Tall Tales

[The Johnster]

1972. IIRC, and I've been guard in the back cab of a 47 with the empty Middlewich-Baglan Bay sodium chloride powder hoppers (MGR with canvas tops) from Canton to Briton Ferry.  Baglan Bay is a large BP Chemicals plant near Briton Ferry, just east of the M4 (not built then) and old A48 road bridges over the Neath estuary.  Normally we'd lay up in the yard at Briton Ferry while the pilot took our hoppers into the plant and came back about an hour or so later with the full ones for us to work back to Canton for relief, but on this day BP were commissioning a new waste gas burnoff stack, which was a shiny silver one about 200 feet high, very impressive, and supposed to be more efficient, quieter, more environmentally friendly, cheaper to operate, in fact better to the nth degree in every way than the old, filthy, shorter one alongside it that it was replacing, and, at the travelling shunter's suggestion, we all climbed aboard the pilot to watch the proceedings.  'It might be a laugh' he said, presciently.  We hooked off on one of their reception roads and drove right into the works, stabling alongside one their Janus shunting engines whose driver had called us in.

 

There was a fair sized crowd of BP plant staff, a platform with bunting for the Great and Good, and the Lord Mayor of Neath Port Talbot council in his robes and finery to press the ceremonial button.  Sandwiches, canapes, vol au vents, sausage rolls, and cheese and pineapple chunks on sticks abounded, as did bottled light ale, and we all got stuck in enthusiastically.  There were speeches and the moment came for His Worship to press the ceremonial button, which was presumably supposed to light the Holy Flame of Progress to shine brightly as it beckoned the Future to this corner of industrially derelict South Wales.  Large sums of money had been spent, proving BP's continued commitment to the bla bla bla bla..., oh, he's finished, right, get on with it, then.

 

A hush descended upon the gathering, but we brushed it off.  

 

A silence descended upon the gathering.

 

His Worship stepped up to the Holy Button of Progress. 

 

His Worship said some words, there was a pregnant pause (we al denied paternity) for dramatic effect which he spoiled by looking around to see if it had worked, and he pressed the Holy Button of Progress!

 

All eyes were now on the top of the shining new stack, gleaming in the afternoon sunlight, expecting to see the Flame of Hope shining out in all it's glory.

 

 

Nothing Happened.

 

His Worship, looking a little flustered now, pressed the Holy Button of Progress again, getting in just before The Great Chemical Engineer could have a go.

 

Something happened!  A hissing sound and some green steam issued from a joint about halfway up the stack.

 

Then there was a very impressive and loud bang, and the top of the stack did a very good impression of a rocket failing to launch in a sheet of brilliant flame; luckily we were all a couple of hundred yards away and it mostly went straight up and came straight back down.  The dignitaries, who were closest, ran for cover and then there was a very, very, loud silence, broken by comedy clanging noises as bits of charred aluminium obeyed Newton's First Law and hit the ground, followed by the comedy collapse of the bottom part of the thing, which made a noise like a crowd of dustbins engaged in civil disobedience...

 

You could see the BP staff trying not to laugh with their bosses watching them, and, since we'd taken our share of their corporate hospitality, we tried our best not to as well.  There was a sort of general whistling, looking the other way, and shuffling off to find something else to do, and if it's possible for an 08 to slink in embarrassment, ours did as we attached our loaded and crept away before anyone thought of blaming us...

 

The explosion of mirth when we were safely back on BR metals rivalled the events earlier!  I still think of the incident with a smile whenever I go past on the train or motorway.

Edited July 13, 2017 by The Johnster

[The Stationmaster]

Baglan Bay is very much past tense (alas from the railway's viewpoint although some of the traffic was distinctly 'not nice' stuff).  BP closed their plant there back in 2014 and the site is now some sort of 'innovation and technology park'

[The Johnster]

Baglan Bay is very much past tense (alas from the railway's viewpoint although some of the traffic was distinctly 'not nice' stuff).  BP closed their plant there back in 2014 and the site is now some sort of 'innovation and technology park'

 

Indeed.  We used to have trains of acetic acid, the aforementioned powder which was really horrible stuff that blew everywhere from under it's tarps, and the wagons were eventually fitted with proper tops, and liquid oxygen, all stuff that'll kill you just by looking at you.  The burnoff stack was rebuilt and brought into use a few months later, without ceremony...

[manna]

G'Day Gents.

 

Do you remember the big fan fair when the new 2d air conditioned (anyone know the date)arrived at Kings Cross, well in the very first week it was running 1S16 (ex 0800KX) I was working a Welwyn-Moorgate service, all stations to Potters Bar, fast to Finsbury Park then all stations to Moorgate, all was going well until we were coming out Oakleigh Pk tunnel, as we came out 1S16 was going in Deltic hauled, we were doing at least 75MPH, 1S16 probably 80MPH, or more, that's a lot of air pressure, anyway it sucked a door open and hit 1S16, this ripped the door right off,which then proceeded to bounce between the two trains until they had passed one another, just after passing Cemetery Box, the cord was pulled,we did'n't know why, as luck would have it we stopped half way up New Southgate's platform, 20 yards from the box, after stopping we went to find out what was going on,as we were walking back down the train a couple of doors flew open a people jumped out onto the platform, they quickly told the driver what had happened, he dashed off to the signal box to inform the signalman, he then shut everything down (now 0820 middle of rush hour ), had to send a S&T man out to find the Door??(could be on the track) while this was going on, the guard was protecting the train (Dets etc ) and I was trying to get the people out of the compartment, with the door missing, 2 Ladies wanted to continue there journey to Moorgate in that compartment??????  The next compartment had a broken window ,and one man had a fair bit of blood on him,in the end we locked a couple of compartments out of use and carried on to Moorgate? not much else we could do. 1S16 had also been stopped for inspection, they found dents,scratches and half the door handles missing, on there brand new train  
Exciting morning eh ??
manna

[The Johnster]

We had them for the summer timetable on the WR in 1973 IIRC, so a short time before that on the ECML.  Guards had to do a day training course on working the air contitioning on them, and at that stage they had fixed lights in the doors and inside door handles for the passengers to be able to get out.  This looked like an accident waiting to happen to me, as there was no electronic locking in those days, and I was sadly very rapidly proven right, as, I believe within a week of their introduction on the ECML, an inebriated Scot staggered into one of these inside handles and was decanted onto the track from an up train at around 100mph, which hopefully killed him as he was run over by a down almost immediately.  The stock was taken out of service pronto, and the doors replaced with ones with droplights, so the passengers could open them with the outside handle, which sort of negated the point of the air conditioning a little.  This feature was carried over into the HST, on which you cold stick your head out of the window at 125mph, if you were stupid enough to try...

