Techniquest
Veteran Member
Ooh nice, looking forward to it 
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Occasional wanderings
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Purple Train
Established Member
CANCELLATION
Of all the excuses to go into London on a Friday, the one I least expected was "babysitting". However, it came to pass that a friend of mine's brother was making a journey across London down to the south coast, and I was asked to make sure he didn't get lost on the tube. I still have no idea why: the brother in question is considerably older than I am, and to my knowledge has been happily driving around the country for quite a while; and, while my conversations with him gave the general impression that he had not much idea about what a train was, besides the Jeremy Clarkson version, he seemed competent enough. Either way, I wasn't complaining at the opportunity to spend another day in London!
Instead of new track, which is more difficult to cover on a Friday, I decided to have a go at riding as much stock as I could. I shall attempt the challenge again when I have considerably more time on my hands, and considerably more sleep, and considerably more food, and a considerably less flimsy phone charger! As I said earlier, I have mislaid my Baker atlas, so some of the locations quoted may be incorrect: if so, please inform me (and @mention me, otherwise I'll probably forget) and I shall rectify it
I reached the platform in just enough time to see 345033 on 9U21 (1030 Maidenhead-Abbey Wood) close its doors and leave, which left me with a 12-minute wait (unheard of in the south-east). This yielded 387147 (trailing 1P21, the 1015 ex-Didcot Parkway), 387153 (leading 2N22, the 1008 Paddington-Didcot Parkway), 800317 (on 1C10, the 1028 Paddington-Weston-super-Mare), and 800025 (on 1D20, the 1023 Paddington-Didcot Parkway). RTT shows other workings passing through which aren't noted in my book: as usual, my eyes usually take a while to adjust to the action required for spotting, and I was hunched up in the shelter anyway, so missed them. 66563 pounded through on an Acton-Theale run before the next train to Abbey Wood arrived, a couple of minutes late, formed of 345006.
345010 passed on the Main line at Langley, I think forming the corresponding Reading train to ours that had been held up for 20 minutes at Westbourne Park, and 800304 overtook us on 1A14, the 0930 ex-Temple Meads. 66614 and 47614 were also noted on the run down to Southall, before we were passed by two freights in succession, with 66793 and 70001 responsible respectively. 66509 and 66244 were (I think) in Acton Yard, and 387166 and 387148 were also noted as we ran past North Pole, where I was able to note the side carriage number of one of the units on shed, but I haven’t had my spotting book to hand in order to find the unit in question – carriage number 829014.
66617 was hauling a freight train stopped in the Westbourne Park area, and we proceeded straight through without stopping, past 345003 in one of the sidings, and into the Elizabeth line core. DLR units 94, 49, and 43 provided entertainment at Custom House, along with 345030 on a Terminal 4 run.
I decided to alight at Woolwich, it being the only new Elizabeth line station I had not yet used, and went to find Woolwich Arsenal station. I found it just in time to leap aboard the 1157 to Cannon Street, formed of 465197 leading 465011, planning to alight at London Bridge.
I had (foolishly) left home with a not-very-well-charged phone, and couldn’t find any plug points on the 345 (though I’m sure I’ve seen some on other 345s). Networkers are also not blessed with plugs, so I merely hoped that “the baby” would not provide any important details until after I had found some stock with a charger!
DLR units 150, 115, and 148 were at Greenwich, and the fast run from Deptford to London Bridge produced a few more numbers: 465039, 465915, 466041, 700140, 377308, 377311, 375913, 375911, 700034, 465175, 465163, and 466025. At London Bridge, I had time to note 700012 and 465010 at London Bridge before leaping aboard a 466 on a Hayes run: 466039 trailing 465191 and 465001. Rather than do the entire Hayes branch (which has been on my bucket list for longer than I care to think), I alighted at Catford Bridge, the fast run (calling only at Ladywell) yielding 707027, 707005, 700146, 700127, 465164, 465046, 466009, 700139, 465139, 465170, and 378216 (at New Cross).
I don’t have many claims to fame. I went through four years at primary school before getting a question wrong in a spelling test. I put in what critics (i.e. me) dubbed a “deeply emotional” performance as Pontius Pilate in a primary-school production of the Easter story. (It’s all gone downhill since primary school
) But I think even these feats pale in insignificance to what I achieved then: I got lost on the walk between Catford Bridge and Catford.
I exited on the same side of the station as the down platform, not noticing any signs. I misread the onward travel information board. It took quite a while to find the correct route on the map, having realised my error, go to Catford, find no train due for 15 minutes, and go the direct way back to Catford Bridge, in the hope of picking up a Class 707 CityBeam on the 1250 Charing Cross back.
I was successful. 707008 and 707009 were my steeds for the journey (via Lewisham) back to London Bridge, and it had plug points, so I was able to nurse my phone battery up to double figures. 700135, 700132, 707026, and 707007 put in appearances before London Bridge, where I noticed 376030 on a service from Cannon Street and hastily alighted, picking up the next Cannon Street service, formed of 707025 and 707010, meeting 375919 at Borough Market, but otherwise not seeing anything on the half-mile grind past Southwark Cathedral.
At Cannon Street, I ran round to pick up 376022 and 376036 on the 1323 to Slade Green, alighting once more at London Bridge to wait for a 375-operated service to Waterloo East. My vantage point was suitable enough to provide an array of numbers: 465048, 466012, 465189, 465047, 465907, 700045, 700115, 465018, 465178, 700149, 377503, 376025, 376034, 466018, 465027, and another 465 with carriage number 65803, before 375825 turned up on the delayed 1339 to Charing Cross (1200 ex-Dover Priory).
700136 passed on the Blackfriars line and 376011 was also spotted, before we made our arrival into Waterloo East, and I raced over into the main station just in time to pick up 5913 on the 1354 to Guildford. (RTT suggests it was actually 5916, which may be true: I made it with seconds to spare so wasn’t concentrating much.) The journey to Clapham Junction, naturally, provided many numbers: in this case, 5862, 5707, 5742, 159009, 444003, 5874, 450068, 450066, 450033, 450121, 444038, 458535, 707024, 707021, 458536, 450077, 450107, 450025, and 378137 leaving the Junction on (presumably) a Dalston Junction train.
Having (effectively) cleaned up Southeastern, and with my plan being to make use of SWR’s trains and WiFi after delivering “the baby”, I decided to take the next Southern service to Balham and take the Northern line from there. 377470, 377603, and 377436 all went through before 377140 came in on the 1409 to Epsom Downs. 377111 (in “Thank You NHS” livery… a bit ironic now the same people who were clapping for them this time two years ago have turned against them), 377139, and 377135, before I descended to the Northern line and picked up a Mill Hill East train, going via Bank.
Alighting at Moorgate, I decided to walk through the Elizabeth line station to Liverpool Street, where I knew that modern trains with charging points awaited me! To this end, I decided to climb aboard the 1510 to Stansted Airport, in the hope that the time spent standing at the station would give my battery time to recover. Before that, though, I made my customary circuit of the platforms, which held 755408 (trailing the 1500 to Norwich, first stop Colchester unfortunately!) 720568, 720555, 720117, 720564, 720511, 745101, 720527, 710130, 745103, 720557, and 745003. 745105 was on the 1510, and I brought my phone out to charge, and then produced two drooping halves of my charger, which had been crushed to death in my coat pocket. (Note to self: buy a sturdier charger!) 720528 and 745107 were noted on the pleasant run to Tottenham Hale, where I missed a late-running Express back to Liverpool Street by seconds and sat back to wait for the next Stratford train, with 720105 and 66795 providing entertainment.
You may be wondering why I’m being a little bit vague here: it is simply because my recollections may be at fault, given I’m writing this up an entire week later! What my book does tell me is that 720572 was on the 1528 to Stratford, and I settled down in my comfortable seat for the run past Temple Mills.
720589, 720576, 720524, and 37606 were in Orient Way Sidings, with 373215, 373205, and 373217 on Temple Mills shed. At this point, my phone buzzed. It was a message from “the baby”. He had cancelled on me.
To be fair to him, he had said that the traffic in Manchester was dreadful enough that he couldn’t make his train, but I did feel some righteous indignation. While the sight of 345067, and cops 720124 and 720582 helped matters a bit, the fast run to Romford on the carefully-chosen 1542 to Colchester Town (720557, full and standing) did not put me in a better mood. Due to “a fault with the signalling system in the Ilford area”, our speed did not exceed 20mph until past Goodmayes, which was at least slow enough to make out lots of the numbers on Ilford shed. As I said, my memories of what was where are very hazy, so I shall just live the numbers in my book as a large lump: 345062, 345036, 345026, 08588, 08700, 720611, an unidentifiable 321, 345032, 720127, 720536, and 345035.
We arrived at Romford 18 minutes late, and I ran over to Platform 1 with just enough time to catch 710272 on the Upminster shuttle, with 720535 racing past us before we turned off the main line. At Upminster, 357320 was disappearing as I crossed the footbridge, and 357207 and 357002 were on a down service, before I caught the 1633 to Fenchurch Street, formed of 357041 and 357036.
There are no entries in my book during the journey, for the following reason. The train was standing room only, but I was very kindly offered the spare seat at a table by a group of three elderly Japanese tourists, who asked me for help getting to the British Museum. I was able to draw enough on their tube map to show them the way, despite them not having very much English and me having no Japanese (this took up most of the journey, hence the lack of numbers), but their tickets were only valid to Fenchurch Street, so I showed them to Tower Hill and helped them buy Travelcards. (From what I understood, neither of them had contactless.)
As “the baby” was not arriving, I saw no point in continuing round the circuit to Euston, so caught a Circle line train back to Blackfriars. 465922 was waiting in one of the bays, as 700058 and 700148 went past in the opposite direction. After an agonising wait of around five minutes, 700046 showed up to take me two stops to Farringdon, where I descended to the Elizabeth line platforms to find a Reading train due in four minutes. 345055 called on the preceding Paddington service before 345014 wheeled in mine.
With my handwriting getting progressively more incomprehensible, we passed North Pole, home to 802110, 802104, 800010, 800038, and 800015, and 387143 and 387157 sped past. 66056, 66058, and 66100 were in Acton Yard, before another stream of 80xs appear in The Book: 800020, 800003, 800023, 802015, and 802012. 59005 was looped with a freight in the vague area of Airport Junction (as far as I recall), and 66568 was in one of the yards between Hayes & Harlington and West Drayton. 387170, 387148, and 387166 overtook us on a peak express, and a collection of 800005, 387160, 387147, and 387158 finished off a day that overall I was almost glad hadn’t lasted longer, given how tired I was by the end of it! And, if “the baby” is reading this, just be thankful you didn’t turn up – by then I’d probably have been tired enough to take you down the Piccadilly Line by mistake!
(Many thanks to @ls2270 for answering my TOPS requests during the day)
Of all the excuses to go into London on a Friday, the one I least expected was "babysitting". However, it came to pass that a friend of mine's brother was making a journey across London down to the south coast, and I was asked to make sure he didn't get lost on the tube. I still have no idea why: the brother in question is considerably older than I am, and to my knowledge has been happily driving around the country for quite a while; and, while my conversations with him gave the general impression that he had not much idea about what a train was, besides the Jeremy Clarkson version, he seemed competent enough. Either way, I wasn't complaining at the opportunity to spend another day in London!
Instead of new track, which is more difficult to cover on a Friday, I decided to have a go at riding as much stock as I could. I shall attempt the challenge again when I have considerably more time on my hands, and considerably more sleep, and considerably more food, and a considerably less flimsy phone charger! As I said earlier, I have mislaid my Baker atlas, so some of the locations quoted may be incorrect: if so, please inform me (and @mention me, otherwise I'll probably forget) and I shall rectify it
I reached the platform in just enough time to see 345033 on 9U21 (1030 Maidenhead-Abbey Wood) close its doors and leave, which left me with a 12-minute wait (unheard of in the south-east). This yielded 387147 (trailing 1P21, the 1015 ex-Didcot Parkway), 387153 (leading 2N22, the 1008 Paddington-Didcot Parkway), 800317 (on 1C10, the 1028 Paddington-Weston-super-Mare), and 800025 (on 1D20, the 1023 Paddington-Didcot Parkway). RTT shows other workings passing through which aren't noted in my book: as usual, my eyes usually take a while to adjust to the action required for spotting, and I was hunched up in the shelter anyway, so missed them. 66563 pounded through on an Acton-Theale run before the next train to Abbey Wood arrived, a couple of minutes late, formed of 345006.
345010 passed on the Main line at Langley, I think forming the corresponding Reading train to ours that had been held up for 20 minutes at Westbourne Park, and 800304 overtook us on 1A14, the 0930 ex-Temple Meads. 66614 and 47614 were also noted on the run down to Southall, before we were passed by two freights in succession, with 66793 and 70001 responsible respectively. 66509 and 66244 were (I think) in Acton Yard, and 387166 and 387148 were also noted as we ran past North Pole, where I was able to note the side carriage number of one of the units on shed, but I haven’t had my spotting book to hand in order to find the unit in question – carriage number 829014.
