3rd May. Another business trip. This time to our depot at Rochester in Kent, and I decided to take the following day off work to allow me to use the trip to and from London as a positioning move covered by the tickets paid for by my employer.
Life’s a bit tough at the moment, and worries are streaming through my brain all night as I try to sleep, mainly but not entirely work related after five consecutive days not in the office. Anxiety has become something of an occupational hazard lately, so a day doing something enjoyable and totally out of routine seems just the ticket. Or just the AP ticket. Or in fact just the six AP tickets. I woke at 06:30 having had very little sleep and got up to start the morning pre-school routine. Moving like a deep sea diver walking about on the sea bed I stumbled slowly around in a daze making cups of tea and warm milk, breakfasts for the kids, packed lunches, put out the bins etc. Luckily the superb HS1 service to Kent from St Pancras allows me to set out on a later (and cheaper) train than would previously have been possible, so I actually set off a few minutes later than I would have done if just doing the normal drive to work at Morley, and strolled to Shipley station for the 08:07 to Leeds. Once on board the 333 I start to feel better immediately. I’m on a train for goodness’ sake, and this is just about the only relaxant in life at the moment. The prospect of (apart from 5 or so hours at work this afternoon) non-stop bashing until 23:10 the following night is uplifting.
At Leeds I bail eagerly looking out for the expected EMT liveried HST on the 08:40 to the Cross. Sure enough the set’s there on platform 8, with EMT 43074 leading. Camera in hand I walk along the adjacent platform 9 to get the ‘bogie shot’ of the rear power car, but I can’t help noticing that it’s all gone quiet over there. As I get nearer I see the reason why. The power car is in East Coast livery, and is MTU engined 43206. A shame as I’d hoped for VP185s at both ends. Next slight cock-up is no coach F in the formation, so the reservation on my AP ticket is meaningless. Still, this could well be a good thing as I can now sit where I like and there are plenty of spare seats. No risk of being stuck next to some sweating oaf, or some obnoxious executive loudly and self-importantly intoning corporate banalities into a mobile ‘phone and looking sneeringly at my Quail Track Diagrams, despite not being important enough not to be on a cheap AP ticket himself! I spread out in a pair of airline style seats next to the bulkhead in the middle of coach E and promptly drop off. I’m awakened before Doncaster by a call from work, which provides reassurance that everything hasn’t collapsed there over the Bank Holidays, and then get the laptop out.
This is a great train, with no more than two thirds of the seats occupied so feeling spacious inside. If you had the advantage of being colourblind the EMT mk III may well be the nicest second class interior around these days. The weather is glorious and the journey through the sleepy, pastoral dullness of Nottinghamshire and Lincolnshire passes all too soon. At Little Bytham I notice for the first time in nearly 40 years of riding this line the remains of the M&GNJR embankment where it crossed over the ECML at right angles. I dozed off once again and woke at Hatfield for the run through the tunnels and into outer London proper. I love this section of line. It always gives me an almost childish sense of anticipation that we are approaching the metropolis, and is very reminiscent of childhood trips to the capital. Two minutes early at the Cross where I bought an Oyster card for later on, and then went over to St Pancras for the 11:25 to Faversham.
The 395 looked as sleek as last time, and left on time for the swift ride to Strood where I bailed. Incredible that I can now be in Strood at a time not much later than that which a couple of years ago would probably have seen me boarding a train at London Bridge for the long, drawn out ride through SE London and Kent. The announcement approaching Stratford International that you can only get away from that station by a shuttle bus to the real Stratford station, taking 10-15 minutes, was greeted by the head-scratching thought ‘what’s the point?’ in my mind. Strood was looking as singularly grim as ever on the 15 minute walk to the depot, and as I walked I adjusted my personal settings to work mode for the afternoon.
