But what was surprising to me at the time and still today was the sudden ending of it all. I envisaged a drawn-out ending, with steam steadily petering out, rather as I believe it did in France.
No way! One Friday (August 2 that year) there were, I don't know exactly, but perhaps 35-40, maybe 50 locomotives in steam at the last three depots, and, on Monday morning - nothing. Stone cold. End of it all.
Moreover, the specific time when it happened - right in the early part of the highest period of train usage - would have been precisely the time I would not have expected it to happen. End of August, beginning of September, yes. Or almost any time of the year before, say, July 15.
OK, I suppose goods traffic would be weaker in the July-August holiday period, but even so, this timing has always amazed me.
A thing which strikes a chord with me, is a comment in the book Platform Souls -- reflections on railway enthusiasm generally, by Nicholas Whittaker. The author was born in 1957: thus knew as a child, and was captivated by, British Railways steam in its last few years. He deplores the end of BR steam in 1968, happening exactly when it did -- on aesthetic / sentimental, as distinct from practical, grounds.
He muses that BR at that time needed, but lacked, a poet or two among its high-level decision-makers -- who might have spoken (and hopefully, been heeded) in favour of keeping steam on regular passenger and freight in that last tiny area of north-west England, until the end of September -- thus allowing the enthusiasts one last full summer with steam. An extension here of the feeling often entertained, that sad though it always is when a much-loved line closes: the least bad, most "natural"-feeling time of the year for that to happen, is perhaps at the point of summer's ending and autumn's commencing.
? (In fairness, it seems to have been generally understood that this stuff was about myth and figures-of-speech -- not suggesting belief in the existence of real live unicorns, past or present.)