66617 was hauling a freight train stopped in the Westbourne Park area, and we proceeded straight through without stopping, past 345003 in one of the sidings, and into the Elizabeth line core. DLR units 94, 49, and 43 provided entertainment at Custom House, along with 345030 on a Terminal 4 run.
I decided to alight at Woolwich, it being the only new Elizabeth line station I had not yet used, and went to find Woolwich Arsenal station. I found it just in time to leap aboard the 1157 to Cannon Street, formed of 465197 leading 465011, planning to alight at London Bridge.
I had (foolishly) left home with a not-very-well-charged phone, and couldn’t find any plug points on the 345 (though I’m sure I’ve seen some on other 345s). Networkers are also not blessed with plugs, so I merely hoped that “the baby” would not provide any important details until after I had found some stock with a charger!
DLR units 150, 115, and 148 were at Greenwich, and the fast run from Deptford to London Bridge produced a few more numbers: 465039, 465915, 466041, 700140, 377308, 377311, 375913, 375911, 700034, 465175, 465163, and 466025. At London Bridge, I had time to note 700012 and 465010 at London Bridge before leaping aboard a 466 on a Hayes run: 466039 trailing 465191 and 465001. Rather than do the entire Hayes branch (which has been on my bucket list for longer than I care to think), I alighted at Catford Bridge, the fast run (calling only at Ladywell) yielding 707027, 707005, 700146, 700127, 465164, 465046, 466009, 700139, 465139, 465170, and 378216 (at New Cross).
I don’t have many claims to fame. I went through four years at primary school before getting a question wrong in a spelling test. I put in what critics (i.e. me) dubbed a “deeply emotional” performance as Pontius Pilate in a primary-school production of the Easter story. (It’s all gone downhill since primary school
) But I think even these feats pale in insignificance to what I achieved then: I got lost on the walk between Catford Bridge and Catford.I exited on the same side of the station as the down platform, not noticing any signs. I misread the onward travel information board. It took quite a while to find the correct route on the map, having realised my error, go to Catford, find no train due for 15 minutes, and go the direct way back to Catford Bridge, in the hope of picking up a Class 707 CityBeam on the 1250 Charing Cross back.
I was successful. 707008 and 707009 were my steeds for the journey (via Lewisham) back to London Bridge, and it had plug points, so I was able to nurse my phone battery up to double figures. 700135, 700132, 707026, and 707007 put in appearances before London Bridge, where I noticed 376030 on a service from Cannon Street and hastily alighted, picking up the next Cannon Street service, formed of 707025 and 707010, meeting 375919 at Borough Market, but otherwise not seeing anything on the half-mile grind past Southwark Cathedral.
At Cannon Street, I ran round to pick up 376022 and 376036 on the 1323 to Slade Green, alighting once more at London Bridge to wait for a 375-operated service to Waterloo East. My vantage point was suitable enough to provide an array of numbers: 465048, 466012, 465189, 465047, 465907, 700045, 700115, 465018, 465178, 700149, 377503, 376025, 376034, 466018, 465027, and another 465 with carriage number 65803, before 375825 turned up on the delayed 1339 to Charing Cross (1200 ex-Dover Priory).
700136 passed on the Blackfriars line and 376011 was also spotted, before we made our arrival into Waterloo East, and I raced over into the main station just in time to pick up 5913 on the 1354 to Guildford. (RTT suggests it was actually 5916, which may be true: I made it with seconds to spare so wasn’t concentrating much.) The journey to Clapham Junction, naturally, provided many numbers: in this case, 5862, 5707, 5742, 159009, 444003, 5874, 450068, 450066, 450033, 450121, 444038, 458535, 707024, 707021, 458536, 450077, 450107, 450025, and 378137 leaving the Junction on (presumably) a Dalston Junction train.
Having (effectively) cleaned up Southeastern, and with my plan being to make use of SWR’s trains and WiFi after delivering “the baby”, I decided to take the next Southern service to Balham and take the Northern line from there. 377470, 377603, and 377436 all went through before 377140 came in on the 1409 to Epsom Downs. 377111 (in “Thank You NHS” livery… a bit ironic now the same people who were clapping for them this time two years ago have turned against them), 377139, and 377135, before I descended to the Northern line and picked up a Mill Hill East train, going via Bank.
Alighting at Moorgate, I decided to walk through the Elizabeth line station to Liverpool Street, where I knew that modern trains with charging points awaited me! To this end, I decided to climb aboard the 1510 to Stansted Airport, in the hope that the time spent standing at the station would give my battery time to recover. Before that, though, I made my customary circuit of the platforms, which held 755408 (trailing the 1500 to Norwich, first stop Colchester unfortunately!) 720568, 720555, 720117, 720564, 720511, 745101, 720527, 710130, 745103, 720557, and 745003. 745105 was on the 1510, and I brought my phone out to charge, and then produced two drooping halves of my charger, which had been crushed to death in my coat pocket. (Note to self: buy a sturdier charger!) 720528 and 745107 were noted on the pleasant run to Tottenham Hale, where I missed a late-running Express back to Liverpool Street by seconds and sat back to wait for the next Stratford train, with 720105 and 66795 providing entertainment.
You may be wondering why I’m being a little bit vague here: it is simply because my recollections may be at fault, given I’m writing this up an entire week later! What my book does tell me is that 720572 was on the 1528 to Stratford, and I settled down in my comfortable seat for the run past Temple Mills.
720589, 720576, 720524, and 37606 were in Orient Way Sidings, with 373215, 373205, and 373217 on Temple Mills shed. At this point, my phone buzzed. It was a message from “the baby”. He had cancelled on me.
To be fair to him, he had said that the traffic in Manchester was dreadful enough that he couldn’t make his train, but I did feel some righteous indignation. While the sight of 345067, and cops 720124 and 720582 helped matters a bit, the fast run to Romford on the carefully-chosen 1542 to Colchester Town (720557, full and standing) did not put me in a better mood. Due to “a fault with the signalling system in the Ilford area”, our speed did not exceed 20mph until past Goodmayes, which was at least slow enough to make out lots of the numbers on Ilford shed. As I said, my memories of what was where are very hazy, so I shall just live the numbers in my book as a large lump: 345062, 345036, 345026, 08588, 08700, 720611, an unidentifiable 321, 345032, 720127, 720536, and 345035.
We arrived at Romford 18 minutes late, and I ran over to Platform 1 with just enough time to catch 710272 on the Upminster shuttle, with 720535 racing past us before we turned off the main line. At Upminster, 357320 was disappearing as I crossed the footbridge, and 357207 and 357002 were on a down service, before I caught the 1633 to Fenchurch Street, formed of 357041 and 357036.
There are no entries in my book during the journey, for the following reason. The train was standing room only, but I was very kindly offered the spare seat at a table by a group of three elderly Japanese tourists, who asked me for help getting to the British Museum. I was able to draw enough on their tube map to show them the way, despite them not having very much English and me having no Japanese (this took up most of the journey, hence the lack of numbers), but their tickets were only valid to Fenchurch Street, so I showed them to Tower Hill and helped them buy Travelcards. (From what I understood, neither of them had contactless.)
As “the baby” was not arriving, I saw no point in continuing round the circuit to Euston, so caught a Circle line train back to Blackfriars. 465922 was waiting in one of the bays, as 700058 and 700148 went past in the opposite direction. After an agonising wait of around five minutes, 700046 showed up to take me two stops to Farringdon, where I descended to the Elizabeth line platforms to find a Reading train due in four minutes. 345055 called on the preceding Paddington service before 345014 wheeled in mine.
With my handwriting getting progressively more incomprehensible, we passed North Pole, home to 802110, 802104, 800010, 800038, and 800015, and 387143 and 387157 sped past. 66056, 66058, and 66100 were in Acton Yard, before another stream of 80xs appear in The Book: 800020, 800003, 800023, 802015, and 802012. 59005 was looped with a freight in the vague area of Airport Junction (as far as I recall), and 66568 was in one of the yards between Hayes & Harlington and West Drayton. 387170, 387148, and 387166 overtook us on a peak express, and a collection of 800005, 387160, 387147, and 387158 finished off a day that overall I was almost glad hadn’t lasted longer, given how tired I was by the end of it! And, if “the baby” is reading this, just be thankful you didn’t turn up – by then I’d probably have been tired enough to take you down the Piccadilly Line by mistake!
(Many thanks to @ls2270 for answering my TOPS requests during the day
)
Techniquest
Veteran Member
A shame he didn't make his train in Manchester, thus kind of wasting your day, but it looks like you had a productive time all in. I hope you've since got a better quality charger too!
Purple Train
Established Member
I did have a productive time thanks: I'm planning on covering the northern termini next time as I've neglected them somewhat.
I still haven't bought another charger!!
Purple Train
Established Member
(Apologies for the radio silence over the past couple of months: I haven't done any more London trips as of late, and, of the only long-distance journeys I've done, one was very short-notice so I didn't have the chance to get the stuff necessary for compiling notes, and the other was just another return trip to the Clacton branch which I figured would be a little bit boring given I wasn't actively spotting. Hopefully some more reports will appear in the tail end of August.
I realise that it seems very self-important, almost, to be making such an announcement given this is a very minor thread: I'm only doing it to make sure it doesn't get locked due to inactivity, and therefore so that I don't have to bother a moderator to get it unlocked again)
I realise that it seems very self-important, almost, to be making such an announcement given this is a very minor thread: I'm only doing it to make sure it doesn't get locked due to inactivity, and therefore so that I don't have to bother a moderator to get it unlocked again
)Purple Train
Established Member
OPEN ACCESS, OPEN SEASON
At the beginning of this summer, I drew up a list of all the classes in passenger service that I had not yet travelled on - I am slightly less bothered about individual units - and realised that the two trips I had planned over the summer stood a decent chance of knocking off a few of them. As someone whose long-distance travel was almost entirely on GWR and CrossCountry, the opportunity to fashion an itinerary that would tick off some more far-flung units was one not to be sniffed at, in my eyes.
The possibility came about in a rather unusual manner: I had been invited to two events that were taking place while I was away in God's Own County, one of which was actually easier to make while I was away, and one of which I... just fancied going to. The trouble was that it was taking place on a Sunday evening, in non-rail-served deepest Essex. There are not many occasions where being a practising Christian has its downsides, but trying to plan a travel itinerary around church services for that day proved impossible - even if I could teleport from the closest church to the railway station, I would still be arriving long after the event had started, and any opportunity of a lift vanished. Even trying to watch a live-streamed service would prove an issue, given rural Yorkshire is not renowned for its mobile phone signal.
In the end, I cheated. I travelled down part of the way on Saturday.
Before I get any further, I must add a Pathetic Disclaimer! This journey took place some two-and-a-bit weeks ago, so my memory is even worse than usual, especially given the second trip was only a week later. I made what I thought were copious notes - and I made them on my phone, to make sure that I didn't lose them, or render them illegible by tired handwriting - but some bits, particularly in busy areas, may be distinctly vague, so please bear with me. I definitely haven't been putting writing this up off for a week...
Day 1
When I first woke up, and checked National Rail Enquiries, it was to a split-second mixture of dread and relief. The early-morning service had gone totally pear-shaped, which included the cancellation of 1J44 (the 09.01 Scarborough-Sheffield) but fortunately, not 1W39 (the 06.55 Sheffield-Scarborough), which had been started from Hull. This raised the prospect of Something Interesting.
I reached the platform in good time. The dot-matrix display proclaimed "3 coaches". I inwardly cursed this cruel twist of fate: how dare they not throw up something interesting off Botanic Gardens shed? (I was a little less put out upon realising that I hadn't actually been on a Northern 170 on this line yet, owing to a combination of irregular travel and a set swap.)
It took a while for the train to come into view, behind a large group of young adults going out for a drinking party (kids these days...), but my thought process was something like this: "If only it had been something weird off Botanic Gardens shed, if only it had been something weird off Botanic Gardens shed, if only it had been something weird off... it is something weird off Botanic Gardens shed!" It was 155345 (so the board had been lying - stay tuned for more of that in the second report). Unfortunately, the large group of drinkers (as the guard said, "They've never heard of buses!") meant that there wasn't all that much room, though I was able to find an empty airline with enough room for me and my suitcase.
From there it was plain sailing to Seamer, where I alighted. So did the drinkers. Obviously I stood as far away from them as possible, observing with a sour eye their perilous position close to the white line - as anyone who's been through Seamer will know, it's not a wide platform - though soon enough distracted by 185120+185143 (no, not the forum member) on the 09.45 to Scarborough, before the 09.54 sailed in, courtesy of 185151 vice 68. Predictably, I did not get a seat.
