Leaves from a locomotive diary
It was in February 1948, seven weeks after Britain's railways were nationalised, that I began my engineering apprenticeship on the Southern Region under O.V. Bulleid. I started at Ashford locomotive works, moving to Brighton after the first 10.5 months.
Aside from this formal apprenticeship, I was also deeply involved with steam locomotives during weekends, holidays and other off- duty periods. Those unofficial - and sometimes illicit - activities provided a wealth of knowledge and experience that wasn't included in an apprenticeship.
An account of those five eventful years would take up a full-length book. For the time being it must suffice that, during my apprenticeship, I helped in the construction of Bulleid's 'Leader', the final batch of ‘small Packets' ('West Country' class 'Pacifies'), the 41 Brighton built Fairburn 4P tanks and the initial 30-odd BR4 'Standard' 2-6-4 tanks.
In those days all medically-fit young men became liable for two years of military service on reaching the age of 18. However, anyone who was serving an apprenticeship, or studying for some other qualification, could apply for deferment until his training was completed. At the end of my own apprenticeship, in 1953, I still had four months of college work to complete and so my deferment was further extended. During those extra four months, I served in the locomotive drawing office at Brighton, working out final details for the BR9 2-10-0 and doing some design studies on the embryo Crosti Class 9.
Then, in July 1953, I was 'called up' and I cannot deny that the next two years were a terrible drag. My romance with the peacetime Royal Air Force was very short-lived. After all, it was peacetime and I was kicking my heels on distinctly inactive service. Apart from being an awful waste of time, it deprived me of two vintage years out of an all-too-short steam locomotive career. My main accomplishment was learning how to 'skive' (a verb to which I was introduced by one of my fellow conscripts. It means to dodge any kind of work on every possible occasion). I acknowledge now that it was the wrong attitude to take: I should have treated those two years as a second apprenticeship, but it’s too late now. Instead, like a host of other, I became an accomplished skiver, although it didn’t make the weeks pass by any faster.
After what seemed an eternity, those two long years slowly drew to an end. Jubilation Day was approaching at last and I would soon be back in the drawing office at Brighton. However, things would never be the same as they were before because recent developments had scuppered the old way of life. On Tuesday January 25 1955, the newspapers had trumpeted a £1.2bn 15-year plan to modernise British Railways.
The scenario was one of nationwide dieselisation and electrification; and all steam locomotive construction was to cease ‘within a very few years.’ In announcing this plan General Sir Brian Robertson, Chairman of the British Transport Commission, contrived to wax lyrical; “For some of us [the end of steam] must spell some regret. Somehow, both the diesel and the electric locomotives lack the glamour which surrounds the mighty steam engine, pounding through the night with the light of its fire glowing in the faces of the crew.
There is something here of real importance...” It was pure rhetoric of course and someone had written his speech for him; but I couldn’t expressed it much better myself.
What this meant was that, when I resumed my career at Brighton, I would be facing a new regime under which the steam locomotive was doomed. For a couple of years to come, it was possible to believe that there might be a U-turn in high places. In any case, things weren't going to changeovernight and steam locomotive design work would continue at Brighton for as long as I remained there (which was only for one more year).
Meanwhile I resolved that, before returning to civilian employment, I would award myself a celebration holiday. There was no such thing as demob leave for conscripts - we didn't have a trade union -so it was going to be an unpaid vacation.
I have always kept a diary. My steam locomotive chronicles fill 11 thick foolscap ledgers - more than a million words - and I wrote them up at the time these adventures took place. In addition I compiled notebooks, made drawing and sketches, took photographs... I still posses all those treasures, and the memories that go with them. However, after more than 50 years, my old requires clarification for the benefit of present day readers, which is included in square brackets. For instance, I need to introduce people whom I had already known for several years. Wherever possible I have blended my explanations into the original text, hoping thereby to make them less conspicuous. And so, without further preamble, here is just one episode from my very own 'glorious years.’ It begins while I still had a week to serve in the RAF.
Thursday June 30th 1955
At this time I was living on the outskirts of Tonbridge in Kent, seven mils from old home town of Tunbridge Wells; and I was stationed at RAF West Raynham in Norfolk.
With week to go before ‘demob’ I was coming home for along weekend. This morning’s post failed to bring the Privilege Tickets orders that I requested from Brighton; so I had to buy a ‘cheap’ Forces single for the journey from Eat Rudham to King’s Cross (via Peterborough). The latter cost two and a half times as much: 14s 7d compared with 5s 10~d for a Privilege ticket.
Arriving home in the early evening, I felt almost free from the fetters of conscription. I return to camp on Monday night, sign off on Tuesday and, with any luck, arrive home as a civilian one day early on Wednesday. SEVEN DAYS TO GO!
This morning I cycled to Tunbridge Wells West. [A hilly seven-miles in each direction. In those days it was 'pushbikes' to the fore and one seldom went anywhere without a pair of trouser clips in one's pocket]. Having arrived at TWW I found a roofless running- shed [75F] in the throes of reconstruction. This job has been progressing for something like 18 months but only recently has the roof been taken off.
In the evening, I made a second cycle trip toTWW-a wet one this time in a fine, drenching drizzle. On arrival, I went into the roofless depot - my first visit since the intensive new summer service was introduced on 14 June. Many additional trains are now running and, on looking at the enginemens' roster list, I found it quite bewildering! 75F, so recently short of work, now has a glut of it: almost all the passed firemen are out on driving jobs and my good friend Fred Diplock has been elevated to the second link. The list also told me that tomorrow night Fred will be working home on the 7.34pm from Brighton; and I decided to join him for the trip.
Leaving home at 4.30pm, I travelled down to Brighton where I soon met Fred Diplock and his fireman, Don Austen. They had just arrived from Three Bridges 'on the cushions'. Our train, the 7.34pm Brighton to Tunbridge Wells West, was standing in Platform 8 but without an engine; and we waited for it to be brought over from the running-shed. By 7.30pm, it had failed to appear and, in due course, we learned that our rostered Fairburn 4P 2-6-4T had failed with collapsed firebars (earlier in the day it had worked to Willesden and back). In its place, a Billinton E4 'Radial' 0-6-2T, No. 32468, was brought over for us. I was rather pleased about this because I'm short on experience with 'Radials’.