[manna]

G'Day Gents

 

Many is the Saturday night that I've been booked on, to find out that it was another engineering job, but this one was a bit different, we travelled out to Finsbury Park to relieve another crew, only tp find out it was a Battery Loco, we were working down the tunnels between Drayton Park and Moorgate, BR were in the process of taking over the line, so there was a fair bit to do, we had to go to the Old Street area, the strange thing about those loco's is that there silent! just a bit of a rumble in the tunnels to tell you there moving, and a strong smell of battery acid!well we rumbled backwards and forwards for a few hours, and being a smoker in those days and my driver a non smoker, he asked me to go in the back cab, fair enough, I though, so I trotted off to the back cab and had my smoke, then rejoined him in the front cab, a little while later we had to shunt back about 100 feet, so back we went, we were just sitting there reading a book or newspaper, when my driver said to me 'Do you smell something' taking a bit of a sniff, I agreed with him, and it was getting stronger, with that my driver stuck his head out of the cab window 'Whoa! it's hot out here and smoky' he then put his hand out of the window, the tunnel wall was red hot?? he asked for a paddle, which I passed to him and he scraped the wall, it was glowing red hot, the dust was alight, 'Panic stations' the driver was beating the wall with the paddle, while I went in to battery room of the loco and bought out large bottles of distilled water, which we poured all over the tunnel wall to put the fire out, when it was almost out we got out of the loco and made sure it was out, it was me when I threw my smoke out of the window?? it fell onto a tunnel segment, which had about 2 inches of dust on it and had slowly smoldered for at least 20 mins before we had to shunt back, at least we managed to put it out.
manna

[Fat Controller]

Baglan Bay is very much past tense (alas from the railway's viewpoint although some of the traffic was distinctly 'not nice' stuff).  BP closed their plant there back in 2014 and the site is now some sort of 'innovation and technology park'

The site has been used in recent years to load timber for Chirk, the operator being Colas. I remember the explosion during the inauguration of the new 'cracker'; BP had gone to great lengths to place announcements in the local media, advising residents not to be alarmed by a loud bang. It would seem it was rather louder than planned.

[manna]

G'Day Gents

 

G'Day Gents

When I use to go to Wood Green station to do a bit of spotting I/we use to try and find a different vantage point, so here's a new one, gone today though.After arrival at Wood Green station we carried on over the road bridge and turned right, which today is called Palace Gates Rd, I thought it had a different name then?? ah well, after turning into said road we use to turn right again down a carriageway next to a greengrocers, when you got to the end you had a good view of Bounds Green Carriage sidings, it was a whole new vista, there was a low (4ft ) sleeper fence and a (5ft) brick wall to sit on,but after a while you would get a bit cold as you were always in shadow, so we started to jump down onto the side of the cutting, then it was a case of a little bit more, we started to sit on the cutting wall, on the BG side of the bridge, which again afforded a wonderful view of everything, now where we were sitting was right next to the old goods line, so every so often a WD would very close by and then clank off down the track, so being what we were we started to walk along the cutting side towards Wood Green tunnel, this goods track went round the back of the Hertford flyover, in a cutting, this was known as 'The Kyber Pass' To the local enginemen (see sketch below) we, in the end started to sit on the retaining wall just past the Hertford flyover, and opposite the Roundtrees warehouse, that bit of track was permissive block, so there was often more than one train on that bit of line, quite often we would sit there chatting to the footplate crews, on there WD's,they were there some times for half hour or more,we would be watching there every move, the fireman putting a round of coal in the box, the driver with lump of cotton waste in his hand, wiping it on the brake handle, without knowing he did it, and all the time that wonderful smell of coal smoke and steam drifting around your bare legs, the little things like the hiss of the steam, the scrape of a shovel as the fireman puts another on in the firebox, sometimes the guard of the train in front was only a few feet away from the WD, so he would join in as well, then you would hear the loco on the first train give a pop on the whistle, then a clonk, clonk, clonk all the way down the wagons as he pulled away and into Wood Green tunnel, at the same time our? train would start to move up,thedrivers would often say ' bye son' more clonking,we were still sitting there waiting for the next one, sometimes we had to move position, to be next to the loco maybe a K3 or a Gresley 2-8-0 even a Green Arrow. Now there's a lost sound, starting and stopping a loose coupled goods train?? some drivers were so gentle in getting there trains away, but others?? the guard would be flying around his van?
There was a added advantage to sit where we sat, behind us were allotments! when you felt hungry there was always, blackberries, blackcurrants, gooseberries etc etc YUM??
One day as a dare (Stupid I know) I sat in the sand bin (as marked on the map) as a down express went by, the noise to me was incredible, the view fantastic, it was either 60010 or 60012, but I never did it again? 

ATTACHMENTS

EDGWARE GN, Steam in the Suburbs.

 

 

 

 

 

Edited July 17, 2017 by manna

[Northroader]

It was Joes "on call" week really, but he had some family business, and asked if I'd cover for him one evening, so drive home for tea in the oncall car, a grey mini. Winter night, so dark already, and later on I noticed it had started to snow. Snow in South Wales is usually no big deal, on the coast facing the Bristol Channel it's usually rain and no more, you have to get higher up the Heads of the Valleys before it's a nuisance. Turning in to bed at ten and the phone goes. The control office have this trick of waiting for a change of shift for the incoming deputy chief controller to arrange things, and he had the happy air of a shift worker knowing he was set to spoil a day workers night. It turned out that a lorry had managed to slide through a bridge up the Western Valleys line, down on to the track. It was my shout wether to call out the crane or the vans. ( western region practice kept one or the other, Scottish region would send out the whole deal, which was a bit cumbersome) obviously you weren't going to put a lorry back up on a bridge using hydraulic jacks, so crane it had to be. You should realise that calling out a breakdown train didnt involve guys sliding down greasy poles and tearing off with sirens blaring, particularly if a passenger train wasn't involved, which, thank god, is extremely rare. You have to take a gang off doing useful work on maintenance and repairs, blowing a hole in the foremans plans for releasing locos back to traffic, then there's train crew and a loco. My mind turned to a drive up through Pontllanfraith, snow orange in the long sweep of the sodium lights, no one around but a pair of coppers and a sheep knocking over dustbins, then something like a three hour wait for the crane to turn up. No harm in tearing off just yet.. and still snowing outside..