Fortunately, we were blessed with an excellent guard. I didn't get an opportunity to chat to him at York, but he was simply incredibly frank and genuine, as well as providing lots more information than any automated announcement could, which included substantial connection information and a reminder that alcohol could not be consumed on TPE trains after 6pm. As I was standing, all I could really do was fiddle with the drawstring on my hat (but for more on the hat, see the second report!) and inform some people standing next to me that "those lovely old ruins, might be an old church" are in fact Kirkham Abbey.
My itinerary had originally been based on the idea that I could clear 801s for haulage by going to Doncaster on the 11.33 (09.00 ex-Waverley), on which I had reserved a seat, before changing for a Hull Trains service (to bring my TOCs-not-travelled-on list down to three, in preparation for the return journey, which would bring it down to two, and the second trip, which would bring it down to one - admittedly this figure does not include cross-Channel operators) at Doncaster. This plan was slightly spoiled on account of the fact that I would have a three-hour wait at Doncaster, so I decided that I would take the Northern stopper to Hull (all-stations, except Saltmarshe (which I have already cleared for stopping) and Broomfleet (which I haven't)) and then take the HT service from Hull, which goes via Howden, which is a route I haven't cleared. Is that all clear?
What subsequently influenced my decision was the realisation that the 11.33 would mean that I got a clear view of the Deltic coming into the station on the "Coronation Deltic" railtour, running approximately three and a half months late. Having never seen a Deltic on the main line, this was a must-see. Having unsuccessfully tried to thank the guard, I walked down to the south end of platform 3, which also happened to be where I had my reserved seat. Again, as I don't have RTT data for that day any more, I can't provide any service information beyond what I was on and what I remember, but, while at York, I saw 801210, 221128, 220017, 170459 (on a Leeds via Harrogate service), 185109 + 185113 (which I presume were either off to Saltburn or had come from Saltburn), 155347 and 155341 (which came in separately, but coupled up to form a Bridlington service), 802216, 801218, 801216, 195102, 170473 (another Harrogate service), 158753, 802204 (on a Liverpool Lime Street service), 803003 (which came up behind me completely silently on Platform 3 and gave me something of a fright), 221126, and 221136.
At this point, there was a problem. The Deltic was running six minutes late and it was touch and go whether it would arrive before the 11.33, which I had to get in order to do the Hull manoeuvre, but would also provide the 801. As if to make things worse, the 11.33 was also running slightly late, which meant that my nine-minute connection at Doncaster might possibly be jeopardised, given the 12.05 all-shacks was using Platform 0.
Fortunately, the Deltic came first. And what a sight it was, powering gently into the platform at the head of its gleaming train, showing off its role-play costume of 55013 (it was actually 55009 Alycidon, wasn't it?), just as my train came round the curve.
Surely this would be an 801, I thought, all the other LNER services have been, and this is booked 801... and so I continued to think right up until I saw the Saltire behind the cab and realised it was, in fact, 800104. Bother.
47813 was on the back of the railtour, which obscured the only 225 set of the day running into one of the bays - the DVT was 82221, and RTT had the train loco as 91107 Skyfall. Well, it had been right about everything else, so I decided to trust it.
801204 is the only entry I have between York and Doncaster, which I can only assume was on the 11.35 from York towards Edinburgh, given my seat was on the left-hand side, it's impossible to spot an 80x number at a closing speed of 250mph, and I was too busy at Doncaster trying to find Platform 0.
I found it, with 170456 waiting for me on the 1205, and settled down in enough time to spot 180106 on a Grand Central service. The train was mostly empty, with one person getting off at Kirk Sandall (which was also graced with the presence of 66509 on a freight towards Doncaster, seen just before the station, and nobody got off at Hatfield & Stainforth. After a long stop at Thorne North (passenger on drugs forgetting his fishing tackle), we were slightly late into Goole, but, with the help of a heaped tablespoon of pathing allowance, we were five minutes early into the very quiet station at Gilberdyke, which gave the driver enough time to stretch his legs. A TSR at Ferriby delayed us into Hessle, but we made a smooth arrival into Hull a minute or two early, with a lot of 185s in and around Paragon station: 185126, 185132, 185121, and 185140. 150228 made a surprise appearance before I wandered over to platform 7 to board 802302 on the 13.30 to Kings Cross, which was surprisingly full.
I have 195109 and 195101 in my notes as in the yard at Doncaster, but I suspect 195101 may have been 331101, as I only saw one carriage number and didn't bother to check! (I made the same mistake with 331103 on my way back, though fortunately I was able to correct it.) The yards south of the station came up with some goods, courtesy of 801102, 66516, 68023, and a load of 730s, all of which were too far away for me to find a number. 801225 passed us at Retford, and 170509 was working a Skegness service at Grantham. Despite someone behind me moaning about the legroom and constantly kicking my seat (causing it to vibrate like mad), it was quite a pleasant journey, with a couple of locos at Newark Northgate (one of which I think was 57312) and 66782, 66755, 66713, and 69009 in Peterborough yard, 700124 in the station, and 700150 overtaken. That is, until Hitchin.
According to OpenTrainTimes, we were delayed behind a slow-running Great Northern Ely-Kings Cross service, which led much of the journey from Hitchin to Welwyn Garden City to be undertaken at a crawl, losing 11 minutes. And, as if to compound my misery, we had recovered our speed past Bounds Green and Hornsey, which meant I couldn't note down everything on shed: 801201 at Bounds Green, and 700112, 387302, 717018, 700106, 700060, and 700127 at Hornsey is all I managed. 387102 and ex-GWR 387172 were overtaken at Finsbury Park on an empty stock run, before we coasted through Gasworks Tunnel and into Kings Cross 11 minutes late at 16.19.
Before going down to the Underground, I did my customary sweep of the platforms, with 700139, 801221, 801107, 700009, 180104, 801101, 801212, 800102, 801111, and 387126 all in and around the station. Again, I can't remember what specifically was in or just outside the station, which is why the figure seems so large!
I went down to the cut-and-cover platforms, via probably every single passageway in the entire station, and at long last managed to get to the platform quickly enough to grab a Circle Line train to Liverpool Street, where I went down further into the "Elizabeth line" Line station (which annoys me significantly more than Battersea Power Station Tube Station) to pick up 345020 on a Shenfield service. 720526, 378214, and DLR units 105 and 140 were at Stratford, and 720535 was on the rear of an up service as it passed us. 08700 was on duty, as usual, at the south end of Ilford depot, with 345068, 345012, 710104, and 720537 on shed.
The remainder of the trip was a gentle procession along the country end of the eastern EL leg, with enough trains to keep me occupied: 745009, 345049, 720540, DR73118, DR97806, 720549, 720125, 720126, 345025, 345021, 720573, and 720564. Again, exact locations aren't readily available, but I can remember that the track machines were at Romford!
Day 2
After a leisurely Sunday morning, and the consumption of lunch, I was very kindly driven to Shenfield station in order to catch the 14.00 as there was some disruption on the Elizabeth Line. 720540 and 720526 brought in the 1357 to Liverpool Street before 720565 and 720529 brought in my train. 345023 was in Shenfield sidings, but I didn't get much else as I was sitting in my preferred bay of six, on the left-hand-side, watching the world go by. 720535 and 720576 made an appearance (I think) at Chelmsford, and 720571 was in the Braintree platform at Witham, with 720542 and 720551 on a service in the opposite direction. 720560 and 755407 were in Colchester sidings, before we turned onto the Sunshine Coast Line. Helpfully, services on Sundays stop at every station on the line except Weeley (which is in the middle of nowhere) and Colchester Town, so we didn't suffer the 10mph grind past the dingy mechanic's in the triangle.
As someone else was arriving on the train an hour after mine, I went down (with the people I was staying with for the event) to meet them. Unlike my reception (which I had waited some time for as we had miscommunicated the time of the train), we got to the platform in good time, and took up position as a welcoming-party. Over the side of the station wall, I spotted something. A bramble bush. And not just any bramble bush - a bush stocked chock-full of dark, shiny, fat blackberries. I could almost taste them. They looked delicious, just ripe enough to have that little tart edge without being sour, and that little sweet edge without being sweet...
I mentioned this. "Look, a travesty of the countryside - a lovely-looking blackberry bush, and no way of picking the blackberries." (The station wall is about as high as I am - just under five and a half feet.) The only sane response, as far as my friend was concerned, was to hand me the dog and give her sister a leg up.
The blackberries were indeed extremely good, so much so that we were still picking them when the train rolled in (720559 and 720125). This necessitated a quick manoeuvre back over the wall to avoid arousing the suspicion of the driver/any member of staff who just happened to be there. If the person who was driving the 1437 Liverpool Street-Clacton-on-Sea is, by some miracle, reading this, there is a perfectly innocent explanation for the suspicious-looking group of young persons, one in a dreadful jumper and scared stiff by the responsibility of controlling a golden retriever, huddled around the station wall at one of the intermediate stations. Definitely.
The only other action as far as trains are concerned that occurred was picking someone up at North station, whose train was formed of 720126 and 720501.
Day 3
My original plan had been to tick off the remaining bits of the Sunshine Coast Line that I hadn't yet done, before leaving on the 14.05 Clacton-Liverpool Street, which I was booked on. However, I realised almost immediately after waking up that extending a six-hour journey by four hours (allowing for an hour in Walton-on-the-Naze for lunch and sightseeing), having spent four hours barn-dancing the previous evening, was not the sanest idea, so I spent the morning recovering before getting dropped off to catch the afternoon train. 720551 was on a Walton service, and 720531 was on the down Liverpool Street, before 720578 brought in my train. 720584, 720589, 720565, and 720549 were my only spots before Shenfield, with the run to Shenfield bringing a large variety of 345s: 345017, 345058, 345013, 345053, Pride-liveried 345055, looking very smart, and 345061. 378255 and 378216 were at Stratford, along with 720575, 378229, and DLR unit 35 (not on its own, obviously) before we pulled into Liverpool Street and I did my customary circuit of the platforms, which played host to 745004, 710120, 745106, 720532, and 745110.
Opposite the Stansted platforms, I was asked if I was alright by a Stansted Express member of staff (yes, I know it's a sub-brand of GA), and I replied that I was just checking what was in. He seemed slightly surprised that I wasn't a lost tourist, which would make sense given my hat - but for more on the hat, see the second trip report! (Which I am aiming to write as quickly as possible, once I've finished writing this up - as you can probably tell from my increasingly terse writing style, I am getting progressively more tired!)
At Kings Cross, I was booked on the 16.27 Grand Central service as far as Doncaster. GC services call later than LNER ones, so I had to sit on one of the rather inadequate wooden benches in the far corner until 10 minutes before departure. 800105 was in one of the adjacent platforms to my train, which was formed of 180104.
The trouble with a 180 is that, while they have small coach letter stickers in the door area, there isn't actually anything that says which end of the coach you're entering. I gambled. I got it wrong.
My wooden spoon was a walk down the aisle encountering people who had made the same mistake in the opposite direction coming the other way. Given the train (by the time it left Kings Cross) was virtually standing room only, I couldn't manage the quick dodge-into-a-seat-bay trick. I was also pulling a suitcase, which meant dodging people was even more difficult, given the aisle on 180s is quite narrow - this is the cost of having such wide and luxurious seats!
I was also quite pleased at seeing proper physical reservation tickets again - are these used on anything nowadays except for TPE 185s and these? I found my seat - next to an occupied window seat - and sat back, ready for the upcoming 90-minute non-stop run to Doncaster. Finally, I could relax.
Or so I thought, until a gentleman wearing a baseball cap and carrying a laptop asked the woman who was sitting in the window seat for his seat. She replied, "But this is my seat, D20!" and looked very unlike moving. I moved my stuff out of the space between my legs and the seat in front and asked the woman if I could see her ticket. I can't remember whether I took my hat off so that I looked slightly less like a lost tourist, but she did eventually show me. It was booked for the 14.56. I informed her of this. She stammered, "But I was told I could take this train!"
At the time I undertook this journey, the 14.56 - which is a Class 221 diagram - was terminated short at Wakefield Westgate, which would mean it made perfect sense that passengers for Bradford Interchange could take the 16.27. However, as I explained to her in the least patronising manner I could, that of course doesn't mean that your 14.56 seat reservation is valid on the 16.27! I told her to speak to the guard if she so wished, and she disappeared in the direction of coach B. I never saw her again.
803003 (again) was in the platform alongside ours, ECS, and 801211 and 91107 (again) were visible as we pulled out of Kings Cross. In terms of the traction, I have to say the 180 had one of the best interiors on anything in my opinion (far better than the 802 on my way down), let down slightly by the noise, which seemed a bit loud and a bit too high-pitched. At least it didn't experience a thermal incident (which sounds more like a heating issue at an ice rink than a train catching fire).
