Open Writing

Many years ago, when railway trains were hauled by steam-powered locomotives, in fact in 1959 when your dad was but a little boy, I had to travel from Leeds to London by rail, a journey which took some three hours.

About half way through the journey, having taken breakfast in the restaurant car, I returned to my comfortable seat in the warmth of the centrally heated compartment and feeling pleasantly relaxed I was soon lulled into drowsiness by the rhythm of the rails.

In those days, long before the introduction of welded track, lines were constructed from individual lengths of rail fastened end to end by means of expansion joints which left a small gap between adjacent lengths. As the wheels of the carriage passed over these gaps, they produced a distinctive sound “boddom boddom” followed by another “boddom boddom” at the next gap and so on throughout the whole journey.

A unique sound, its rhythm was in turn reassuring as the train rolled out of the station, comforting as you took breakfast, hypnotic as you returned to your seat and exciting when the train reached top speed.

After a short doze, I was restored to wakefulness by a sense of increased rhythm “brum-brum-brum-brum”. The carriage had developed a pleasant rolling motion and looking out of the window it seemed that the countryside was whizzing past at a terrific speed, so fast that my eyes did not have time to focus on the trees and telegraph poles at the track side. They were just a blur!

As I wondered at our speed, I remembered that it was possible to calculate the rate of travel by timing the rhythm of the rails. That is by counting the number of “brum-brums” per minute, and knowing the standard length of rail, it was possible to determine the speed in feet per minute and hence in miles per hour. I can still hear the voice of my physics teacher repeating the equation, “Eighty-eight feet per minute is equal to sixty miles per hour.”

I will leave it to you to translate this into metric units.

With the help of my clockwork analogue wristwatch with its centre sweep second hand I counted the number of “brum-brums” and did the calculation.

One hundred and five miles per hour!

Could this be true? I had never travelled at this speed before.

Perhaps my calculation was wrong. I checked and checked again but arrived each time at the same answer.

All doubt disappeared on arrival at Saint Pancras Station.

As I walked along the platform towards the barrier where London really started, I passed the full length of the train before reaching the locomotive which had stopped only a few feet from those buffers set so close to the ticket collector’s cabin.

What a sight was there to behold.

A long streamlined, blue locomotive, still radiating heat from its effort in hauling us from Leeds to London at such speed and in such comfort. A hiss of steam, a wisp of smoke and the smell of hot oil on polished steel all blended into that unique aroma so special to steam engines.

But there was more!

Beneath the stubby black funnel a brass plate spelled out the name “MALLARD”. Another plate fixed to the side of the streamlined casing advised that this very engine had set up the world speed record for steam powered locomotives when it had reached a speed of one hundred and twenty-six miles per hour, and that way back in 1938, twenty years earlier.

So my calculations were not in error after all. The train had travelled at a speed in excess of one hundred m.p.h. and had taken me through the ‘one ton barrier’.

Here was something very special. Even the glint in the driver’s eye suggested that he knew that I knew. There was an aura enveloping this superlative example of engineering, which had been made in Yorkshire, and I wallowed in it for some time before leaving the platform.

London could wait.

So why do I tell you this?

Well, when you do visit York you must take your son to the National Railway Museum, next door to the railway station. As you step into its great exhibition hall, you will see in front of you and dominating the scene a long, blue, streamlined locomotive. Beneath her black funnel a brass plate spells her name “MALLARD”, whilst another plate explains the world speed record for steam locomotion, which she still holds.

Reflect upon what you have just read. Imagine her streaking down the track with a trail of condensed steam stretching in a narrow band of white down the length of her train. Listen for her triumphant whistle. Savour her splendour. Go to her, touch her and pass on my respects and thanks.