After a very productive afternoon of work I strolled back to Strood station for the 17:35 to Charing Cross. I rode with the 465 as far as Waterloo East where I bailed to meet my friend again for drinks in the excellent Charles Dickens pub. Beer still good and still all a standard price, but now £3.20 instead of £3 as in September. At about quarter to ten we left and walked to Southwark tube station where I touched in with the Oyster Card for the first time and took the Jubilee Line to Baker Street. After the ultra-modern station at Southwark with its idiot-proof platform edge barriers, it was a big contrast to use the Metropolitan part of Baker Street station, surely the most pleasing part of London Underground’s estate. Only a few seconds to wait before a C69 set arrived on a Hammersmith & City Line working two stops to Paddington. Across the bridge and down to the Lawn where I was a few minutes early for the Night Riviera on platform 1 and had to wait until the central locking lights came on just after 22:30 so I could board. The view across the Lawn to the line up of HSTs at the buffers produced a vivid recollection of my first visit to this station in 1978, and also my first ever trip on an HST, a seriously exciting experience at the time. 57605 is our loco tonight, hauling 4 sleeping cars and 3 seated coaches. 57604 had brought in the stock and was painted in a very pleasing GWR livery. Ironic that I should write this some 26 years after the huge uproar of which I was a vocal part when 50007 ‘Hercules’ was repainted in a similar livery and renamed ‘Sir Edward Elgar’. How strange to imagine a time when a non-standard livery could arouse such passion! Still, times and attitudes have changed and the green 604 with its GW-style brass name- and numberplates looked much better than 605 in its corporate FGW blue.
The value on this FGW sleeper has to be experienced to be believed. For £49 I had solo occupancy of a berth. The top bunk was folded away so it was the equivalent of first class on the Caledonian Sleeper. Included for this ludicrously small sum of money was a complementary hot drink and biscuits from the lounge car, plus a breakfast brought to the cabin the following morning. The contrast with the Caley is considerable, where for a higher fare (luck-of-the-draw bargain berths excepted) ‘breakfast’ consists of a piece of shortbread, and second class passengers have to run the ever-present risk of sharing with a hairy-arsed stranger. The lounge car is just an ordinary mk III open first though, rather than the luxury of the leather sofas in the mk IIf on the Caley. As I sat drinking tea in my cabin I watched the last HST of the day pull out on the 23:30 to Bristol and Cardiff, and decided that once I’d got my head out for the departure at 23:45, I’d turn in for the night. 57605 treated us to a rollicking start from Paddington, hurtling out over the points and off towards the Far West. I woke up briefly at Reading, which was handy because it allowed me to see which way we went towards Taunton (via the Desert).
My compartment was right over the bogie so the ride was worse than last time I used a sleeper. This meant that I woke at least three times in the night. Perhaps a more honest name for this service would be the Night Riviera Dozer. Still, it’s a lot of fun, and 305¼ miles of loco-haulage in the log, so who’s complaining really? The early morning ride through Cornwall was very pleasant and breakfast arrived just before Truro, with a teapot, real china cup and all on a proper tray. Loads of heads-out in the vestibule from Truro onward, drinking in the cool Cornish morning air and the evocative smell of burnt diesel. On time arrival at the Zance where I got a few snaps of the ‘snatcher taking a well earned rest at the blocks at platform 4. I went to a nearby Tesco for rations before returning to the station, where there was quite a lot of activity. A Supervoyager had arrived ECS at platform 3 to form the 08:28 to Glasgow Central (ouch), and a Voyager was pulling into platform 2 with the 08:19 arrival from Plymouth (next working the 09:40 to Manchester). The stock for the 08:44 to Paddington was next to arrive, meaning that there was now a train on all four platforms. The 08:28 left, and its place was taken on platform 3 a few minutes later by the 08:40 arrival from St Ives, formed of 150266 and running 2 minutes early. I took my seat on the 08:44, annoyingly stuck next to a pillar. Still, this was a £3 advance to Gunnislake, so I suppose I can’t complain, particularly as the FGW-only ticket enforces total Voyager-avoidance. At home I couldn’t get into Bradford and back on the bus for £3, never mind nearly 100 miles of pleasant and interesting train travel taking 3 hours! Passing Long Rock I was surprised to see that the 57 had propelled the beds to the depot for servicing while I wasn’t looking, rather than being released by the resident 08410. The grip on the HST was a very pleasant and friendly American chap, which was something of a novelty.
