Severn Valley Railway Autumn Steam Gala, September 2017

Visiting engines included Ffestiniog Railway’s Prince, ex-SR Schools Class, Repton and the Terrier, Bluebell. It was the 105-year-old Great Eastern Railway Y14 No. 564 that really caught the eye, though. Now the property of the Midland and Great Northern Joint Railway Society, she was in GER blue livery at the head of the SVR’s teak set. Built at Stratford works to a Worsdell 1883 design, 564 was later re-classified as an LNER J15. These 0-6-0 locomotives made up the most numerous of all the GER classes but 564 was the last one in service, being withdrawn from BR as No. 65462 in 1962. She is a remarkable working survivor.

The SVR gala is a thoroughly enjoyable highlight of the preservation movement’s year. Once more, the Guild of Railway Artists’ Railart exhibition coincided with the gala event, located above the museum at Kidderminster station. It combined contributions from acknowledged big hitters like Philip D Hawkins, Eric Bottomley, Malcolm Root, Gerald Broom and John Austin together with some other less familiar names and more diverse interpretations of the railway scene. I’m always pleased to see the work of Rob Rowland, David Halliwell, David French and Chris Holland represented.

David Charlesworth’s painting of an Indian Railways scene reminds me of a snippet I read courtesy of MSN news, which my computer insists I peruse before I’m allowed to go anywhere else [I could probably change that]. Indian Railway are the 6^th biggest employers in the world with 1.4 million staff and they carry 8.1 billion passengers a year. So, there you are.

Chateau Impney

A location near the M5 motorway at Droitwich Spa seemed like a good idea, to break our journey back from Cornwall prior to a day at the Severn Valley Railway steam gala. We found ourselves in a rather incongruous set-up for rural England - French chateau architecture with Brummie accents.

The internal design of the modern annexe to which we were assigned had a noticeable “prison wing” look to it. We thought that we were going to have to sing for our supper, too, because the barman forgot to tell the kitchen what we had ordered.

Nor had we taken into account the Birmingham Velo cycling event, which did it’s best to cut off access to Bridgnorth, where we were due to meet our friends the next morning.

However, the hotel interior is very grand and imposing and the surrounding grounds and parkland are magnificent. The story behind the hotel is interesting, too, if a little quirky. John Corbett, a philanthropic Victorian employer who made his money from salt, returned from France with his French wife and built her a new home in the style of the chateaux of the Loire and Versailles, which they both so much admired.

How nice was that?

Vive la difference. 

 

The Night Riviera

The Night Riviera departs from Penzance at 21.45 on weekdays. When we visited a week ago, it was already in place at platform 1 about an hour beforehand. The immaculately turned out Class 57, No. 57604 Pendennis Castle was at the head of the rake of sleeping cars and carriages. She is in former GWR livery with name and number plates in the style of the pre-1948 Great Western Railway, as carried over into BR days.

The station, with its train shed covering 3 of the 4 platforms and distinctive murals adorning the walls, is one of the more attractive features of the town, especially at night, when the full sweep of Mount’s Bay to St Michael’s Mount is not visible. 

 

Poldark

Cards on the table – I’m not fussed about Poldark. I don’t find it the most captivating of TV dramas. However, that is no excuse at all for almost running my grandson in his buggy into Aidan Turner, recently, on the coastal path above Porthminster beach in St Ives.

During the same week, I also thought that I had “clocked” Aidan’s co-star, Heida Reed, twice - though that one is so far being poo-pooed by my significant others.

I will admit that the section in my notes that I’m least comfortable with is the one about famous people that I have met or nearly met. I stand accused of sycophancy and, believe me, I’ve taken some stick about this one over the years.

I used to think that I was quite on the ball when it came to recognising celebrities, though I would have to admit that my tastes in entertainment have probably narrowed so much over time that I’m now likely to overlook most of those who might be described as being “popular culture.”

Instead of expecting to sniff out off-duty actors, I was probably just taking in the blue sea and bright yellow sand in the bay or weighing up lunch possibilities between the excellent Porthmeor and Porthminster beach cafes. Just possibly, my attention had been attracted by the sound of the Class 150 diesel unit that rattles back and forth all day between St Ives and St Erth.  

OK, it was almost certainly the train. 

     

The Ladykillers

I first saw the Ealing comedy, The Ladykillers, at school. For the end of year treat, we were all herded into the blacked-out assembly hall to watch the customary feature film.

I have seen The Ladykillers a number of times since then. I even have a copy waiting and ready for my dotage.

I am reminded of it every time I take the train to King’s Cross station. As we slow down about a mile from the terminus, I make a point of looking out for the south portals of Copenhagen tunnel. This is where the final dramatic scenes of the film were played out.

Most recently, we were on our way to the Victoria and Albert Museum to see the Pink Floyd exhibition, entitled, Their Mortal Remains. It wasn’t long after leaving school, that we first saw Pink Floyd in concert at the Liverpool Empire and then again - later in the same year of 1969 - at Mountford Hall, the university students’ union. Added psychedelia was provided by kaleidoscopic images whirling around on the ceiling.

