Of my ilk - sort of

 A special guest contribution today from my good friend, John Beck. A winter's tale with some atmospheric photographs to match.

"He pulled onto the wide cinder road edge, swung out of his car, pushed the metal gate leading down the steps to the track open, and polished his camera lens, seemingly all in one motion. 

‘Thought it would have broken through by now’ he said without looking up. ‘I saw the sun come up on the Malverns at 7.30 and then straight here for the 60 from Margam’.

He had a Worcester Warriers bobble hat firmly on, and a similar coloured scarf wrapped round his face. He had clearly done this a hundred times before. Confident, comfortable, communicative. A nice enough bloke.

I noted that there was an immediate assumption that I was ‘one of us’. That’s why I was there, on the bridge. 

Innocent, perhaps a little brave, perhaps a little foolish. In any event, not a moments doubt. Quite touching really.  He was right of course. 

‘The class 66, fully laden, came through 5 minutes ago’ I said. 

‘I know. 169 probably. The light engine from Bescot five minutes earlier was cancelled. Im here for the 60 from Round Oak in ten minutes’.

‘How do you know what the loco’s will be’ I asked.

‘Well there are certain apps, and it helps if you know certain people’. At this point there was eye contact.

 

There was no pressure to talk.  It was nice to start the day on the bridge, with the sun starting to break through the mist and frost, and in the company of my ilk. 

With one deviation - I mounted my (Wills) bike and, as a farewell offering, remarked that it will be some time before we see steam on this stretch. As my wheels started turning I was met with a resounding ’Oh, I don’t do steam’.  I’ve met people like this at SVR diesel galas I thought. There's more of them than you might think.

Each to their own."