At Plymouth I transferred to platform 3 for 150238 on the 10:54 to Gunnislake. It’s at least a quarter of a century since I last went to Gunnislake, and I recall it being a very hard slog for the unit (a 2-car class 118 power twin IIRR) up to the end of the line. Certainly a 46 minute timing for a 15 mile journey is unusually slow, and I was interested to see how a modern, powerful DMU would deal with the climb. The journey to Bere Alston on the old LSWR main line was great, rattling along on jointed track at decent speeds. There are some monstrous engineering features though, particularly the spectacular bridge over the River Tavy, over a quarter of a mile long, which makes you wonder about the future of a line carrying a lightly-used 2-hourly service with an average speed of <20 mph once serious maintenance becomes an issue. From Bere Alston the line changes character completely. During the change of ends the driver strolled down to the groundframe which he unlocked with the token he’d obtained from a locked box at St Budeaux Victoria Road. No longer a main line alignment, from here on this is the ultimate West Country branch line. A slow meander high up on the side of a gorgeous green valley, before the train suddenly takes the high, weed-strewn viaduct at Calstock, a picture perfect village on the other side of the River Tamar, with an exquisite little station. To this point the line is just another miraculously surviving branch line, albeit a pretty special one. Immediately after leaving Calstock though things change. The line is cut into the side of an impossible looking hill, and winds and curls its way up severe gradients and reverse curves at a top speed of 15 mph and with frequent 10 mph restrictions. There is no other line like this anywhere in the country IMHO. Where else can you sit at the back of a 2-car DMU and get a good view of the side of the leading coach? The train has to stop twice at ungated crossings, adding to the effort, and this brutal slog takes every one of the booked 13 minutes to cover 2¾ miles. At the top a quick breather and photo op, before heading back down again, this time to the constant accompaniment of the sound of brake applications instead of a sustained Cummins roar. What a fantastic little line!
Back at Plymouth 150238 went back out wedged as the 12:39 to Penzance. Shortly afterwards a 150/1 came in on a terminating working from Cardiff. What is this fascination FGW seem to have with putting 150s on such long distance workings? Gunnislake, fine. Cardiff and Penzance, not so fine. There were simply not enough seats on the 2+2 configured 150238 for the Penzance custom, but OTOH the 3+2 seating on the 150/1 was unsuitable for such a long journey as Cardiff > Plymouth. Are these the original 25 year old seats (reupholstered) in the FGW 150/1s? They certainly look suspiciously that way to me.
Another reservations farce aboard the 12:55 Plymouth > Paddington, where coach B has become disabled access and seat 80 no longer exists, obliterated by a huge toilet. Again I can sit where I like and am treated to a display of commendable reasonableness from the grip dealing with a passenger with an AP ticket to London for the 16:00 working! The unfortunate passenger ended up having to buy a single to Totnes and spend over three hours there, but at least the grip didn’t make him pay the full £106 single fare to London. When I booked the £3.50 Gunnislake > Exmouth advance I’d assumed the core HST run would be Plymouth > Exeter, but when I got the ticket from the machine at Leeds the reservation was only to Newton Abbot, picking up the 13:13 Paignton > Exmouth Pacer there instead. A two-edged sword this. Obviously disappointing not to be able to do the sea wall at Dawlish in a train with openable windows, but OTOH the visibility from 142068 was excellent, and it’s 20 or so extra Pacer miles in the log. Festering time cut down as well, so on balance it’s OK. Bus seats though, which I hadn’t realised would be the case, and is not so nice on a long journey. I may enjoy pacers, but given that I returned from Exmouth back to Exeter Central straightaway with the same set on the 14:53 to Barnstaple, I ended up doing bus seats continually for an hour and three quarters. Given what I observed in the 150/1 at Plymouth, I’m starting to think FGW regard themselves as some sort of DMU seat preservation society. Come on First; not even
buses have ‘bus seats’ any more! You of all companies should know this so let’s move with the times. The train to Exmouth was full of German schoolkids, who all bailed at Exeter Central to be replaced by…. an even larger party of German schoolkids! Quite what these kids thought of this crapulous train is anyone’s guess, but it was standing room only for people boarding at intermediate stations to Exmouth.