700034, 717006, and 717011 were on Hornsey shed, and 66759, 66013, and 66799 were present at Peterborough as we scuttled northwards. Obviously having an aisle seat wasn't conducive to numbers, but at least I was on the right side, which meant I could catch a glimpse of 43290 and 43277 on an NMT run in the Stoke Bank area (thanks to Rhysdabeast for answering my relevant TOPS request). Other than that, the run to Doncaster was swift and relaxing, with 66186 and 331103 in and around the station.
802302 (again) and 801208 soon came through, with 331101 terminating from Leeds, and 801201 on another LNER service. As I had a 25-minute wait for my next and final train, I went over to the Subway on platform 1 and bought myself a sandwich, which was excellent; and I walked back over to the vending machines between platforms 4 and 8 and bought myself a Twix, about which I have ranted enough on the Forum already.
170478 was on a Scarborough-Sheffield service, and 801106 and 801111 were working the 16.33 ex-Kings Cross to Bradford Forster Square, which was really rather empty compared to my GC service. My steed for the journey back up the coast (on the 18.26) was none other than 170456 again, upon which I ate my dinner before presenting the wrong half of the ticket to the guard, who was already confused by the fact that she thought she'd checked my ticket before. She had - on the train to Seamer, the previous Saturday! Fortunately I woke up enough to present my full ticket, and we departed without incident.
47714 was in the yard, decidedly worse for wear, with another, numberless, 47: the run up the Goole line was uneventful, and I've already described the line in the first part of this report so shan't do so again. 155341 and 155347 passed us at Brough, and Hull was once again a hive of activity, with 802305, 170474, 185140, and 185110 all within the station environs.
The last time I travelled on this service (the 1757 Sheffield-Scarborough) it was short-formed, and ended up 35 minutes late by the time I had to get off. Fortunately, we left Hull on time, passing 155345 in the Cottingham area on a Bridlington-York local, and 155343 just outside Bridlington with the service an hour behind it. Four of the seven extant 155s within 90 minutes is not an opportunity to be sniffed at! Interestingly, I saw none of the other (even-numbered) sets out on either journey - coincidence? The final train I saw was 170476, in the other platform at Hunmanby.
"Scenic but slow" is probably the best way to describe the Yorkshire Coast Line, and its grandiose George Townsend Andrews architecture, countryside views with occasional glimpses through a letterbox at the sea, and gentle, antiquated method of operating (much of the line is still signalled using semaphores and absolute block). It seems odd that such a place is now a hotbed of GBR signage (at least at the stations that are served exclusively by the line), but times change - levelling-up in action?
On a slightly less philosophical note, I'm still annoyed about the 801 substitution! Oh well... there's always a next time (though hopefully I won't be doing any more long journeys to go away from going away...)
Hopefully the second part will turn up soon - this took me a week, on and off (more specifically, two days' writing, five days' leaving it alone!) to write, so hopefully progress is a little less slow on the other journey - and I'll only have one day's worth of travel to cover, so hopefully the pacing will be a little less weird!
At the beginning of this summer, I drew up a list of all the classes in passenger service that I had not yet travelled on - I am slightly less bothered about individual units - and realised that the two trips I had planned over the summer stood a decent chance of knocking off a few of them. As someone whose long-distance travel was almost entirely on GWR and CrossCountry, the opportunity to fashion an itinerary that would tick off some more far-flung units was one not to be sniffed at, in my eyes.
The possibility came about in a rather unusual manner: I had been invited to two events that were taking place while I was away in God's Own County, one of which was actually easier to make while I was away, and one of which I... just fancied going to. The trouble was that it was taking place on a Sunday evening, in non-rail-served deepest Essex. There are not many occasions where being a practising Christian has its downsides, but trying to plan a travel itinerary around church services for that day proved impossible - even if I could teleport from the closest church to the railway station, I would still be arriving long after the event had started, and any opportunity of a lift vanished. Even trying to watch a live-streamed service would prove an issue, given rural Yorkshire is not renowned for its mobile phone signal.
In the end, I cheated. I travelled down part of the way on Saturday.
Before I get any further, I must add a Pathetic Disclaimer! This journey took place some two-and-a-bit weeks ago, so my memory is even worse than usual, especially given the second trip was only a week later. I made what I thought were copious notes - and I made them on my phone, to make sure that I didn't lose them, or render them illegible by tired handwriting - but some bits, particularly in busy areas, may be distinctly vague, so please bear with me. I definitely haven't been putting writing this up off for a week...
Day 1
When I first woke up, and checked National Rail Enquiries, it was to a split-second mixture of dread and relief. The early-morning service had gone totally pear-shaped, which included the cancellation of 1J44 (the 09.01 Scarborough-Sheffield) but fortunately, not 1W39 (the 06.55 Sheffield-Scarborough), which had been started from Hull. This raised the prospect of Something Interesting.
I reached the platform in good time. The dot-matrix display proclaimed "3 coaches". I inwardly cursed this cruel twist of fate: how dare they not throw up something interesting off Botanic Gardens shed? (I was a little less put out upon realising that I hadn't actually been on a Northern 170 on this line yet, owing to a combination of irregular travel and a set swap.)
It took a while for the train to come into view, behind a large group of young adults going out for a drinking party (kids these days...), but my thought process was something like this: "If only it had been something weird off Botanic Gardens shed, if only it had been something weird off Botanic Gardens shed, if only it had been something weird off... it is something weird off Botanic Gardens shed!" It was 155345 (so the board had been lying - stay tuned for more of that in the second report). Unfortunately, the large group of drinkers (as the guard said, "They've never heard of buses!") meant that there wasn't all that much room, though I was able to find an empty airline with enough room for me and my suitcase.
From there it was plain sailing to Seamer, where I alighted. So did the drinkers. Obviously I stood as far away from them as possible, observing with a sour eye their perilous position close to the white line - as anyone who's been through Seamer will know, it's not a wide platform - though soon enough distracted by 185120+185143 (no, not the forum member) on the 09.45 to Scarborough, before the 09.54 sailed in, courtesy of 185151 vice 68. Predictably, I did not get a seat.
Fortunately, we were blessed with an excellent guard. I didn't get an opportunity to chat to him at York, but he was simply incredibly frank and genuine, as well as providing lots more information than any automated announcement could, which included substantial connection information and a reminder that alcohol could not be consumed on TPE trains after 6pm. As I was standing, all I could really do was fiddle with the drawstring on my hat (but for more on the hat, see the second report!) and inform some people standing next to me that "those lovely old ruins, might be an old church" are in fact Kirkham Abbey.
My itinerary had originally been based on the idea that I could clear 801s for haulage by going to Doncaster on the 11.33 (09.00 ex-Waverley), on which I had reserved a seat, before changing for a Hull Trains service (to bring my TOCs-not-travelled-on list down to three, in preparation for the return journey, which would bring it down to two, and the second trip, which would bring it down to one - admittedly this figure does not include cross-Channel operators) at Doncaster. This plan was slightly spoiled on account of the fact that I would have a three-hour wait at Doncaster, so I decided that I would take the Northern stopper to Hull (all-stations, except Saltmarshe (which I have already cleared for stopping) and Broomfleet (which I haven't)) and then take the HT service from Hull, which goes via Howden, which is a route I haven't cleared. Is that all clear?
What subsequently influenced my decision was the realisation that the 11.33 would mean that I got a clear view of the Deltic coming into the station on the "Coronation Deltic" railtour, running approximately three and a half months late. Having never seen a Deltic on the main line, this was a must-see. Having unsuccessfully tried to thank the guard, I walked down to the south end of platform 3, which also happened to be where I had my reserved seat. Again, as I don't have RTT data for that day any more, I can't provide any service information beyond what I was on and what I remember, but, while at York, I saw 801210, 221128, 220017, 170459 (on a Leeds via Harrogate service), 185109 + 185113 (which I presume were either off to Saltburn or had come from Saltburn), 155347 and 155341 (which came in separately, but coupled up to form a Bridlington service), 802216, 801218, 801216, 195102, 170473 (another Harrogate service), 158753, 802204 (on a Liverpool Lime Street service), 803003 (which came up behind me completely silently on Platform 3 and gave me something of a fright), 221126, and 221136.
At this point, there was a problem. The Deltic was running six minutes late and it was touch and go whether it would arrive before the 11.33, which I had to get in order to do the Hull manoeuvre, but would also provide the 801. As if to make things worse, the 11.33 was also running slightly late, which meant that my nine-minute connection at Doncaster might possibly be jeopardised, given the 12.05 all-shacks was using Platform 0.
Fortunately, the Deltic came first. And what a sight it was, powering gently into the platform at the head of its gleaming train, showing off its role-play costume of 55013 (it was actually 55009 Alycidon, wasn't it?), just as my train came round the curve.
Surely this would be an 801, I thought, all the other LNER services have been, and this is booked 801... and so I continued to think right up until I saw the Saltire behind the cab and realised it was, in fact, 800104. Bother.
47813 was on the back of the railtour, which obscured the only 225 set of the day running into one of the bays - the DVT was 82221, and RTT had the train loco as 91107 Skyfall. Well, it had been right about everything else, so I decided to trust it.
801204 is the only entry I have between York and Doncaster, which I can only assume was on the 11.35 from York towards Edinburgh, given my seat was on the left-hand side, it's impossible to spot an 80x number at a closing speed of 250mph, and I was too busy at Doncaster trying to find Platform 0.
I found it, with 170456 waiting for me on the 1205, and settled down in enough time to spot 180106 on a Grand Central service. The train was mostly empty, with one person getting off at Kirk Sandall (which was also graced with the presence of 66509 on a freight towards Doncaster, seen just before the station, and nobody got off at Hatfield & Stainforth. After a long stop at Thorne North (passenger on drugs forgetting his fishing tackle), we were slightly late into Goole, but, with the help of a heaped tablespoon of pathing allowance, we were five minutes early into the very quiet station at Gilberdyke, which gave the driver enough time to stretch his legs. A TSR at Ferriby delayed us into Hessle, but we made a smooth arrival into Hull a minute or two early, with a lot of 185s in and around Paragon station: 185126, 185132, 185121, and 185140. 150228 made a surprise appearance before I wandered over to platform 7 to board 802302 on the 13.30 to Kings Cross, which was surprisingly full.
I have 195109 and 195101 in my notes as in the yard at Doncaster, but I suspect 195101 may have been 331101, as I only saw one carriage number and didn't bother to check! (I made the same mistake with 331103 on my way back, though fortunately I was able to correct it.) The yards south of the station came up with some goods, courtesy of 801102, 66516, 68023, and a load of 730s, all of which were too far away for me to find a number. 801225 passed us at Retford, and 170509 was working a Skegness service at Grantham. Despite someone behind me moaning about the legroom and constantly kicking my seat (causing it to vibrate like mad), it was quite a pleasant journey, with a couple of locos at Newark Northgate (one of which I think was 57312) and 66782, 66755, 66713, and 69009 in Peterborough yard, 700124 in the station, and 700150 overtaken. That is, until Hitchin.
According to OpenTrainTimes, we were delayed behind a slow-running Great Northern Ely-Kings Cross service, which led much of the journey from Hitchin to Welwyn Garden City to be undertaken at a crawl, losing 11 minutes. And, as if to compound my misery, we had recovered our speed past Bounds Green and Hornsey, which meant I couldn't note down everything on shed: 801201 at Bounds Green, and 700112, 387302, 717018, 700106, 700060, and 700127 at Hornsey is all I managed. 387102 and ex-GWR 387172 were overtaken at Finsbury Park on an empty stock run, before we coasted through Gasworks Tunnel and into Kings Cross 11 minutes late at 16.19.
Before going down to the Underground, I did my customary sweep of the platforms, with 700139, 801221, 801107, 700009, 180104, 801101, 801212, 800102, 801111, and 387126 all in and around the station. Again, I can't remember what specifically was in or just outside the station, which is why the figure seems so large!
I went down to the cut-and-cover platforms, via probably every single passageway in the entire station, and at long last managed to get to the platform quickly enough to grab a Circle Line train to Liverpool Street, where I went down further into the "Elizabeth line" Line station (which annoys me significantly more than Battersea Power Station Tube Station) to pick up 345020 on a Shenfield service. 720526, 378214, and DLR units 105 and 140 were at Stratford, and 720535 was on the rear of an up service as it passed us. 08700 was on duty, as usual, at the south end of Ilford depot, with 345068, 345012, 710104, and 720537 on shed.
The remainder of the trip was a gentle procession along the country end of the eastern EL leg, with enough trains to keep me occupied: 745009, 345049, 720540, DR73118, DR97806, 720549, 720125, 720126, 345025, 345021, 720573, and 720564. Again, exact locations aren't readily available, but I can remember that the track machines were at Romford!
