Along Different Lines E-Book

Geoff Body

• Herausgeber: The History Press
• Kategorie: Lebensstil
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 291

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2012

Beschreibung

Running a railway is a complex business. However organised it is, there will always be surprises: often hilarious, frequently unexpected, but sometimes serious. Along Different Lines includes such bizarre 'everyday' events as coping with hurricanes, rogue locomotives and runaway wagons; PR successes and otherwise; the Brighton Belle, Flying Scotsman and Mallard; training-course capers; a wino invasion; trackside antics; the Eurostar backdrop; the birth of a prison; and royal and other special occasions. Expert authors Geoff Body and Bill Parker lovingly compiled this entertaining collection in which railway professionals recall notable incidents from across their careers. This illustrated compilation provides an enjoyable look back at life on the railways.

Leseprobe

ALONGDIFFERENTLINES

Cover illustrations: Front:unsplash.com/@alistairw.

Back: Courtesy of Bryan Stone.

First published 2012

This paperback edition first published 2024

The History Press

97 St George’s Place, Cheltenham,

Gloucestershire, GL50 3QB

www.thehistorypress.co.uk

© Geoff Body & Bill Parker, 2012, 2024

The right of Geoff Body & Bill Parker to be identified as the Authors of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the Publishers.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN 978 0 75249 091 5

Typesetting and origination by The History Press

Printed and bound in Great Britain by TJ Books Limited, Padstow, Cornwall.

eBook converted by Geethik Technologies

Contents

Introduction & Acknowledgements

Beginnings (Geoff Body)

A Great Crash & a Cloud of Coal Dust (Hugh Gould)

LMS Apprentice (Alan Sourbut)

The 1987 Hurricane – A Personal Experience (Theo Steel)

Slips, Slides & Washouts (Jim Dorward)

Kettering (Dennis Simmonds)

Renaissance 4472 (Bryan Stone)

First Course (Geoff Body)

The Battle of Broughty Ferry (Harry Knox)

A Shuttle Cock-Up (Cedric Spiller)

Tales of a Young Controller (Nick Wood)

Wormit & Lochee (Jim Dorward)

Music: Orchestra & Chorus (Bill Parker)

Music: Opera (Geoff Body)

Music: Top of the Pops (Cedric Spiller)

Newsworthy (Mike Lamport)

European Night(mare) Services (Theo Steel)

To Pull or Not to Pull (Jim Dorward)

A Near Thing (David Crathorn)

Survey Surprises (Peter Spedding)

‘Something of a Luxury’ (Dennis Simmonds)

We Couldn’t Keep Up (Bryan Stone)

The Down Postal (Peter Spedding)

Joint Line Adventures (Bryan Stone)

The Chief Clerk (Bill Robinson)

Are You Sure It Will Work? (Jim Dorward)

Ferry Admiral (Bryan Stone)

Show Time (Bill Parker)

The Diesels Have Arrived (Jim Dorward)

At a Higher Station (Cedric Spiller)

Stop & Think (Geoff Body)

Unforgettable Meal (Basil Tellwright)

Motorcycle Stationmaster (Alex Bryce)

Now There’s a Funny Thing (Jim Gibbons)

Out of the Ordinary (Jim Gibbons)

Prison Yard (Bill Parker)

Merthyr Tydfil (Hugh Gould)

Peter Pan (David Maidment)

Sitting on the Fence (Alex Bryce)

Whoops! (Tom Greaves)

The Swishing Fishes (Graham Paterson)

Queen of Scots China (Hugh Gould)

Biter Bit (Alex Bryce)

Coal Train Runaway (Philip Benham)

On Call (Don Love)

The Cloth (Bill Parker)

Steam Pressures (Tom Greaves)

The Whirling Dervishes (Les Binns)

The Woking Ladies’ Finishing School (Geoff Body)

A Shade Too Far (Hugh Gould)

The North Briton (David Ward)

Caught Out (Geoff Body)

The Depot Cats Rule – OK? (Colin Driver)

A Royal Lift (Philip Benham)

Manchester ‘Miss’-hap (David Ward)

The Slowest Train? (David Maidment)

