Exploring the World's Railways: Is Never Time Misspent

Introduction

Many people say that ‘It’s in the blood’.

It’s a ‘disease’ and it’s ‘catching’

It is very difficult to explain why so many people all over the world are fascinated by trains and train travel. Whilst it is a ‘sport’ largely indulged in by men, it is not exclusive to the inferior sex. Quite a number of the prettier sex enjoy trains besides men.! However, my wife has a theory that no man ever achieves an age of more than eight years, which is why they spend a great deal of their lives inventing and playing with a whole range of ‘toys’. Currently she tells me that I am two and three quarters, and that one day I might reach the age three…. so perhaps that explains why I can’t get rid of the ‘railway disease’!

Of course, railways come in many shapes and sizes.!

High speed trains

Branch lines

Narrow gauge railways

Model railways

Freight only railways

Privatized railways

Preserved railways.

Each of the above has its band of devotees. If one is on a train which passes through one of our principle stations such as Peterborough, Rugby, Clapham Junction or Doncaster, there is nearly always a gaggle of chaps hanging around on the platforms hoping or expecting to see a multitude of trains pass through the station during their visit, and often they are anxious that their sightings will include some special locomotive that they are interested in. The cameras click endlessly!

Moreover, I think that it is the case that without the host of enthusiastic volunteers who freely give up many many weekends to act as drivers, signalmen, porters’ guards, station-masters etc., most of our preserved railways could not survive.

For me the addiction began at a very early age, and from the age of nine I was regularly cycling to Tuxford on the East Coast main line to spend the day at the top of an embankment alongside the tracks, where I had a wonderful long-distance view to both North and South.

When the shout ‘Streak’ went up there was always great excitement.

My addiction was cast in stone when at the age of ten my grandfather lifted me aboard an A5 tank engine (a steam engine of course), and I travelled for the first time on the footplate of a locomotive. It was only a very short journey between Langwith Junction and Warsop stations, but for a young boy it was a great thrill.

So, I have spent my entire life enjoying and watching the railway scene. For me now, at the age of eighty, and for the past fifty years the real fascination has been the job that the railway does, including the complicated mathematics of the timetable.

How did you manage to get 1,000,000 tons of coal from collieries to each of many Power stations every year.

How do you design the layout of a major station to make it as efficient as possible for non-stop trains to pass through at speed, whilst others are slowing down and stopping.

Of course, the railway system has evolved for almost two centuries…………. And is still changing and developing. For these reasons (and others) the intrigue and interest never ends.

When I was ten years old my father built me a model train set for Christmas. I still remember every detail. The track layout. The four locomotives. Each and every carriage and wagon. It gave me hours and hours of joy to operate the trains, and to develop the scenery and adding sidings to the track layout.

I think that it is true to say that following that first model railway there has never been a time in my life when I haven’t been in the middle of developing a model railway. Most have been created as a replica of a particular station or branch line. These have included Shrewsbury and Peterborough. The latest in this long serried is an O gauge railway that is entirely fictitious…. It is my own ‘privatized’ railway, where anything goes, and is housed in a shed 102’ long and 40’ wide. There are 280 locomotives and several thousand wagons and carriages. Moreover around 30 other retired men, all under three years old come to help me build it, maintain it, and run the trains.

On top of that I indulge my passion by making a number of days each year into ‘train days’. I plan a route for the day, and then spend the whole day enjoying train travel, usually leaving home around 6am in the morning, and getting back to base between 11pm and midnight. You can get to most parts of the country and then back home in one day by train. Moreover, if one travels first class, and plans the route carefully, one can usually dine on the train as well, and manage to at least include breakfast and dinner during the various journeys.!!

I hope that (even though I am now eighty years old) the passion may long continue.!

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Footnote

I am extremely grateful to Malcolm Jackson who has allowed me to use many of his superb photographs and has also done a great deal of work on both his, and my own photographs to present them in the best format for the publisher to use as inclusions to illustrate the text of the book.

1.

Missing the train

It was a frosty January morning, but nevertheless very beautiful. A clear blue sky. A blackbird was surprisingly calling from an elm tree in the garden of the detached house just below us to our right and close to the river.

‘I’m mad,’ I thought, as we stood at the end of platform 1, waiting for the time to arrive for our train to Telford. ‘Why can’t we be like normal people and arrive 10 minutes before the train departs?’

My dad spun round to face me, and read my thoughts. ‘Look,’ he said quietly, ‘I think that we have about an hour before our train. Why don’t we go to the buffet and get a coffee? I’m freezing.’