The train was very lightly loaded back to Exeter Central, where I had 14 minutes before the 15:30 to Waterloo. When I’d gone online to book this all the cheapest Exmouth > Waterloo advances at £15 had sold out for this train, which was a bummer. Next best was £23, but luckily I spotted that there was a first class advance, also for £23, and snapped that up instead. Certainly takes some of the sting out of the extra £8. Clearly ‘first class’ is a concept alien to whoever had diagrammed a bus seat 142 on the first leg of this journey from Exmouth, but the first class saloon in a 159 is very nice indeed. Hardly anyone riding in first on 159102 so I could take my pick of seats, which meant the fact that not all seats line up properly with the windows didn’t matter. Honestly, can we not get seats to line up properly even in first class?
Having left the London-bound LSWR main line at Bere Alston in the morning, it was nice to pick it up again for the return journey to Waterloo. It may be slower, but I reckon it’s more interesting than the Desert, and also cheaper and for me rarer (only done the section between Honiton and Salisbury once before each way). The weather having been very favourable all day it started to get rather overcast beyond Axminster, and the effects of limited sleep on the Night Riviera started to catch up with me. Pleasant dozing in the big comfy seat on and off to Salisbury was the result. Possibly a shame to waste a rare first class journey kipping, but it couldn’t be helped. I was awake at Yeovil Junction though and observed that the link line to Pen Mill was pretty shiny. What’s working over that then? At Salisbury we buffered up to the rear of another 159 from Bristol, and the first class section was no longer right at the front. A cold shudder of apprehension went through me and almost immediately my fears were realised as plebs began using our section as a thoroughfare between second class in the two units. How quickly one gets used to privilege no matter how small, and resents others intruding on it
After Salisbury our now 6-car unit bucketed along over several miles of jointed track between there and Grateley. It was quite an exhilarating run, but regular readers of these blogs will doubtless be disappointed if I don’t tediously point out that it wasn’t as good as a class 50 + mk IIs back in the ‘80s blah blah etc etc, so in the interests of consistency the 159
definitely wasn’t
anything like as good as a class 50 hauling mk IIs would have been. More plebs at Andover, including one daring to sit in the vestibule outside the first class, like some sort of peasant peering through the gates at Versailles to watch Marie Antoinette stuffing herself. Tsk. Now in Hampshire I could feel the tractor beam of London drawing us in, and another great day drawing towards a close. We trundled under Battledown Flyover as though reluctant to enter Juiceland and London’s orbit, but ploughed relentlessly on to Basingstoke, Woking etc. Finally made it to Waterloo one down at 18:46 after hanging around outside the station for what seemed like ages.