I’ll Be Alright (Hugh Gould)

The Return of Mallard (Philip Benham)

Expresso Supper (Graham Paterson)

Special Workings (Philip Benham)

Interviews (David Jagoe)

On the LT&S (Basil Tellwright)

Show Me the Way to Go Home (Alex Bryce)

Lured by a Bird (Philip Benham)

None Shall Sleep (David Crathorn)

Ne Worry Pas (Jim Gibbons)

Beaujolais Nouveau (Jim Gibbons)

Crushing Experience (Geoff Body)

Belle Finale (Frank Paterson)

Saloons & Me (Sir William McAlpine)

Glossary

Introduction &Acknowledgements

The wide and most gratifying interest in our previous book, Signal Box Coming Up, Sir!, has led to this further collection of accounts reflecting the experiences of seasoned railwaymen in all branches of their industry. Their contributions have again showed just how varied and interesting the business of rail transport is.

Whatever the period, railways have always involved a wide range of activities: engineering, operation, commercial, financial, policing, human resources and so on. Some once quite sizeable activities such as grain sack hire and the carriage of livestock have gone, but the fundamentals of providing and managing movement remain in a business that is busier and more sophisticated than ever. Within this modern, streamlined railway the technical complexities – not always apparent – have increased, and the dimensions of higher speed and comfort, safety, environmental issues and cost-effectiveness have grown in importance.

To the basic infrastructure of the railway network at any period must be added the intricacies and challenges of its constant minute-by-minute operation, another factor adding to the incidence of the unusual, the admirable, the amusing and, sometimes, the unfortunate. Certainly much of the fascination of railways comes from their complex equipment and intense operation, but moving passengers and freight safely and efficiently, like everything else, depends on people. Thankfully, railways have, throughout their existence, been blessed with a superb and able workforce of men and women dedicated to those ends.

Our aim in this book has been to capture some of the most interesting examples of Britain’s railway activity by asking a number of professional railwaymen to contribute recollections from their careers. Hopefully, if we have done our editing job well, this will result in an entertaining book filled with ‘highlights’. The response we have had has been amazing, almost an embarrassment of riches, and we are extremely grateful to the contributors listed below. What they have written is, of course, based on their own views and memories, but for any shortcomings in the presentation we hold our hands up and apologise. The final product should not only entertain but emphasise the many personal qualities of the men and women who run the trains.

Thanks are due to other people who have encouraged or facilitated our efforts, including Colin Brown and especially Amy Rigg of The History Press and the staff there who combine efficiency with being nice to work with. We are also grateful to those who have supplied illustrations. Where not specifically acknowledged these are from the Geoff Body Collection.

Contributors: Philip Benham, Les Binns, Alex Bryce, David Crathorn, Jim Dorward, Colin Driver, Jim Gibbons, Hugh Gould, Tom Greaves, David Jagoe, Harry Knox, Mike Lamport, Don Love, the Hon. Sir William McAlpine, David Maidment, Frank Paterson, Graham Paterson, Bill Robinson, Dennis Simmonds, Alan Sourbut, Peter Spedding, Cedric Spiller, Theo Steel, Bryan Stone, Basil Tellwright, David Ward and Nick Wood.

Geoff Body & Bill Parker, 2012

Since the first edition of Along Different Lines was published, my father continued writing into his 90s because it was his pleasure as well as his trade. He is no longer with us, but it is a fitting tribute that the audience he built up over a lifetime can still be entertained and informed by this paperback edition. It is also clear evidence that tales of railways never fail to generate a willing readership.

Ian Body, 2024

Beginnings

Opening these accounts, Geoff Body remembers some of his early railway experiences. At the end, Sir William McAlpine portrays activities at the other end of the spectrum. In between is a range of fascinating stories from the professionals of a great industry.

