Leicester for a Ninety-Nine

Time was, searching out a ninety-nine involved a trip to the nearest shop for an ice cream. Now it’s a bit of a journey to Leicester, instead. Stadler’s Class 99s are based there for tests as they arrive from Spain in batches. No. 99004 was parked outside the open doors of the depot and No. 99005 was just behind it, having a peek outside but not ready to fully show itself on this occasion. There was quite a mix on view from the platform end and briefly from the train on arrival in the city. The former HST and now Derby’s Network Rail flying banana test train was there, as was Stanier Black Five No. 44871, hiding round the corner and in steam, presumably between main line specials duties. She was the second Fifteen Guineas Special survivor from August 1968 that I’d seen in the last few days. Class 73 electro-diesel No. 73962 Dick Mabbutt was also receiving attention in the yard, along with a Europhoenix Class 37. I had a very relaxing few hours on Leicester station, entertained by Class 66s on all the freight workings before my first ride on an East Midland Railway’s new Hitachi Aurora. No ice cream this time, but a Costa coffee did fine.

The Cotswold Festival of Steam

The Gloucestershire Warwickshire Steam Railway’s May bank holiday extravaganza was well attended on Sunday. Though they would have hoped for good weather to encourage attendance, record-breaking May temperatures over the whole weekend came with its own problems. With some notable guest locos as attractions for enthusiasts, an ambitiously busy timetable and the natural constraints of a single-track railway with passing loops to fit it all in, they were working to capacity and keeping their fingers crossed for a smooth ride.

The timetable was already 40 minutes down when we arrived at Cheltenham Racecourse station to start our day on the trains and timings slipped further as the day proceeded. As most people have committed to a leisurely day out with no particular place to go other than up and down the line and stopping off at the intermediate stations, delays are generally no big problem on occasions such as this. After all, this is resurrected Victorian technology being put to the test, big time. It provides a serious work out for the permanent way and the men and machines.

The reasons offered for the increasing delays to services depended on who you asked. I think I counted about five that had all come from different sources at various times of the day. The result was that folk really didn’t know what was happening or what was going to happen next to allow them to get moving again. Lengthy signal or station stops are normally no bother on gala days. Admiring the beautiful scenery along the Cotswold scarp from the train as it trundles along, accompanied by whisps of smoke and the odd whistle from the engine is the nostalgic idyll we have all come along to enjoy.

Baking slowly on a stationery train without air conditioning on a frazzling day under cloudless skies with no wind is another matter, altogether. The old Mark 1 stock has heating but no cooling. With movement and open windows, the draught so created is a welcome part of the experience. Like riding a bike, you create your own breeze. Without movement this soon becomes very uncomfortable indeed, especially on a very full train where you are already standing in the corridor and trying to get close to a window on the side of the train that’s in relative shade.

The heritage railways all depend on armies of willing volunteers. They are put under enormous pressure when plans start to unravel. I thought they were exemplary on Sunday as they fielded, best they could, all the requests and complaints that were obviously coming their way in fast order. They were blameless and so was the infrastructure. As mentioned, it too starts to creak when facing unusual circumstances. It’s an old and imperfect technology.

I only have one gripe – communication, or more pertinently, a lack of it. I heard it time and time again on Sunday from fellow [would-be] travellers. “Why don’t they tell us what’s happening?” It wasn’t that things were going wrong that upset them but that the train and station announcements were not keeping up with what was required. They needed information that wasn’t forthcoming. A couple of times I heard visitors complaining that although there had been a Tannoy announcement, it hadn’t carried to where they were standing on the platform. That one is surely rectifiable without too much outlay.

Decisions obviously have to be made according to established safe railway procedures but letting people know as soon as possible how that is going to affect them is very important and more so during a heatwave.

I read recently that return visits are critical for the heritage lines as they provide a substantial chunk of their income. Return visits depend on a memorable first experience. That puts public relations right at the top of the list of priorities.  

  

Mansfield Woodhouse station

The old goods shed is constructed from local Mansfield stone. This dolomitic or magnesian limestone, which comes in red and white forms, has been extensively quarried in the area and has contributed building material for St Pancras station, the Palace of Westminster and Southwell Minster in times past.