sometime the back of midnight the phone went again (if you're on call always have a extension on the bedhead) it was my mate the d.c.c. again, and not so chirpy this time, a man with problems. Forget the valleys, Cardiff was in trouble. It turns out the crane had got no further than sitting outside Cardiff west box, say 200 yards, all the points in the station had to have the civils clear them of snow and ice, (this was before point heaters) canton was bunged up, there was a 68 off in some sidings up the valleys, and a shunter off in Barry docks. Time to get in the car, and down to canton. The points in the loco yard needed clearing, and up the black shed there was 47 off one end and a dmu t'other. The gang had walked back down from the crane, lugged some jacks up the carriage sidings,and got to work. Both jobs were luckily only off a couple of wheels, so not too bad. Down the loco yard a steam lance was out, this is a long steel pipe with a handle and a valve, then on a flexible armoured hose coupled on to the steam heat bag on a boiler fitted loco. Then somebody goes round the yard like a bl**dy great dog on a lead, stopping to give a blast in each of the point blades. Come the dawn, and we were back in business, and the snow had stopped, and turning slushy. The 68 up the valleys was being dealt with by the NCB, they had quite a network around mountain ash, and a gang of heavies with their own hairy assed way off dealing with derailments, and I think Barry was also being covered. Up the divisional office and fill the boss in with the nights goings on. That left the job up the western valleys to get sorted. The crane was staffed with a fresh day gang, Joe was back, and as he lived in Newport, and heard of a job up there, he went like a shot. Me, I went home to get my head down. Over to Joe..

The place it happened was Cwm, on the line up to Ebbw Vale.It turns out the lorry was an artic, and negotiating the dogleg over the railway on a climb on snow and ice, slid back, the tail of the trailer hit the corner of the bridge parapet, went through and dropped down on to the track. With the crane, you make sure the loco is on the bottom end for the bank, then there's a good bed to put the outrigger legs on. Using a 70 tonner with a long jib, the actual lift is a doddle. Now the really interesting bit was the load, bacon imported from Ireland. This had slid back off the trailer, and was lying in a heap on the track. The lorry driver had let slip that the load would be a writeoff, which everyone present thought would be a shame, and things started to slide, the loco crew had a packet or three, the breakdown gang slipped some in the van, the perway folks lost a bit, the onlookers grabbed some, and word spread. Joe reckons a Red and White bus on a service stopped on the bridge and all the passengers got out, then there was a shift change at nearby Marine colliery, still functioning at that time, and the boyos finished the job off in style. Back down home, and that evening the smell of sizzling bacon filled a lot of corners in South East Wales.

Next morning, I was back refreshed in the office, callover done, and the phone goes, and Joe answers. His face was a picture as he listened. It turned out it was the British Transport Police, and the insurance folks weren't paying out until they'd seen the bacon. Well, I gather that some token package was made up by those involved, which saved houses being searched, but it must have been a very small fraction of the load, don't you think?

Edited July 17, 2017 by Northroader

[manna]

G'Day Gents
Pennies on the line, alright for you rich,--- 'us poor kids from Norf Lundun' all we could afford was a dead mouse, not much left after a 08 went over it?? Who did'n't do that,I did'n't mind pennies, but chair screws? hit one of those at St Neots, it went off like a bullet, landed at least 200ft away, even a small bird makes a big bang, now heres a bigger bang?
A quick way of getting from Kings Cross to Hornsey carriage sidings is to use the flyover at Hornsey, that's the way we were rostered to go, we went into the Hornsey Flyover siding to change ends, only we did'n't, we propelled out loco 31 212 over the flyover,with me driving, we observed all signals,but failed to notice 31 403 standing in Harringay reversing sidings resulting in a collision, now I know we should have changed ends, but? we'd both done it dozens of times, nothing new, this day it was 2145 in July, very hazy, just getting dark and with the crew of the other engine changing ends, there was no red tail light, big yellow end or not neither of us saw it sitting there, after the bang and the shock of hitting something that we did'n't know was there, we both looked at each other, we were both sitting on the back of the chair with our feet on the seat part??? 'what did we hit' ??we got off the engine and looked back, there was the other engines driver walking back to us, bag in hand, his loco 30ft away, we had stopped about where we wanted to, but his engine was already there, we'd knocked the other loco that far,then the other secondman stuck his out of the cab ' Aw s*** I was in the engine room I went flying' We then checked each other out, nothing broken,only a very pair of dented ego's, then we looked at the engines, they both looked like Concord sitting on the tarmac at Heathrow. It was then a case of getting on the phone to the signalman to let him know what was going on and to get the brakedown vans out, they arrived about an hour later, by then there was a nice crowd looking over the fence, even at that time of night, we were instructed to go to Kings Cross and report to the foreman, which we did, as it was almost the end of our shift we were told to go home, which we gratefully did, from what I heard later, the cabs on both loco's had to be jacked up and secured before they could be towed to Finsbury Pk depot, to be made ready for the trip to Doncaster. The depot manager gave me a right dressing down in his office, my driver got three days booked off duty  
manna

ATTACHMENTS

EDGWARE GN, Steam in the Suburbs.

Top

[The Johnster]

Snow.  As you say not too much of a problem in South Wales until you get above about 600 feet above sea level, but you can still be caught out.  This is the winter of 72 or 73, we still had Hymeks, and I'm working the Aberthaw Cement trip.  I like this job; bit of shunting, a ground frame in an old signalbox, wagons left on inclines with brakes pinned down, proper railway work, and on days at that!. First part of the working is to pick up traffic from Long Dyke and shunt out Rhoose Cement Works, and, that done, proceed to Aberthaw Station where you left the Rhoose traffic in the Down Loop (platform) road, ran around, picked the Aberthaw inbound from the rear of the train, and propelled to Aberthaw West Ground Frame to shunt out Aberthaw Cement Works.  it's getting on for about 3 in the afternoon, and the job's gone well enough so far, but it's a cold old day with a sharp northeasterly wind, and I don't like the look of the sky in that direction.  We've just arrived at Aberthaw (everyone called it Blue Anchor after the nearby pub), and are getting into the running around when it starts, thick heavy big flakes that freeze to the ground straight away, and it looks as if it's going to mean it. 

