Original Railway Artwork sold at Railwayana Auctions in 2016

Included are:

- railway subjects only, so no shipping, trams etc,

- no original art work intended for secondary purposes like advertising material,

- paintings from the main live and internet railwayana specific auctions only.

Consequently, results from Bristol, Crewe, GCRA, GNRA, GWRA, railwayana.net, Solent, Stafford and Talisman are included. The information below is taken from all such auctions where paintings were sold that were held between 2011 and 2016. All the information has been available for perusal in the auction houses’ own on-line archives.

Unsold lots, as shown on the auction houses’ own websites where results have been posted after the events, are not included in the figures. Where two paintings have been sold as one lot, they have contributed two paintings to totals. Further railway paintings not included below, may well, of course, have changed hands elsewhere, including the Sheffield postal auctions, auction houses which do not specialise in railwayana like Thirsk, large volume sales like Bloxham, fine art auctions like Dreweatts and in general auction sales nationally.

The trends are as follows. Any mistakes over exact numbers are all my own.

1. The number of original railway paintings sold at the main live and internet railwayana auctions continues to increase:

2011 - 32, 2012 - 41, 2013 - 61, 2014 - 88, 2015 - 105, 2016 - 136.

2. From 2011 to 2016, the works of an increasing number of railway artists have featured in these sales:

2011 - 25, 2012 - 20, 2013 - 27, 2014 - 34, 2015 - 42, 2016 - 48.

3. The number of individual specialist railwayana auction events selling paintings has continued to increase overall:

2011 - 7, 2012 - 10, 2013 - 13, 2014 - 19, 2015 - 18, 2016 - 22. 

4. From 2011 to 2016, the number of artists whose work topped the £1,000 hammer price at specialist railwayana auctions has increased overall. The artists concerned were:

2011 - 3 paintings - by Heiron [2], Broom,

2012 - 3 paintings - by Bottomley, Hawkins, Broom,

2013 - 8 paintings - by Broom [2], Breckon [2], Heiron, Root, Price, Freeman,

2014 - 7 paintings - by Root [3], Elford, Breckon, Freeman, Hawkins,

2015 - 11 paintings - by Breckon [3], Hawkins [2], Root [2], Beech, Ellis, Elford, Price.

2016 - 13 paintings - by Breckon [4], Price [3], Hawkins [2], Freeman, Root, Broome,

                                  Greene,

The year ended with £4,250 being paid for a Barry J. Freeman painting at GCRA, following £3,600 for a Don Breckon at GWRA two weeks earlier. It was also noted that the splendid view of Crewe North sheds by James Green had a sale price of £6,750 at the 2016 Railart exhibition at Kidderminster and it displayed a “sold” sticker during the event. Top quality railway paintings by the acknowledged masters of the genre are clearly being recognised as such and as a result are attracting higher prices at auction.

[This article first appeared in the Railwayana Antiques Gazette, December 2016, and it is published here with thanks to the editor, Tim Petchey. Photograph of the original painting of No. 46207 Princess Arthur of Connaught with thanks to the artist, Barry Price]

Happy Holidays

In 1963 we went to Somerset for our annual family holiday. We stayed at Home Farm in Curland, a village six miles south of Taunton in the Blackdown Hills. Goodness knows how my folks found these places. They must have got hold of a guide to remote farmhouse holidays in inaccessible places. It was very rural but luckily there was an escape route for me by bus to Taunton. I remember Mum getting very animated by watching “Steptoe and Son” on their TV. We were without television at home at that time, but I think this experience swung it for me and my sister as our first telly arrived the next year.

Starting from Liverpool Lime Street, we were hauled by Bo-Bo Class B electric E3082 as far as Crewe, where Bo-Bo Type 2 diesel D5017 took over, then onwards through the Welsh Marches from Shrewsbury, by Castle Class No.4087 Cardigan Castle and finally from Bristol to Taunton, by Hymek Class No. D7017. North west to south west trains still went along the border route with Wales, rather than via Birmingham, at that time.