My father was a district relief clerk and I was well used to train travel, especially from Peterborough to Waddington or Rauceby in Lincolnshire, the nearest stations to my respective grandparents. It became the practice for my parents to take a later holiday on their own after the annual family week at Sandown, Isle of Wight, in June, and when they did I went to stay on the farm of my Waddington grandparents. During one school holiday it was deemed that I, still a lad, was responsible enough to make the journey to Lincoln on my own. Suited me! I welcomed the opportunity and it saved my parents from having to deliver me before setting out on their own break. Put on the train at Peterborough I knew that I must get out at Grantham and move across the platform face to No. 4 bay where the Lincoln ‘Parly’ usually stood. I had to make sure this was the right train for sometimes the Nottingham stood there and sometimes the Lincoln one even went from the Up side bay.

At Lincoln Central a good crowd of intending passengers awaits the approaching Colchester to York express headed by an English Electric Type 3 diesel. (Bryan Stone)

Delivered onto the busy main-line train at Peterborough with plenty of admonitions about behaviour, I sat quietly all the way to Grantham, content to savour the travelling experience. Alighting at Grantham with my small suitcase and the demeaning label with my journey details attached to it, I checked on my next service and then devoted myself to the Nestlé chocolate machine and the views of the locomotive depot from the Down platform. Joining my own train, I was not displeased with my seasoned-traveller performance so far.

The Lincoln train was compartment stock with no corridor so I could travel in splendid isolation. I knew that I had to watch for Honington, Caythorpe, Leadenham, Navenby and Harmston station stops before alighting at Waddington. Plenty of time to switch the lights on and off, open the window and try the result with the strap on the various anchor points. I had enough sense to put my head out only with caution and gave that up for studying the stilted sepia photographs of unknown and uninspiring places displayed above each seat.

When these activities palled I settled down with my comic. Some cracking stories absorbed all my attention and I neglected to check the passing markers. Horrors! That was the brickyard on the Up side. I had missed Waddington station itself and was now heading for the unfamiliar territory of Lincoln Central, then a busy station indeed. I remember feeling highly embarrassed but not in the slightest bit worried. I just asked about the next train back and spent the waiting time marvelling at the constant operation of the High Street level crossing and the variety of local trains waiting in the bays for various East Lincolnshire destinations.

There were no recriminations when I finally arrived. My grandparents with the pony and trap were waiting to take me to their farm, their relief overcoming any anger. It had been a good adventure and now I could enjoy exploring the old farm machinery that lay around everywhere, fishing and bathing in the Brant River, the summer threshing rituals and the occasional excitement of a line-side fire adjoining one of grandad’s fields, courtesy of a hard-working D Class 4-4-0 passing on the line that had witnessed my small shame at being over-carried.

There were many other ‘firsts’, of course. The first time on a locomotive footplate was one, and then the first day of employment by the London & North Eastern Railway, when I travelled the whole journey to St Neots in the brake compartment just to feel I belonged. A short piece I wrote about that day appeared in an issue of the old LNER Magazine. Then there was the first time ‘in charge’, which came after I had moved to the Norwich district.

After a spell at Wells-on-Sea, memorable for having to fix parcel labels on to wet bags of sea fish, I was instructed to relieve the chief booking clerk at Fakenham West. Wow, that sounded good – a position of substance at last! I imagined the early and late turn clerks would carry the job and I could bask in their efforts and make meaningful decisions. Not so; they were even younger and less experienced than I was and, worse, could not manage the single-needle telegraph instrument. I began to wish I had spent more of my time at Eccles Road on the training instrument, but had found more interesting things to do there, including spending time with the signalman and sampling the local Banham Cider Company’s offerings.

In those days the telegraph instruments were located in station booking offices in the old Great Eastern area and were the prime source of communication. The staff at the Norwich hub of the system could send messages in Morse at incredible speeds and competent receivers signalled their willingness to accept this by sending ‘G’ – two long dashes/needle-moves to the right – followed by one short/left, after the preliminaries of repeating their station call sign and holding down the key handle to signify their attention. Unfortunately, I was only a ‘T’ reader, one who had laboriously to decipher each arriving word and indicate understanding by sending ‘T’ back. I managed, but took an awful lot of time to do so and stretched the patience of the Norwich staff to breaking point. But they could not win since the receiver could hold up the proceedings at any time by just holding the handle/needle of the instrument still until their anger dissipated.