 

All right, I've got my big overcoat, BR 'at, and gloves, and a tidy pair of boots, I can cope.  We propel down to Aberthaw West, and i take my time shunting and leaving traffic on the running road with brakes pinned down; it's getting slippery underfoot and I won't do anyone any favours if I twist an ankle or something,  Aberthaw Cement works is always coated in white anyway, and doesn't look that different covered in snow.  The first move, after you've secured your train, is to cut the loco off and send it over the point on the up that accesses the works, then work the frame to lock it in so that up traffic can run by.  The loco has just room to clear inside the works' gates before it comes to a rusty notice saying that 'Railway Executive Engines Must Not Pass This Notice.  Normally the outgoing traffic is positioned here for us to couple on to, we'd take it out and leave it on the up, and couple on to the incoming on the down to drop them into the works, but not today.  I walk down the incline into the works yard to investigate, and there are 3 blokes poking in a generally bewildered fashion around AC's little Fowler DM 0-4-0, so I stroll over to see what the matter is.  The matter is they haven't been able to start it up because of the cold.  The best I can come up with is to try bump starting it; it's on a slope and should run downhill if the brake is taken off.  

 

This piece of genius hadn't occurred to the Aberthaw crew, so they agreed to give it a go, given that nothing they'd tried had worked  I reckoned there wasn't much of a chance, and that the wheels would just pick up and she'd slide on the snow covered rail, but blow me if she didn't fire up first time in a cloud of diesel fumes impressive for such a small loco.  By now, though, it's coming down full Dr Zhivago style, and visibility is getting bad; I can only just make out my Hymek about 50 yards away, and my driver is either getting impatient or has developed a sudden fondness for blowing the back horn.  I go back and explain what's up, and he says he's not going to risk it much longer in case the loco is trapped in there by the snow; I can see his point but have told him the story of my bravery and resourcefulness in getting the Fowler going and it won't be long now before a couple of nice, fat, juicy, loaded presflos appear for him to try and get up the bank.  But nothing's happening, so I go back to see how the Fowler and the lads are getting on.  

 

They're not getting on very well.  The Fowler's running well enough now, but the points are jammed with the snow and one of the levers is frozen solid, and they are 'itting it with a big 'ammer.  I'm getting a bit concerned myself about the way things are developing by now, and it is getting very dark; Aberthaw Cement yard is a tricky and slippery place underfoot at the best of times, and this isn't the best of times.  I find their foreman, in a warm centrally heated  office and who could blame him, and explain that we were going to have to call it a day.  I can't see what I'm doing and it;s starting to drift in the wind.  He seemed to think I didn't have the authority to do this, but I stick to my guns and told him I was informing him, not discussing the situation.  He wasn't happy but there wasn't much I could do about that!  Went back to my Hymek doing a passable impression of Scott of the Antarctic against the wind, where my driver was visibly relieved, then up into the ground frame box to ask for the road, which Blue Anchor gave me immediately.  The Hymek slipped a little coming out of the works, but, once coupled back onto the train, pulled away nicely up the bank before dropping the incoming presflos onto the reception for the Fowler to deal with when conditions improved.  Snow was up to rail level now, it was completely dark and there was that odd silence you get with snow, where sound is deadened and nothing echoes.  And it was still coming down as if it meant it!

 

Ok, back up to Blue Anchor light engine, and couple on to our Rhoose loaded.  I go into the office here to tell Control what I've done, and they seem to accept the situation.  What none of us have considered is that this is Friday.  Of we go, and the tracks are completely covered by now.  The Hymek slips a bit and gives us a few anxious moments, but we keep momentum and clear the top of the bank at Porthkerry; our troubles are over, though we are 2 hours late.  Once out of the tunnel, the snow isn't as bad and eases off on the run up to Long Dyke whee we leave the train and proceed light engine to Canton.  I have made a full report in my journal; I don't like leaving traffic but I thought it was the right decision in the circumstances and was prepared to stick to it.  I reckoned I'd done my best, and slept easy over the weekend.

 

Booked on for I can't remember what job on the Monday afternoon and the Train Crew Manager wants a word with me in his office; this is seldom good news and I haven't done anything that deserves a medal or a promotion to General Manager lately.  9 preflos of cement have been abandoned at Aberthaw Cement Works because I refused to take the traffic, and the cement has gone off in them.  The wagons are going to have to be scrapped, and the bill is going to be about £60k. Why did I refuse to take booked traffic from Aberthaw Cement Works on the previous Friday?  It didn't help that there had been no snow at all in Cardiff...

 

So I give him my side of events, and he tells me to go and wait in the messroom until he calls me.  Fortunately for me, the Fowler's crew back up my story, and the claim for £60k that Aberthaw Cement are trying it on with turns into a complaint from the railway that BR staff are being expected to work in dangerous conditions (the problem is poor drainage and cement slurry) on their premises.  I'm not off the hook until the following day when my driver confirms the chain of events and pipes up that he was on the point of making the same decision so as not to risk trapping the Hymek in a snowbound yard.  It may have helped that a 47 with Barry men on an up MGR from Blaenant had stuck in a snowdrift at Southendown Road at about the time we were leaving Blue Anchor, in full whiteout blizzard conditions, to be there overnight and not rescued unit lunchtime on the Saturday; it was grim down the vale that Friday evening!

 

I never heard any more about it.

Edited July 18, 2017 by The Johnster

[br2975]

It's the late 1980s, and together with my brother ('naturol' of this parish) I'm undertaking an 'overnighter' on Crewe station to photograph and record the rakes of mail, parcels, news and sleeper trains. 

.

A Class 47 rolls in on one of the centre roads with a rake of Mk.1 stock heading in the 'up' direction......many heads hanging out as the train came to a stand.

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It was a trainload of 'Gooners' heading back to London after a night match at 'The theatre of dreams'

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Extra ventilation had been fitted to the first Mk.1 in the guise of an enlarged, now unglazed window - obviously not an official, authorised BR modification. 

.

"Oi ! w*nkers" came the greeting from a Cockney window hanger, and the hordes contained within the 'Footex' took up the chant... "w*nkers, you're only trainspotting w*nkers,  trainspotting w*nkers, you're only trainspotting w*nkers !"

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"P*ss off and freeze, yer Cockney w*nkers.............come to Cardiff sometime, then we'll see how hard you are !" was the educated response.

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With that, the 'Footex' got the light and moved off.

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"Why is it taking the Shrewsbury line ?"  I asked my brother  ......who shrugged his shoulders unknowingly.

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We turned our attention to one of the pilots shunting stock off the Salop - York TPO in the south end bay;  and set up the tripods.

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"Oi sheep sh*ggers" shouted a distinct Cockney voice from over my right shoulder.............