On the following Monday, I went off from Taunton to Exeter behind Hall Class No. 4993 Dalton Hall. A quick spurt up the hill to Central from St David’s with Battle of Britain Class No. 34078 222 Squadron was followed by a trip out to Polsloe Bridge Halt, behind Standard Class 4 tank No. 80059.

Heaven awaited at the end of a short walk. In fact, I’m pretty sure I must have run all the way there. I did a lot of spontaneous running between places. These were to be my first Southern sheds and Exmouth Junction did not disappoint. Well, actually that is a massive understatement. I was ecstatic. Fifteen Pacific cops, including Merchant Navy Class, No.35026 Lamport and Holt Line. Back at St David’s station, I cabbed West Country Class No. 34002 Salisbury and I was finally taken back to Taunton by Warship Class No. D866 Zebra.

On 1/8/63 Dad took me to the County Ground in Taunton, to watch a day of the Championship cricket match between Somerset and Nottinghamshire. I remember Brian Bolus and the wonderful setting, but not a lot else, though more recent investigations reminded me that another famous name from the past was present that day, Fred Rumsey, the big Somerset fast bowler.

I spent three consecutive days on Taunton station. On the first of these I misjudged the exact location of the bus stop I was planning to alight at and when the bus jerked forward I fell from the rear platform into the middle of the road, just beneath the bridge next to the station. Undeterred by a shaking up and an odd cut and bruise, I scampered up to the station, sat on a platform bench and licked my wounds.

The following Saturday, I saw thirty-five different D800 Warship Class Type 4s, half the total of the class. On the Western Region main lines, diesels were already firmly in control. My repeat visit to Exmouth Junction the following week yielded no less than five more Merchant Navies.

On 8/8/63 I tried Bournemouth, because we went as a family on a day coach trip, ostensibly to visit my mum’s auntie. Another MN Class No. 35016 Elders Fyffes, was on the sheds, but it appears from my brief notes, that I did not get right round. Nevertheless, 441 cops for the holiday was not a bad haul.

On our journey home, our train, hauled by Warship Class Type 4 diesel hydraulic No. D845 Sprightly, passed two light engines parked just north of Pontypool Road station. Hall Class No. 4916 Crumlin Hall waits for its next northbound commitment, just ahead of Britannia Class No. 70054 Dornoch Firth on10/8/63. It appears that this was the only snap I took during the entire fortnight’s holiday.

[Adapted from my book Train Spotters]

Classing the semis

The semis were the engines we admired most. “How many semis have you seen?” was almost certainly my standard opening line for a conversation with anyone who I had just discovered was also a spotter. For a time, in the early 60s, I had seen all but one of them. It must have been weeks, and it may even have run into months, before I finally classed them. 

On an undisclosed date, which I’m working out was probably during springtime in 1963, my friend Andy rang our door bell around tea time on a Sunday afternoon. He told me that he had been to Edge Hill sheds [8A] earlier that day and seen Coronation Class No. 46245 City of London. He knew it was the only one of the class that I had not seen, so this was a generous and noble act on his part.

That left me with a problem. It was school the next day and by the following weekend the semi would have gone. It was a case of Dad to the rescue again. We went on the Sunday evening underground train service from New Brighton to Liverpool James’ Street station, by bus from the Pier Head along Smithdown Road and then walked along Tiverton Street to the sheds. There she was, as promised, stone cold and hemmed in between other engines.

I must have kept my part of the bargain with Dad by not doing a full round of the sheds or taking note of what else was there and by agreeing to come straight home once we had seen her. I have no record of the event, though I remember cabbing her before we left.

I had been the recipient of two good turns in one day. I positively bounded into school on the following Monday morning.

With Chris and Alice Priestley and Coronation Class No. 46233 Duchess of Sutherland, sister engine to the City of London, at Hellifield, in 2014 – still chasing the semis.