Sometime after this, as my appreciation of both the professional railway and its origins increased, I earned my first professional writing fee – £2, I think – for an article in Trains Illustrated about the Essendine to Bourne branch. I travelled on the last day before closure and this vignette image of a disappearing railway age is still very clear in my mind. Oddly enough, the motive power was a British Railways (BR) Standard 2MT but the two old, quaint saloon coaches were from a different age. The guard was immaculate and complete with traditional rose buttonhole. Any spare time on the short journey he spent polishing the brass fitments of his stock. I just had time to photograph the ancient Red House which served as Bourne station building and was popularly rumoured to be haunted. Back on the platform to take a photograph of the train which would take me back to Essendine, the guard insisted that all his passengers and the train crew should line up to appear in my shot, just the way it had happened in so many early railway photographs. I have written much since then but that first fee was really something.

A Great Crash & a Cloud of Coal Dust

During his duties one evening Hugh Gould came across a wagon with a mind of its own.

In 1952, while a student at Glasgow University, I took a summer job as a porter at Drumchapel station, in the Glasgow North district ex-LNER (NBR) suburban network. I spent my first day on the railway unloading a coal wagon at the behest of the stationmaster, Willie Kirkpatrick, ‘to help a good customer avoid demurrage’. Throughout the day I was harangued by the relief porter I was to replace, a left-wing Aberdonian, who insisted that ‘they had no right’ to make me do that. But I knew a co-operation test when I saw one, and Willie K. and I got on very well afterwards.

Drumchapel goods depot consisted of a single hump siding shunted by a freight trip every weekday morning, usually worked by an Eastfield depot Class J37 locomotive. The only traffics were coal wagons and BD containers for a local biscuit firm. On late duty, I would spend part of the summer evenings tidying up the siding by putting up the wagon doors, using a small hand crane to put the container back on its Conflat wagon, shackling it up and running it down to the bottom of the siding to couple everything ready for a straight lift next morning.

One evening, the Conflat refused to budge, even with the aid of a pinch-bar. Peeved, I went on down to the foot of the siding to put up the wagon doors there. Then I heard a rumbling noise. The Conflat had belatedly decided it was time to go and was accelerating towards me. I ran forward, but could do nothing to halt its relentless progress, only await the consequences. There was a great crash and a cloud of coal dust, but mercifully, no derailment. I coupled up and went back to the booking office, slightly shaken and with a lesson learned.

Next day, the permanent way ganger, a kindly Highlander called Angus McPherson who lived in the stationmaster’s house, Willie K. living elsewhere, sidled into the booking office and whispered into my ear: ‘I heard you shunting last night, Hughie!’

LMS Apprentice

Alan Sourbut, who retired as chief mechanical & electrical engineer, Eastern Region, recalls his early days as an apprentice fitter, which stood him in good stead in his later career.

It was 7.30 a.m. on 10 May 1943, with snow falling heavily as I commenced my first paid position as an apprentice electrical fitter, following a two-year course at the local technical college. The location was the carriage repair shop at Meols Cop, Southport, the main depot for the electric trains on the Liverpool–Southport and Crossens–Ormskirk lines. The depot covered all maintenance and repairs to this fleet and was staffed by sixty artisans and others. Supervision was by a foreman leading electrician, who clocked on like the other staff and whose clock card showed a base pay rate some four shillings higher than those he supervised. General control of the depot, plus the staff at Hall Road Shed, was under a salaried grade engineer.

A Class 302 electric multiple unit stands outside Meols Cop depot. (Alan Sourbut)

There was a clear distinction between the wages grade depot staff and the salaried office staff. Incredibly, when the engineer was not there, the chief clerk, not the foreman, took charge of the shop. The fitters were dual-crafted, mechanical and electrical, and we apprentices learned much from them, including the use of equipment and diagnostic skills. We also suffered their pranks and idiosyncrasies. Initiation varied, but all the lads were sent for the ‘long stand’ where the victim was despatched to the stores and then relayed from one fitter to another and made to wait for some time at each. Eventually, the light would dawn and he would return to his mate to be admonished somewhat impolitely!

There were known dangers at work: the live rails outside the depot could produce a painful experience at 650v, asbestos was used extensively, and heavy bogie work could easily cause injured hands.