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I turned from my viewfinder to see a rake of Mk.1's quietly setting back into the platform alongside us, and full of baying, window hanging  'Gooners'

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It's amazing how fast you can run along a platform, carrying a tripod, SLR and gadget bag and dodging BRUTE trollies, mailbags and railmen.

Edited July 18, 2017 by br2975

[The Johnster]

1988, and I'm employed by Royal Mail now, working an afternoon shift on Cardiff Central station loading and unloading trains and transferring the mail to and from the road vans that take it to and bring it from the sorting office.  Highlight of afternoons is the 20.40 Cardiff-York TPO, and this is the first afternoon shift I've done up the station.  Loading mails is a precise and skilled task; not only do you have to stack the bags so they won't fall over, you have to stack them in specific piles at specific places in specific vans, so that they can be unloaded quickly and without having to be looked for from wherever they get to wherever they are to be unloaded at, from, to, or something.  There is mail for most of the country on this train, and I am given a barrowful to stack in van 'D' third door left hand side back wall.  Van 'D' is a BG fourth from the engine, and the mail is presorted into districts for Barrow in Furness; it will not be sorted on the train and I am kept well away from that end of things.  There are 2 BGs between 'D' and the TPO section, which is followed by the passenger accommodation, then another couple of BGs or GUVs for BR's parcels traffic.  It's a busy scene on a cold winter's night on platform 1.  I unload my barrow and build my stack, 3 parallel and 2 across the ends, then 3/2 the other way around so that the bags interlock like brickwork.  

 

The sharper eyed among will have noticed that a Cardiff-York TPO does not go to Barrow in Furness, and the bags will unloaded at Crewe to be transferred to a train going that way.  This is part of the operation Brian was just describing in his footex story, and you may have seen it filmed years earlier as part of 'Night Mail'.  Basically what happens is that for a couple of hours during the dead of night when good christian souls are a'bed, Crewe station becomes an enormous mail transfer hub as most of the overnight TPO and express parcel workings of the nation exchanges traffic in what is something like a ballet of well known and rehearsed moves against the clock, a smoothly oiled and highly professional machine timed to almost the last second, little changed except for stock and liveries since 'Night Mail' and many years before that.  Everybody knows by heart what they are doing, they've been doing it for years, and as long as everything is in it's proper, designated, position on the loading plan, it's complex and 2 hours of hard, flat out, work, but it works, like clockwork.  But everything has to be right; barrows and brutes have to be provided at the correct locations in the correct amounts, and setting the station up for this operation takes several hours, and is a considerable task in itself.  It was, in it's way, a thing of great beauty...  

 

But, and most especially, the Loading Plan has to be followed absolutely and without deviation, hesitation, repetition or repetition.

 

I'm musing on this subject to myself as I'm stacking my bags, proud to be a small part of this professional and magnificent operation and the traditions it has built up; I feel a connection of honour to men who sorted the first TPO mails on the Grand Junction, and have a small lump in my throat.   I finish my stack, whistles are blowing as 20.40 rolls up on the platform clock, i get off the BG and shut the doors, there is a blast from the back horn of the 47, and the train eases out into the all consuming darkness to fight it's own battles with time and gradients.  I am feeling quite satisfied with myself. 

 

For a few seconds, anyway, until I realise that coach 'D' is passing me and I have loaded the Barrow in Furness district forwards into coach 'C'...  Everyone else is breathing the palpable sigh of relief that this, the most important and biggest job of the shift for us and the BR staff, is successfully over, and are turning towards a hard earned cuppa, but I'm transfixed in horror as the tail light disappears around the corner.  I have stacked a time bomb to all intents and purposes on coach 'C'; the Plan is disrupted and Crewe will descend into chaos in the middle of the night, half the nation won't get it's mail, businesses will lose millions, law and order will break down, and it will be the end of civilisation as we know it, and whose fault will it be?  An idiot about my size, that's whose!  I feel like the lookout on the Titanic would have felt if he hadn't seen the iceberg at all...

 

 

There is only one honourable course of action to take, but i do not have a loaded pistol about my person, so I find the afternoon shift foreman, a large and short tempered gentleman who we'll refer to as PD so that anyone who was around in those days from the Post Office will know who it is, and tell him what I have done.  He cannot believe it and asks me to 'say that again, I thought for a minute you said you'd put the Barrow in Furness district forwards into coach 'C''.  'Yes, that's right' I say 'I'm really sorry, but I thought it'd be best if I told somebody so that it didn't cause a problem later on,  I don't know much about trains, and all the trucks look the same to me' (thought for a second I'd overcooked it, but he's swallowed it).  I'm fooling nobody apart from that, though; we've both got a mental picture of the chaos I'm going to cause at Crewe.  Barrows and tugs will be in the wrong places at the wrong times, everyone will be getting in each other's way, horns and whistles will blow, bad language will be used, grown men will weep real tears into their beer, it'll take hours to sort out and cost Royal Mail millions as we will be responsible for honouring the penalty delay clause in the Mail contract with the railway (I'm not too bothered about that as I know who's side I'm still really on), delays to every bloody mail carrying train in Britain for the next day or so.  I have never seen a man's face turn so many colours over such a short time, and it occurred to me that I was glad i was between him and the door in case I had to make a run for it, and that if he died of a heart attack at least I'd be saved but I'd have to tell the story to the Chief Inspector, JB, and he was a right @*^$!

 

But I'd accidentally outmanoeuvred him.  He had to play it by the book, his only chance of getting off the responsibility hook himself, and report my stupidity to the Chief, whose way I kept out of for a good while afterwards, and playing by the book meant that, as I'd acted entirely properly in reporting myself, he could not punish me in any way or take credit for discovering the miscreant.  Royal Mail Letters managers in Cardiff in those days were macho managing bullies of the worst sort, but they had the armed forces officers and men mentality that stated very clearly that officers were responsible for what their men did, and men were not responsible for what their officers did.  For once I was on the better side of that divide.

 

I never heard anything more about it.

Edited July 18, 2017 by The Johnster

[br2975]

Around 1995 I was driving a police patrol car along Clare Road, Grangetown, Cardiff towards the city centre when a pair of 'heavyweight' 37s on a Cwmbargoed - Aberthaw MGR rolled slowly across Clare Road bridge about a quarter of a mile ahead.

.

A sharp left took us into Court Road, then right into Allerton Street, and a left into Wedmore Road brought us alongside Penarth Curve, but about 15' below rail level.

.

Slowly the 37s crawled around and came alongside the police vehicle, both pacing each other, at walking pace.

.