Cash Flow Problems

As a school boy, I was always short of cash. Money burnt a hole in my pocket. I just loved chips and sweets. This also caused quite a problem when it came to financing train spotting expeditions. We couldn’t afford to just go careering off by train all the time. We managed these exploits with pocket money, extra help from generous parents and cash from part-time jobs – which, in my case, at least - were often short lived. I did a paper round and for a few months I sold Wall’s ice cream each Sunday.

We were taken from Port Sunlight in the back of a lorry and dropped off with our hand pushed trolleys [cooled inside with dry ice] into various Birkenhead housing estates to knock on doors before being picked up again at the end of the day. On one occasion, the front door was opened by Mandy Hill, who played on the wing for Tranmere Rovers. He had a particularly wide gait when he ran. I have possibly never seen a footballer since, whose legs were bandier than Mandy’s. That was as exciting as it got selling ice cream.

One day, I caught the edge of the kerb with my trolley wheels and sent a full load of choc-ices and Neapolitan family bricks all over the road. Another reason I did not stick it for long was that it impinged on what might otherwise have been weekend train spotting time -  so it was a bit of a “Catch-22” situation, really.

The money I earned from my paper rounds, twelve of them in a week, helped finance my trips, but only marginally. I earned ten shillings [50p today], in the form of a brown ten bob note, which was paid when we got back to the shop each Saturday morning. I promptly blew one shilling and one old penny of it on a large bottle of dandelion and burdock [10d] and a quarter of a pound of liquorice torpedoes [3d].

I worked for Mr and Mrs J.H. Jones, an equally rotund, but jolly and kindly couple, who were the newsagents in our local parade in Mount Pleasant Road, Wallasey, where the whole neighbourhood did its daily shopping prior to large scale domestic refrigeration and the supermarket revolution. When I started, I was given the easiest paper round, displacing one of their stalwart and seasoned deliverers, who had obviously worked his way up to this most favoured position, closest to the shop.

I expected Jack’s skivvy to give me a hard time after that but he never showed me any ill will. He just put his head down and got on with all the other little extra jobs that were endlessly heaped on him.

I suspect he was ousted for me either because they thought my parents were a bit posh or that I was a bit soft and it was quite possibly both. Mr Jones used to put his arms round my shoulders rather a lot, as if I needed a frequent squeeze of encouragement just to keep going. Simultaneously, some of his most trusted operatives were helping themselves to copious packets of cigarettes, on the other side of the stock room.

My round was the shortest and therefore the quickest. While my mate Ian was juggling with his sack and falling off his bike whilst cornering a steep hill at speed on Sandringham Drive and sustaining some nasty cuts and bruises in the process, I was back at the shop with my feet up, leafing through the comics.

Sunday papers - even more so today, of course - were stupidly heavy and required two separate trips. I wished that more people had taken the wafer-thin Morning Star every day of the week, like the one possible communist on my round, who lived in Shiel Road. They were altogether more manageable as newspapers went, when you had to carry them in bulk. 

Royal Scot Class No. 46156 at Chester on 28/9/62. My dad had taken me to Gobowen to watch King Class No. 6000 King George V come through at speed on a special train. I know how lucky I was to have parents who were happy to subsidise my hobby so frequently.

[Adapted from my book Train Spotters]

Close to the edge, down by a river

I went to the railwayana auction. It was just that I arrived and left without inspiration taking hold. I was outbid on an oval-shaped piece of metal and I thought that the original paintings that I looked at were very much at the opposite end of the scale to desirable.

Then, there were the carriage prints, a handful of which would have potentially enhanced my collection. Unfortunately, one was sufficiently creased that all the life had been squeezed out of it, another was so badly foxed that it looked as though it was snowing brown snow and a third, bafflingly, had been mounted [CPs are presented in such a way that they already effectively have a white paper mount surround, so they don’t really need another one] and this one, therefore, was also displayed in an unnecessarily enlarged frame.

