Charlie was fireman to a well-known main line Goods Driver, who rejoiced in the name of (William(?)"Father" Broadbridge. Now this character was a man of immense stature, with a large, bushy, black beard. Charlie himself was no mean figure of a man, but looked puny up against "Father". The latter was particularly partial to slake his prodigious thirst at a little pub called "The Bridge", very conveniently situated opposite the entrance to Brighton Motive Power Depot, and a favourite resort of most of the personnel of the said depot. (This pub incidentally has been demolished to make way for a traffic island on the A27. Neither the pub nor the M.P.D. now exist).

In those days the pubs were open all day long, and "Father" was on the night goods. As soon as he had booked off he adjourned to the pub, and didn't go home for a fortnight! His wife brought his meals up to him in the pub, and the only time he left it was to go back on duty! On these night goods, as might be expected "Father" was often in no condition to do very much, least of all drive a loco. Speeds in those days, luckily were on the low side and demands upon the fireman not very over the side of the cab, gasping for breath, reminiscent of a landlubber leaning over the rail of a ship, in a storm-tossed sea.

He retired in silence to a corner of the cab for the few remaining miles into Brighton. As the very welcome platformsof Brighton Central hove in sight, he breathed a deep sigh of relief and managed to gasp out "Thank God that's over."After the old loco had shuddered to-a halt, ~ very dishevelled City gent might have been observed leaving the cab. Before he did so however, he dived his hand into his pocket, and presented both the driver and fireman with a shiny golden sovereign each. He took his leave of them and they never saw him again!

Early in 1906, the first of the H1 Atlantics were arriving at Brighton Shed, from Kitsons of Leeds. The fitters were immediately set to work on them, to replace the various motion parts which had been removed to facilitate their southwards journey. A certain fitter, who we will 'call George, was engaged, with others, underneath an Atlantic,refitting such parts.

Upon glancing outside, between the spokes of the driving wheels, he noticed the legs of several persons, one of whom was shod with a pair of shiny brown boots. Sensing that this must be a V.I.P., George exhorted his fellow workers to redouble their efforts to render the Atlantic road-worthy. This did not pass unnoticed by the V.I.P., and he inquired the name of the energetic fitter, stating that he would be a suitable candidate for eventual promotion.

This duly materialised and George finished up as Shed fitter's foreman. Now a mishap had occurred up the line, requiring the services of the breakdown gang. A van was included in the make-up of this, to transport the fitters andtheir gear and in his new capacity George was in command of this. No sooner had the train cot into its stride on the main line, than George decided that progressin that van was distinctly uncomfortable, to say the least. The van was long since past its first flush of youth and at the speed the driver was now indulging in the progress of the said. van was reminiscent. of a kangaroo fleeing a forest fire. '

On the side of this redoubtable vehicle George suddenly spotted the means of his salvation, a release cock controllingthe Westinghouse brake. He seized it with both hands, in the manner of a drowning man seizing a spar in a shipwreckand depressed it to its fullest extent.

The progress of the madly cavorting vehicle received a severe setback, which was transmitted throughout the length of the train to the locomotive, much to the disgust of the driver. Progress now having returned to what George considered to be ethical, he released the handle, and resumed his seat, breathing freely once more. But not for long. Itsoon became painfully obvious that the previous rate of progress was to be the order of the day, and George rose once more, and restored the status quo by depressing the handle on the brake valve. The journey continued thus for its entire duration; the driver on the one hand, seemingly bent on plunging the luckless occupants of the ageing van into eternity and the efforts of George on the other hand, with the new found powers bestowed upon him by that providential brake valve, equally determined that he and his colleagues should emerge from that van sound in wind and limb.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when the scene of the mishap was rather surprisingly reached, and preparations were hurriedly made to vacate that-van. These efforts could hardly be described as lethargic, but they were whencompared with the corresponding efforts of the driver.

That worthy had appeared on the permanent way opposite the van's door, purple in the face and as George lowered the window to unlatch the door which would release the occupants, he received the full pent up fury of the driver's wrath.

The resulting dialogue is best left unrecorded. Suffice it to be said that the driver demanded to know who was thebloody fool that kept applying the brake as soon as ever he started to "run". George nobly rose to the occasion by proclaiming that it was he, and what the so and so did he mean by trying to exterminate them?

The driver countered by stating that he had been instructed by his superiors to get there as quickly as possible, as theyhad sent him off in front of a fast passenger train which they did not want delayed. If there were any questions asked about delays to the said train, then George's name was going down on the report as being responsible for it.

A certain hostelry in Brighton, known as "The William IV", was the regular off-duty abode of Driver J. Cox. On thenight in question, he had gone there in the company of Charlie Peters for the annual share-out of the Slate Club. Theircondition by the end of the evening can better be imagined than described, but in spite of this, they adjourned to theCruising Club when it was time for them to leave The William IV. Charlie doesn't remember much of what happenedat the latter abode, but came back to earth with a jolt in the early hours of the next morning, when he was awakened by a very zealous young police constable who had just commenced duty. When Charlie had regained consciousness,he realised that they were in a tram shelter at the bottom of North Road, although he couldn't remember how they got there! ,

The combined efforts of Charlie and the constable bore fruit eventually and they succeeded in awaking Driver Cox.Now the latter was driving H1 Atlantic No.39 La France at the time, and the awful truth dawned on the pair of revellers, as they staggered out of that shelter on that bleak, cheerless dawn. The Atlantic was rostered to take up noless than the City Limited, at 8.45 a.m. that very morning. Charlie managed to reach home safely under his own steam. What is more remarkable, somehow Driver Cox managed to reach the shed, and book on duty. He boarded theAtlantic and made an excellent run to time with the "Limited." Had the commuters and stockbrokers known of thecondition of their driver, they might not have travelled so smugly behind their newspapers, as they noted the latest prices!

In the mid 1920's the Southern authorities decided to augment their number of River class 2-6-4 express tank engines.Ashford works were too busy to undertake this, so the order was passed to Brighton; most of the parts being supplied by Ashford. An exception was the boilers, which, Charlie reported, came from Scotland, (probably the now-defunct North British Locomotive Co., builders of the "King Arthurs" and the L1’s).

Whilst engaged in putting one of the Rivers through its paces on its trial run, Charlie had the ignoble experience (for an experienced driver) of  “dropping the plug". The firebox was badly burned, and of course, ruined. Naturally, Charlie was on the carpet, and he maintained that he had not let the water level fall to dangerous levels. A new firebox had to be fitted and upon the old one being removed and examined, it was found that the crown was covered with a mixture of cutting oil and swarf, which formed a sludge of considerable depth, thus preventing the water reaching the firebox crown and keeping it cool, when the gauge showed that there was sufficient. These findings exonerated him from all blame, and he was naturally pleased. It was considered an unpardonable sin for a driver to "drop a plug."           .

A steam locomotive firebox roof or crown, was drilled and fitted with a number of hollow brass plugs. These plugs were filled with white metal, which has a relatively low melting point. All the time this is covered with water it is kept cool and stays put. Should the water level drop for any reason, and the plug become uncovered, then the white metal will melt and, be forced out by the rush of steam and water which would be released, 'and which would, of course, extinguish the fire, and so save the firebox from damage.