Day 2
After a leisurely Sunday morning, and the consumption of lunch, I was very kindly driven to Shenfield station in order to catch the 14.00 as there was some disruption on the Elizabeth Line. 720540 and 720526 brought in the 1357 to Liverpool Street before 720565 and 720529 brought in my train. 345023 was in Shenfield sidings, but I didn't get much else as I was sitting in my preferred bay of six, on the left-hand-side, watching the world go by. 720535 and 720576 made an appearance (I think) at Chelmsford, and 720571 was in the Braintree platform at Witham, with 720542 and 720551 on a service in the opposite direction. 720560 and 755407 were in Colchester sidings, before we turned onto the Sunshine Coast Line. Helpfully, services on Sundays stop at every station on the line except Weeley (which is in the middle of nowhere) and Colchester Town, so we didn't suffer the 10mph grind past the dingy mechanic's in the triangle.
As someone else was arriving on the train an hour after mine, I went down (with the people I was staying with for the event) to meet them. Unlike my reception (which I had waited some time for as we had miscommunicated the time of the train), we got to the platform in good time, and took up position as a welcoming-party. Over the side of the station wall, I spotted something. A bramble bush. And not just any bramble bush - a bush stocked chock-full of dark, shiny, fat blackberries. I could almost taste them. They looked delicious, just ripe enough to have that little tart edge without being sour, and that little sweet edge without being sweet...
I mentioned this. "Look, a travesty of the countryside - a lovely-looking blackberry bush, and no way of picking the blackberries." (The station wall is about as high as I am - just under five and a half feet.) The only sane response, as far as my friend was concerned, was to hand me the dog and give her sister a leg up.
The blackberries were indeed extremely good, so much so that we were still picking them when the train rolled in (720559 and 720125). This necessitated a quick manoeuvre back over the wall to avoid arousing the suspicion of the driver/any member of staff who just happened to be there. If the person who was driving the 1437 Liverpool Street-Clacton-on-Sea is, by some miracle, reading this, there is a perfectly innocent explanation for the suspicious-looking group of young persons, one in a dreadful jumper and scared stiff by the responsibility of controlling a golden retriever, huddled around the station wall at one of the intermediate stations. Definitely.
The only other action as far as trains are concerned that occurred was picking someone up at North station, whose train was formed of 720126 and 720501.
Day 3
My original plan had been to tick off the remaining bits of the Sunshine Coast Line that I hadn't yet done, before leaving on the 14.05 Clacton-Liverpool Street, which I was booked on. However, I realised almost immediately after waking up that extending a six-hour journey by four hours (allowing for an hour in Walton-on-the-Naze for lunch and sightseeing), having spent four hours barn-dancing the previous evening, was not the sanest idea, so I spent the morning recovering before getting dropped off to catch the afternoon train. 720551 was on a Walton service, and 720531 was on the down Liverpool Street, before 720578 brought in my train. 720584, 720589, 720565, and 720549 were my only spots before Shenfield, with the run to Shenfield bringing a large variety of 345s: 345017, 345058, 345013, 345053, Pride-liveried 345055, looking very smart, and 345061. 378255 and 378216 were at Stratford, along with 720575, 378229, and DLR unit 35 (not on its own, obviously) before we pulled into Liverpool Street and I did my customary circuit of the platforms, which played host to 745004, 710120, 745106, 720532, and 745110.
Opposite the Stansted platforms, I was asked if I was alright by a Stansted Express member of staff (yes, I know it's a sub-brand of GA), and I replied that I was just checking what was in. He seemed slightly surprised that I wasn't a lost tourist, which would make sense given my hat - but for more on the hat, see the second trip report! (Which I am aiming to write as quickly as possible, once I've finished writing this up - as you can probably tell from my increasingly terse writing style, I am getting progressively more tired!)
At Kings Cross, I was booked on the 16.27 Grand Central service as far as Doncaster. GC services call later than LNER ones, so I had to sit on one of the rather inadequate wooden benches in the far corner until 10 minutes before departure. 800105 was in one of the adjacent platforms to my train, which was formed of 180104.
The trouble with a 180 is that, while they have small coach letter stickers in the door area, there isn't actually anything that says which end of the coach you're entering. I gambled. I got it wrong.
My wooden spoon was a walk down the aisle encountering people who had made the same mistake in the opposite direction coming the other way. Given the train (by the time it left Kings Cross) was virtually standing room only, I couldn't manage the quick dodge-into-a-seat-bay trick. I was also pulling a suitcase, which meant dodging people was even more difficult, given the aisle on 180s is quite narrow - this is the cost of having such wide and luxurious seats!
I was also quite pleased at seeing proper physical reservation tickets again - are these used on anything nowadays except for TPE 185s and these? I found my seat - next to an occupied window seat - and sat back, ready for the upcoming 90-minute non-stop run to Doncaster. Finally, I could relax.
Or so I thought, until a gentleman wearing a baseball cap and carrying a laptop asked the woman who was sitting in the window seat for his seat. She replied, "But this is my seat, D20!" and looked very unlike moving. I moved my stuff out of the space between my legs and the seat in front and asked the woman if I could see her ticket. I can't remember whether I took my hat off so that I looked slightly less like a lost tourist, but she did eventually show me. It was booked for the 14.56. I informed her of this. She stammered, "But I was told I could take this train!"
At the time I undertook this journey, the 14.56 - which is a Class 221 diagram - was terminated short at Wakefield Westgate, which would mean it made perfect sense that passengers for Bradford Interchange could take the 16.27. However, as I explained to her in the least patronising manner I could, that of course doesn't mean that your 14.56 seat reservation is valid on the 16.27! I told her to speak to the guard if she so wished, and she disappeared in the direction of coach B. I never saw her again.
803003 (again) was in the platform alongside ours, ECS, and 801211 and 91107 (again) were visible as we pulled out of Kings Cross. In terms of the traction, I have to say the 180 had one of the best interiors on anything in my opinion (far better than the 802 on my way down), let down slightly by the noise, which seemed a bit loud and a bit too high-pitched. At least it didn't experience a thermal incident (which sounds more like a heating issue at an ice rink than a train catching fire).
700034, 717006, and 717011 were on Hornsey shed, and 66759, 66013, and 66799 were present at Peterborough as we scuttled northwards. Obviously having an aisle seat wasn't conducive to numbers, but at least I was on the right side, which meant I could catch a glimpse of 43290 and 43277 on an NMT run in the Stoke Bank area (thanks to Rhysdabeast for answering my relevant TOPS request). Other than that, the run to Doncaster was swift and relaxing, with 66186 and 331103 in and around the station.
802302 (again) and 801208 soon came through, with 331101 terminating from Leeds, and 801201 on another LNER service. As I had a 25-minute wait for my next and final train, I went over to the Subway on platform 1 and bought myself a sandwich, which was excellent; and I walked back over to the vending machines between platforms 4 and 8 and bought myself a Twix, about which I have ranted enough on the Forum already.
170478 was on a Scarborough-Sheffield service, and 801106 and 801111 were working the 16.33 ex-Kings Cross to Bradford Forster Square, which was really rather empty compared to my GC service. My steed for the journey back up the coast (on the 18.26) was none other than 170456 again, upon which I ate my dinner before presenting the wrong half of the ticket to the guard, who was already confused by the fact that she thought she'd checked my ticket before. She had - on the train to Seamer, the previous Saturday! Fortunately I woke up enough to present my full ticket, and we departed without incident.
47714 was in the yard, decidedly worse for wear, with another, numberless, 47: the run up the Goole line was uneventful, and I've already described the line in the first part of this report so shan't do so again. 155341 and 155347 passed us at Brough, and Hull was once again a hive of activity, with 802305, 170474, 185140, and 185110 all within the station environs.
The last time I travelled on this service (the 1757 Sheffield-Scarborough) it was short-formed, and ended up 35 minutes late by the time I had to get off. Fortunately, we left Hull on time, passing 155345 in the Cottingham area on a Bridlington-York local, and 155343 just outside Bridlington with the service an hour behind it. Four of the seven extant 155s within 90 minutes is not an opportunity to be sniffed at! Interestingly, I saw none of the other (even-numbered) sets out on either journey - coincidence? The final train I saw was 170476, in the other platform at Hunmanby.
"Scenic but slow" is probably the best way to describe the Yorkshire Coast Line, and its grandiose George Townsend Andrews architecture, countryside views with occasional glimpses through a letterbox at the sea, and gentle, antiquated method of operating (much of the line is still signalled using semaphores and absolute block). It seems odd that such a place is now a hotbed of GBR signage (at least at the stations that are served exclusively by the line), but times change - levelling-up in action?
On a slightly less philosophical note, I'm still annoyed about the 801 substitution! Oh well... there's always a next time (though hopefully I won't be doing any more long journeys to go away from going away...)
Hopefully the second part will turn up soon - this took me a week, on and off (more specifically, two days' writing, five days' leaving it alone!) to write, so hopefully progress is a little less slow on the other journey - and I'll only have one day's worth of travel to cover, so hopefully the pacing will be a little less weird!
Kite159
Veteran Member
A busy few days
Techniquest
Veteran Member
3 very different days there, and I hope I'm not the only one who got Famous Five vibes from the scrambling to pick blackberries! They sounded incredible, it must be said
I don't think anyone's ever mentioned going barn dancing in a trip report either, so another first for this section of the forum!
An enjoyable read there, a great bit of variety across the 3 days. I sympathise with the enormous task of typing it all up, I've had similar issues on past trip reports and it can be very daunting. I type mine up as I go along more often than not, so it's not such a big job at the end.
I don't think anyone's ever mentioned going barn dancing in a trip report either, so another first for this section of the forum!
An enjoyable read there, a great bit of variety across the 3 days. I sympathise with the enormous task of typing it all up, I've had similar issues on past trip reports and it can be very daunting. I type mine up as I go along more often than not, so it's not such a big job at the end.
Purple Train
Established Member
That's one way to put it
The blackberries definitely were incredible, I can still remember the taste perfectly! And now you come to mention it, there would have been four of us plus a dog, so yes, Famous Five... hmm!3 very different days there, and I hope I'm not the only one who got Famous Five vibes from the scrambling to pick blackberries! They sounded incredible, it must be said
That's their loss
Yes, I've been wondering about that - but I find typing on a phone really difficult so can't really do more than numbers and occasional notes as to location/pointers. I do have a photographic memory, which helps, but, as you could probably tell, it by no means encompasses everything!
Techniquest
Veteran Member
I think I'm just used to typing on a phone now, typing on a keyboard feels strange. I do that at work and the keyboards are really compact, and some are a little different to the others, so they take some getting used to! Writing trip reports the old fashioned way, into a notebook, then typing them up at the end, is certainly a laborious task but I have weird nostalgia for it!
As for the barn dancing comment, I found it interesting because it's not the sort of thing one finds in a trip report often. Which I know sounds like a negative thing, but until my recent-ish trip report where I made my trip decision while scrubbing the bathroom I'd not seen anything like that either. Personally, the little insights into people's non-railway lives can be quite fascinating, so I hope it didn't sound like I was discouraging it!
I'm actually a bit intrigued about barn dancing, it doesn't sound like my sort of thing but it would appear to be very social!
As for the barn dancing comment, I found it interesting because it's not the sort of thing one finds in a trip report often. Which I know sounds like a negative thing, but until my recent-ish trip report where I made my trip decision while scrubbing the bathroom I'd not seen anything like that either. Personally, the little insights into people's non-railway lives can be quite fascinating, so I hope it didn't sound like I was discouraging it!
I'm actually a bit intrigued about barn dancing, it doesn't sound like my sort of thing but it would appear to be very social!
Purple Train
Established Member
Fair enough - and no, you didn't sound like you were discouraging it, at least to me. And yes, it is very social! I did do a quick check to see if I could go, "ha, this person referenced barn dancing in a trip report in 2007", but I've just searched up barn dancing and the only other mention on the forum is about a "protest barn dance", which is not a string I ever expected to read.
Purple Train
Established Member
My laptop had a rush of blood and reset itself, which meant I lost my first draft, so here goes!
WAYFARER
The second event referred to in the first trip report was a birthday party I was compelled to attend (no, not mine), which was close enough to Manchester that I could avail myself of the excellent GM Wayfarer ticket. This also meant that I could travel early enough that I could tick off a fair amount of General Stuff.
The first question, after I had booked an advance itinerary that included a bonus trip to Scarborough, was what kind of General Stuff was to be ticked off. Much as I enjoy ticking off track, it became quite clear after a little research that the track in Manchester would stay put a lot longer than the traction, some of which was in that annoying little section of the Venn diagram that includes stock that is both on its way out and that I have never travelled on. Eventually, having worked out which stock I was yet to travel on, I did a little more research and found that several of them could be found in the Wayfarer area: 197s, 397s, 67s, 319s, 769s, and 331s. The plan was coming together quite nicely.
In the end, I only had four hours for exploration, which mean that I wasn't able to fit in a 197 or a 397: they should be around for a while yet, though, so I'm not too fussed!