32468 has recently been in shops, emerging with new (or modified) side-tanks and without the external tank cladding which is normal on these engines. In contrast with other 'Radials' the tank sides display raised rivet-heads like those on the 4Ps. The firehole, instead of being oval, was large and rectangular; and the firedoor, which was hinged along the top, opened inwards to act as a 'baffle plate' (Le. deflector plate). '468 is one of the E4s with lever reverse - seven notches in fore gear and seven in reverse. Despite my three-year absence from 'E4's I soon felt at home once more with the cab layout and fittings.
Our train consisted of a cattle-van plus a corridor three-set and, of course, we were late away from Brighton. I did the firing to Uckfield (about halfway), then handed over to Don Austen. The coal was rather poor stuff in large lumps. The brick arch is low on these engines and I hit the edge of it with several shovelfuls. Having struck the arch, this coal showered down on the centre of the grate and I ended up with a haycock fire instead of a dished one! However, there was no shortage of steam.
We were ‘three late’ away from Lewes because of a London bound ‘spark’ [electric multiple unit] that was allowed across our path. In spite of this we would have reached TWW on time because Fred really ‘went for it’ during the last few miles; but the Tunbridge Wells home signal brought us to a dead stand. We had to re-start against the 1-in-88 gradient and, when we arrived at TWW, our guard declared that he had entered up "three late from Lewes and three late the rest of the way." So much for the veracity of that guard's journal, which failed to credit us with time recovered before thecostly signal stop!
Having berthed our train, we went on shed to 'put her away.' The fire, of course, had to be cleaned with the 'slice' [clinker shovel], the smokebox emptied with the shovel and the ashpan cleaned out with the rake from underneath. There was no rocking/drop grate, no hopper ashpan and no self-cleaning smoke box on a 'Radial'!
That was the final footplate trip to fall within my two years of National Service. It brought my total mileage for that period to 2,415. This, of course, represents an average of 100 footplate miles for each of those 24 long, desolate months!
The upheaval of shed re-construction calls for three shifts of 'acting running foremen' who work around the clock. One of them, Fred Elmer [Councillor Elmer, to give him his full entitlement] was on duty tonight. I presume that the shedmaster, C.H. Stone, covers another shift while, for the third, Fred Robinson attends, dressed up to the nines in his Town Councillor's suit and homburg hat. Things are pretty hectic with the coal road and half of No. 1 road 'underoccupation.' The busy summer service gives a running foreman plenty to do, with nearly everyone out on the road and with additional anxiety caused by the unpopular 'MTs, which are in poor shape. Fred Elmer told me tonight that, just for good measure, there had been two point failures today!
There are now six of the 'MT 0-4-4 tanks allocated to TWW, Nos. 30054-30059, and despite the sterling work that they did on their home ground in LSWR days, they are thoroughly detested by the men at 75F. Tonight Fred Diplock told me of his recent experience with one of them, No. 30054. This engine was propelling the 10.4pm Oxted-Uckfield Pull-&-Push train with Fred up front in the driving coach. They got to Uckfield alright but on arrival there the man on the footplate couldn't reverse the engine for the journey home. In due course Fred discovered that one of the die-blocks had seized solid on its pivot pin. The fitters had to come out from 75F to take down the motion and, eventually, 30054 was towed back to TWW, arriving about 5 o'clock next morning. By that time Fred and his mate had completed 12 hours on duty!
It seems that most, if not all, of the ‘MTs at 75F are in a bad state of repair, but No. 31666 - a Kirtley 'RI' 0-4-4 'Chatham Tank'- is on loan to the depot and is held in high regard. Arnold Brooker told me tonight that 31666 had been on the go from 8 o'clock this morning until 10.30pm, with little or no time for oiling up during the day. No engine will stand up to that treatment for long. [Arnold, by the way, was a very tubby young driver whom I had already known for six years. In putting a message across he displayed a solemn countenance that was really quite comical. If Arnold was discoursing at one end of the loco yard, men at the other end would be grinning with amusement, even though they couldn't hear what he said].
Fred Diplock's mate, Don Austen, goes off tomorrow for 15 days' Army reserve training and, in the lobby, Driver Jack Pring told us that 36 firemen and cleaners at Tonbridge depot are also required to go. What madness! Only three weeks ago, when the footplate men were on strike, they were branded as irresponsible saboteurs who were crippling the nation's economy. Now their accusers are doing much the same thing by depriving 74D of 36 men for a'whole fortnight at the beginning of a busy summer service. Did the authorities refuse to exempt all these men from their reserve training? Or has the shedmaster at 74D just woken up to find himself short of 36 men? . Presumably, this kind of thing is happening all over BR. .
It was 10.50pm when Fred Diplock, Don Austen and I set off home together on our ‘push bikes.’ They both live in Southborough and from there they left me to pedal the last 4.5 miles on my own!
To Tunbridge Wells West this afternoon and there I chance to meet Vic Prior whom I hadn’t seen for months. He was astonished to learn that tomorrow it will be two years since he hosted my last footplate trip as a civilian. To him those two years seem to have flown, but they certainly haven't for me! After a chinwag I left him perusing the notices in their case on the shed wall, but a sudden thought must have crossed his mind ... Two years ago, my final trip as a civilian was with him. And next week, when, I become a 'civvy' once more, my first footplate trip must also be with him! I had wished him au revoir and gone a few steps when he called after me with five immortal words.
"Late turn next week, Fred!"
That brought me up with a jerk and I turned around to ask him:
"What job is that?”
"2.47 up, 7.8 down!" [to and from London Victoria. He meant pm, of course: the railways worked to a twelve-hour clock in those days].
"Thursday?" I enquired. "Righthol"
And so it was ordained!
On this warm, sunny evening I cycled over to Tunbridge Wells West, mainly in order to see Bob Roser and Reg Craft. I found them having their tea break in the guards' lobby on Platform 3 and (having unburdened myself of my feelings at being a civilian again) I asked if they would have room for me next week on a couple of their Rest Day Relief turns. As I anticipated, the answer was yes; so that's another two days taken care of!
