Open Writing

I am not a railway buff, nor was I ever a train-spotter. Not for me notebooks filled with locomotives’ numbers and other informative statistics, nor the imprint of rail timetables on my memory. I have no knowledge of the quickest, the slowest, the most scenic routes around this nation, but I do have a great fondness for the railway system. I feel with Christopher Isherwood when he said, “I could never see a train leave a platform without wishing myself aboard.” Such a sensation remains ever with me.

My fascination with railways and their rolling stock lies not so much with today’s swift, powerful, economic and environmentally friendly diesel-powered monsters, but rather with the noisy, smelly, dirty, uneconomic, environmentally unfriendly steam- powered beauties of a bygone age.

Ask any such-minded enthusiast what it is that draws him -- or her-- to the world of steam power, and you will in all probability be treated to a declamation which will include such words and phrases as ‘naked power’, ‘mechanical beauty and precision’, ‘romanticism’, ‘raw strength’, brute force’, ‘controlled might’. So the list would go on.

For myself it was, and still is, all of those things and more, because it was not only the locomotives themselves which charmed and delighted me but the entire genre of the steam railway structure.

Today’s rail traffic makes little assault on the ear, apart from a diminutive toot issued by the loco. The train runs noticeably quieter than its steam predecessor. There are no visible signs or sounds of the strain under which the loco labours when moving from rest, hauling along its train of coaches, be they passenger-laden or goods trucks. Whereas the ‘iron horse’ would snort and hiss, belch voluminous clouds of smoke in varying shades of grey through to black, the entire mass bespangled with golden sparks, escapees from the roaring fire contained in its belly. Magnificent in its vulgarity!

Then there was the paraphernalia which went to make up the whole railway network, much of which is still presently employed, whilst other components have either been modernised or discarded.

The signalling system today consists of lights for the control of rail traffic, as do those on roadways, a method which has replaced the semaphore arms of yesteryear when they appeared singly, in pairs, trios or formed an entire gantry that spanned a network of rail lines. Are there travellers today who do as we did whilst awaiting the arrival of our train -- watch in anticipation for the signal to change to ‘go’, which in our case meant the dropping of the signal arm? But meantime there were other attractions in a busy station which engaged our attention so that what was meant to be a brief glance at an adjacent platform proved to be too long, for when our gaze returned to the signal, the arm had already fallen.

Any disappointment felt at missing the action was quickly dispersed, however, by the sight of the approaching engine. The question then would be, was it a ‘namer’? Was it the Duchess of Wherever or Sir What’s ‘is Name? Then again it could be the City of Somewhere, sporting its gleaming company livery, huge driving wheels turned by their connecting rods moving in majestic fashion, giving the whole scene a regal air as it swept in stately silence along the platform, coming to rest with a dignified sigh of escaping steam.

Alternatively, we might see the matt black frontage of a workaday workhorse which, despite its drab outward appearance, still moved with silent ease along the platform edge until that also stationed itself obediently. But this time there issued a satisfied evacuation of vaporous clouds which billowed all around. Paradox in motion.

Whatever the model of loco, I nevertheless stood in gaping awe as the monster passed by and like countless other imaginative boys -- and some girls -- longed to ride on the footplate in complete control of so much beauty and raw power. That, however, was never to be. Instead I always rode in the coaches which were being hauled along and formed the train proper.

The coaches of my earliest memory in rail travel bore a large unmistakable figure three on the outside of the door. I never travelled in the socially elevated carriages where the doors sported a prominent figure one. Come to think of it, I have never done so! In my earliest journey times carriage design did not include a corridor, they being of a single compartment pattern. No corridor meant no toilet. Such coaches served not only local rail services which were short in duration and thus caused no inconvenience, but excursion journeys were also served by such designed transport. In which case, prior to the outset, it was always most prudent for one to ‘go’ before one went, so to speak. Travelling time was anything up to four hours, irrespective of whether the east or west coast was being visited, and that is a long time to need to ‘go’ when one is obliged to stay.

The curiosity of young boys knows no bounds, and in that I was no exception. This meant that railway carriage handles had to be persistently turned prior to departure. Once on the move and switches had to be flicked off and on. Seats were to be poked under and jumped on if possible, windows to be opened and looked through. Anything and everything had to be tried and tested until a thorough knowledge of opening, shutting, switching, bouncing, swinging and poking had been gained. If something would unscrew, then unscrew it. If not, try leverage. A penknife was invariably to hand. The accumulation of all such action provided myself, along with many other young ‘discoverers’, with a full working knowledge of the interior of a railway carriage and compartment. In due course, more modern rolling stock was introduced and corridor coaches began to appear. Then our knowledge was advanced accordingly. Toilet facilities called for inspection and operation, even on occasion whilst standing in the station!

So, without resorting to vandalism, since nothing was broken or damaged, I learned of the internal layout and operational potential of a third class railway carriage. This may not seem much to some, but for me it was an engrossing study. I learned that steam pipes ran across the compartment under one long seat only, and on some bulkheads there was a quadrant styled heating control which, incidentally, never seemed to have any connection with the temperature.

Seat fabric was of a high twist, coarse textured, uncut moquette, which I quite early learned should not be beaten, since if it was then clouds of ancient dust arose and spread throughout the chamber. Light bulbs could be and were removed from brackets on a bulkhead. There was no point in stealing them, since they were too small and of an unsuitable voltage for home use. The emergency chain was always kept well away from. Neither we nor our parents and guardians had £5 with which to pay the fine for its misuse.

It was, however, considered very adult to lower the window situated in the door. This was achieved by means of an attached leather strap. With the window open we could stick our heads out and invariably receive a flake of soot or fragment of cinder in our eye. That curtailed activities for a while. I was regularly warned by my father whilst travelling with him that I mustn’t lean too far out of the window or I might suffer decapitation by a signal post that we chanced to pass. A caution which, when coupled with a vivid imagination on my part, was sufficient to induce wary behaviour. Nor must I lean too heavily on the carriage door in case it was insecurely fastened and could swing open, whereupon I would then be deposited onto the track. Prudent warnings in both instances and ones to which I still adhere when journeying by rail.

Of course the escapades already described could only be indulged when adults were absent. Should they be present, then decorum was called for. Then it was that the sound of train wheels might be listened to as they sped over the rails, the familiar clickety-clack on straight runs, or the jumbled rattlings as points were negotiated upon arrival or departure at termini, many of which sounds are non-existent today because the re-designing of rails has dispensed with clackety-creating gaps.

When single carriage compartments yielded to the centrally-aisled corridor design, there was also the loss of picture adverts. These had served as decorations for bulkheads and focal points of study when passing scenery outside was no longer of interest or obliterated by inclement weather. Such pictures depicted scenes of trains passing over majestic viaducts, the locos spouting white plumes of smoke in whale-like fashion, or visions of golden sands disappearing into the distance, whilst in the foreground children crouched in concentrated study over some rock pool, whereas others happily dug industriously in the sand. Whatever the prospect, be it coast or country, the sun shone brightly. Nature was benign and in full array. All was placid and joyful, pictures which might well have been taken from a child’s mind’s eye. Happy days.