It is always good to have more than one area of interest when disappoints strikes. Everton managed their third league win in January during the afternoon, which balanced things up nicely, but the highlight of the weekend was still to come.

“Always a chance of a kingfisher,” I said as we set off on our walk along the side of the River Trent - my important substitute for sea-side - earlier this afternoon. Next to trains, birds have provided so much pleasure over the years and even though I have the spotter instinct when it comes to my species tick-list, I can also take great satisfaction from a better view than before, or a close-up encounter with a less common type.

Our kingfisher did not disappoint. Rising from the bank on our side of the river, it hovered like a kestrel, then arrowed into the water before surfacing and shooting across the channel. How wonderful. I’ve never witnessed that before, although we have seen them flying up and down stream many times. There is so often something fascinating to see in the natural world close to home.

I felt an inclination to turn to the numerous dog-walkers and families that were within ear-shot, but who were otherwise oblivious to the event - which was actually already over anyway and the bird was by now barely visible in the tangled vegetation on the other side.

All those other folk are, no doubt, happily playing out their own versions of a rewarding weekend, anyway, I thought. We left it at that and went for a coffee, instead. 

Not a kingfisher.

Stafford Railwayana Auction, 14/1/17.

My three visits to Stafford, at a rate of roughly one every twenty years, have all been whistle-stop affairs. We called in at the sheds [5C] as part of an intensive cycling expedition on 12/4/64, having already bunked round Wellington [84H] on our way from Shrewsbury youth hostel to Rudyard Lake. With Stoke [5D] ahead of us to fit into a busy day, we could not have hung around any longer than it took to jot down - D267, 73026, D320, 42267, 45622 Nyasaland, 42970, 45344, 47590, 48255, D2221, 47518, 92016, D5009, 42104, 42186, D2385, 45660 Rooke, 42066, 47665, 42488, 47359, 47622, 47598, 45110, 45572 Eire.

We called in with friends more recently, staying long enough on that occasion to sit down and have a coffee and admire the former cinema in the town centre that has been converted into a pub, as part of the JD Wetherspoon chain. It’s good to see old buildings receiving a new lease of life in a way that preserves many of their original internal features.

True to form, then, on Saturday I arrived almost half way through proceedings at Blessed William Howard Catholic School. I looked him up when I got home. He had been executed as a traitor in 1680. Apparently King Charles II [King Class No. 6009] had “tears in his eyes” when he [supposedly reluctantly] signed the death warrant – but obviously not enough tears to prevent him from seeing what he was doing. The Catholic church beatified William Howard in 1929.

A big sign attached to the wall told me that I was in the right place and another with equally large lettering pointed me towards the Sixth Form Centre Sports Hall, which had its own notice, “No ball games,” though that seemed a little contradictory. There were signs everywhere and that was even before I had ventured inside.

Round the next corner, I was faced with a chalk board promising “Hot Roast Pulled Pork,” from a van claiming, “Good food to go. Food is where the heart is.” The very jovial auctioneer allowed everyone plenty of time to sample it during the lengthy lunch break that I was just in time for.

There were some splendid plates on offer, however, including the cab-side from the first of the ex-GWR Hall Class No. 4900 Saint Martin, an impressive string of totems from the Newton Abbot to Kingswear line and the ex-Manchester United footballer Gordon Hill’s personal seat back.

“World records will fall,” was the aside shared with me by one of Stafford Railwayana Auction’s official assistants. This failed to happen, though, in the case of vehicle registration plates CPT 1, which did not meet an obviously hefty reserve.

Before I left, my attention was drawn to a school notice board with a quote from Muhammad Ali, “Don’t count the days. Make the days count.” There was also a “who’s who” display for the Sixth Form Management Team that included a Student Leader of Catholicity. Nor was my day of signs quite over. One more that caught my eye on the way home was the Old Knotty Way in Uttoxeter.

