At a railwayana auction a couple of years back - one of the last held at the Gateway Centre at Derbyshire County Cricket
Ground - a young cricketer walked through the club's reception area and noticing that something out of the ordinary was afoot, he cast a glance
towards the main hall and looked even more puzzled when he saw the Saturday morning
crowd within. “What’s going on?” he enquired of the receptionist
at the desk. She opened her eyes a little wider and stretched
her mouth downwards in mock bemusement.
“Go and have a look!”
she suggested, as if anything she might have offered in the way of an
explanation might have failed to do justice to the scene. He retraced his steps
and took a peek inside the arena, in which he was more used to hearing the
smack of willow on leather from his team mates practising in the indoor nets.
He took the view in sufficiently to register that an auction of railway antiques was
taking place. “I see what you
mean,” he offered on his return, raising his own eyes to the ceiling and
shaking his head in feigned bewilderment.
I’ve had this attitude paraded in my
direction from time to time throughout my life. “Trains?” they say, quite
contemptuously, “Why trains?” I can put up with a
bit of mickey taking about train spotting. I explain that it is really railway
enthusiasm, which obviously suggests a more rounded interest to begin with. I
go on about our national prowess as inventors, the architectural legacy we have
been left by previous generations, the inspiration for art and literature, the
engineering skills passed down in our workshops, the aesthetics - the essential
attraction of the steam locomotive, our contribution to transport development
on a truly global scale and all the rest of it, but I know that minds are
already made up. They think we are a little eccentric - and certainly in no way
“cool.”
That’s OK with me.
I’ve noticed that when you ask a lot of those people who like to profess that
we are a bit of an unusual bunch what their own interests are they often don’t
come up with very much about themselves; maybe watch a lot of telly, walk the dog, go to slimming classes or take a lot of interest in lotteries. Some do a lot
of shopping and then go on social media to tell their friends what an exciting time
they have had at a retail outlet.
On the other hand, I’m
always a little intrigued to hear about activities that are more off-beat than
ours. Whether its collecting plastic traffic cones [you can buy them from
Barriers Direct], keeping a pet skunk [OOPS –Owners of Pet Skunks - have their
own website, which includes a Skunk of the Month competition], the Roundabout
Appreciation Society, collecting air sickness bags, extreme ironing [in unusual
locations], or the lady in Sussex whose hobby is knitting woollen breasts [100
in three years to enable her daughter, a community nurse, to teach mums to
breast feed], it is all OK with me. Apparently, vehicle tattooing is big in Taiwan
Talk about life’s rich
tapestry. I think all this is wonderful. How boring life would be if everybody
had the same interests. What would we be able to tell each other about? Each to
their own is how I see it. There is nothing wrong with a bit of harmless
amusement - and does it necessarily mean the adherents of these particular
hobbies are oddball characters? I certainly won’t be the one to cast the first
stone.
What a numerous and
loyal following railwayana collecting seems to have. And so, of course, do the
trains themselves. When I get talking to folk, I often find out
that they also know a train man and they might even admit to having one in the
family. Go to any access point on the main line when there is a steam special
booked and I can almost guarantee that you won’t be on your own by the time it
arrives and not everyone who comes along could strictly be described as a devoted fan. Yet, grandfathers bring grandchildren to show them what
a “proper engine” looks like and even unsuspecting passers-by spontaneously
turn their heads in admiration. It is, after all, a fine sight for anyone with
an inkling of romance or a sense of history about them.
One day, also about two years
ago, I waited in the company of about twenty other people on the Sleaford Road
bridge in Newark to celebrate a north bound run of Tornado. The guy with the
fancy video recorder set up on a tripod, who had been training his sights on
the curve of the main line for the previous half an hour, suddenly realised at
the last minute that three people and a dog were walking into his view finder
and more particularly into ear-shot along the line-side footpath and just below
his strategically chosen position. “Excuse me, can you be quiet, please?” he
demanded.
The thing was that
none of them was actually talking [or barking] and the only sound, apart from
Tornado, which was by now just visible, was the tapping on the ground of the
disabled old lady’s aluminium walking stick, which she had securely strapped on
at the elbow. She stopped abruptly, looked at her companions in disgust, lifted
her stick into the air, stared at it pointedly and then glared back towards the
source of the request in disbelief at what she had just heard. Perhaps that was
one potential convert lost to the cause, I thought, as 60163 steamed
resplendently by and disappeared in the direction of York
[From an article first published under the title "Hobbies" in the Railway Antiques Gazette and with thanks to the editor, Tim Petchey]
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