The map showed me the
way down to the railway sidings. I found the left turn I needed, a metalled surface
but with no signs. Past the last house, which was shown on the map, the road
became a track, but it was still easily drivable. Over a bridge that crossed a
stream, through an open gate at the end, and I had still not passed any obvious
place to park. I knew I was now just onto railway property. The signalman’s car
was parked there, as was a white van marked “Network Rail.” There was just
enough room for me behind them.
I went to talk to the
driver of the van, who was reading a newspaper. I told him why I was there. I
had looked on the internet and was expecting one coal train out and one train
of empties in during the next half an hour. I asked if it would be OK to leave
my car there for a few minutes while I took a couple of photos. He said he
could not give me permission, but he didn’t tell me to go, either. We chatted
about his job, checking the workings of the mechanical signal boxes along the
line. He was based at a location on the main line about ten miles away. His
next port of call was the box to the west of this one, but he was in no hurry
to get there. He gave me the impression that he did not get on too well with the
signalman there. He intended to reduce his visiting time to a surgical strike.
Conversation turned to
the advantages of the traditional signalman’s life, which modern technology was
in the midst of bringing to an end and which was the real reason I was there –
to record it before it disappeared. It was a lovely summer’s day. I had already
heard skylarks and yellowhammers and seen tree sparrows, in the few minutes I
had been standing there. It was an idyllic rural oasis, yet only minutes away from
sizable settlements.
The NR man walked over
the tracks to the signalbox. I noticed that the locomotive had now pulled
slowly towards me along the siding, so I picked up the camera from my car. The
signalman appeared at the door of his box and shouted to me. “Do you mind
standing on the other side of your car, please, mate?” “OK,” I replied and I did
what I was told. The engine rumbled forward. I took a couple of pictures but the
light was wrong to begin with and my newly withdrawn position just about
scuppered the whole operation.
NR man returned to his
van. He explained that the driver might have reported me as a “near miss,” and
if he had, “We’d have had everyone here, swarming around the place.” I murmured
something generally compliant and wondered what they had me down as - demonstrator,
suicide, terrorist, vandal or metal thief? NR man drove off to forge a meaningful,
if short-lived and no doubt a little strained, working arrangement with his
colleague in the next box. When the dust settled, I followed him back to
civilisation.
On my way home, I mused
over what the signalman in the next box might have said to upset NR man and wondered
how that call was going. I also thought about how suspicious these two railwaymen
had been of me. Surely, I don’t look like a trouble maker? They were only
covering their own backs, I concluded. They were doing their job by the book. I
was strictly a trespasser on railway property. It is not just technology that
has changed over the years and I’m all in favour of safer working practices,
but we seem somehow to have lost something of value alongside such developments.
Maybe it is trust.
No comments:
Post a Comment