How comforting, I thought, to have two such important fragments from the past to entertain me on the same day.

  

Settle and Carlisle

I had never travelled on the S&C in the days of steam, so at some stage I was going to have to put that right. In the autumn of 1988, my friend, John, asked me to join him on a charter that was coming up from London and off we went.

It was steam from Hellifield to Carlisle and back, with Stanier Class 8F 2-8-0 No. 48151. She performed well, as we have learnt to expect from this stalwart of the preservation movement. We all disembarked at Dent and the 8F reversed for a photographic run-past.

HS2

We visited Strelley Hall on a National Heritage Open Day and came up against HS2 for the first time. It will divide the estate in a cut-and-cover operation, as it sticks to a north-south alignment close to the MI motorway and the existing railway route, west of Nottingham.

This was the first time that I had met someone who was going to be directly affected by the scheme. The new office block in the grounds that cost over a million pounds will have to go. Not surprisingly, perhaps, the owner is against the scheme.

HS2 will cost a lot, cause a lot of disruption and dislocation, not be up and running for ages and will then save only modest amounts of travelling time.

HS2 is likely to boost the north of England’s economy, create lots of jobs over many years, free up capacity on the rest of the network and be a statement of optimism about the future.

If the money saved by not doing it was to be allocated instead to other rail improvements that would benefit northern cities more directly, then maybe I’d be against it, too - but that is not how things work.

All major communications enterprises meet opposition from those affected from the moment that they are first mooted until they are up and running. When considered retrospectively, most are thought to have been a good thing - the most recent local example being the return of Nottingham trams. 

The grounds of Strelley Hall, on the route of HS2

Tinsley

The place name “Tinsley” does nothing for me. I am talking about locomotive sheds, here. Exmouth Junction, Templecombe, Crewe North and Croes Newydd all conjure up such warm memories – all anticipation and adrenalin. I can picture each one in my mind’s eye. I can walk down the roads between the locomotives again and recapture the moment.

I feel a little apologetic about it but, actually, Tinsley leaves me cold. It was built in 1965, as a diesel depot. This is not Tinsley’s fault and as cities go, I like Sheffield, too [Tinsley is in Sheffield].

The reasons are:

[a] it was built in 1965 [modern, functional design - very 60s and too late to be of much interest, from a railway architecture point of view]

[b] it was a diesel depot [no steam]

It closed in 1998 and I didn’t care at all. However, I did go there for an open day in May 1988 because there was at least one steam locomotive present.  

It's not all about looks

I’m increasingly reluctant to describe anyone else as elderly these days. I can almost hear the refrain, “Who are you calling old?” being bounced back at me.

We were entertained at railway club on Wednesday evening by an octogenarian and former locomotive fireman, who first signed on with the LNER in 1947. In the 1950s, he often fired the Flying Scotsman during her stint on the Great Central lines between Leicester Central and London Marylebone. She was shedded at Leicester Central, at the time.

FS was not at the top of his list of favourite engines, nor those of the drivers he worked with. I’ve heard this a number of times, over the years, that different steam engines from the same class often seemed to have very different personalities, revolving around their steaming attributes, their responsiveness to the controls and other idiosyncrasies that might not have been expected from supposedly uniform designs.

All of which goes to show that looks can deceive. Here she is again looking as resplendent as ever, this time leaving Liverpool Lime Street station on a special train in May 1980. I’m assuming that she made it up the slope to Edge Hill, without too much bother.

On Yer Bike

I’ve always had a bike. I love that feeling of freedom you get when you first turn the wheel and launch forward. It has never left me. I get the same feeling when I push off from a sandy beach in my Speedos and brave the cold Atlantic, at least until I discover that I’m quickly out of my depth and then I turn around. If only I could fly. That would put the icing on the cake.

In 1964, my folks let me take my bike on our family holiday - the only time I did so - by train to Somerset. I cycled to Templecombe sheds and watched Bulleid Pacifics on the main line. My bike and I then took what turned out to be a once in a lifetime trip on the Somerset and Dorset Railway, not long before it closed. 

Yesterday, the Tour of Britain cycle race came through our village. The whole junior school trooped down to Main Street to wave their yellow-painted, giant, card hands. The bunting was out and there were yellow bikes parked everywhere. Hay bales on the hillside had been arranged in the shape of a bike. Hanging baskets and tubs shone golden. Drivers were shamed into not parking as usual outside the bread shop while they nipped in for a bacon cob, by youngsters in hi-viz vests. There was a buzz in the air and it wasn’t just from the helicopter.

It was all over in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, of course – that’s one for the five in the leading group and two for the peloton about four minutes later.

We raced back to see ourselves on the TV recording. The commentator got the name of our village wrong as the leaders swept down the hillside from the car park in the woods with the dubious reputation [allegedly], past the stink from the chicken farm [definitely], and sailed over the crossroads, where normally you have to sit for minutes, waiting for the slightest chink in an otherwise continuous flow of traffic.