The driver, in the usual pose had the cab window down, left foot up on the 'dashboard' and was watching us intently.

 

I turned to my colleague and said 'watch this, time for some fun'

.

A flick of the switch, and on came our blue lights, followed by a blast on the horn.

.

The driver of the 37s now had my full attention.

.

 Stuck my right hand in the air, showing him three fingers and shouted up "thirty, stick to thirty !"

.

The drivers response was to mouth a phrase that appeared to end in "....Off !"

.

Then with a blast of his horn - much louder than mine, he opened them up and in a cloud of clag rounded the curve towards Penarth Curve South junction.

.

My mate and I had to pull over, such was the merriment in having "been done" by the driver of the 37s. 

Edited July 18, 2017 by br2975

[br2975]

Many moons ago, when it was quiet on nights, one particular 'panda' driver would drive along Radyr Court Road and park up in Radyr Yard opposite Radyr Quarry 'box.

.

The Radyr Quarry pilot would usually be burbling away to itself nearby.

.

On this occasion, the still of the night was shattered when the radio burst into life, announcing the burglar alarm activated at Radyr Cricket Club.

.

Now, in daylight, one could probably just make out the cricket pavilion from where the 'panda' was parked, but there were about two dozen sidings full of rolling stock, an embankment, field of cows and a cricket pitch to negotiate...............if the officer (me) had decided to make the trip on foot.

.

The alternative, a good 3 miles plus drive.

.

The semi-comatose driver of the Radyr Quarry pilot must have messed his dungarees when his cab door flew open, to reveal  two hairy @rsed coppers on the cab steps, one asking "any chance of a lift ?"

.

"Wha, where to ?"

"The top end of the yard-, by Radyr Junction 'box, we can run from there"

.

I can see it now, that same shunter driver sat in the BRSA trying to convince his mates that two coppers demanded to be taken on a call in his loco, in true Keystone Cops tradition.

.

Oh ! and it was a false alarm, reason unknown.

Edited July 18, 2017 by br2975

[The Johnster]

1970, and I've not long 'passed out' as a guard and competed a few week's basic route learning, and am starting to get into the job.  I'm given the morning shift on the 'E76' Penarth Curve North pilot, which does two trips each day to Ferry Road and, in between them, one to Ely Paper Mill.  I'm quite used to this job by now, new boy or not, because I've had 5 weeks of being sent over there to learn the basics before my month long training course, so have picked up the ropes and become familiar with the shunters and regular drivers.  Penarth Curve isn't in Penarth, it's the third side of the Canton triangle (ships and planes are mysteriously never lost here)  between Ninian Plark Halt and Grangetown, the original Taff Vale Penarth Branch from Radyr.  It is a sorting and distribution yard, and also encompasses Virgil Street coal sidings.  It's a brilliant place to learn the basics, with a great bunch of lads and lots of fun to be had.  If you remember the old Ninian Park football ground, it would be the backscene.

 

Truth was, a guard was a bit of a luxury on this job as there was a travelling shunter that accompanied us on the trips and did most of the work.  Anyway, we'd been down to Ferry Road for the morning trip and come back empty handed light engine.  As we came off the branch at Grangetown, George Colwall, the travelling shunter, got off to operate the ground frame and, as we passed him he waved us through, to indicate not to stop and pick him up but preceed to Ninian Park Halt, where the other shunter, Ted Beecham, would let us in through the ground frame there and we would come back down through an empty road in the yard to pick George up, as he would meanwhile begin to make his way towards us on foot.  We do this to be out of the way of the passenger traffic more quickly, as the trailing crossover at Grangetown is about 100 yards towards Cardiff from the ground frame and by the time George has put it back and locked it, we are going to be in the way on what was even in those days a busy stretch.  The driver is a bloke called Bill Setchfield, and they are all proper characters!

 

So, off we sail with the 08, me now acting secondman, and Bill runs past the yard ground frame where Ted is waiting and stops at the far end of Ninian Park platform, and asks me 'can you drive'. 'Yes', I say, not twigging and slow on the uptake (not much's changed there, then).  'Good', says Bill 'go and pick George up, then; I'm going over the cafe for breakfast', and he jumps off the loco leaving me alone on it.  Righty ho, then!  I sit in his seat, put my foot on the deadman's, put her into gear, release the straight air brake,, pull the whistle cord, and open the throttle, pulling steadily away and leaning out of the window in the full Casey Jones pose as if I've been doing this all my life; I've driven steam a bit on NCB lines but I've never driven an 08 before.  I enter the yard in good order, and give Ted a nonchalant half wave as I go by.  

 

To digress a little in the way of background, Ted is a tall and powerful looking bloke who claims to be of Iriquois Indiian descent on the basis that his grandfather, a dispatcher on the Canadian Pacific at Kamloops and French Canadian enough to spell his name 'Beauchamps', had married an Iriquois woman because that's the only sort they had at Kamloops in those days.  He looked the part, with a sort of Red Indian nose, and was capable of producing a blood curdling war cry; not difficult to imagine him after your scalp, tomahawk in hand.  The word 'imposing' fits him.  He was a lovely man, full of fun, kindly, and I learned a lot from him.  So my cavalier treatment of him deserved a retaliation, which he delivered!

 

Down through the yard, picked George up; he doesn't even raise an eyebrow at the callow youth at the throttle.  I drive back up through the yard and have nearly made it without incident, slowing for a stop outside the cabin, when there is a loud bang.  I 'put the lot in'. and the loco stops as if it's hit a cliff; we were only doing about 10mph.  George says after that I'm as white as ghost; I've no idea what we've hit and am certain that this is the end of my railway career and I'll be lucky to escape criminal charges, not to mention having dropped poor Bill in it!  I cross to the other side of the loco to see what has happened, expecting to see a wagon off the road or something, but, no.  What I see is a Red indian with a bicycle pump inflating the tyre of my loco, finishing off with a professional kick to make sure it's firm.  'There you go, paleface,' he chirps 'fixed your puncture'...

 

Of course, what he'd actually done was put a detonator down.  They are supposed to be loud, and when you're not expecting it, they are!  Think it was about an hour before my heart rate returned to something like normal...

 

Moral; don't f^*k with the Iriquios.