After about three years at Meols Cop depot, some time was spent at Hall Road Inspection and Cleaning Shed, fault-finding on trains in service and sometimes on live equipment. Cleaning was done by Italian prisoners of war who arrived, without guards, on a bus. A major was in charge, and he doubled as a cook to those nice guys who revealed wonderful voices as they sang while cleaning the trains. Some of them had artisan skills and borrowed our workshop at times. Many an ashtray on their coach became a cigarette lighter.

Some months were spent at substations and on ‘live rail working’ where we handled live switches and cables using rubber gloves! Towards the end of the apprenticeship, twelve months were spent at Horwich Works in the machine and electrical shops. This was a location where men had names like Entwistle and Ramsbottom and greeted each other with ‘erst goin’ on ould fettler’ or similar words.

The 6.20 a.m. train from Southport took me to Lostock (Bolton). Then came a bus ride to the works after a steep hill walk. Twice a week I had tea in the works canteen; then I would go by train to Wigan to study for engineering qualifications and home by train to Southport. There I met a girlfriend – now my wife of sixty-two years – and had supper at her home until late. Returning on the 6.20 a.m. train next morning was fine until Wigan, where mill girls joined with lots of shouting and banging – they all wore clogs! There was danger in making careless comments because the pack could be aggressive, as one lad came to experience by losing an item of clothing.

The apprentice scheme was well organised and closely monitored and was a credit to the LMS. When I was 21 I moved on to become a draughtsman in the district office at Liverpool, and the experience of having worked with tools and machines was invaluable. Above all, this had been a great learning process, working alongside skilled men, understanding their pride in doing a good job, and savouring their humour and fellowship. As I moved around the railway industry in a management role, I always felt at home and got on well with those people who represented a key feature of that great enterprise.

The 1987 Hurricane – A Personal Experience

In the early hours of a Friday morning in October 1987, Theo Steel was awakened to deal with the effects of a violent storm on both his railway and his home.

I went to bed on Thursday 15 October 1987 aware that there was a storm in the English Channel; but I was not in the slightest degree prepared for what was about to happen. At the time I was assistant general manager – a short-term co-ordination role in East Anglia, scheduled to end imminently with the creation of the Anglia Region. Indeed, John Edmonds was due to arrive as designate general manager on 19 October.

I was awoken by a telephone call at about 2.30 in the early hours of the Friday morning; it was overhead line engineer John Sills to say that he was out driving and had been almost hit by more than one falling tree. His information from the Electrical Control Centre overhead line monitoring facility at Romford was that they had already recorded more incidents that night than in all the previous thirty-eight years of electrification, and that trying to run any electric trains was impossible. A timescale for repairs was not practicable as we were still in the eye of the storm. We agreed that John should go home, but with caution.

I telephoned the control office at Liverpool Street and gave instructions that trains were to cease moving in East Anglia. At that hour there were no passenger trains on the move but I recall that we had to recess a Freightliner train at Witham and that its driver took a long while to get home. It was clear that movement on any route in East Anglia was going to be perilous, whether electrified or not.

Next I had a conversation with Phyllis Allen who was then our public relations and press manager. I asked her to get in touch with her radio and press contacts. By now it was around 3.30 a.m. and we were in the thick of the storm at home in Southend. The family all got up, dressed and prepared themselves to leave the house quickly if necessary.

David Rayner, who was general manager at York at the time, got hold of us and was quite incredulous that we had decided to stop all trains and on my head be it. Ironically, there was a huge crash in the middle of this conversation which he could hear and on investigation I realised it was some 600 tiles coming off one end of our roof! A fine demonstration of just what we were facing, and it wasn’t over yet. David’s switch from incredulity to empathy was immediate, but it did demonstrate just what a surprise the intensity of the storm was. In the event, no East Coast Main Line trains ran south of Peterborough on the Friday, either.

It was now about 6 a.m. and I had to get the germ of a recovery plan together while the storm continued to rage. It stopped suddenly at dawn and we were able to assess the damage to the roof at home which we got battened down later in the day. Luckily the damage was not structural, although there were houses in Southend that were rendered roofless and uninhabitable.