Having watched them depart with No. 80033 on the 7.37pm to Brighton I went ‘on shed' where I met Roy Coomber [a young Tunbridge Wells driver]. He spoke in glowing terms of the Kirtley 'Bobtail' No. 31666 and declared his contempt for the recently-arrived 'MT class. Fred Robinson was the acting running foreman tonight and I had a good chat with him as we watched the busy, end-of-day activities around us. All the time we stood there, engines were arriving to be put away; but Driver Jim Curtis found time to pass a few words with us, commenting on some of his workmates.
"They didn’t like it when there was no work at the depot”, said he, and now that there’s plenty of work they moan because it’s keeping them busy!"
[Jim had put his finger on a feature of 75F. Even I, with friends in places, could see a difference between the Jolly Seasiders at Brighton and some of their counterparts in the smaller shed at Royal Tunbridge Wells. As an impartial observer once put it to me; “In the [enginemens’] lobby at Brighton you’ll always find ‘em having a laugh, discussing football or cricket - or crumpet. But in the lobby at Tunbridge Wells there’s usually somebody moaning!"
This, of course, was a broad-brush assessment but it certainly contained an element of truth. I hasten to add that none of my own footplate friends at 'the Wells' could be classed among the moaners].
Tonight's hard work had no effect on a group of young cleaners who were chasing about all over the loco yard, throwing large stones and lumps of brick. After a while Fred Robinson told them to desist and patiently gave them his reasons. Some of the missiles were landing around the points and might easily jam them, causing a derailment. [Strictly speaking, he should have set those cleaners to the task of cleaning engines. But Fred - now off the footplate for medical reasons - had been a cleaner himself long ago; and he understood them better than I did.]
Leaving home just before 2pm I cycled the seven miles up over Bidborough Ridge to 'rtilloridge Wells West; and there I found Vic Prior and Dick Sullivan with Fairburn 4P 2-6-4T No. 42103, already attached to their train in Platform 4. The 2.47pm to Victoria via East Grinstead (High Level) comprised nothing more than a three-corridor set - only a few tons heavier than the engine itself. Vie remarked that Locomotive Inspector Copp was over in the running shed and so - just in case - I travelled in the train to Groombridge [this being our first stop, three miles from 'the Wells']. There I joined my two friends in the cab of 42103.
Dick Sullivan had built up the fire with Bedwas [a 'soft' coal from South Wales, which burned slowly with a short flame] and it was just getting alight. After I had picked up the single-line staff at Ashurst Junction [covering the section of line to Forest Row] Dick handed over to me; and I fired all the way to Victoria with excellent results, while Dick looked after the injector. [Singular: the one on the fireman's side of the cab]. There was a bit of a moment at East Grinstead (High Level) when Locomotive Inspector Ryder came along the platform, glanced up, saw the three of us and wished us "good day!" Apparently he took me for a cleaner learning to fire!
At Oxted I went atop the tank to take water, after which we climbed up through Oxted tunnel with a full head of steam and water. Then it was all downhill into East Croydon, from whence we were 'right away' to Victoria. During this final stage I levelled the fire and we ran in on Platform 15 with a fairly low fire which, nevertheless, was still making steam.
We shunted our train back into the
carriage sidings and went into the loco yard where we turned on the table. Vie took
water while Dick went up into the bunker to pull some coal down from the back. Meanwhile I banked up the fire. I was going to clean it or at least drop the front half, but Dick said it wasn't worth the trouble. We then had a nice long 'spell' in the lobby for tea, food and chit-chat.
Our train home was the 7.8pm toTunbridge Wells via Edenbridge Town and it consisted of 4 corridor coaches. Just after we came out of the loco yard I pushed our fire all over the grate; and, from the speed with which '103 attained full pressure, I thought we were in good shape for the start. I had to keep putting the injector on to avoid blowing off in Victoria station; but when we set off with the 7.Spm it soon became clear that the Bedwas coal was not getting alight very quickly. By the time we had climbed the bank to Grosvenor bridge and crossed the Thames to Battersea Park, boiler pressure was already down, to 160lb [from a blowing-off pressure of 200lb].
Maybe I had been right in wanting to clean the fire after all. Near Clapham Junction Dick rocked the firebars and did so again on the climb up to Croydon. He also lobbed perhaps a dozen shovelfuls into the right places and then instructed me to leave • things for a bit until the fire had burned through.
Matters finally resolved themselves during a fairly long station stop at East Croydon
and from there we were booked to call at all stations except Selsdon. It was here, at Croydon, that VicPrior handed over to Dick, while I did the firing all the way home.
Beyond Edenbridge, with 13 miles to go, no more firing was needed until, on levelling the fire between Ashurst and Groombridge, I sprinkled a bit more coal over the grate. And so we reached Tunbridge Wells with, perhaps, a little too much steam and a little too much fire. Having shunted our train into Platform 5 we went on shed. No. 42103 is for washout tomorrow and so, having turned, coaled and taken water, we dropped the fire and put her away in the shed.
The alterations list (which Vic had looked at when signing on this afternoon) showed that Dick Sullivan has been taken off his rostered turn tomorrow to cover a pull-and- push job. [Although he was Vic Prior's regular mate, Dick was already a passed.fireman; and the fireman on every pull-and- push job had to be a qualified driver]. Facing a day without his regular mate, Vie asked me to come with him again tomorrow. In Dick's absence, he would have a young cleaner with him (possibly one of those who were throwing bricks last night) and he wanted me with him. (Some young cleaners ... !).
I immediately jumped at this invitation. It became very apparently tonight that I need to ‘get my hand in’ again because I’m somewhat to of practice. This evening, despite having plenty of steam, I was sweating profusely, my head was aching and I was deadbeat. I badly need to lose a stone or two - surplus weight acquired by ‘skiving’ in the RAF - and I really must try to regain condition! Hence it will be the 2.47pm again tomorrow, with Vic and No.80017.
From Tunbridge Wells West I cycled those seven miles home, ready to fall asleep over the handlebars. I can’t remember ever feeling more tired. After supper I fell into bed at eleven o’clock was very soon asleep.
The morning was occupied writing yesterday's footplate trips in this diary, clipping some cuttings of railway interest out of old newspapers and slinging my RAF kit-bag up into the loft - out of sight, out of mind! Then, at 2pm, I set off for Tunbridge Wells West. It was another hot, sunny day - a continuation of the heatwave.