TV chose this moment to go for a lengthy break for adverts. By the time coverage was resumed even the peloton had left the village and was off down the road. Great timing folks. It was back to green verges, trees, hardly any supporters or decorations and some inconsequential background chatter. I can report that the community feels a bit aggrieved today, because a lot of effort, civic pride, good intentions, enthusiasm and excitement were totally overlooked by thoughtless scheduling. In the end, it’s all about people. Most things are. We had a nice time, all the same.   

Clay Cross

Living in Mansfield in the 80s and very busy at work and with three children to entertain, railways were not top of the agenda. I’d heard of Clay Cross but only because of the political dispute in which local councillors had refused to enact a government imposed rise in domestic rents for council houses in the previous decade.

However, our nearest main line was then the Midland route from London St Pancras to Sheffield. North of Clay Cross at North Wingfield, this was joined by the lines from Derby, which added the cross-country traffic via Birmingham on a four-track main line section south of Chesterfield.

We would take a picnic and sit in a field next to the railway in the Amber valley, fished with a net for stickle-backs, but generally caught some rather unpleasant-looking bottom-feeding creatures that may or may not have been gobies [?]. We gathered vast quantities of elderberries and took them home to make some seriously strong wine. Sometimes, we popped in to the Old Napoleon Inn, overlooking Ogston reservoir, for a lemonade.

Throughout this period, the Class 47s ruled the roost on the locomotive hauled expresses. I did not keep notes, but I kept an eye on proceedings in case one of the 47s that I not seen before put in an appearance.

Occasionally, we made trips to view a steam-hauled special train. Kolhapur and Mallard were photographed near to Clay Cross station in 1987 and the Flying Scotsman between North Wingfield and Tupton during the following year.

Totnes

Call me Mr Picky, but there is something mildly irritating about heritage branch lines that, for one reason or another, are unable to run their trains into the original junction station.

On the South Devon Railway between Buckfastleigh and Riverside, the new terminus was built just short of the main line station in Totnes. It was not always so. This photo, taken during our family summer holiday in August 1984, shows the branch line train waiting for departure from the up platform on the main line.

I know only too well the financial and logistical mountains that have to be climbed by the heritage lines to complete these “missing links.” Effective connections to Network Rail will continue to be dictated by individual local circumstances. I’ll just have to be patient.

The Midland Railway Centre

The former Midland Railway route from Pye Bridge to Ambergate closed in 1968. The Midland Railway Trust ran its first trains out of Butterley towards Swanwick Junction in 1981. The MRC now operates a 3½ mile line from Hammersmith to Ironville, where there is a connection to Network Rail and the London St Pancras to Sheffield main line. Swanwick became the main museum centre as well as the junction for the former Swanwick colliery branch.

We first visited Butterley during a gala day in the autumn of 1982, when these pictures were taken. There was certainly plenty of activity, with a number of engines in steam and some double-heading taking place. Whether that was sufficient on the day to entertain our children of 4, 2 and a few months, I’m not so sure.

Penistone

My sister-in-law had moved to be close to her daughter and grandchildren, up in the South Yorkshire hills. Penistone was completely new to me. I soon discovered that the new house that I was sitting in was built on land where Cammell Laird had previously made iron and steel.

I sat back and remembered our 1960s train spotting trips that started with the fog of smoke that greeted you, when you climbed upstairs on the number 10 bus. It was created by the Lairds workers, with their flat caps and butty boxes, who themselves had only been seated for the five minutes it had taken the bus to reach Stroude’s corner from the New Brighton terminus. Their first act had obviously been to open their tins of loose baccy and get their roll-up underway. When we got off at Hamilton Square and walked the few yards down to Birkenhead Woodside station, the men who had built the Ark Royal stayed on board for a few more minutes before starting their working day at the ship yard.

The former Yorkshire Iron and Steel works at Penistone had been constructed adjacent to the Manchester, Sheffield and Lincolnshire Railway, which became the Great Central Railway in 1897. It expanded onto the other side of the line, stretching just to where we now sat drinking tea and eating some of my niece’s excellent home-made cake.

We took a stroll along the track bed of the old GCR, the famous Woodhead route between Sheffield and Manchester, which is now a well-used walking and cycling trail. I had come this way once before, on the 4^th June 1963, when we were hauled over the Pennines and through the tunnel - on the route which had been electrified in 1953 - by Class EM2 [later Class 77] No. 27000 Electra. The line closed to passenger traffic in 1970 and then completely in 1981, so the whole electrification enterprise had been relatively short-lived.

The former GCR station buildings at Penistone are still standing and are partly occupied by small businesses. The track bed and platform edges are clearly discernible. The former junction with the Huddersfield route, which still operates as the “Penistone Line” from Sheffield via Barnsley, leaves the station on a sharp curve to the north as it approaches the dramatic Penistone viaduct.