York

Off we go again - and with grandchildren in tow this time - for a trip on the Azuma to the National Railway Museum. The King’s Cross to Edinburgh Waverley on Friday 11^th February was pretty busy by the time it left Newark Northgate promptly at 9.46 - or 8.46 as the old Potts clock would prefer to call it. Our first move was to ask the two young ladies occupying our seats to move, so that we were all able to sit within easy reach of each other round a pre-booked table, which is important when you are the one i/c of a constant supply of drinks, snacks, magazines, coloured pencils, football cards, stickers, plastic figures and other forms of entertainment from the bottomless rucksack.

The illuminated panel above the window on the Azumas makes the old “You’re sitting in my seat” routine a whole lot easier to deal with these days. No more arguments over lost reservation cards that might or might not have fluttered to the floor from the little recess above the seat. Each seat’s status is lit up for the current stage of the journey, with red for pre-booked and amber for may be reserved after the current occupiers have left. They even have a little picture of a window next to one of the two numbers to discriminate between window and aisle seats.

Many travellers were still in masks and were requested to keep on doing so over the train’s P.A. [11/2/22 – 58,899 new cases, 1,395 hospital admissions, 12,753 in hospital and 193 deaths recorded]. My grandson kindly informed me that in order to eat chocolate mini-eggs, I would have to dispense with my mask temporarily, as well. Nor does coffee benefit particularly effectively from any extra filtration through an FFP2. My granddaughter looked up from her colouring book to notice that our train was “going really fast”, as indeed it had to get to York in just three-quarters of an hour from Newark, including a stop at Doncaster.

There were three Direct Rail Services Class 68 locomotives in the station when we arrived at York. Nos. 68016, 68023 and 68034 were distributed between north and south facing bays and an imminent departure for Scarborough. When I had told the lads that I had spoken to on Tamworth station recently that I considered this to be the most exciting locomotive design since the Western diesels, I had been informed that that was because they were made in Spain. They certainly have a bit of razzamatazz about them – a dash of Flamenco or an odd “Ole”, or two, in their sharp blue uniforms. I had photographed No. 68032 there on a previous visit.

A visit to the NRM with the family is a whole different ball game to my more usual solitary self-indulgent ventures. We spent as much time in the food hall and the play area outside as we did with the exhibits, though the model train layout intrigued for a short while and the miniature train trip round the yard was probably the highlight of the day. How could I possibly have envisaged that as a possible end game, when as a teenager in the 1960s I was wandering around this same bit of ground, then laid out with the tracks serving York North sheds during the last days of steam.    

I had time for a quiet moment with the blown-up mural that itemises points of interest in Terence Cuneo’s 1967 Waterloo Station painting in Station Hall, which I learnt had included not only a self-portrait, but his wife sitting in their car, Prime Minister Harold Wilson and even President Charles De Gaulle, plus the usual mouse. Nearby are the original George Earl masterpieces, Going North and Coming South, depicting the hunting class at Kings Cross and Perth, respectively. The children helped us to identify some of the trophies that the shooting party was bringing back to the capital with them, including antlers, rabbits and red grouse. The tiled map of the North Eastern Railway network is also worthy of inspection.

This had been inset day for our local schools and we had therefore been able to pick a day before the hordes would be likely to descend during half term. There were one or two school parties there too, including a substantial cohort of year three - that’s seven-and-eight-year-olds - and all in high-vis vests. Well martialled by teachers and helpers, they had been very attentive for a short presentation about the Rocket given by a very animated Railway Museum volunteer. I saw the same gaggle having their lunch afterwards on the undercover picnic benches, also in Station Hall. They were doing more talking than eating and it was quite a racket. I love moments like that, because I know I can walk away without a care in the world. It was not always like that. Taking kids out of school was always a risk and a massive responsibility, but it was also well worth the effort. Their teacher suddenly stood up, aware of the rising decibels. “One, two, three!”, she shouted. “Eyes on me”, they all replied in unison, after which nobody spoke. That’s the way to do it, thought I. It was a masterstroke. Why hadn’t I thought of that. Mind you, I’m not sure it would have worked quite so well with recalcitrant sixteen-year-old youths.