Day 1 (the only)
(While I did travel on other days, obviously, given I'm not still in Manchester, the other days are a bit too boring for a trip report, even on the anecdote front.)
I was up bright and early to catch the 06.39 Hull-Scarborough, which is possibly the most interesting diagram on the Yorkshire Coast Line. After arriving at Scarborough at 08.10, it's back out at 08.15 to go to York via Bridlington, essentially being an extended Bridlington local. This means that it is diagrammed for a Sprinter.
At the station, the train was showing (correctly) as 2 coaches, and also showing as "on time". I came to doubt this assertion two minutes after its booked time when it was still displaying "on time", and, four minutes after booked time, it disappeared from the screen altogether. This caused 20 seconds of panic until I heard the distinctive horn of a 158 in the distance, and 158842 soon pulled in.
The doors on a 158 are really quite narrow, especially for double-leaf doors. This wouldn't normally be a problem, but yes... I was carrying a large rucksack, carrying an M&S carrier with a massive picture frame in it, and wearing my hat. Fortunately, I did fit through - just - and found a nice seat, in prime position to observe 68025 at Scarborough depot, and we coasted gently into Scarborough platform 5 four minutes late, which wasn't a problem, as the 08.45 TPE through to Piccadilly was in no danger of departing.
In fact, no fewer than three Mk5 sets were in the platform at Scarborough, with 68030 and 68024 ticking over next to 68022 in charge of my train on platform 1. Like several others who had already congregated, I waited for the doors to unlock.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited.
The driver walked down the platform and boarded the loco. No movement on the doors front.
We still waited. Obviously there wasn't any noise of complaint - we're British, we love queuing, especially outdoors! - but departure time was getting nearer.
The guard, having been wandering around the station, boarded.
We waited.
At 08.40 I was getting seriously worried. I was just about to try and catch the attention of a member of platform staff - dissuaded slightly by the fact that they might be surprised to hear me talk in a non-Australian accent, given my hat (no, it doesn't have corks hanging from it, but I have still been accused of being an Aussie while wearing it) - when the doors finally opened.
The magic of the reservation system meant that, naturally, despite asking for a window table seat, it had placed me in an aisle, airline seat behind an unreserved table. I chose the table. This turned out to be a good choice, for reasons I shall relate later on.
It was a very quiet journey to York, but there was still a lot of activity in and around the station even in the brief time we were there, with Voyager units 220027, 220008, and 220010 in the company of 185120, 170459, 155344, 195132, and 801230. Our guard from York was a very cheerful Mancunian with a marked resemblance to Ben Stokes, wearing a slight mismatch of shorts and enormous leathery boots, but nonetheless embarking on a nicely informative announcement before we left York, inviting people to ask him for connection information and such.
We passed 155343 on a Bridlington-York local before turning off the main line at Church Fenton and on to Leeds, where I was seated on completely the wrong side of the train for Neville Hill depot. Nevertheless, I managed to note down 155347, 333012, and 800204 on shed along with resident shunter 08405.
At Leeds, the auto-announcer rattled off the usual spiel - "We are now approaching Leeds. If you are leaving the train here, take a moment to check you have all your personal belongings with you, and mind the gap between the train and the platform," etc., followed by, "Due to a short platform, the doors in this coach will not open." Cue a little confusion among passengers - Platform 16 at Leeds was long enough to take a Mk5 set last I saw! - before the conductor came rushing into our coach and said, "I don't know why it's saying that, you'll be fine, you'll be fine!" before heading into the back cab to do a much more professional announcement over the PA. I think I can understand why the system said that, though I may be wrong - when we stopped, just our back coach was behind the mid-platform signal, which I suspect confused the system.
We were early into Leeds, so had a nice little wait there, with 195010 and 195022 noted down, at least one of which was in Platform 17, before winding our way through to Dewsbury, which played host to at least 185147 and possibly 185110 as well: the latter unit may have been at Leeds, and I can't for the life of me remember!
It was at Dewsbury that I became thankful for my table seat, as a rather large crowd of middle-aged revellers joined our coach. Obviously none of them dared sit at my table (I'm vewy vewy fwightening!), so I had the luxury of having a table to myself, and they didn't have the chance to open their Prosecco and make an annoying amount of noise.
150276 was at Huddersfield, where I tried - unsuccessfully - to glimpse a station cat, and we proceeded through the tunnels and over t'moors to Stalybridge a minute or so late, where I alighted, in order to make a swift three-minute connection onto the 10.52 to Southport. Here I was presented with the nicest dilemma possible.
Over in platform 4 was a gleaming spectacle I had not expected - that of Class 40 D213 Andania purring softly at the head of a railtour. Not knowing anything about it, I was stuck in the aforementioned quandary: should I stay and watch (and listen to!) it depart, and risk missing the train and upsetting my very tight schedule, or should I jump on this train?
Fortunately, it powered up and left just as I came out of the subway - what a noise! - so I was able to board the 10.52, formed of 156405 and 156415, the latter still boasting the EMT moquette I used to know so very well. It was a surprisingly calm journey through Ashton-under-Lyne into Victoria, with 802219 and trams 3069 and 3108 in evidence, and stopping at Salford Central before Salford Crescent, where I alighted.
150148 and 150129 preceded my train northwards, and 802213 passed on the fast line. I had 20 minutes at Salford Crescent, and instantly fell in love with it as a place to watch the trains go by. One of the station dispatchers was even feeding a couple of pigeons out of a cup - a mother and daughter, from what he was saying to the various people who had a chat with him about it. For a three-track line, it's surprisingly busy, with 150115, 185137+185109, 331029+331026 on a Blackpool North service, 150104, 158905+158904, 156464_156466, and 150119+150111 all stopping or passing through before I caught the 11.38 towards Southport, which - tick! - was formed of 769442.
The 769 intrigued me greatly - I suppose I had expected it to be significantly more different from a 319 - and I was essentially concentrating on the unit for the entire journey to Wigan Wallgate, which meant I didn't get any numbers except for 769434, which was calling at Wallgate in the opposite direction.
Due to what I call the "Euston Square problem" - i.e. other station is one way but you need to cross the road, for which you need to go the other way - I was cutting it a bit finer than I desired at Wigan North Western for the 12.21 to Liverpool Lime Street, which I could only take one stop - as far as Bryn - but still pretty much had to to get a 319 for haulage. This it produced, in the form of 319383, and the train was virtually empty.
390046 called with the Euston train, and 195121, DR77903, and 390123 were spotted before we swung off the main line. At Bryn, due to the nature of the timetable, I had a 20-minute wait for the next Wigan train - and Bryn isn't a station renowned for its quaintness, so there wasn't terribly much to do.
Or so I thought right up until 60095 breezed through the Liverpool platform on a freight, which it's fair to say I didn't expect! The departure board was also displaying the next train as "2 coaches", which confused me somewhat - I thought everything had been turned over to 319s and 331s on this line. It was confusing right up until 319385 pulled in, and I realised that - of course - the board had been lying. I mentioned this fact to the guard, who seemed utterly bewildered that anyone would be boarding a Wigan service at Bryn, let alone somebody who seemed to have packed for three weeks in the Arctic.
This short hop was notable for three reasons. 1) The seats were still in First Capital Connect moquette, so must have not been replaced for something like eight years! 2) The little table near the toilet still didn't have a cover on it, so it was essentially a layer of sawdust. 3) Rather than a passenger hiding from the guard in the toilet, it was the other way around - the guard spent pretty much the entire journey in the toilet. Whether he was hiding from me is a matter up for debate
319368 was in what I presume is the Springs Branch area (Baker atlas not immediately to hand and I'm in a rush), and we pulled into Platform 6 at North Western a minute early, from which I was able to race over to Wallgate to pick up the 13.07 back towards Stalybridge, running six minutes late. The advantage with this service was that I was able to pick up all the stations except Ince and Clifton, both of which have very little service to speak of. 150134 and 150224 brought in a service in the opposite direction before 150124 and 156418 (ex-Greater Anglia) arrived with mine.
156409 and 150138 were going in the opposite direction at either Westhoughton or Hindley - I can't remember, and they were on a very late-running service so RTT is useless this far in advance! 769431 was at Bolton, and from there, I don't think anything was noted except 156410 on the back end of another service, as we called at the very closely-spaced stops in the Salford suburbs before arriving back at Crescent station, where the boards had gone mad.
331010+331007, 156466+156464 (again), 195125 (non-stop to Windermere), 150111+150119 (again), 195111, 150115, and 158756 (on one of the Ince stoppers) were spotted there before leaping aboard 331026+331029 (back from Blackpool) to whisk me to Manchester Piccadilly, due to arrive at 14.15, which we did. I then promptly lost a couple of minutes getting lost. And trying to make sure I kept my wide load clear of the red line in case I was shouted at.
331009, 185126, 331002+331016 were seen before Piccadilly, with 390119 seen in the distance departing along the viaduct when I got there. 390138 and 150103 were visible from the travelator, before I leapt aboard 82201 and 67020, which were working the 14.30 TfW service which normally goes to Cardiff, but was being terminated at Crewe. I deliberately sat just in front of the loco (which was propelling, or else I couldn't have sat in front of it), which treated me to a nice amount of noise but also an elderly lady moaning about the cancellation and linking it to the strikes (which she also had a moan about), and an elderly man trying to give her some advice for onward travel to Cardiff and trying to convince her that it was nothing to do with the strikes, who alighted at Stockport, as I did. 158774 was seen arriving (I think with an unidentified classmate, but don't quote me on that!) while awaiting departure from Platform 10. (I think - might have been 11, I'm not very familiar with the west end of Piccadilly!)
We left Piccadilly five minutes late, though the Mk4s were extremely smart, with what I presume from the seats is their Grand Central interior from those ill-fated proposals. 150135 and 150110 were on locals (don't ask me where, this is the section of the journey I least remember!), and I also have 195125 in my notes but it's highly unlikely it did Windermere and back in the time it took me to get from Salford Crescent to Piccadilly, so I presume it's either bad typing, bad eyesight, or bad visibility!
390043, 323230, and 158773+158785 made an appearance at Stockport, where it had just begun to rain - and soon, the rain picked up to an almost biblical level - thank goodness for the station canopy! My original 10-minute connection onto the XC that some of my friends were travelling up on had been extended to a 25-minute connection, with the XC running about 20 minutes late and the TfW maintaining five minutes down to Stockport.
150280 called on the 15.01 TfW service into Piccadilly - needless to say, packed - with 390148 Flying Scouseman on an Avanti service, and 156428+156402 on a Northern local. At this point, a man who I presume had been drinking noticed my hat, and started doing silly cartoon-Aussie impersonations, which proved a bit of an irritation. It proved impossible to look at the departure board and the direction of the train without also having him in my eyeline, which set him off again, so I moved to a position next to the dispatcher, which put me at a slight disadvantage in terms of positioning for the train, but at least solved the problem.
220016 finally - almost apologetically - came in on the very much delayed 14.51, running about 23 minutes late. Being a service from Paignton it was also rammed solid, so I stood in the vestibule, helpfully reducing its capacity by about 25%. Arrival at Piccadilly was 23 minutes late at 15.22 (the reason given being "congestion" - go figure that one out!), with our unit coupling up to 220012 for the 15.27 to Bournemouth - a manoeuvre which definitely didn't result in an on-time departure!
It was, fortunately, a nice simple cross-platform change onto the 15.33 to Hadfield (323234), with 390002, 220033, and 195015 either starting or completing their journeys as we departed, and, after spotting 323231 and 323237 in Ardwick sidings, it was a peaceful run to our destination, where it was - you guessed it - raining. Welcome to Manchester, welcome to the Peak District - you can escape either, but you can't escape the rain!
As I said, there were more trains done over the following days, given I'm back home, but not really of sufficient density (or density of anecdotes) to make the report. I did initially have plans to include a certain section, but I doubt you want to hear me describing my eventual journey on a rail replacement bus!
Next, though, I need to tick off that un-done traction... maybe I need a day in Wales or Scotland!
WAYFARER
The second event referred to in the first trip report was a birthday party I was compelled to attend (no, not mine), which was close enough to Manchester that I could avail myself of the excellent GM Wayfarer ticket. This also meant that I could travel early enough that I could tick off a fair amount of General Stuff.
The first question, after I had booked an advance itinerary that included a bonus trip to Scarborough, was what kind of General Stuff was to be ticked off. Much as I enjoy ticking off track, it became quite clear after a little research that the track in Manchester would stay put a lot longer than the traction, some of which was in that annoying little section of the Venn diagram that includes stock that is both on its way out and that I have never travelled on. Eventually, having worked out which stock I was yet to travel on, I did a little more research and found that several of them could be found in the Wayfarer area: 197s, 397s, 67s, 319s, 769s, and 331s. The plan was coming together quite nicely.
In the end, I only had four hours for exploration, which mean that I wasn't able to fit in a 197 or a 397: they should be around for a while yet, though, so I'm not too fussed!