A few days earlier, we had agreed to spend the day making a number of short train journeys from the railway station at Shrewsbury. You are probably asking why? A very good question! In fact, we were both very keen railway modellers and had decided to build a layout based on the track plan of Shrewsbury and the nearby stations and freight yards, and all the railway routes emanating from our local station. There were five different routes which converged on the town, and so it meant making journeys along the various lines that went to Telford, Crewe, Chester, Welshpool and Hereford.

It was going to be a long day… and probably a cold one to boot. A lot could go wrong!

We had bought and drunk our coffee in a matter of five minutes, and thereafter we ventured back to the end of the main platform to while away the time until our train was due to depart, which was scheduled to leave at 10.10am.

Over the next 40 minutes, a number of local passenger trains arrived and departed. The Aberystwyth train was especially well loaded, and we watched with interest as the station staff struggled to get two wheelchair-bound passengers from the train onto the platform, and then into the lift. One of the passengers in a wheelchair was a woman who, from her appearance, seemed to be well into her eighties, and was determined to keep her dogs, both King Charles spaniels, attached to her wheelchair by their leads.

After an amusing ten minutes watching the dogs refusing to jump down to the platform, we heard the growl of a freight engine from the South, and three minutes later a train loaded with steel coil ran past on the platform-avoiding line and headed towards Chester.

At that same moment, a local passenger train swept past us, leaving the station from the bay platform, and headed towards Birmingham on the up fast line. I glanced up and realised that the front destination board showed ‘Birmingham’.

I looked at my watch. Eleven minutes past ten.

‘Dad,’ I yelled. ‘That’s our train for Telford. We have been here at the station for well over an hour… And for heaven’s sake… we have missed our train!’

2.

What a tight connection

As we watched our train disappear towards the East, I turned to face my father. ‘Oh well, dad,’ I opined, ‘we will skip the journey to Telford and catch the 10.40am train going to Milford Haven. We will go as far as Church Stretton. Then we will hop over the station footbridge and catch the 11am back to Shrewsbury. It will be a bit tight, but seven minutes for the change should just be enough to catch the Northbound once we are at Stretton. Then when we are back here, we will go to the station buffet and have a bowl of hot soup, a coffee and a cake.

At 10.40am precisely, the Cardiff train drew to a halt at platform 7. We boarded the last carriage of the four-coach train so that when the train stopped in Church Stretton, we would be as close to the footbridge as possible, so that we could hop over to the other platform as quickly as possible.

‘Dad,’ I said, ‘let’s find seats near the vestibule, so that we are near to the door and can be first off in Stretton.’ Doing my bidding wasn’t a problem, and dad sank into the seats just inside the carriage, right next to the vestibule. The train was very lightly loaded.

‘Come on, driver,’ I advised to no-one in particular, ‘time to go. It’s now 10.45am; please get a move on.’

The train left at 10.48am. It was going to be very tight at Stretton. Still, we should just make it.

As our train travelled down past Caradoc (a well-known hill between Shrewsbury and Stretton), I kept a careful watch on the Northbound line. Nothing passed us going the other way. Then we began to slow for the stop at Stretton. Triumphantly, I told myself that we were going to make it.

Then, as we drew to a halt, the Manchester-bound train drew slowly past our right-hand window, and was gone. What a bore… we had missed it by seconds.

Then I reassured myself, ‘Not to worry, there is an hourly service from Cardiff to Manchester through this station, and also a few trains on the central Wales line, so we shouldn’t need to be here too long.’

We crossed by the footbridge to the other side of the line, and I found the timetable board and consulted ‘departures’. I couldn’t believe my eyes. The next two trains from Cardiff didn’t stop. Moreover, there was nothing for four hours on the central Wales line, so it was going to be a three-hour wait for the next arrival from Cardiff at just before two o’clock!

However, there was to be a moment’s compensation for railway enthusiasts. As we turned to leave the platform to walk up to the High Street, there was the unmistakable sound of a train coming towards us from the North. Moments later, the Nuclear Flask train (see Appendix 1 for explanation) ran through the opposite platform at high speed. We turned and watched as it sped down the line towards Ludlow and South Wales, and once it was out of sight, realised that might be the only highlight in our three hours of clock watching in Church Stretton.

3.

A game of pool,

but no pub lunch

We looked down the line to where the train that we had just missed would disappear round the corner about a mile to the South of where we stood. Then I pointed to the timetable and explained to dad what the problem was, and, given that we had at least a three-hour wait, suggested that we headed into town to find a pub for a drink and a snack.

Ten minutes later, we were seated at the bar in the White Lion, each holding a steaming coffee. The pub was virtually empty, and when I looked through the lounge into the next room, I