Edited July 18, 2017 by The Johnster

[Killian keane]

Okay, I've got one, from the days of the broad gauge great western, appropriately enough at Didcot, Engine 'Witch' (firefly class) whose engineman was Cuthbert Davison was being turned separately from her tender (the turntable at Didcot being too small), whilst the tender was being turned, the regulator flew open, the resulting sudden start caught Davison unawares and he fell to the ground, away Witch went up the down line, sans tender. J Michael "Mad Sandy" Almond was in the yard aboard his Iron duke class 'Great Britain' and, having seen everything, took off in persuit, up the proper line and overtook the errant 'Witch' before reaching Goring, whereat he changed the points diverting Witch onto his road thereby bringing her to a stop, for which he was awarded £10

[manna]

G'Day Gents
There was a few characters, around KX in my time, there was was 'Codsmouth' a No1 link driver, who never stopped talking, and another called 'Budgie' for the same reason, he got his name when another driver called out across the mess room 'Do'e's your Missus put a blanket over your head at night? to make you go to sleep'? that had everyone rolling about for ages. Then there was 'The Angry Silence' I had him as my driver for a week,more than once, in 8 hours you might, IF? you were lucky, get 2 words,never a 'hello' or 'see you' at the end of a shift, if you had to carry out rule 55, you waited for the drivers to say so, then you got 'box' that's all or 'phone' you'd think words was money out of his pocket, so a few of us Secondmen got together and said that we would talk to him, on the loco of course,so from the moment we got on the loco we never shut up, the looks we got? one day I talked about why are tires black, why can't we have coloured ones to match our cars?? have you ever tried to talk about the some thing for that long, it;s a killer, we must have driven him round the twist, but he never changed!
Then there was the self proclamed 'Flying Scotsman' he was the driver who fell asleep whilst taking a light engine (5624)to Hertford North in the early hours,he was put into the bay platform to change ends, he was still do'ing about 60mph, the jerk woke them both up, the secondman bailed out of the loco, the driver slammed the brakes on and held on tight, the loco, demolished the stops went down the embankment and ended up in the middle of the road, it took two days for the brakedown crew to get it back on the track,He told us that 'As the captain of the ship, I'll go down with it'! the secondman only had cuts and bruise's, 'The Flying Scotsman' was confined to engine movements, he was still doing that when I left the railway in 1977 and that happened in Feb 71
I only had one small run in with the 'Flying Scotsman' when his loco failed just after leaving Gordon Hill, one morning rush hour, we had to come from Bounds Green CS, and crossed to wrong line at I think Enfield Chase, we buffered up and I got in between to couple up, when he gave a long blast on the horn, my ears rung for hours, he thought it was funny??  
A better day was when we were sitting in the bay platform at Gordon Hill, waiting to take a morning train to Moorgate,I think, it was August or September, as I was looking around I noticed the bank beside us was covered with blackberry's!! so there I was at 6.30 am picking blackberrys at Gorgon Hill and getting some funny looks from the commuters and train crews going past, by the time it was our turn to leave, I had a bag full, one minor problem,gets very dewy that time of year, my boots and trouser legs were soaked, took a good couple of hours to dry out??
mann

[The Blue Streak]

There are certainly some "Characters" floating around the railways alright.

 

I remember one old driver in the '80s who was near retirement and who still insisted on wearing his old peaked drivers cap (a proper cap like the police or Military officers used to wear). It was pinned down at the sides a bit like what you would see the German Luftwaffe pilots wearing in all the movies and had a big Enormous silver scorpion badge above the peak. He was a lovely old bloke, but I never ever got to the bottom of why the Scorpion was so prominent  on his hat.

 

Another Driver (a biggish gent who was a Vietnam Veteran) was also an acting Locomotive Inspector worked at the same depot, this Chap was a good bloke but didn't stand for any hi jinks or cheekiness from his Firemen or Drivers Assistant's and was a "by the book, letter of the law" kind of driver.

I was a bit cheeky to him once as a trainee engineman when I was instructed to help clean one of the Yard Shunt Engines and received a look from Him that nearly turned Me to stone.

I was taken aside by another DA and told the story of how He Himself had been Cheeky to that particular driver once......

The Driver grabbed hold of Him and Hung him out the Loco side window at track speed threatening to let go of his ankles

I was nothing but polite from that point I assure You.

Edited July 20, 2017 by The Blue Streak

[manna]

G'Day Gents 

 The Hertfordshire budgie, was my regular driver, when I was in the Cambridge link, he usually tooted as passed his house!not much of interest happened, when I was with him (no reflection on him) the only thing of note was, one night the engine room of our 31 filled with smoke and was leaking out the engine room vents, I opened my cab window and looked back down the train, looked weird,so I said 'what about opening the cab windows and the engine room door it might clear the smoke' so we did? we would have made a wonderful photograph, smoke pouring out of ever crack, but it did'n't clear the smoke, the boiler was on as it was a cool evening, so I went in the engine room and shut it down, Hey Presto! no more smoke??
I do remember a fireman at Top Shed that was nicknamed 'Canker' a lot of the drivers use to talk about him a lot, I was told he was a real scruffy so and so, hence the name? One day on a diesel shunt job the driver said he could go home, a couple of hours early, within 30 mins him and his mum were back at Top Shed, with her calling for the running foreman, when he arrived, she's going off at him about him being sent home and will he get paid for the time off etc etc, in the end they put a notice on the notice board to say Not to let him go home early, another time he thought he'd clean himself up, so he came to work in brand new white overall's, so the first job that he was given was oil the inside rods on a Pacific, came out smothered in oil and grease, I was told he emigrated to Australia. I wonder why???
manna

[The Blue Streak]

I recall one of our jobs was a mixed goods to a place called Corrigin, there were varied wagons with varied loads to be placed in particular sidings or near particular ramps. You could also drop off empty wheat wagons and pick up the loaded.  It was a good job and generally an Early morning / day shift.

Corrigin had an excellent Bakery and a knock on the back door by the Fireman or DA usually resulted in free pies for the crew which was always nice.

By the 80's however goods trains no longer had a guard or guards van and the shunting groundwork was generally carried out by the DA.

 

One day a young DA who had recently been posted from Perth was on the job. So they as usual got the important stuff out of the way first ie. get the pies!

Then the young DA reputedly with Pie in Hand began to precede the reversing train back, setting the road as he went.

Now Corrigin had a particular set of points with a cheeseknob handle (the kind you just throw over) but which would occasionally stick and need a firm boot to go the last little bit.

So our DA is preceding the train on foot and enjoying his pie in the sun when He hears a noise behind him. He looks back to see part of the train heading down one road and the rest try to go down another. A split second later the wagons start to go  over like dominoes.

He had forgotten to give the cheeseknob a security kick and the points had split under the train.

When he got back to the home depot, He was asked - what did He do when He realised it had all turned to Carp ?

