to a recent poll, she is the most famous steam engine in the world, even better known than Thomas the Tank Engine. £4.2m looks like a snip when you start investigating other ways in which large pots of cash can be thrown around on doing things up – £22m for the recent refurbishment of Lincoln Castle, £36m for Windsor Castle after fire damage and £50m for the Cutty Sark, after she, too, had succumbed to the flames. The Flying Scotsman is the flagship of the railway preservation movement and worth every penny that has been spent on her.  

Hope you like the catchy title for my blog

I used to be a teacher, but I now spend much of my time writing, a choice that might raise an eyebrow amongst my old school friends. With my grade 9 fail for English literature at “O” level behind me, I had hardly announced my eventual activity of choice very convincingly. I hadn’t read the set text - though I had seen it dramatised on telly, so I thought I might just scrape by. I think it was Great Expectations, which, although they were obviously somewhat misplaced in this instance, just about summed up my approach. I’m hoping that I have upped my game during the intervening half century or so.

Instead of revising for exams, and when I wasn’t playing football, I went train spotting. In so doing, I sowed the seeds for a lifelong interest in railways. However, it was still an accident of history that started me off as a writer. I inherited a splendid collection of previously unpublished Victorian photographs that survived from the Priestley family business [1856-1938]. Years earlier, I had promised my dad that I would eventually make a book out of them, which I did, and I dedicated it to his memory. I was then on a roll which took me straight back to the trains, as I remembered them in the 1960’s.

I’m going to use my blog to defend our hobby from trivialisation and promote our fine railway heritage, but I will no doubt also be drawn in to commenting on changes to both the current preservation set-up and the national network. I will concentrate my efforts on my areas of special interest – steam locomotives, railway art and the railwayana scene in general. I’m also keen to discuss how we can most effectively tell the story of Britain’s railways to future generations, in museums, out on the tracks and in the media.