Day 1 (the only)
(While I did travel on other days, obviously, given I'm not still in Manchester, the other days are a bit too boring for a trip report, even on the anecdote front.)
I was up bright and early to catch the 06.39 Hull-Scarborough, which is possibly the most interesting diagram on the Yorkshire Coast Line. After arriving at Scarborough at 08.10, it's back out at 08.15 to go to York via Bridlington, essentially being an extended Bridlington local. This means that it is diagrammed for a Sprinter.
At the station, the train was showing (correctly) as 2 coaches, and also showing as "on time". I came to doubt this assertion two minutes after its booked time when it was still displaying "on time", and, four minutes after booked time, it disappeared from the screen altogether. This caused 20 seconds of panic until I heard the distinctive horn of a 158 in the distance, and 158842 soon pulled in.
The doors on a 158 are really quite narrow, especially for double-leaf doors. This wouldn't normally be a problem, but yes... I was carrying a large rucksack, carrying an M&S carrier with a massive picture frame in it, and wearing my hat. Fortunately, I did fit through - just - and found a nice seat, in prime position to observe 68025 at Scarborough depot, and we coasted gently into Scarborough platform 5 four minutes late, which wasn't a problem, as the 08.45 TPE through to Piccadilly was in no danger of departing.
In fact, no fewer than three Mk5 sets were in the platform at Scarborough, with 68030 and 68024 ticking over next to 68022 in charge of my train on platform 1. Like several others who had already congregated, I waited for the doors to unlock.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited.
The driver walked down the platform and boarded the loco. No movement on the doors front.
We still waited. Obviously there wasn't any noise of complaint - we're British, we love queuing, especially outdoors! - but departure time was getting nearer.
The guard, having been wandering around the station, boarded.
We waited.
At 08.40 I was getting seriously worried. I was just about to try and catch the attention of a member of platform staff - dissuaded slightly by the fact that they might be surprised to hear me talk in a non-Australian accent, given my hat (no, it doesn't have corks hanging from it, but I have still been accused of being an Aussie while wearing it) - when the doors finally opened.
The magic of the reservation system meant that, naturally, despite asking for a window table seat, it had placed me in an aisle, airline seat behind an unreserved table. I chose the table. This turned out to be a good choice, for reasons I shall relate later on.
It was a very quiet journey to York, but there was still a lot of activity in and around the station even in the brief time we were there, with Voyager units 220027, 220008, and 220010 in the company of 185120, 170459, 155344, 195132, and 801230. Our guard from York was a very cheerful Mancunian with a marked resemblance to Ben Stokes, wearing a slight mismatch of shorts and enormous leathery boots, but nonetheless embarking on a nicely informative announcement before we left York, inviting people to ask him for connection information and such.
We passed 155343 on a Bridlington-York local before turning off the main line at Church Fenton and on to Leeds, where I was seated on completely the wrong side of the train for Neville Hill depot. Nevertheless, I managed to note down 155347, 333012, and 800204 on shed along with resident shunter 08405.
At Leeds, the auto-announcer rattled off the usual spiel - "We are now approaching Leeds. If you are leaving the train here, take a moment to check you have all your personal belongings with you, and mind the gap between the train and the platform," etc., followed by, "Due to a short platform, the doors in this coach will not open." Cue a little confusion among passengers - Platform 16 at Leeds was long enough to take a Mk5 set last I saw! - before the conductor came rushing into our coach and said, "I don't know why it's saying that, you'll be fine, you'll be fine!" before heading into the back cab to do a much more professional announcement over the PA. I think I can understand why the system said that, though I may be wrong - when we stopped, just our back coach was behind the mid-platform signal, which I suspect confused the system.
We were early into Leeds, so had a nice little wait there, with 195010 and 195022 noted down, at least one of which was in Platform 17, before winding our way through to Dewsbury, which played host to at least 185147 and possibly 185110 as well: the latter unit may have been at Leeds, and I can't for the life of me remember!
It was at Dewsbury that I became thankful for my table seat, as a rather large crowd of middle-aged revellers joined our coach. Obviously none of them dared sit at my table (I'm vewy vewy fwightening!
), so I had the luxury of having a table to myself, and they didn't have the chance to open their Prosecco and make an annoying amount of noise.150276 was at Huddersfield, where I tried - unsuccessfully - to glimpse a station cat, and we proceeded through the tunnels and over t'moors to Stalybridge a minute or so late, where I alighted, in order to make a swift three-minute connection onto the 10.52 to Southport. Here I was presented with the nicest dilemma possible.
Over in platform 4 was a gleaming spectacle I had not expected - that of Class 40 D213 Andania purring softly at the head of a railtour. Not knowing anything about it, I was stuck in the aforementioned quandary: should I stay and watch (and listen to!) it depart, and risk missing the train and upsetting my very tight schedule, or should I jump on this train?
Fortunately, it powered up and left just as I came out of the subway - what a noise! - so I was able to board the 10.52, formed of 156405 and 156415, the latter still boasting the EMT moquette I used to know so very well. It was a surprisingly calm journey through Ashton-under-Lyne into Victoria, with 802219 and trams 3069 and 3108 in evidence, and stopping at Salford Central before Salford Crescent, where I alighted.
150148 and 150129 preceded my train northwards, and 802213 passed on the fast line. I had 20 minutes at Salford Crescent, and instantly fell in love with it as a place to watch the trains go by. One of the station dispatchers was even feeding a couple of pigeons out of a cup - a mother and daughter, from what he was saying to the various people who had a chat with him about it. For a three-track line, it's surprisingly busy, with 150115, 185137+185109, 331029+331026 on a Blackpool North service, 150104, 158905+158904, 156464_156466, and 150119+150111 all stopping or passing through before I caught the 11.38 towards Southport, which - tick! - was formed of 769442.
The 769 intrigued me greatly - I suppose I had expected it to be significantly more different from a 319 - and I was essentially concentrating on the unit for the entire journey to Wigan Wallgate, which meant I didn't get any numbers except for 769434, which was calling at Wallgate in the opposite direction.
Due to what I call the "Euston Square problem" - i.e. other station is one way but you need to cross the road, for which you need to go the other way - I was cutting it a bit finer than I desired at Wigan North Western for the 12.21 to Liverpool Lime Street, which I could only take one stop - as far as Bryn - but still pretty much had to to get a 319 for haulage. This it produced, in the form of 319383, and the train was virtually empty.
390046 called with the Euston train, and 195121, DR77903, and 390123 were spotted before we swung off the main line. At Bryn, due to the nature of the timetable, I had a 20-minute wait for the next Wigan train - and Bryn isn't a station renowned for its quaintness, so there wasn't terribly much to do.
Or so I thought right up until 60095 breezed through the Liverpool platform on a freight, which it's fair to say I didn't expect! The departure board was also displaying the next train as "2 coaches", which confused me somewhat - I thought everything had been turned over to 319s and 331s on this line. It was confusing right up until 319385 pulled in, and I realised that - of course - the board had been lying. I mentioned this fact to the guard, who seemed utterly bewildered that anyone would be boarding a Wigan service at Bryn, let alone somebody who seemed to have packed for three weeks in the Arctic.
This short hop was notable for three reasons. 1) The seats were still in First Capital Connect moquette, so must have not been replaced for something like eight years! 2) The little table near the toilet still didn't have a cover on it, so it was essentially a layer of sawdust. 3) Rather than a passenger hiding from the guard in the toilet, it was the other way around - the guard spent pretty much the entire journey in the toilet. Whether he was hiding from me is a matter up for debate
319368 was in what I presume is the Springs Branch area (Baker atlas not immediately to hand and I'm in a rush), and we pulled into Platform 6 at North Western a minute early, from which I was able to race over to Wallgate to pick up the 13.07 back towards Stalybridge, running six minutes late. The advantage with this service was that I was able to pick up all the stations except Ince and Clifton, both of which have very little service to speak of. 150134 and 150224 brought in a service in the opposite direction before 150124 and 156418 (ex-Greater Anglia) arrived with mine.
156409 and 150138 were going in the opposite direction at either Westhoughton or Hindley - I can't remember, and they were on a very late-running service so RTT is useless this far in advance! 769431 was at Bolton, and from there, I don't think anything was noted except 156410 on the back end of another service, as we called at the very closely-spaced stops in the Salford suburbs before arriving back at Crescent station, where the boards had gone mad.
331010+331007, 156466+156464 (again), 195125 (non-stop to Windermere), 150111+150119 (again), 195111, 150115, and 158756 (on one of the Ince stoppers) were spotted there before leaping aboard 331026+331029 (back from Blackpool) to whisk me to Manchester Piccadilly, due to arrive at 14.15, which we did. I then promptly lost a couple of minutes getting lost. And trying to make sure I kept my wide load clear of the red line in case I was shouted at.
331009, 185126, 331002+331016 were seen before Piccadilly, with 390119 seen in the distance departing along the viaduct when I got there. 390138 and 150103 were visible from the travelator, before I leapt aboard 82201 and 67020, which were working the 14.30 TfW service which normally goes to Cardiff, but was being terminated at Crewe. I deliberately sat just in front of the loco (which was propelling, or else I couldn't have sat in front of it), which treated me to a nice amount of noise but also an elderly lady moaning about the cancellation and linking it to the strikes (which she also had a moan about), and an elderly man trying to give her some advice for onward travel to Cardiff and trying to convince her that it was nothing to do with the strikes, who alighted at Stockport, as I did. 158774 was seen arriving (I think with an unidentified classmate, but don't quote me on that!) while awaiting departure from Platform 10. (I think - might have been 11, I'm not very familiar with the west end of Piccadilly!)
We left Piccadilly five minutes late, though the Mk4s were extremely smart, with what I presume from the seats is their Grand Central interior from those ill-fated proposals. 150135 and 150110 were on locals (don't ask me where, this is the section of the journey I least remember!), and I also have 195125 in my notes but it's highly unlikely it did Windermere and back in the time it took me to get from Salford Crescent to Piccadilly, so I presume it's either bad typing, bad eyesight, or bad visibility!
390043, 323230, and 158773+158785 made an appearance at Stockport, where it had just begun to rain - and soon, the rain picked up to an almost biblical level - thank goodness for the station canopy! My original 10-minute connection onto the XC that some of my friends were travelling up on had been extended to a 25-minute connection, with the XC running about 20 minutes late and the TfW maintaining five minutes down to Stockport.
150280 called on the 15.01 TfW service into Piccadilly - needless to say, packed - with 390148 Flying Scouseman on an Avanti service, and 156428+156402 on a Northern local. At this point, a man who I presume had been drinking noticed my hat, and started doing silly cartoon-Aussie impersonations, which proved a bit of an irritation. It proved impossible to look at the departure board and the direction of the train without also having him in my eyeline, which set him off again, so I moved to a position next to the dispatcher, which put me at a slight disadvantage in terms of positioning for the train, but at least solved the problem.
220016 finally - almost apologetically - came in on the very much delayed 14.51, running about 23 minutes late. Being a service from Paignton it was also rammed solid, so I stood in the vestibule, helpfully reducing its capacity by about 25%. Arrival at Piccadilly was 23 minutes late at 15.22 (the reason given being "congestion" - go figure that one out!), with our unit coupling up to 220012 for the 15.27 to Bournemouth - a manoeuvre which definitely didn't result in an on-time departure!
It was, fortunately, a nice simple cross-platform change onto the 15.33 to Hadfield (323234), with 390002, 220033, and 195015 either starting or completing their journeys as we departed, and, after spotting 323231 and 323237 in Ardwick sidings, it was a peaceful run to our destination, where it was - you guessed it - raining. Welcome to Manchester, welcome to the Peak District - you can escape either, but you can't escape the rain!
As I said, there were more trains done over the following days, given I'm back home, but not really of sufficient density (or density of anecdotes) to make the report. I did initially have plans to include a certain section, but I doubt you want to hear me describing my eventual journey on a rail replacement bus!
Next, though, I need to tick off that un-done traction... maybe I need a day in Wales or Scotland!
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Purple Train
Established Member
DANGER: GREMLINS AT WORK
Silence. Then the occasional mew of a circling buzzard, inconspicuous against the indigo-blue sky. As an orange sun peered inquisitively over the top of the row of hills, misty and hazy on the distant horizon, any observer, crouching quietly behind bracken, on a woodland carpet of moss, broken branches, and yellow, rustling leaves, would have heard the thin, underground scratching that precluded the removal of a small pile of mud and stones that lay below the lush, dewy grass of the neighbouring field. Creeping out from behind their secluded spot, they would have seen the resultant burrow, then stopped, and wondered. Maybe they would have noticed the unnaturally smooth sides of the curving tunnel. A mole? A rabbit? A badger that had shrunk in the wash?