The 2.47pm to Victoria via East Grinstead was in Platform 4 at Tunbridge Wells West and again it consisted of only three corridor coaches, the guard being our old friend 'Nobby' Clark. In the cab of No. 80017 I joined Vic Prior and his fireman for the day - a young cleaner called 'Nero' Wickens. The latter had built up a good fire and performed well with the shovel so that, apart from picking up the single-line staff at Ashurst Junction, I did nothing until we reached Oxted. Meanwhile I stood in the cab door opening behind Vic and it was quitewarm enough even there. The heat in the driver's corner must have been stifling.
[That corner was hemmed in by a pedestal, which contained hot steam pipes - a universal feature on the BR Standard classes. On the first 'Standards' to be built, the pedestal steam pipes weren't even lagged and they consequently roasted the drivers' legs].
At Oxted I went up on the tank to get water and, on returning to the cab, accepted young Wickens' offer of the shovel! The coal today was Chislet [from the Kent coalfield . 'and good stuff at the time]. There wasn't much firing to do on those last 20 miles (mostly downhill) to Victoria, and I levelled the fire when we left Croydon. There had been a lot of dust from the soft coal, and sweeping with the brush merely brought a cloud of it up off the floor. I couldn't damp it down because the sprinkler hose was missing from 80017. Not that it mattered because the coal sprinkler valve didn't work. It was made to an 'improved' design - the brainchild of some drawing-board genius with no experience of practical locomotive work. [There were many such people as I can testify: I worked alongside them at both Brighton and Derby!]
In the original design of sprinkler-valve, as fitted to the BR4s, the hand-wheel had a square hole in its centre; and this fitted over a square-ended valve-spindle to provide an infallible grip between the two. The 'improved' hand-wheel has a conical seating on the spindle and, without a key, it depends on friction. Under repeated use, the retaining nut slackens off and the handwheel loses its grip on the spindle.
Today I couldn't tighten the retaining nut because, on 80017, we had no suitable spanner in the rudimentary 'tool-kit' [and in any case, as I've said, the sprinkler-hose had gone missing]. And so, at Selsdon, (just before the third-rail area ruled out such a move) I got down on the ballast to fill our bucket with water from the injector overflow pipe. That was my only way of 'laying the dust' inside the cab.
At Victoria, after propelling our train from Platform 15 into the sidings, we entered the loco yard and turned our engine on the table. Then I cleaned the fire while Vie and his mate took water and brought over some knobs of hard coal from Charlie Figg's wagon. [Charlie Figg was an old friend, a real Londoner, permanently employed in the loco yard at Victoria although he cam under Stewarts Lane on the other side of the river]. I cleaned the fire thoroughly by pushing the top layer forward, dropping the back, pulling the good fire to the rear and dropping the front. Then we banked it up with some hard ‘knobs’ and retired to the lobby. At this time of day the yard is busy with up to four engines visiting at once.
I went out to 80017 a little in advance of my colleagues in order to bring some coal forward from the rear of the bunker and then I levelled the fire over the grate. Pressure was down on 140lb and water was low in the glass, so there was plenty of margin to prevent blowing off during the half hour before 'right away.' I built up the fire gradually, two or three shovelfuls of Chislet at a time, so enabling it to get alight and avoiding undue smoke.
Our train, the 7.Spm to Tunbridge Wells West via Edenbridge Town, consisted of four corridors, leaving Victoria from Platform 14. I did the firing throughout and there was.none of last night's trouble: the hard coal from Charlie Figg's wagon made all the difference. On the helter-skelter run from Victoria to Croydon the steam came easily and pressure did not fall below 1901b. Climbing over the North Downs our engine steamed very freely and, for the rest of the run, all went smoothly. At Groombridge, with three more uphill miles to TWW, we still had an abundance of steam. I inspected the fire and made the mistake of 'seeing' more than was actually there! I told Vic that I had a bit too much on the grate and he set about burning it away. We chopped off the beats in fine style to reach TWW on time - or perhaps a little early - despite the effect of a long 'P Way' slack to the north of Edenbridge Town.
My fire was virtually out across the middle of the grate when, after berthing our train, we went on shed with about 140lb of steam and half a glass of water. A 'strategic arrival' as my Brighton friend Driver George Washington would have called it! But there wasn't enough steam to fill up the boiler with water before putting the engine away; and not enough incandescent fire to bank up on. And so, while young Wickens took coal, I sprinkled some coal all over the fire and blew the pressure up to 180lb. By the time we left the coal crane to go on shed, all was in order! It was a hard job turning '17 on the table and assistance was given by three orfour cleaners. Then, while Vic and his mate took water, I cleaned the fire and banked it up for the night before taking leave of 80017, highly satisfied with a very successful trip. I left 75F at 10.10pm and, in contrast - with yesternight, I felt quite wide awake on the seven-mile cycle-ride home. Despite the heat of the day, my work had not taken so much out of me.
This afternoon I cycled over to Tunbridge Wells West, chancing to meet Ron Bridger, who had DickSullivan as his mate on a pull- &-push turn. They wanted me to go with them tonight, to Oxted and back on No. 31666. [I could kick myself now, for missing that chance of a ride on the little 'Chatham Tank' but, with so many other things to do, I had to excuse myself. Although my diary fails to mention. I seem to recall Ron’s admonition; “It may turn out to be the only chance you’ll get!” And, of course, he was almost right!]
I also saw George Huntley, with whom I entered into a discussion on the BR4 coal sprinkler valves (referred to yesterday).
This afternoon for the only time in our lives, we agreed to differ. George blames the enginemen for those troublesome sprinkler valve hand wheels: I blame bad design!
Throughout my two long years in captivity I've reserved my first Sunday back in 'civvy street' for a cycle trip to the Loop. Today was that Sunday! The Crowhurst Loop was a little-used section of double track, one-third of a mile in length, which connected the Tonbridge-Redhill line with that from East Grinstead to Oxted. Many people referred to it as the Crowhurst Spur but to me it was always 'the Loop.' Until the summer service of 1955 'the Loop' carried only one public train each day in the 'up' direction, the 7.26am (weekdays) from Edenbridge to London Bridge via Oxted. Rusty rails testified that there was no regular service over the 'down' road. The Loop saw its final service on May 27 1955, on the eve of the ASLEF strike, and six weeks before I was demobed.