About 9 a.m. I got to the area manager’s office at Southend Central with some difficulty and did a telephone round-up there. All agreed that we would aim to get the railway open again for Monday morning and that the plan for damage repair in the electrified area was to work outwards from Central London. I left the various functions to get on with the work and asked to be advised of any problems. I recall that army assistance was offered but not used.

The critical path was going to be tree clearance and restoration of the overhead lines, and I arranged a Saturday morning conference at the Romford Electrical Control Centre to review progress. Key roads were passable by this time although traffic lights were not all working. Our car had not been damaged but our neighbour’s had. There was a lot to do but a resumption of the full service on Monday seemed possible and to be aimed for. All the rolling stock was serviceable and had been on live track sections – earlier snows in 1987 had not only interrupted supplies but ruined the traction motors on about fifty units.

The railway was cleared by Sunday afternoon and, indeed, some steam shuttle services on the London, Tilbury & Southend section even ran! Luckily that did not hit the headlines. Actually, the press was not unsympathetic. I resisted the temptation to start services early as this would have hindered the restoration job in hand which was much aided by the assumption that there was no train movement going on.

A full service resumed on Monday 19 October, but the trains ran very late due to a lot of slipping and sliding. The Class 315 units apart, we were still on clasp brakes at the time and the vegetation and autumn leaf fall management was not the issue it became shortly afterwards. For a few weeks we also suffered from a lot of track circuit problems due to salt impregnation. I guess the storm just provided an extreme form of vegetation management! My estimate that 15 per cent of the trees in our Southend road had to be replaced gives some idea of the scale of the storm damage.

As ever in these situations everyone rallied round, and I use this as an opportunity to recognise a good team effort in what turned out to be unique circumstances. The 1987 storm is supposedly a once-in-300-years event, although there was another in January 1990. Records show that nothing like it had been seen since 1703 so it is one of the few unprecedented events that I have been involved in during my railway career.

When our commuters again arrived in London on their restored services, those employed in the financial markets were faced with a 26 per cent fall in the stock market on what became known as Black Monday. So the storm was wider than just the wind!

Slips, Slides & Washouts

In his early days in the district engineer’s office at Perth, Jim Dorward learned to expect the unexpected.

It is Thursday 19 November 1959 and I am in the Perth district engineer’s office. It is my second year on the long road to becoming a civil engineer. The coal-fired stove is burning well and the office is comfortably warm. District engineer Harry Eagers rings for Permanent Way C – ‘God’ to us lesser mortals. He was one bell on the boss’s special call system. I was much lower down, at least four bells.

The district engineer probably wishes to discuss the latest track subsidence at Thornton Junction on the East Coast Main Line, a location badly affected by the workings of the Fife coalfield; the local permanent way inspector believes that the original station there is buried several feet below the present one. Alternatively, he may be wanting to talk about the design drawings for a junction renewal job that have just come back from the print room in the chief civil engineer’s office at Glasgow St Enoch station. These drawings on special linen are sent by passenger train to Glasgow for printing, the round trip taking three days. So mistakes are not permitted!

As it turns out, I am told that I need to be part of a team to go to Dollar, on the line between Alloa and Kinross Junction, to do a survey of a landslide resulting from heavy rain. When we reach the site we can see that it is not a massive landslide and the line can be reopened with just an emergency speed restriction. Little did we realise what the next day would bring in the way of trouble from Mother Nature.

Railways around Dundee, Perth and Edinburgh in the Fife and Tayside Regions. (Jim Dorward)

The effect of the washout at Balnaguard in November 1959. (Jim Dorward)

It is now Friday 20 November and when I arrive in the office it is clear from the number of bells ringing that something out of the ordinary has happened. The 6.41 a.m. passenger train from Aberfeldy to Ballinluig has run into a washout near Balnaguard. More rain had fallen overnight and water from two blocked ditches had poured down the hillside towards the single-line railway. The water had washed away the ballast and much of the supporting ground as it swept downwards to the nearby River Tay.