I wondered if Muhammad Ali and the current Student Leader of Catholicity would approve of the use that I had made of my time on Saturday. Re-visiting Stafford and investigating an auction venue that was new to me probably came into the plus column, but, on the other hand, I could have been in trouble in some quarters for forgetting to take my mobile phone and my sun glasses with me, yet again.  

Mike Roche, Mike Priestley, Ian Hughes and Rick Irvine on another cycling and youth hostelling adventure a year after our visit to Stafford, this time reaching Stratford-upon-Avon and Oxford, in April 1965.

A Touch of Class

To celebrate my 65^th birthday I travelled first class on a train for the first time in my life. My wife had chosen to celebrate the event by going skiing with her friends, so I took the day trip to Edinburgh along the East Coast Main Line all on my own.

I’d hardly had a chance to sit down before I was offered a cup of coffee. That was nice of him. I could get used to this, I mused, as I settled into my seat. “Wine, sir?” “No thank you.” It was not even mid-day. I chose coffee again, followed by fizzy water. I’m sure I just saw llamas in that field. It must have been too much coffee. Then came lunch; quiche and salad and all very tasty. “No thanks, no wine.” It was still only 12.30. Oh no! A dirty glass for my water, should I complain? They’ve been so attentive. It would seem so ungrateful. I rubbed it on my napkin. It looked like that ingrained dullness sometimes imposed by a regular seeing to in an automatic dishwasher. It’ll do. Don’t want to make a scene. I was only a teacher, you know, I’m not used to being fussed over like this. I bet they can spot us First Class virgins a mile off. Too polite, not quite sharp enough in our interactions, not relaxed enough in our demeanour. But I’ve got this comfy chair and this table all to myself and the views of the Northumberland coast would be even better if that bloke had not chosen, inexplicably, to close his blind. His seat and his prerogative, of course, but DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU ARE MISSING, EXACTLY?

I’m not sure I’m entitled to what is effectively a second go at lunch, so when they come around yet again I politely let it be known that I have eaten already, but I really fancy a sandwich. “No problem, sir, which one would you like, sir?” No, no wine, thanks [again], but the sandwiches and crisps are excellent and a nice cup of tea is just the job. The truth of the matter is that I’m so unused to being on the receiving end of all this pampering that I’m not quite taking advantage of the opportunity to relax in the lap of luxury, in the way that I had envisaged. Perhaps I’d be better off in standard class after all. Mind you, it is quieter in here. People are polite but brief with each other. I sense that one reason many have chosen it is precisely so they do not have to go in for any unnecessary conversation. They occasionally talk in friendly tones to distant significant others by phone, but there is less interaction between passengers and it is purely functional when it occurs. They want to be left alone, making exceptions only to be fairly constantly plied with food and drink. Everybody except me seems deeply focussed on some matter of urgency involving a file, a computer or a mobile phone. I assume it is work related, in most cases. I’m only there as a pleasure seeker, but why do I also feel like I’m a bit of an imposter - as though I’m sitting in the naughty corner of a cushy, mobile office?

On the way back I have an even better seat. Facing and window, the aisle is at its widest here, with only one seat either side of it. I can stretch out as far as I can in any direction without inconveniencing anybody else, though I might look a bit strange if anyone happens to look up from their laptop for a second at that precise moment. I feel totally spoilt. “You deserve this,” I tell myself. Think about all those dire, wet, Thursday afternoons with 5C, banging on about communications corridors, for example, as we glide smoothly past all the traffic on the A1 - even the stuff going our way at 70mph.

Tea is Moroccan chickpea tagine with fruity couscous and harissa. I don’t know what tagine is, though I think I’ve heard of harissa. Oh no, sultanas! I can’t leave a hillock of sultanas on the side of my plate in first class. What will they think of me? It’s time for a birthday drink and a toast to myself. I choose a can of Continental lager. It’s not just cool but triple filtered, so that’s a big relief, obviously. I have yet another glance at the antimacassar, just to check that I’ve not absent-mindedly scratched my head at some stage and left a mark on it.