Despite it's lack of use, the Loop was an important strategic link. It came into its own during emergencies and it was an absolute godsend during the critical months of 1940.Today its trackbed is covered by a mass of mature trees.
For me, a 'push-bike' ride to the Loop involved a round trip of some 35 miles along a gently undulating country road without any serious hills and - in those days - with hardly any motor traffic. For much of its length this road never strayed very far from the Tonbridge-Redhill railway line. I never saw a train traversing the Loop itself; but Crowhurst Junction South was a splendid location for photographs. Moreover, without going very far from there, one could photograph trains on two other routes: East Grinstead-Oxted and Edenbridge Town- Oxted. Cycling to the Loop during a peaceful weekend was always a delectable experience. I reserved it for special occasions; and this, my first Sunday in 'civvy street', was a very special occasion!
The weather couldn't have been kinder. I set out [from Tonbridge] with my cycle on a lovely summer evening, reaching Littlebrowns [near Edenbridge] at 7.35pm. There I waited to photograph the 7.43pm Tonbridge-Redhill train, which was hauled by a 'Charlie' [Q1 class 0-6-0], No. 33030. Soon afterwards the 7.45pm Redhill- Tonbridge went by in charge of 'E4' 0-6-2T No. 32516. Moving on I passed Crowhurst Junction South without stopping and took up position just to the north of Lingfield brickworks. And there, in fading light, I photographed 4P tank No. 42087 on the 7.47pm Tunbridge Wells West-Victoria via East Grinstead (High Level). It was 8.45pm when I began the return journey. I reached home in darkness, well pleased with an evening that recaptured the flavour of similar outings in the past.
I travelled down to Brighton this morning, to keep my tryst with Bob Roser and Reggie Craft [see 6 July 1955]. Having arrived there, I found the 'eleven o'clock Cardiff' already in platform 2 (a K class 'Mogul' having brought in the empty stock). The train was made up of six corridor coaches, to be increased at Fareham by the addition of four from Portsmouth.
In due course No.34045 Ottery St Mary came out of the loco yard and, as she hooked on, I joined Bob Roser and Reg Craft in the cab. I had been with them for less than a minute when Locomotive Inspectors Harding and Ryder came walking along the platform together. So I took up position on the fireman’s side of the cab while Bob and Reg leaned out of the driver’s side, looking a picture of innocence. They wished the two passing inspectors “Good morning!” while concealing me from two pairs of not-so-observant eyes! [The consequences of ‘getting caught’ didn’t bother me personally - and I never did get caught. But I was always anxious not to land my friends in trouble].
The tender contained hard coal but a smattering of Welsh became evident later in the run. The fire had been built up beforehand and now, as we set off, Reg began the shovel work while I climbed into my overalls. He handed over to me at Shoreham and I fired all the way from there to Salisbury, but Reg went up on the tender to take water at Chichester and Fareham.
No.34045 has had its boiler pressure from 280 to 250Ib and is now fitted with ordinary water gauge glasses in place of the original Klinger reflex type.
This was my first trip to Salisbury since 29th September 1952, but I was soon reliving my apprenticeship days on this job; because 34045’s cab was a place of stifling heat, and today was another hot, sunny one! Hence, although I found no difficulty in keeping up steam pressure and water level all the way to Salisbury, I dd find the heat very tiring. To help move the last few miles, Reg ran the pricker through the fire, after which I sprinkled a bit more coal over the grate and that was enough to get us there.
We had no booked stops over the 24.5 miles between Southampton and Salisbury; and from Nursling [4.5 miles beyond Southampton] we began the 16 mile climb up to Bridge 44. at this point Reg initiated me into a bit of nonsense which, for him was utterly out of character. He (along with many other from 75A) feels that most ‘South Western Enginemen think too much of themselves and their railway. At Dean [about 4.75 from Bridge 44] the ‘eleven o’clock Cardiff always passes a goods engine in the sidings, with Salisbury men in charge of it; and Reg likes to show ‘em what he thinks of their Dean bank. The game is to have ‘ potful of water’ and a full head of steam after passing through Romsey. This produces (for the benefit of Salisbury men) the spectacle of a Brighton West Country, trailing 10 corridors, hurtling up through Dean with safety valves blowing and with the fireman relaxing in his seat, smoking a cigarette and preferably reading a newspaper.
Today we reached Salisbury two minutes early, at 1.29pm by the station clock. Reg unhooked us and we ran light engine down to the running shed. [On the Western section, firemen had to do their own coupling and uncoupling. ‘At home’ on the Central section it was normally done by the a shunter]. On the coal road Reg removed a little dirt from the fire and put a few shovels of coal on to keep it going. Then we left '45 to be coaled, watered and turned by Salisbury men. After a wash-up, we strolled out of the shed, crossed the well- remembered Cherry Orchard Lane and entered the welcoming staff canteen.
For the 2.52pm train back to Brighton we had Welsh coal, supplied by Salisbury. I began building the fire up as soon as we arrived back from the canteen; and Reg spread it over the grate while we stood up at the East signal box waiting for our train to arrive from Plymouth. It consisted of 10 corridors and a van, and we hadn't gone very far beyond Tunnel Junction before the boiler pressure was down to 160lb! It was evident that our slow-burning Welsh coal was nowhere near alight. So Reg took over from me and, after using the pricker on the fire, he did the shovel work for a while. In the meantime I stood behind Bob, finding it intensely hot in the cab of 34045. I couldn't help thinking that, while these engines are being re-designed at Brighton, some improved ventilation should be provided.
While Reg took water at Southampton, went to refill our drinking water bottles, to which we all had frequent recourse during the day. From St Denys I took over the shovel work again, Reg having by now got very hot. I did the firing as far as Fareham, where we dropped four coaches and the van, leaving us with six corridors for the rest of the run to Brighton. Reg did the reminder of the firing from Fareham and, during the last few miles, I had a wash-up in the bucket. At Brighton I stood on the platform, chatting with Bob and Reg until they followed the empties out. This happened to be knocking off time for Brighton Work and I exchanged greetings with several of my old workmates as they hurried to catch their train home from the adjoining platform.