Woodhouse station closed under the Beeching recommendations in 1964 but was reopened in 1995 as part of the Robin Hood line, connecting the Mansfield area once again with Nottingham. The route was extended to Worksop over the former freight lines in 1998. In the interim, the line had been used for coal traffic, serving amongst others, Sherwood Colliery [1903-19920], located at Mansfield Woodhouse. The station lies in the shadow of the now landscaped and tree covered pit spoil heaps.

Nearby, and also developed on reclaimed land, Sherwood Colliery FC have extensive, modern, 3-G football pitches, where we headed this morning for an under eleven friendly game against Southwell City, which the home team narrowly won, 1-0.

The station has three platforms. Platform three is a bay that sits under the refurbished goods shed roof, and when we briefly called by, the 3-car Class 170 forming the 12.40 to Nottingham was ready to depart for the city. 

  

Rule Britannia

 

Andy reminded me that initially Britannia was not an easy spot. That was because she worked in East Anglia from her construction in 1951 until 1963. When we were fourteen, this seemed like a million miles away from us on Merseyside. Eventually, however, and with many other members of the class, she moved west and was allocated to Crewe, and so suddenly we saw a lot more of her.

It was a lovely sunny day and the shadow would still be favourably cast when looking west, I surmised, as I arrived at Crewe in very good time after an early start from home. A first glimpse of the blood and custard stock in platform 12 and a visible whiff of steam from the far end meant I could relax. Nothing could go wrong now. I scampered along through the crowds of well-wishers and passengers. Britannia looked resplendent, but there was not just one but two red and white square signs with “must not be moved” attached - very familiar temporary embellishments over the years. The word on the platform was that she had a minor leak that was being attended to and no-body seemed to be in any doubt that she would be fit to run. There was quite a crowd at the preferred viewpoint at the northern end of platform 6, where I had spent countless hours in times past watching Brits, semis and Scots and all the others leaving the station for the north.

It really was a wonderful sight as she pulled out, accompanied by a prolonged whistle and engulfed in steam. It was quite spell-binding - a sight I never tire of witnessing. As she straightened onto the main line and the last carriage followed past the Crewe Heritage Centre, the gentleman next to me in the row of photographers said to me “That’s put a smile on your face, then”, and he was right.

I hung around until after lunch time. It was such a pleasant temperature and though the station was quieter than usual because of truncated WCML services to Rugby and Milton Keynes because of continuing engineering work at Euston, there were the usual rapid fire comings and goings of passenger trains, including 3 Class 67s on Transport for Wales services between Manchester, Holyhead and Cardiff, but no freight through the station, itself, though I a heard a couple taking the subterranean Independent lines that we used to call the “muck hole”. Obviously, it’s not so mucky these days. The East Midlands Class 170 bug cart [they are actually comfortable, nippy, air conditioned and with quite a spacious internal layout] then took me back home at a leisurely pace and all the way to Lowdham.

John brought me up to speed later in the day. Britannia had failed at Oxenholme and had to be replaced with a Class 37, which itself had then failed on the return from Carlisle on the way back to Crewe and had to be rescued by two Class 20s at Tebay. A shame for those whose big day out had been spoiled, but I confidently predict that Britannia will be back to try again before too long. Rule Britannia!

Going to the Match

How going to the match has changed over the years. It started with my friends’ dad’s car through the Birkenhead tunnel, before the Wallasey tunnel was opened. Then we parked in terraced side streets or even on rough ground, some of which had not been rebuilt on since gaps had been created in the densely populated urban landscape by the Luftwaffe. After that, the Wallasey tunnel cut down travelling time as we graduated to our own cars, and 1960s demolition of out-dated housing close to the ground created plenty of new spaces for parking, wherever any remaining rubble had been removed or sufficiently flattened. You did not have to pay to park, but it was advisable to cough up a silver coin or two to the local lads who had promised to “Mind yer car, Mr?”, beforehand.

Improvements to public transport and to the Merseyrail network, in particular, then made it easier to rely on connection services at the new Moorfields station. Getting off at Kirkdale, we would run from the station to the ground and back to the train again afterwards. No more running today, I’m sad to say, but another option is the dedicated coach service picking up at a local Wallasey pub and providing a door-to-door service.  

