Welcome Home

“You’re 100% charged,” my wife informed me from the hallway. Taking this as a compliment on at least one aspect of my “welcome home from skiing” package [even though I’d forgotten the flowers again], I allowed myself a brief, self-satisfied smile.

She dropped my mobile phone on my desk and returned to plug hers in at the wall, in its place.

I remembered the look on the woman’s face in Solomon’s wonderful picture, First Class: The Meeting, one of a series of scenes in Victorian railway carriages that he produced. It attracted my attention again last week at the NRM. Now that’s truly a bunch of flowers-earning gaze, if ever I saw one. 

You for coffee?

I’m making a habit of calling in here first when I arrive at York station. This is no ordinary coffee shop, of course, but the old signalbox, overlooking the bridge that connects the platforms and with great views across this wonderful old railway cathedral.

Now run by one of the big chains, as you can see, I have to say that you get a good cup of coffee at this one, which is quite important when all you are drinking is the coffee without milk, sugar, caramel, chocolate and whatever else you can have in it these days.

A fine array, to be sure

This is one of a few, lining the walls at the NRM. There’s a few bob’s worth there. What nameplates would you have if you had a free choice? There are a few that come to mind, The Snapper [etc], Pearl Diver, Kingfisher, Isambard Kingdom Brunel, Cunard White Star, Princess Helena Victoria, Baillie MacWheeble.

OK, maybe not Baillie MacWheeble.

Azuma

This new Class 800 was on a test run for crew training purposes on the East Coast Main Line yesterday. I mentioned to the shadow next to mine on the platform at York that the front end was quite a pleasing design for a unit. “I don’t like it”, he said. “Why is that” I asked, innocently. “I don’t like the name. It’s Japanese”, was his reply.

Azuma means “east” in Japanese. I thought it was going to be something with a lot more panache than that, like “sleek”, “modern” or “speedy”. Far from being imposed on us by Hitachi [who after all have employed loads of British people in Newton Aycliffe to put them together] the name was chosen by Virgin [wonderfully British] because it was to be employed on the east side of the country, as opposed to the GWR ones on the west side of the country, which are somewhat less flamboyantly known as Intercity Express Trains [IET]. When LNER took over on the ECML, they embraced the name “Azuma” as well, and even wrote it on the front end to top off their new colour scheme. Perhaps the unhappy train watcher at York would have preferred it to have been made by a good old British sounding company like Bombardier.

I wished him all the best in his quest to avoid coming into contact with anything unsightly emanating from the rest of the world and wandered back down the platform, casting an eye over the empty interior of the train. It has had a few teething issues. It looks like some of the seats face a pillar rather than a window and the seats themselves look rather uncomfortable - very rigid and straight-backed. Who’s getting picky, now, I thought. I hope the ride is as smooth as on the elderly HST that had brought me north in the morning, with its retro-style, obsolete ash trays built in to the arm rests. Those were the days, I mused; the good old High Speed Train - no arguments over that one.

Touching Base

My wife is away skiing this week. I have a week of total freedom. What is the most exciting thing I could possibly do? I know. I’ll go to the National Railway Museum at York, for the umpteenth time.

More specifically, I will go to visit Search Engine, the museum’s excellent library and research centre, which is now approaching its tenth anniversary. So, I did.

  

Cromford, 2016

“Shall I take some pictures?” “Yes, please.” After all, Cromford station is a Grade II listed building and we don’t get here that often. I was not thinking about the building. I was casting my mind back more than 60 years.

I was whisked through this station when it was a double-track main line, on our two family holidays staying with my aunt in deepest Leicestershire. It would have been a Manchester Central to St Pancras steam-hauled express - a Patriot or a Jubilee. Why didn’t I start taking the numbers earlier? “You are still living in the 1960s.” “It was the late 50s”, I added, wistfully, still staring into space.

We walked the short and picturesque section of the Cromford canal as far as High Peak Junction. “This was a line I never got around to. They had those chunky J94s, the same as on Bidston sheds.”

I suddenly got the feeling that it was time for lunch. 

 

'Avin' a fag

During my smoking years [mostly, of other people’s ciggies] between the ages of 13 and 22, the urge to look cool triumphed over any qualms that I might have had about my health.

This old enamel sign is on Loughborough Central station. No clues to any inherent dangers, there. Ian and I came back from our early trips to France wielding multi-packs of duty-free, Royale king-size. They were mild and aromatic and I probably thought that they were a little less harmful than Embassy or Players No. 6, if I thought about it at all.

[Grah' and Ian enjoying a somewhat hazy café culture in the Lake District in October 1966, with thanks to Ian Hughes for providing the photo] 

Getting the wording right can be quite critical. Our local church sent me an email yesterday announcing news of their mission statement. I was not at all surprised that they had one, but it did leave me wondering why it had taken them over two thousand years to get the wording right.

If I’d taken any notice of the Craven’s ad’ and carried on smoking, I can confidently say that this railway heritage blog would never have existed. Then where would we have been - in addition to being relatively blogless?