Being on top-link Rest Day Relief this week, Bob Roser and Reg Craft have an earlier job each day. Their working week ends on Friday with the earliest of early turns, after which they go off duty for a long weekend and return to work on the latest of late turns next Monday night. Today they were on the 9.40am Brighton to Bournemouth and I travelled down from Tonbridge on the 7.25am train. At Brighton I joined Bob and Reg on 'West Country' No. 34046 Braunton when they hooked on to the 9.40 in Platform 2. We had only five corridors all the way to Bournemouth Central and were soon on the move.
No. 34046 still has its boiler pressed to 280lb and the Klinger Reflex water gauges are still in position. These are often quite difficult to read due, I believe, to the brownish colour of the water, caused by the insertion of water softening chemicals.
I was soon into my overalls and took over the firing at Hove. The fire had been built up very nicely and again we had hard coal to feed it with. It was yet another sunny day but, for some reason, the cab of ’46 was much cooler than ’45’s was yesterday. This may have ben because of our earlier start, at 9.40 instead of eleven o’clock; and of course, we were in Bournemouth soon after the sun had climbed overhead.
I did the firing throughout from hove to Bournemouth, although Reg went up on the tender to take water at Chichester. From Chichester, of course we were right away to Southampton Central (without stopping at Fareham) and I had plenty of steam for the bank beyond Fareham. The run was as uneventful as it was successful. I had lobbed the last shovelful of coal before we reached Christchurch and, with hard coal, the fire did not need to be levelled with the pricker as we approached our destination.
Reg unhooked us at Bournemouth Central, where our helper (a cleaner or spare fireman from Bournemouth Shed) joined us. Then we ran light engine down to Branksome, turning on the triangle there before going into Branksome loco. As always, the Bournemouth fireman went stop the tender to trim our coal forward; Bob Roser went round with the oil can and Reg having found that the fire didn’t need cleaning, banked it up. After that we retired to the lobby for ‘grub.’
In due course we found ourselves hooking on to the same five corridors at Bournemouth West, these forming the 1.50pm back to Brighton. Reg prepared the fire while I took some photographs and Bob took one of me as I leaned from the cab of 34046.
Do you want to borrow my hat for it? he asked (meaning his greasetop).
“No thanks! I’ll wear my old faithful!” (I was referring to the khaki fatigue cap that has accompanied me on so many of my footplates adventures). Accordingly, Bob photographed me in my own special footplate cap. Little did I realise that I was wearing it for the last time.
The fire (which Reg had built up) took us to Boscombe before I began plying the shovel. As yesterday, Reg took water water at Southampton Central while I refilled our drinking water bottles. After passing St. Denys we took some photographs of each other at work on the footplate, shots of firemanCraft and fireman Rich being taken from back in the tender.
By now it had become very warm and, without thinking, I must have pushed my cap back on my head. Then, somewhere on the way down into Fareham I stuck my head out of the window and - whoosh! - the cap was gone. I was somewhat put out because I valued that old cap. Having used it over many thousands of footplate miles, I had planned to hang it up one day as a memento of all the happy hours I had worn it.
about a mile further on we spotted some plate layers at work; and, as we passed them, we shouted and gesticulated, indication Reg’s cap and my bare head. As we left them behind us, one of the gang lifted his own cap slowly and vertically high above his head to acknowledge “message understood.” The station foreman at Fareham told Reg that if the plate layers found my cap, he would give it to the driver on the Bournemouth tomorrow and I even had thoughts of visiting Fareham tomorrow to look for it myself. But I couldn’t help feeling that I’d lost it for good. Anyone finding it was sure to wonder why such a tremendous fuss was being made over so humble a piece of headgear.
Reg took over the firing for a while after this tragedy had occurred; and I felt quite lost without a cap until Bob produced his bag an old black beret that helps for emergencies of this kind. With that on my head I resumed the firing and continued almost as far as Worthing. A ‘wash-up’ during the closing miles enabled me to step down from the cab of 34046 on arrival at Brighton station. Going on shed with my friends in broad daylight wold hardly do: somebody might ask questions. And so, having arranged to join Bob and Reg on the ‘paper train' job next Monday night, I took my leave and got the 5.44pm train to Tonbridge.
Only when I arrived home did I feel at all consoled. It was then that I tried on my stand-by cap - a twin of the lost one - retained for just such an emergency. Looking at myself in the mirror, I was obliged to laugh because here was a brand new cap, unsoiled by coal dust and oil. I looked quite a toff in it! [I never did see the old one again].
On yet another hot, sunny day I went down to Ashford, paying my first visit to the loco works since 1952. After a lapse of three years it was a joy to meet and chat with some of my old workmates from 1948. Eventually I made my way to the marking-off table, which has become a focal point in my visits to Ashford; and there I was greeted by Denys Pack [the chargehand] and the same old friends with whom I worked as an apprentice in the closing months of 1948.
We had plenty to talk about and, while we were chatting, Denys suddenly went to his cupboard, opened it and produced for my inspection a large oval brass plate. It was one of the original Sharp Stewart works plates - No. 3730 - which he had removed from one footstep of the Kirtley 'Bobtail', No. 31666, when itlast visited Ashford Works. Denys is not the kind of man who would plunder a living engine; but when 31666 came into the shops it seemed a safe bet that the little loco had arrived for scrap. So Denys helped himself to the trophy. By the time he discovered that 31666 had a further lease of life, there was no inconspicuous way of restoring the plate to its rightful place on the front footstep. I reassured him that, despite the missing works plate, 31666 is now doing some splendid work 'on loan' to Tunbridge Wells West [see July 2, 6 and 9].
Having left the marking-off table I took a stroll through the erecting shop and works yard. Among the engines on view which will never leave Ashford again, I said goodbye to H-tank No. 31309, 'D' 4-4-0 No. 31591, 'E4' 0-6--2T No. 32501 and 'E5x' No. 32576. [In fact at least 32501 and 32576 subsequently did leave Ashford, but only to travel to Brighton for cutting up].