His answer being - " Well apart from signal a stop there wasn't much I could do, so I sat down and finished my bloody Pie"

I believe He recieved his "blister" in the mail shortly afterwards.

 

P.S. A "Blister" was the name for a written letter from Management either as a warning, a caution or a notification of Punishment.

 

For those who are not aware - this is a cheeseknob point lever (not the same one !! )

Edited July 21, 2017 by The Blue Streak

[br2975]

................... The 68 up the valleys was being dealt with by the NCB, they had quite a network around mountain ash, and a gang of heavies with their own hairy assed way off dealing with derailments, .....................

 

 

On more than one occasion at 'Mount' they used a Michigan shovel to lift the rear end of one of their steamers back on to what passed for track work.

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Improvise, adapt, overcome - I think the phrase is.

[manna]

G'Day Gents
If you can get a good laugh at work' it's a good day, KX had a driver that liked buses?? he liked them so much he bought one from London Transport( the one before the Routemaster) well he was proud of his bus, so one Saturday he thought he'd bring it to work to show it off,there's not to many place's to park a double decker bus around KX so he thought he'd leave it at Finsbury Pk depot! I was an ECS train or something like that, and as we went past the depot the car park was full of Met Police, Railway Police, depot management and half a dozen fitters all standing about scratching there heads,you could see what was going through there heads, Someone has dumped a double decker bus here, Ring London Transport, No it's not ours we sold it to Mr *****, Oh!! Who's Mr ***** Oh he's a train driver, Ohh! well where is he?? Well he's sitting right beside me, watching all this unfold, and he's laughing so much that he let the deadman go,we came to a grinding halt at the back of Western sidings. I met up with this driver later and he told me what went on,he never got in to trouble, but they did ask him to let them know next time.

manna

[The Johnster]

We had some good nicknames at Canton, and new intake guards like me were obvious targets.  I was 'The Professor' (there are people in Cardiff that call me 'Prof' to this day and don't know my real name), but I was never certain if it was because I had a beard and smoked a pipe or because I thought I knew it all, or both.  But we also had 'Harpic', because he'd drive you clean around the bend, and 'Thrombosis', a bloody clot wandering around clogging up the system.  Another bright spark was 'Tojo', who famously threw the ground frame lever on the Ferry Road Branch points at Grangetown over while the E76 pilot was propelling a rake of empty tanks for Ely Harbour tank farm over them because somebody'd shouted at him to hurry up.  This was just before the morning rush hour...

 

We had a driver called 'Overcoat Joe', who always wore, you'll never guess, a big overcoat and an old steam driver's hat under a balaclava all held on with a scarf like a fishwife, topped off with fingerless mitts.  He did this even during the hot summer of 1976; apparently he'd got a chill working a steam loco tender first in the winter of '63 and never took a chance after that.  He used to appear not to notice that diesel locos had big front windows to look through, and would hang out of the side window wearing a pair of old fashioned motor bike goggles to see the signals Casey Jones style, not so bad on a warm day but murder on a cold winter's night when he'd insist that you stayed in the cab with him to keep him company.  Good bloke though, stood his round, and would usually let you drive back as if you were a fireman on fully fitted trains.

 

And there was 'Orrible Jim',  or just 'Orrible' for short, a gruff, foul mouthed thuggish looking short tempered bloke on the surface but actually one of nature's natural gentlemen and a pleasure to work with.  He was a pretty good amatuer oil painter, who had stuff in exhibitions and sold some of it, mostly still lives and flowers in vases; he kept that quiet at Canton, but I thought it was something he should have been proud of.  I once saw him give a secondman a sound kicking because he'd kicked a cat that was annoying him.

 

Then there were Ivor the Driver and Peter Perfect, both large imposing characters who thought they were the last word in engine drivers (they were both very good drivers0, men to whom punctuality was a point of honour and who watched every second so that it could be booked to the guard, or station work, or signals, so terrified were they of spoiling their perfect timekeeping records.  Of course, what made this entertaining was that, while each thought they were themselves the mutt's nuts, each thought the other was a jumped up know it all who'd never make a decent engine driver as long as he had a hole in his a***.  The rivalry between them was polite, gentlemanly, but absolute and intense, no quarter given or expected.  Both men were impeccably turned out and took huge pride in their appearance, another element of rivalry, and we all believed the yarn that they'd had their uniforms tailor made at their own expense.  if one turned up for duty with a carnation in his buttonhole, the other would sport a gold fob watch the following day.  I worked the Calvert Bricks to Swindon one day with Ivor (it was his real first name), with a brake van from Lawrence Hill.  'Make sure you stay awake, guard', he told me, 'you're going to think you're on the Orient Express with the smooth ride I'm going to give you'.  Now, 50 empty tube wagons is a fair old pull for a Hymek, and it is full throttle all the way from Bathampton to Thingley if you've gone inside the loop at Bathampton as we usually did with this train, but the gradient eases throught the site of Box station just before the tunnel, and the best driver in the world cannot avoid a slight snatch being felt in the van as 100 drawbars stretch over the vertical convex curve entering the old station and compress over the concave one leaving onto the final pitch into the tunnel.  It's not a major jerk and I know it's coming, so no biggie.

 

When we get to Swindon, booked back on the cushions, who should be on the platform also waiting for the cushions but Peter (not his real name) Perfect and his guard.  It's a nice day and we're sitting on the doen end of the platform pretending not to take any interest in the trains as professional railwaymen always do, when Ivor pipes up, in a fine booming baritone, 'You don't get a ride as good as that every time you come up here, do you guard' (no question mark, he meant it as a statement not a question).  With Perfect's eyes boring a hole in the back of my head I say 'it was a very good trip, thank you, driver, I'd be happy to go with you again'.  'You'd be welcome' says Ivor, 'most guards like riding behind me; I don't spill their tea like some drivers do, see'.  The tension is racking up now.  'Of course,' I say 'nobody can avoid the snatch at Box...'.

 

I was described as something that can also be called snatch, or box, while Peter Perfect offered me a cup of his tea.

 

I had to ride home in a different coach.

Edited July 22, 2017 by The Johnster

[manna]

G'Day Gents

 

Remember travelling with a railway friend to Barry one day, at Reading there were some Tamping machines kept in a siding near the station, as we went past my mate stood up and casually announced to me, 'Only a couple of Tampax machines in the yard' sat down and turned bright red, as he'd forgotten two young ladies, were also travelling in the same compartment, they turned bright red to.........T'was a good day in Barry.

 

manna