Living away and visiting relatively infrequently, the new ground at Bramley Moore Dock is probably logistically a little easier for us than Goodison Park was, though we had our workable systems in place there, as well. They involved parking on an arterial road at some distance from the ground and relying on a brisk walk and a quick getaway by road after the game. From the Queen Hotel at Chester this time, we simply crossed the road to catch the four-car Class 777 EMU to Moorfields from Chester station, which is overlooked by the statue of the prolific railway builder, Thomas Brassey. There are lots of stops along the Wirral line but fast acceleration by the new units illustrates their suitability to these commuter routes. Up two escalators to the Northern line platform at Moorfields means we have a single stop journey to Sandhills, followed by a ten-minute walk to the Hill Dickinson Stadium. It was very straightforward. After sitting down for a couple of hours, we were glad to stretch our legs on a very direct walk back into town, parallel to the dock wall, and ending up at James Street station. From a 7.30 kick off, we were back in Chester by 10.30.

Before entering the stadium, I was reminded of how sensitively this development has incorporated elements from our industrial heritage. There were the dockside railway tracks that served the transit sheds and warehouses. Also retained are some surviving capstans, where the freighters had tied up alongside the dock wall to unload their goods. I’d once cycled on these flagstones, though maybe making sure I wasn’t too close to the edge of the docks themselves. It was a risky business, for sure, especially as I couldn’t swim at the time, but ship spotting came first on those Saturday mornings, now such a long time ago.

     

Peak Forest Revisited

After an earlier recce during the Christmas holiday period, when all was quiet in Great Rocks Dale, we stopped off briefly on our way to Chester more recently and found it was a hive of activity. From the overbridge next to the former Peak Forest station on the old and much-lamented Midland Railway route between Manchester Central and Derby that used to thread its way through the Peak District, this relatively short section of the former main line is still busy with stone traffic. It also maintains semaphore signalling from Great Rocks Junction signalbox. Limestone from the Buxton quarries at Tunstead, Hindlow and Dowlow is distributed across the country from here, largely in the hands of Class 66s from Toton depot. Nos. 66021, 66077, 66200 and 66205 were on site at the time of our visit, as was another 66, probably from Roberts Road, Doncaster, whose identity was hidden behind the hoppers.

GCR, with the lads

It was the Saturday of the GCR’s two-day spring steam weekend. It was a little cool, showery and blustery when we assembled soon after 9.30 in the station yard at Quorn and Woodhouse. Motive power was provided by visiting engines, Battle of Britain Class No. 34072 257 Squadron, 9F No. 92134 [posing as No. 92073], Austerity tank No. 3809, Hymek Class No. D7018 from the West Somerset Railway and the Class 101 DMU from the home fleet. The BB, on loan from the Spa Valley Railway, and the 9F returning for a further stint on the GC from the North York Moors Railway, are both survivors from Dai Woodham’s Barry scrapyard in South Wales, where we saw them both in decrepit condition in the mid-1960s, now very nearly 60 years ago.

We had never had a lads’ train day on the Great Central before and I was very grateful to my mates for making the relatively long journey over from the Wirral that had necessitated an early start for them all. Our two absentees this time were also in our thoughts as we took a morning cuppa in the excellent Butler Henderson café at Quorn. These get-togethers assume greater significance with the passage of time and we’re already very grateful, I’m sure, for the many days like this one that we’ve enjoyed in each other’s company. Every occasion provides a lasting memory or two that continues to bind us together as lifelong friends. The railway always provides the background, but it’s the people that make the day.

A traverse of the line behind the 9F took us first to Leicester and then on to Loughborough, where we had a quick look round the museum and station before returning to Quorn on the bug cart in time for lunch in the bar at the Manor House, opposite the station entrance. I have to say that we found this experience just splendid. We were made very welcome and a table for five was provided in no time. The food was great and we received excellent service throughout.

As the sun broke through, we took the very full train to Leicester, due, no doubt, to the popularity of the Squadron as our motive power, and travelling first class this time so we were assured of the seats we required in order to sit comfortably and digest our lunch. Finally, it was back to Butler Henderson café at Quorn for another cup of tea and a piece of cake to round off the day.       

Living apart for all these years, these days of reunion have been priceless for me. They allow me to reaffirm friendships, get up to date with family news from the various different quarters, as well as laugh and reminisce about the spontaneity of our youthful past. From 60s spotters to 20s septuagenarians, we are drawn back to our common railway heritage to mull over football, relationships, park life and our place in the world as post-war baby boomers - and all for the “nth time”, not that that matters at all. As Ian Dury put it, “Reasons to be Cheerful, 1, 2, 3” [and probably many more, too].