Today was devoted to lineside photography and it began - after a 15-mile 'push bike' journey - above the southern portal of Littlebrowns tunnel. [This is on the line between Tunbridge Wells and Oxted, a mile and a quarter to the north of Edenbridge Town]. Two days ago I told Bob Roser and Reg Craft that I would be here this morning to photograph them on the 8.20am Brighton to Victoria (via Eridge). This train was due to pass Littlebrowns at about 9.39am and it duly appeared in my viewfinder, hauled by Brighten-built Fairburn 2-O-4T No. 42104; but my friends had forgotten to lean out for the photograph. I had already released the shutter before Reg Craft spotted me at the very last moment, and he only had time for a hasty wave as 42104 plunged into the tunnel, [It transpired that my photo was dull, very grainy and lacking contrast. Nevertheless, I had cycled a long way to get it; and I treasure it now as a memento of that special moment, 54 years ago].
I loitered near the tunnel mouth for another half-hour, waiting to photograph the 10.4am Oxted- Tunbridge Wells West. This was a two- coach pull-and-push train, running 'car first' and the engine, propelling from behind, was No. 32390 - a pleasant surprise. '390 is now 61 years old and the only survivor of 36 Billinton 'D3' class 'bogie tanks' which were built at Brighton from 1892 to 1896. This engine has now remained in service nearly two years longer than any of my classmates, much to the amazement of many people (including myself) [The D3s had been familiar to me since my schooldays. Several of them came into Ashford Works for scraping while I served the first year of my apprenticeship there in 1948; but about 16, including 32390, lasted into the fifties. I was sorry to them go; they were useful little engines with nice, roomy cabs and could accommodate four people at a pinch. In complete contrast to the South Eastern H class 0-4-4 tanks had very restricted cabs in which three was an awkward crowd. To my everlasting regret I never fired, nor even rode on a Billinton ‘D3’; and any remaining chance for me to do so was extinguished four months later when 32390 came into Brighton Works for scrap].
The 10.4am Pull-&-Push from Oxted is covered by Tunbridge Wells West Duty No. 669 but 32390 belongs to Brighton shed. Clearly it has been drafted in, along with 31666, as a substitute for the ailing 'M7s'. The current service requires a daily muster of four 'M7s' from Tunbridge Wells shed but I didn't see any of them at work today. Obviously the Western Section would never relinquish any of its best M7s to a ‘Foreign’ shed but they do appear to have off-loaded their most run-down specimens. [the state of these poor old crocks did much to destroy the reputation of Class M7 at Tunbridge Wells West, where they came to be loathed and detested. A certain driver in the top link soon found himself in charge of one and - to use an expression in vogue at the time - he 'lost a week' with it. He came back to the enginemens' lobby with a Lost Time TIcket; and there, at the table, he took a blunt pencil to the space demanding a reason for lost time. In large, bold characters he scrawled the simple explanation 'MT - and nothing more. In his opinion that said it all. Then, holding it up to those around him, he declared "They tell you to be brief, so I have been!"]
On this very warm evening I cycled out to the Crowhurst Loop [see July 10 1955], pausing at Littlebrowns for a photo of the 7.43pm Tonbridge to Redhill train. It was hauled by a 'Q1' 0-6-0, No. 33036. Moving on, I came to the overline bridge at Lingfield Intermediate Box (Lingfield Brickworks), where I intended to photograph the 7.47pm Tunbridge Wells West to Victoria via East Grinstead, which was due in about 10 minutes' time. However, I hadn't even dismounted when I heard the rumble of thunder away to the east. I was 18 miles from home, without a cycling cape. There were ominous storm clouds blocking my retreat and the wind was bringing them closer. Without putting my feet to the ground, I turned tail for home. We [my cycle and I] ate up the miles but the thunder grew louder and, approaching Leigh, We encountered the rain. It turned into a deluge and the lightning became quite personal. If a bolt of lightning struck my steel handlebars, would the rubber tyres and hand grips insulate me? Not wishing to put this matter to the test I pulled into a pub and, in due course, caught the 10.20pm (the mail train) from Lyghe Halt to Tonbridge. [The name of this station was spelt ( thus to distinguish it from other places called Leigh, although I could never see the point of it].
I had no privilege ticket order, of course, so the 2.5-mile journey cost 6d for me and 1/3d for the bike. Figuratively speaking my train travelled through the darkness of night; but in fact the lightning was almost continuous and it illuminated the landscape in flashes of blight 'daylight.' In a series of closely spaced flashes I saw a camping tent pitched by the riverside beneath a couple of trees; and, apart from the thunder and lightning, it was being lashed by torrential rain. I didn't envy the occupants!
Having arrived at Tonbridge (behind 'King Arthur No. 30803 Sir Harry le Fise Lake) I joined crowds of people in the booking hall, waiting for the deluge to stop. Eventually it did and I cycled home, still with lightning forking down fast and furious. Quite an evening outltlt had been a warm day, a warm week, a warm fortnight. Demob weather!
In accordance with the top-link roster at Brighton, Bob Roser and Reg Craft did their
Rest Day Relief turn last week (and I spent two magical days with them). They finished up on Friday with the earliest of early turns, which saw them booking off at around midday. Since then they've had a long weekend break, which doesn't end until tonight, when they book on for the latest of late turns (i.e. the newspaper train job). Once in every twelve weeks, this arrangement provides the equivalent of three days off-duty (about 80 hours) instead of the
l1-day fortnights that fall in between.
This evening, like a thief in the night, I'll be joining them for another adventure on the footplate, this time in the 'silent hours' under cover of darkness! (All cats are grey in the dark and all nosey officials are in bed!)
Leaving Tonbridge on the 6.52pm train, with a change at Tunbridge Wells West, I travelled the 38 miles down to Brighton. Bob Roser and Reg Craft were already in the running shed when I arrived there at about nine o'clock; and we soon joined our engine for the night, 'West Country' Pacific No. 34046 Braunton (a Brighton engine, still carrying a boiler pressure of 280lb). In Brighton top yard we hooked on to our train, the 9.34pm freight to Norwood yard; and the guard informed us that our load was 61, equal to 64, as far as Three Bridges.