The passenger train had been formed of two coaches hauled by 0-4-4 steam locomotive No. 55218 travelling bunker first. When it reached the washout, the track was already hanging in mid-air. The engine and coaches crossed the hole, pounded up the far side, made the gap much bigger and smashed into the slope of the cutting. Fortunately, the driver and fireman were not seriously hurt but, needless to say, were badly shaken. The guard fell out of the train into the hole and the sole passenger was slightly injured.

There was now a need to survey the site for the production of the accident plan and for the design of the reinstatement work – a new pipe culvert, earthworks and new track. Four from the drawing office, including myself, were despatched by road to Balnaguard. When we got there a television news crew was on site, together with a photographer from the Dundee Courier. We appeared on TV that night and in the newspaper the following morning. The subsequent accident report made it clear, to our relief, that the washout was pure mischance, with no one in any way to blame. However, these two days taught me that ‘the permanent way’ is by no means permanent.

Kettering

Dennis Simmonds recalls some down-to-earth aspects of the goods, parcels and passenger departments at Kettering.

Kettering goods station not only dealt with general goods, but had a substantial business in locally manufactured footwear and in receiving the lasts used for fashioning shoes. The latter came loose in vans and had to be transferred by hand to drays for delivery. For country collections and deliveries there was a motor fleet of three vehicles, but most of the cartage to and from the town area was by the horse-drawn drays. Arrivals of beer were always delivered this way as the free drinks provided by landlords often meant that the horse had to be relied upon to get the dray home.

The stables were a boon to one member of staff. This man played the violin and was known to the other senior clerks, but not to the juniors, as Fiddler Smith. Each day he would bring his sandwiches to work in a tin box. After lunch he would go to the stables and fill the empty tin with horse manure to take home for his garden. Needless to say, he never offered to share his sandwiches!

The Kettering goods shed held about ten wagons and unloading started there at 5 a.m. The junior delivery clerk was rostered to start work at this time, collect the invoices from the passenger station and make out the delivery sheets for the carmen. The documents were marked with a rotary numbering stamp to facilitate tracing. When I was on this early turn my timekeeping was not all it should have been and my main aim was to arrive just before the chief delivery clerk, Harry Ellis, who walked the 4 miles from Burton Latimer to start at 6 a.m. His first action was to check the stamp to see how many sheets I had completed; my first action was to move the stamp forward some thirty or so numbers.

Major freight customers at this time included Weetabix – who had a private siding at Burton Latimer – and Wicksteeds, who made heavy machinery and equipment for children’s playgrounds. The Wicksteed family endowed a large local park for public use and fitted it out with slides, roundabouts and swings.

Freight traffic, or goods traffic as we called it back in 1940, was varied and yielded a few perks. The Ever Ready battery agent used to collect his stocks from the station and the staff were allowed to purchase torch batteries, very scarce at the time, from him. Occasionally, packages of goods must have split open during handling for I remember one occasion when both my jacket pockets were stuffed with Liquorice Allsorts.

I had a short spell in the parcel office where there was a habit of creating perks if fortune did not provide them. The communal tea fund got its treats from the careless handling of biscuits and cakes, especially Cadbury’s mini chocolate rolls. Another dubious practice was to get our milk supply from one of the considerable number of 20-gallon churns brought in by farmers for despatch to the local dairy. A near-forgotten feature of railway parcel offices was the ubiquitous pot of smelly brown glue used to stick on luggage destination labels and parcel value stamps or ledger labels.

After a short time on parcels I was moved to the booking office, a busy place with two ticket windows into the booking hall and the rest of that wall filled with ticket racks. These held the printed ticket stock for the most frequently used destinations, blank tickets being completed by hand for others. Special types of ticket were held for service personnel, ‘privilege’ tickets – always referred to as ‘privs’ – for the reduced rate travel of railway staff, and ‘zone’ tickets for prams, bicycles and dogs. A portion of a ticket, known as the ‘snip’, was removed and retained when a printed ticket was issued for a child. Commercial travellers had books of vouchers which could be used for reduced fare tickets. Other groups with special ticketing arrangements included HM Forces travelling on duty, circus hands and performers, theatre staff accompanying scenery, grooms in horseboxes, blind people, prisoners under police escort and so on. The Coaching Arrangements Book was the bible for all these facilities.