Another catering crew comes on at Newcastle. They won’t know I’ve already had sandwiches, so I could be on for a few more without risk of embarrassment. An extraordinary day ends with further sandwiches and even another cup of tea before I drive myself safely home from the station. My dip into this other world of travel is over for the time being, but I must say that, overall, I’ve enjoyed it immensely. I’m sure I’ll get better at it, too; a touch of class and not before time. I didn’t bother with any tea that evening, not even a slice of birthday cake.

The ECML in another era.

A Deltic pulls into Doncaster with an express for King’s Cross on 4/6/1963.

[Adapted from an article of the same title, which appears in the current edition of the Railway Antiques Gazette, with thanks to the editor, Tim Petchey]            

Partners in Crime

My dad liked trams, trains and ships, and he introduced me to them all. We looked down on the Liverpool trams from upstairs at Reece’s restaurant, while enjoying afternoon tea and hot-buttered toast. Dad took me on the Liverpool Overhead Railway, from which we saw the Empress of Canada burnt out in Gladstone docks. He walked me down from our house in Tiverton Avenue, Liscard, to Egremont Promenade to see the Cunard liners on the Mersey, and he arranged my first few train trips behind steam on our annual summer holiday.

While I still needed him around for a bit of re-assurance, he also accompanied me on a few train spotting trips. Here he is in the cab of the A2 Class Pacific No. 60537 Batchelor’s Button at Carlisle Canal sheds, on Monday 23/7/1962. He asked for permission at the shed master’s office and we were given the OK to walk round. We were then denied similar access to Kingmoor, which was a much busier depot, so Dad lit a cigarette and stood out of sight around a corner near the entrance while I hurried down the lines on my own. It was the closest he got to flouting authority that I can ever remember.

In today’s safety-conscious age, his action in turning a blind eye, would, no doubt, be considered highly irresponsible - even negligent. This was effectively an active industrial site with large moving parts. Yet, kids bunked round sheds all the time and their folks were either complicit or ignorant about what their offspring were getting up to. Sadly, in the end, having a smoke proved to be the more critical choice, in Dad’s case. 

My notebook does not indicate exactly where our visit to Canal sheds began and ended, but this is the full list of what I recorded, in the order that I wrote them down. We may have seen the last three listed engines during our walk between the two sheds alongside the Anglo-Scottish main line. Carlisle Canal sheds closed in June 1963, so we actually got there just in time.

42440, 64895, 60151 Midlothian, 80113, 60537 Batchelor’s Button, D5308, 60043 Brown Jack, 65321, 42720, 64877, 64499, 65237, 42081, 64888, 60816, 61053, 12080, 42067, D328, 46107 Argyll and Sutherland Highlander, 45363.

Blue, blue, electric blue

When I was 13, my dad took me on a Merseyside Civic Society visit to Edge Hill signalbox and the new Allerton electric depot in Liverpool. Here we are in the cab of one of the new blue electrics. Note the bobble hat and anorak with sew-on badges. I made my fashion statement early on and never looked back. Being a trend setter and fashion icon from such an early age has obviously kept me on my toes - but so far, so good.

I was not desperately pleased to see electric locomotives taking over former steam turns on the London expresses but I went on to cop all 200 of them anyway. I waited another four years or so after I had been first introduced to them to even bother taking a photo of one. E3096 was standing in the north end bay platform at Crewe station on 3/1/66. It was probably during the early afternoon quiet spell.

Tally-ho

I can’t think of a more intriguing locomotive type than the Hunt Class. They were all withdrawn by July 1961, a year after I started train spotting. No. 62712 Morayshire, the sole survivor of the 76 strong, ex-LNER D49 Shire and Hunt Class 4-4-0s, is consequently the only one I have seen. Built between 1929 and 1935, the earlier locomotives were named after English and Scottish counties and the later ones after fox hunts.