The final twist on Saturday was that the 9F had been renumbered as 92073. This was presumably because that loco was once employed on the Annesley runners, also known as the fast freight wind-cutters, carrying coal and steel on the GCR in the 1960s. However, she ended up elsewhere, and the shed plate that she bore on Saturday was of 8H Birkenhead Mollington Street that we used to frequent on many a Sunday morning, travelling there by bike from our homes in Wallasey. Sure enough, when I checked out my old spotting books, there she was on Birkenhead sheds on 3^rd January 1967 and it wasn’t even a Sunday -though it was the Tuesday of our Christmas holidays. Some things are just meant to be.

The National Waterways Museum

 A lot has changed since we last visited the Ellesmere Port museum. The jumble of boats in the dock that I remember from long ago has been drastically thinned out. National treasures have been identified, separated and given their space. Information boards have been erected so that we know what we are looking at. Original buildings continue to be restored and the whole enterprise has a much more organised feel to it. It is quite a remarkable set-up with a wealth of historic items on display in the museum itself and under cover in adjoining sheds. Like many such affairs, it depends very largely on the goodwill of enthusiastic volunteers for its continued survival and prosperity. Heritage lottery funding has also helped, of course.

We took the tourist narrow boat for a half hour trip along the Shropshire Union Canal. Our knowledgeable guide contributed in no small part to our enjoyment of the day. This trip took us beneath one railway bridge that is still in use next to Ellesmere Port signalbox No. 4 on the line from Hooton to Helsby [GWR and LNWR Joint], one bridge that was clearly abandoned long ago that led to adjacent sidings, and traces of a third line where tracks formerly served the nearby dock system.

Back at base, original mid-nineteenth century workers cottages have been refurbished and re-equipped with the domestic paraphernalia of the time. An extensive engine house holding an array of Victorian examples could unfortunately not be seen in action because the sole volunteer on duty there needed another colleague alongside him to start them up who was not forthcoming.

The VDU explained in just the right amount of detail how the port eventually developed to make use of the link with the Manchester Ship Canal from the 1890s, before its demise began in the mid-twentieth century, that then led to dereliction before its gradual renaissance in modern times.

The café was doing a roaring trade when we returned from our boat trip and we were very grateful for the enthusiastic welcome we had received from the many staff members and volunteers around the site. 

        

Sit down and relax

That’s the beauty of a train day. Solitude, no responsibilities - just me, camera, notebook and the trains. I’ve planned my itinerary. I’m in good time at the station. This is my “go to” comfort zone - usually.

The ticket machine on the station is still not working, so I ring up customer services. “We know about this”, the voice answers. It’s been on their “to do” list since the11th of January, apparently. In spite of this, I already feel slightly uncomfortable. I haven’t got a ticket before travelling and I’ve got to explain myself again to the conductor. Just like last time, the conductor doesn’t appear before we arrive - five minutes late, this time - into Nottingham. Just like last time, I collar the ticket man as I get off and just like last time, he tells me his ticket machine is not working properly. I have three minutes to catch the connection to Leicester.

“Tell them on board the train”, he says. I walk down the St Pancras-bound express in search of the conductor, who is nowhere to be seen. I stand in the vestibule between carriages A and B so I can see someone coming, as its only twenty minutes until I get off again. No one comes. When I alight, I go straight to the conductor who has suddenly appeared as if from nowhere on the station platform. I explain that this is the third time I’ve tried to buy a ticket. She has no time for this now, she tells me, as the train is ready to leave. “There’s a booth at the top of the stairs. You can buy your ticket there”, she adds, showing just a smidgeon of irritation at being asked about it at all.

“I’ve come from Lowdham”, I blurt out as I embark on my fourth attempt in an hour to buy a travel ticket, but the lady on the other side of the counter senses my exasperation and smiles. “Don’t worry”, she says, and within seconds I’m clutching my passport to the rest of my supposedly carefree day at the still very reasonable price of £10.05 [accompanied by a senior railcard].

And relax!

I know it was irrational. It was their fault not mine. I was in good faith. I was not trying to evade payment. I would not have been subjected to a £100 fine. But I still felt uncomfortable to the extent that I couldn’t enjoy myself fully until it was resolved.