I had deliberately booked onto the 20:03 from Kings Cross to Leeds rather than the 19:33, in case the train from Exeter was late leaving me stranded. The flipside of this cautious approach was that I now had ages to kill in London, which if I wasn’t careful would be spent standing and staring vaguely at the departure board at the Cross in the world’s most ill-thought-out queuing system. To kill some time I wandered around Waterloo for about 10 minutes taking photographs on what had turned back into a glorious evening. As another time killer I took the Waterloo & City Line to Bank to take the Northern Line onwards to the Cross, rather than a more direct route. This turned out to be a mistake as the Northern Line platform at Bank was already packed and the first train was showing as 3 minutes away. The second was 6 minutes after that, so if anything it would be even more packed, so I piled into the wedged train along with a right load of merchant bankers (rhyming slang? You decide) for 5 stops of hot, sweaty, claustrophobic discomfort. Upon arrival at the Cross I once again fell foul of the still unfamiliar layout underground and the Random Exit Generator put me out on Pancras Road this time, opposite the International entrance. I had loads of time and didn’t fancy the crush in the suburban section of Kings Cross, so I walked around the front to McDonald’s on York Way for a cup of tea. The usual collection of northerners was troughing burgers and chips as though this would be the last meal for a long time, but rather than join them I took my tea back to the concourse. I wandered around taking photos for a bit rather than give up the will to live staring at the boards. Why oh why can’t platforms be called at the Cross more than 15 minutes before departure? The station has one of the smaller concourses of London’s main termini, yet one of the largest number of Inter City departures, whose passengers typically turn up earlier and bring more luggage. It has always been like this at the Cross as long as I can remember; a slightly unnecessary downer at the end of all trips to the capital. 180105 on the 19:48 Grand Central to Bradford was worryingly poorly loaded. With 10 minutes to go I counted 50 passengers. People were still joining it at 19:40, but I’d be surprised if it left with more than 70 on.
Eventually platform 1 was called for the 20:03 and the usual disorderly scramble commenced as far as the newly installed obstacle of ticket barriers. I got a shot of 91116 at the head, and 67017 on thunderbird duties in the siding. It was clicking away to itself so must have been recently in use. I took my seat but on the other side of the aisle was a group of suited smart things with a PowerPoint presentation and using loads of managementspeak. I realised I’d spent the whole two days mercifully free of this curse, and now winced as they high-fived and talked about ‘taking things to the next level’ etc. I nearly burst out laughing when I glanced across at the laptop and realised that they were talking about sugar beet! These guys must be from the Sugar Beet Marketing Board or something! How do you take sugar beet ‘to the next level’ FFS? Sugar
cane maybe? Or perhaps diversify root crop-wise into something really challenging like mangel wurzels? Using the power of my urbanite prejudice I predicted to myself that the high-fiving-farmers would alight at either Grantham or Newark, and sure enough Grantham was the spot, where I guess a top of the range Massey Ferguson with alloy wheels and cruise control was waiting in the car park.
No further noteworthy events as we plunged on through the darkness to Leeds, 5 minutes late following a slight farce at Peterborough. Back on time by Wakefield and rolled into Leeds 4 early at 22:29. A bit of a choker this as the previous Skipton working had just gone at 22:26, and now 27 minutes to wait until the 22:56. Or so I thought. The 22:56 was made up of a 153 + 158 + 142 combo, and 142087 was sitting at the blocks on platform 2C, with the other two units further down the platform and already coupled. After about 15 minutes of toing and froing the sets were finally coupled up. Northern Rail bungling a far cry here from the slick combining of sets seen earlier in the day by SWT at Salisbury. Even when coupled it was nearly 10 minutes before we were let on (into the Sprinters only, thereby denying Pacer veg a few extra miles). 22:56 came and went, and eventually an announcement came saying that the driver couldn’t get the brakes off and a fitter had been called. Maybe if the sets had been coupled together straightaway with the efficiency of SWT this fault could have been found 20 minutes before the scheduled departure time. Just a thought, but I have to say my experience of Northern Rail station staff at Leeds whenever anything goes wrong is uniformly poor. We left 10 down, and missed our path through the triangle at Shipley so were held before Guiseley Junction, eventually arriving at Saltaire 14 minutes late for a 14 minute journey.
This slight farce doesn’t matter in the scheme of things, nor does it detract from a great couple of days, but it’s very trying when there’s a fly in the ointment like this, the more so late at night when you’re exhausted and just want to get to bed.