As for the hunts, themselves, the Grove [represented by D49 No. 62767] and the Rufford [No. 62771] amalgamated in 1952 to become the Grove and Rufford. We came face to face with their current contingent on Saturday, during what might otherwise have been a quiet walk in the country. What happened next seemed quite bizarre.

After an enjoyable picnic in a tranquil setting next to the River Greet, we were heading back along the Southwell trail. Soon after we had left Maythorne, I heard the sound of a hunting horn followed by the unmistakeable yelping of a pack of hounds. Figures on horseback appeared above the hedgerows to the north, coming to a halt a couple of fields away. Then the action really began. An off-road farmer’s vehicle sped by twice, along the field margin closest to the trail. I guessed that it was laying scent for the dogs, but who knows?

Then, two brown hares shot from left to right across the same field. One turned around and tried to make his escape in the direction he had just come from. The horns sounded again and the field was suddenly full of dogs. They bounded straight towards us as we stood, mesmerised, if not transfixed, where an ungated field meets the track. Huntsmen and women followed on horseback, all kitted out - some in red jackets, others in black.

The horses trotted past us. The riders were very polite. “Hello, I bet you didn’t expect to see us here today,” offered a very well-spoken lady. The horses turned sharp left onto the trail and as others joined them, they galloped off in the Southwell direction, presumably trying to catch up with the leaders. It struck me that that would not be a welcome sight for any parent with toddlers, or pushing a baby-buggy, who happened to be coming towards them on what is quite a narrow pathway.

In the next field to the south, one of the hares re-appeared, closely pursued by two of the dogs. It ran towards the hedge that forms the boundary with the trail. They were gaining on it, but it seemed to have just made it into the bushes.

So, how do hares rate, in all of this? I thought. Are they just collateral damage if the supposedly protected foxes don’t show up? And if there is a real fox is in the wrong place at the wrong time, how do the dogs know that it is no longer fair game? I’m very confused.

We were still discussing the events we had just witnessed, when a group of young people dressed in black approached us from another field. Some had map cases swinging from their necks, others carried coils of rope and most wore balaclavas. It was initially quite scary. “We’re Nottingham Hunt Sab’s,” they told us, removing their masks and suddenly looking a whole lot less threatening. We told them about the hare, but added that we were unable to say conclusively if it had been killed.

“They went that-a-way,” I offered, as helpfully as I could. 

While we were still anchored to the spot, a young couple appeared, obviously having avoided the near stampede that had disappeared in their direction a few minutes earlier. “Did you see what happened to that hare?” I asked. No, but they had heard it, they said. They were sure that the dogs had got it. They were both visibly upset. Within a couple of minutes, we passed them again as they returned to their car. “We are going to the pub,” the young man added.

I dare say that different pubs were probably where all four groups ended up later in the afternoon – the hunt, the sab’s, the couple and certainly ourselves, but - to my knowledge - the hare was the only one that did not make it home.

A quiet walk in the country? Perhaps I’ll have a day out on the trains or at a railwayana auction. Generally, nothing gets unnecessarily killed.

Fox embellishment, as fitted to the nameplates of the ex-LNER Hunt Class. This example was sold at the July 2015 GW Railwayana Auction at Pershore and is included here with thanks to Simon Turner.

Ship Spotters

We were not just train spotters in the 1960s. We went after ships as well, taking note of what we saw on our Sunday cycle expeditions to Birkenhead sheds. We also took our bikes to Liverpool via Seacombe Ferry on Saturday mornings and cycled the length of the dock system from Gladstone back to the Pier Head, sometimes including a selection of the now closed South Docks. We noted the names of the ships of the various merchant shipping lines, including Clan, Blue Funnel, Harrison and Brocklebank.

We were invited on board a Clan Line boat in Liverpool Docks by a group of foreign seamen and climbed a narrow and flimsy set of steps up the ship’s side to reach the deck for a quick look around. The resulting, fairly brief interaction with our hosts relied entirely on gestures and facial expression, and primarily that universal common characteristic - the smile. 