The rest of the time went better than expected. I’d been drawn to a return to Leicester again by a notice on YouTube of the arrival at the depot two days earlier of five Class 68s, three of which would be new to me. In fact, one had already disappeared, but I copped two and got my first look at a new Class 99, No. 99003. The three additional Class 66 cops were the unexpected icing on the proverbial cake.

A young boy came up to me on platform three. He must have been about ten years old. “Are you a trainspotter?” he asked. I smiled and admitted that I was. The evidence was conclusive, after all – warm coat and woolly hat for standing around in the cold, notebook and pen at the ready, well-thumbed loco-shed book alongside me on the bench and a tatty old rucksack that is now reserved for this very purpose. His mum, with an American accent, explained that he was already hooked on trains and that they were wondering where the best places would be to go to see them. They had come down on the train from Loughborough, so I offered hem Derby, Peterborough, Doncaster and Nuneaton as being within relatively easy reach. She mentioned Birmingham, but I think I managed to put her off that subterranean nightmare of a station. I should have added Stafford and Crewe, of course, but they already had plenty to go on. As they thanked me and turned away, I said that watching trains had given me a lifetime’s pleasure and that I hoped he would find similar enjoyment, too. It was a really heartwarming moment.

Then it was back to the business of extracting gentle pleasure from observations in amongst the usually fairly mundane happenings on the national rail network. The 12.36 to Sheffield was cancelled because “more trains than usual are needing repair at the same time”. Well, that was a first and who would have thought it. Sidings around the country are bulging with underused and withdrawn rolling stock, yet the feeling you often get is that the operating companies are constantly teetering on the edge of the resources necessary to run a railway and therefore repeatedly getting caught out with a shortfall when something goes wrong. What it comes down to is not enough employees or multiple units on stand-by. Maybe East Midlands Railway could also take another look at their ticket machines, both those carried by the conductors and the ones on the platform, if they are really interested in improve their image. 

  

 

Doncaster in the Rain

After timetable changes, the 10.49 from Retford to Doncaster is now a Hull Trains service and no longer the previously rostered Class 91 hauled train to York. The booking office at Retford is obviously part of LNER, so I made a point of checking that my anytime day return ticket is valid on other companies’ departures, which I was assured was the case. The ticket only states that it is “valid via any permitted route”, which is not quite the same thing as any permitted companies’ services, nor does it list which ones are “permitted”, either.

The 7 Class 60s recently parked in warm storage at Doncaster Down Decoy yard were partially blocked off by two rakes of wagons as we slowed in the approach to the station, so no photo opportunities there then. I caught a glimpse of them, including the four that were new to me, leaving me with just four more to track down before they, too, run out of work to do on the national network.

On the recently re-landscaped pedestrian approach to Doncaster station is the sculpture “Building Speed”. It celebrates the more than 2,000 locomotives built at Doncaster locomotive works, known as “The Plant”. The collaborative piece initiated by Doncaster Council and installed by CB Arts includes a series of vertical rails inscribed with the names of some of the locomotives built in the town that had carried the names of various winners of the St Leger.

Back inside and out of the rain, the footbridge across the platforms had disappeared since my last visit, though part of it still remains on the west side to allow footplate staff to cross the lines to the sidings and stabling point adjacent to the station.

Doncaster remains its usual busy self with passenger trains, but there is also enough of a freight locomotive mix to keep me interested. At the platform end, I waited patiently while two avid spotters called out the numbers of individual container wagons into their phones. When the train had passed, I asked what the number of the Class 70 was that had just disappeared to the north, light engine. They couldn’t tell me, as the loco did not have its number on the side. I felt a little puzzled by the situation in which wagon numbers had assumed an immediately greater importance than locomotives, but I suppose my own affliction in this direction is really only a matter of scale. I don’t even bother with unit numbers these days, never mind carriage numbers. There are just so many of them. I’d be getting a cricked neck or vertigo by merely trying to record them all. I’ll reserve my passion for actual locomotives, which I find is quite enough to be going on with.

I went elsewhere to discover the identity of the Class 70. “01” said the first person I asked. “001?”, I asked in reply, as there is a second series of Class 70s, starting with 801. He confirmed this with an unconvincing nod, and my suspicions turned out to be justified when No. 70801 eventually pulled into view again. Freightliner yellow doesn’t wear well unless you are going to wash it fairly regularly, I decided, reminding myself at the same time to put my high-vis cycling jacket through the eco-wash programme when I got home.