The tender contained hard coal. [Itook a piece of it home with me next morning but - alas' - it has long since gone missing. What a treasured memento it would be today if only I could hold it in my hands! A very poignant keepsake from that night so long agol] With this coal I made up the fire while we waited for departure time. I'wanted to spread the fire evenly over the grate before building up on it; but Reg considered this to be unnecessary, so I merely added coal to the existing fire. This provided us with plenty of steam to begin with but, very soon, the pressure gauge needle moved back to its vertical position (l60lb). Evidently something was amiss with the fire [maybe Reg should have agreed with my instinct to spread it over the grate before we started? However ... ]
Reg probed the fire with the pricker and soon found a hole at the extreme left-hand edge although, strange to relate, it wasn't audible. [Air flowing up through a hole in the fire usually produces an unpleasant low-frequency roar, which can be quite hard on the ears]. He
showed me how he handled the pricker in such a situation, by placing its 'business end' horizontally on the front of the grate, its weight resting on the firebed. Then, by pulling back with a light, gentle grip, one can easily locate a hole in the fire: the pricker drops down into it! Once the hole has been located, the pricker is used to spread some of the adjacent fire over it, thus eliminating the source of the trouble. [This, of course, is what I had wanted to do before building up the fire in the first place!]
Reg then explained his own concept of a hole in the fire under our present conditions of
running (with the engine producing no more than a light draught for fairly long periods). The air' from the ashpan, instead of being drawn up through the firebed, will take the course of least resistance, converging on the hole and rushing up through it as if through a nozzle. No amount of coal from the shovel will put matters right. Even if placed precisely in the hole it will be immediately tossed aside by the concentrated draught coming up through the hole.
This was, I believe, my first experience with a "West Country' burning hard coal on a thin fire at a fairly moderate steaming rate. Indeed it was a new experience for me to run with a thin fire on one of these engines. I was also surprised to discover that, in the early stages of a job like the '9.;3(iNorwood', hard coal- even on a 'West Country' - may take time to 'get alight.'
We were held at a signal on the approach to Three Bridges and Reg Craft carried out Rule 55. [Rule 55 took up 9.5 pages in the 1950 Rule Book. Tonight, so far as we were concerned, it required Reg to remind the signalman - by 'phone or by personal contact - that we had been detained for more than two minutes].
In the customary fashion, we spent some time in the yard at Three Bridges, detaching some of our load and taking on more in its place. Then we set off for Norwood, climbing over the Quarry line with 45, equal to 45. When midnight arrived, we had already reached Norwood yard.
Having unhooked from our train, we went up to Norwood running shed, where Reg Craft failed to find any clinker on the grate. There was no need to clean the fire, so he banked it up while I took water and Bob Roser went round with the oil can. We then got some coal and turned our engine for the journey home. Finally, we had time to relax before running light engine, tender-first, to London Bridge.
The 3.23am newspaper train from London Bridge to Brighton weighed somewhere around 300 tons. Our departure was about 14 minutes late because the newspaper loaders were 'going slow' [i.e. working to rule over some 'industrial' dispute or other]. Reg prepared the fire while we were waiting to leave and then, once on the move, I fired all the way to Brighton. Once again we were burning hard coal and, for the first few miles, (including the climb of l-in-l00 up Forest Hill bank with a 'cold' engine) I fired to Reg's instructions. This involved placing three or four shovelfuls at a time in positions indicated by him. [Reg Craft was a deeply thoughtful and highly intelligent fireman who was always trying out new methods; but I can't remember why he chose to call the tune on this occasion. Maybe he thought he had something to teach me, and he was certainly right in that! During our many trips together, Reg taught me a lot and I was very sorry when he left the railway to take up a 'better' job]. Just a few miles from the start he left me to do it my way, which wasn't very different from his. My own technique was 'little and often' throughout the trip.
This is an appropriate time to remark that, in common with every fireman I know, I have ceased to use the foot pedal when operating the fire doors on Bulleid 'Pacifies', I did use the pedal during my three months of footplate work as an apprentice in 1952; but, like so many others, I have given it up because the Ajax steam- operated firedoor has not been fully developed. [Another example, perhaps, of designers lacking practical footplate experience!] The trouble is that, especially with hard coal, it is usually desirable to run with partially open firedoors, in order to admit secondary ab' (and clear some of the smoke for which Bulleid 'Pacifies' are notorious). However, steam operation is impracticable from a partially open position.
One has to close the doors by hand before starting to use the pedal. Also, after a round of firing with the pedal, the doors return to their fully closed position and one has to restore them manually to a partially open mode. This may seem a trivial inconvenience but it is a repetitive irritation that discourages use of the Ajax foot-pedal. (The intention is to remove steam operation from the Ajax firedoors when the Bulleid 'Pacifies' undergo rebuilding).
For me, as fireman, this run was highly successful and we brought our train into Brighton at 4.58am, 11 minutes late. We had thus recovered three minutes from London Bridge in spite of a long permanent way slowing - at Croydon. From Three Bridges to Brighton we
had aft-intensely white-hot fire and 34046 was really superheating! I ran the pricker through at starting to use the pedal. Also, after a round of firing with the pedal, the doors return to their fully closed position and one has to restore them manually to a partially open mode. This may seem a trivial inconvenience but it is a repetitive irritation that discourages use of the Ajax foot-pedal. (The intention is to remove steam operation from the Ajax firedoors when the Bulleid 'Pacifies' undergo rebuilding).
Haywards Heath, after which two or three sprinkles were enough to complete this marvellous run. Our arrival at Brighton was well nigh perfect with about 160lb of steam and half a glass of water. [Just right for a long sojourn in the platform before release to the running shed]. Actually, Reg had to put a bit of coal 'under the door' following our arrival, to maintain a reasonable amount of fire on the grate.
Our relief arrived and, taking our leave of 34046, we walked back to the running shed where I saw some old footplate friends from my pre-RAF days. For them it was the start ofanother day: for us it was going-home time. Reg took his leave with the remark that he would see me again this evening, although I hadn't expected another night with him and Bob. However, after obtaining Bob's assurance that I would be welcome, I instantly to come.
I returned home on the 5.58 am to Redhill and the 7.27 am from there to Tonbridge. And then, at the end of my 14-hour sortie, I lost little time in going to bed!
I remained in bed until late afternoon and, in due course, took the 6.52pm train from Tonbridge to Tunbridge Wells West. At the West I saw Arnold Brooker on 32390, the solitary surviving 'D3' class 0-4-4T. I now understand that 'three-ninety' has been reprieved for the duration of this summer service (thanks, in part, to the shortcomings of the 'M7s'). I must try to arr