The narrow wharf side between the walls of the transit sheds and the edge of the dock was strewn with all sorts of bits and bobs; grain, pieces of timber and a range of spillages, as well as being interlaced with railway lines that were sometimes very wet and slippery. It was an accident waiting to happen. Below us lurked the cold and dirty water of the dock itself and vertical dock walls. I couldn’t swim in those days, either. Yet we were never stopped at the dock gates, nor apprehended en route by any one in officialdom.         

We bought spotting pocket books for ships, as well, which were organised in similar fashion to the Ian Allan locomotive books and we underlined the names as we saw them, just like the trains. Towards the end of the week, I would go into Earlston Library in Wallasey and look through the Liverpool Journal of Commerce, to see which ships were coming into which named docks by the following weekend.

We were properly hooked on spotting things. By the end of the decade some of us were also going to evening bird watching classes led by a local vicar at the nearby technical college. That hobby has stood the test of time as well.

Nor had obsessive collecting during this period been confined to engine numbers, ship names and bird species. Whilst still at junior school, I remember standing on street corners near home in order to list vehicle registration numbers. HF plates were registered in Wallasey, whilst CM and BG traffic was from Birkenhead.

While my younger sister took advantage of parental encouragement towards self-improvement, by learning to swim with George at Guinea Gap Baths and by embarking on piano lessons in an elderly spinster’s front room in Vyner Road, instead, I set about filling my bedroom with stuff.          

At one time or another, I obtained armies of minute plastic soldiers, piles of comics [Beano and Beezer, then Victor and Hotspur], Brooke Bond tea cards [of birds, which you could swap at a local general store], match boxes, book matches, cigarette packets, postage stamps, Airfix kits [planes and trains], bubble gum cards, fireworks [seasonal, much to my mother’s relief], autographs, pin badges from youth hostels, sew-on cloth badges from the different parts of the country I had visited, records [singles, EPs and long players] and beer mats.          

I had also subscribed to and then amassed large quantities of the various railway magazines during my teens, including, at different times, Trains Illustrated, Modern Railways, Railway Magazine and Railway World. I eventually forfeited some of my copies of Trains Illustrated in order to make a frieze out of photographs of steam engines, which I had cut out and attached to a roll of wallpaper and placed most of the way round my bedroom wall.          

The remainder blocked up wardrobe space for years, vacating my childhood family home about the same time as I did. I’m pretty sure my girlfriend and I had come to an amicable agreement by then about their future, which would have involved them starting a new life together elsewhere. 

 Point duty on 2/8/67 at the approach to Duke Street bridge, Birkenhead.

[Adapted from my book, Train Spotters]                 

Reasons to be Cheerful

Amongst all the “good riddance” remarks aimed at the departing 2016 [for very obvious reasons], I was warmed by the Guardian’s attempt to redress the balance last Saturday [31/12/16]. In the plus column, they cited a plateauing in the rate of global CO2 emissions, an increasing list of countries declared free of malaria and various other diseases, fewer deaths through conflict worldwide [surprisingly], a continued downward trend in overall UK crime rates, improved worldwide mobile phone connectivity, a continuing decline in worldwide murder rates, greater use of contraception contributing to a levelling off in worldwide population growth and the downward trend in the numbers suffering from extreme poverty on a world scale.

In our own neck of the woods, meanwhile, we have had the decision to go ahead with the new railway museum at Leicester North and the commencement of work on the Bridge to the Future Project to re-join the two sections of the old Great Central Railway. Elsewhere, track has been laid into Corwen on the Llangollen Railway, the Borders Railway is up and running, Flying Scotsman experienced an astonishingly successful relaunch and the Severn Valley Railway completed its fabulous nine-coach ex-LNER teak set in time for her arrival there in September.

You can pick your own favourite moments from a long list of 2016 achievements. The railway heritage movement is in rude health, so here’s to 2017 and a Happy New Year to all.  

Flying Scotsman on the Severn Valley Railway, 23rd September 2016.