There was, however, no such observer. Lord Gremlin, casting a quick glance over his temporary fiefdom, made sure of that, quickly ducking back down into his burrow just in case. His small, rugby-ball-shaped head contrasted with a roughly cylindrical body coated in thick mustard-coloured hide; his four short dusky legs each ended in three pointed toes; and his long, thin tail, mouse-like and blessed with a chameleon's camouflage, whisked around his back to lift his tricorn hat from his head. He descended into the small, hollow chamber, a couple of feet below ground level, and addressed his willing crew in a hushed whisper. "The coast is clear. We can start."
A young, inquisitive gremlin, slimmer and longer-legged than his master, raised his head and stood on his hind legs, as if to speak. Casting furtive looks about him, he took a deep draught of slightly musty air before finally stammering, "But... but where are we going?"
Lord Gremlin, having turned around to lead his company onwards, turned sharply round again to gaze at the speaker, who inched backwards and attempted to blend in with the wall. But His Lordship simply appeared to ignore him, and when he again spoke, he spoke in the same hushed whisper as before, rather than an authoritative shout. Lifting his tricorn back on his head, he quietly ordered his company into a neat single file before taking a few paces to the side in order to resume eye contact with the gremlin who had asked the question. The understudy again trembled, but Lord Gremlin appeared not to notice, keeping silent for several seconds.
"Where are we going?" asked the small gremlin again.
His Lordship exhaled deeply, the length of the mission perhaps coming home to roost in his cluttered mind, fevered with activity and ideas. Was it a lump he felt in his throat, and was it a quaver he felt approaching in his voice? In a fleeting thought, he dismissed his worry: he must show himself as the strong commander he was. But even he could not speak with the gravitas and the force he desired, as he fixed his noble gaze on his subordinate and finally answered, "Nantwich."
Many miles away, in the gathering gloom, a lone traveller awaited the train that would begin a tour he had planned to be roundabout: a journey that could be done in one change that he would accomplish with three, and a visit to Wales (albeit fleeting), an area, for him, tantalisingly unexplored compared to virtually everywhere else on the British mainland except Kent. As he entered the railway station, a dull morning fog enveloping the quiet Yorkshire dawn, and sleepy breakfast-time travellers trooping into the station one-by-one, he couldn't have known, and indeed didn't know, that his next two hours would lead to a collision course with the band that trudged secretively out of that calm woodland burrow.
The first thing to emerge from the fog was the glistening nose of a Mk5 set, propelling the 07.47 service towards Scarborough. Despite the railhead conditions (dewy, foggy autumn morning... not great) and the loco's immense power, it picked up surprisingly quickly out of the station. It was 68021 in charge. "This will probably be my last seen 68," I said to myself, glumly, as the loco powered away into the morning gloom.
I didn't have long to stew, as 185111 turned up promptly on the 07.54 to York. While visibility wasn't yet good enough to catch what we passed on the branch - and I was on the wrong side anyway - it began to brighten. Unfortunately, it chose to brighten just as we were entering York - no green and pleasant views for me then. At York, watching 801226 on an Anglo-Scottish service and 220028 disappear towards Newcastle, the nature of my scheme fully hit me. "This is ridiculous," I thought, "I could wait here for the delayed Plymouth train and just take that straight to Exeter St Davids, and be there in considerably under eight-and-a-half hours."
What was I doing instead, you may well ask? Well, my plan, from here, was to catch the 08.50 TransPennine Express service to Manchester Piccadilly, transfer onto the 10.30 Transport for Wales service to Cardiff Central, which, if it ran to time, would leave me twelve minutes to pick up the 14.00 GWR service to Penzance - fortunately not as far as Penzance, otherwise I may as well have done the last leg sculling in a barrel. Arriving at Exeter St Davids at 16.21, that would get me to my destination (about an hour on the bus from Exeter) just in time for dinner.
Those of you more familiar with TfW services will probably have noted the gigantic flaw in my logic, but, full of incurable optimism, I boarded 802211, which was a genuine case of a TPE train running early. 170456 was on the 08.49 to Leeds via Harrogate, and 195025 was (I think) in Platform 10, presumably due to run a service to Leeds the quick way.
Taking my reserved seat at the very back - thankfully with a window - I watched the scenery go by without a hope of grabbing a number as far as Neville Hill, where the resident shunter 08405 had 91107, 91111, 91124, 800108, 801214, 801102, and 333009 for company. Decelerating over the twisting viaduct, we passed 333011 heading towards Neville Hill before pulling into Platform 16 at Leeds, passing 220024 and 220002, 195101, 801107, and 185106 on a Saltburn service. Departing out the west end of Leeds station, there were several more units on view: 158908+158906, 333008, 158758, and 333007, with 801230 and 185124+185113 queuing outside the station.
The pleasant journey across the Pennines had 150220 and 185102 to show for itself (both, I think, seen in the Huddersfield area - but I am writing considerably more than a week after the journey itself, so the usual accuracy disclaimer does apply. And I've also lost my Baker Atlas. Again).
We were a couple of minutes down through Stalybridge before getting to Guide Bridge, where 195024 passed on a Rose Hill train and the conductor made a slightly premature announcement for our imminent arrival into Piccadilly. The various sidings around Ardwick had various units dotted about, with 323224, 185104, 323227, and 185148 visible enough to identify. After a brief chase with 185143, we were in slightly early (by the public timetable), which at least reduced my stress about the 17-minute connection onto the TfW train. Of course, I promptly lost that advantage by letting everyone else go ahead of me through the ticket barrier. Nevertheless, I consoled myself, I would at least get a seat - the train had only been in the station for five minutes, assuming it was on time.
I did not get a seat.
However, the advantage of not having travelled the route as many times as I've been across the Pennines (i.e. none as opposed to four or five!) is that I can remember a great deal more about the journey. My TPE train had arrived into platform 1, so it was easy to sweep the buffers: 323236, 150142, 390009, 150104, 323233, and 390117 plus my steed for the three-hour journey, 150256.
Meanwhile...
The grassy fields and forests of the night's camp had given way to marshy, uninhabited countryside, as Lord Gremlin called his followers to a halt next to a large post-and-wire fence. His handsome tail once more coiled around him and removed his tricorn. His company, in contrast to his air of insouciant well-scrubbedness, looked rather wet and bedraggled and considerably un-casual about being dragged many miles up hill and down dale to a remote bit of Cheshire with some pretty black-and-white buildings and a high concentration of rain - all except for old Grandfather Gremlin, who was holding an umbrella in his tail.
"Why are we even here?" piped up one bored gremlin from the back. "Is it a sightseeing tour or something?"
Lord Gremlin stood up on his hind legs and pointedly shrugged - he was in his element now, and rather enjoying himself. He far preferred being out in the country, causing mischief, than enduring sleepless nights in a far-away hollow. "Grandfather," he said, pointing to the oldest gremlin, a wheezy, gentle fellow with a fondness for comfortable chairs, old stories, and ginger biscuits. "Can you get through the fence?"
"If I can do it, anyone can," said Grandfather Gremlin, setting off. "But why are we doing this anyway? I'd far rather we found a new supply of ginger biscuits. I am running out."
"You can do that afterwards if you like," said Lord Gremlin, clenching his little teeth (Grandfather got through ginger biscuits at a quite extraordinary rate). "But this is orders from Grandmaster Gremlin."
"Why isn't Grandmaster Gremlin here?" asked another voice from the back.
"He's up in the Brecon Beacons making it rain," answered His Lordship, looking back at Grandfather Gremlin, who, with immense difficulty, was hauling himself under the lowest wire, which was sagging. Eventually, however, he was through, and Lord Gremlin shepherded all the little gremlins through before crawling under himself.
"Now what do we do?" asked Grandfather Gremlin.
"You follow me," said Lord Gremlin. "This is a very important plan - if we do this, and the ladies of our group perform the task Grandmaster Gremlin set them, then there will be chaos all across the region."
Every single gremlin's little ears pricked up at the word "chaos". It was balm to a weary gremlin's ears, a just reward for all the walking they had had to do. There was nothing that excited a gremlin more than the word "chaos".
"But what are we doing?" asked Grandfather, again.
"Do you see those wires over there?" said Lord Gremlin. "We will bite through them. It will cause no end of delay and disruption to those wretched little humans."
This got the younger gremlins very excited and they rushed over to the wires with colossal haste. "Begin biting if you wish," said Lord Gremlin - the more they did, the better, he thought - his teeth nowadays were not as sharp and pointed as they once were, whereas the younger gremlins had teeth like craft knives.
"Isn't it normally rats that do this?" asked Grandfather Gremlin.
"Yes, but gremlins are better, given our hide acts as an insulator and so it doesn't kill us," explained Lord Gremlin.
"And what are the ladies doing? We've been away from them for weeks!"
"Oh, I think they're up in Liverpool wreaking mischief with their new trains. And a fine job they're doing!"
Blissfully unaware of the gremlins' antics, I found the prime standing spot (near the door on the left-hand-side, one door along from the trolley), I wished anxiously for an enthusiastic driver who could at least roughly keep to time (I would have 19 minutes at Cardiff Central if we arrived on time). My wish was granted - after starting nearly a minute late, passing 37218 and 323231 in the Longsight area, we reached Stockport in just eight and a half minutes (conservative estimate). Given the Railway Performance Society's best recorded run with a 158 is 8 minutes 28 seconds, this seemed rather impressive, unless the members of the RPS have been dogged by extreme ill-luck!
After getting fuller at Wilmslow, we raced along the route, past Jodrell Bank (awesome sight) to Crewe, where we arrived about a minute late. Some people got off, some people got on. We waited.
350266 was on a Euston service, 390020 was on a southbound Avanti, and 730007 was sitting idle in a platform, presumably on test. We waited.
A few people ran down the stairs to get on - we had been put in platform 6, which constituted a platform alteration. We waited.
The clock ticked 11.18. The 350 disappeared. We waited.
The doors closed. Each sardine caught the eye of another sardine and smiled, that universal smile from stranger to stranger when a small adversity is overcome. Larger adversities usually result in pleased conversation instead of smiles. (For research purposes, I am ignoring the South. Nobody talks to anyone except their dog/cat in the South.)
We left the station. Going north.
After confusion had swept the carriage in a supersonic Mexican wave, the guard came over the PA. "Morning folks," he said, cheerfully, "there's a signalling problem, so we're being sent a different way via Chester. Our next stop is still Shrewsbury."
If you have much grasp of railway geography in the Welsh borders, you will probably have noticed that that was the understatement of the century. There was no mention of how late we were going to be, so I naturally assumed that we would only lose about 40 minutes or so, and I would still make my connection at Newport. I knew it was a long diversion, but not a totally insane diversion.
The journey between Crewe and Chester is simply a non-stop run through countryside of the sort that is pretty but not picture-postcard-pretty: I have 158820 in my notes which was seen somewhere between Crewe and Chester but I have no idea whether it was in the sidings at Chester, seen on the run, or seen arriving into Crewe. Slowing down into Chester, we passed 175115 outside the station, 777011 in the station (my first 777 spotted in revenue-earning service, assuming it hadn't broken down), and 197108 on depot. There were two other 175s in and around the station which I didn't identify: 175113 and 175105, as it later transpired (thanks @Techniquest for the information).
After Chester, we took the line towards Wrexham at Saltney Junction, where we were passed - of course - by a roomy, comfortable Mk4 set. At Wrexham General, I was rather hoping our arrival would coincide with that of a 230 on the Borderlands line (I still haven't seen a Stormtrooper 230), but no luck, and we were held at a signal at the very far end of the platform for quite some time before proceeding another mile and stopping again. Eventually, another (unidentified) 150 flashed past (@Techniquest - I'm wondering whether this was your 150285?), and we were let through a couple of minutes later.
At this stage I was fairly certain that I would miss my connection, even at Newport, and focused on scenery-watching, which was fortunate as the line between Wrexham and Shrewsbury is a glorious meander through lush green valleys and peaks, darker hills brooding on the horizon, and the line negotiating numerous earthworks and the impressive viaduct at Chirk.
I was even beginning to feel a little optimistic as we passed through Gobowen, but then we were held outside Shrewsbury for 10 minutes awaiting a platform. At Shrewsbury, the guard made another announcement on the PA - that passengers for all stations except Hereford, Newport, and Cardiff Central were to disembark and join the 197 on the opposite side of the island. I was ever-so-slightly jealous, having never been on a 197, but, I consoled myself, at least I wouldn't be very late into Exeter. After a little bit of passenger chess, which at least resulted in me finding a seat, we left Shrewsbury a mere 70 minutes late.
South of Shrewsbury, we were passed by 153906 and 153367 as we crossed the complex junction to the south, under the dominating shadow of Severn Bridge Junction signal box, the largest operational lever-frame box in the world. Passing a cluster of locos in the sidings to our right (which at least kind of made up for the delay): 37405, 97303, 97302 (my first Class 97s if I'm not forgetting anything), 56048, and 56049.
With the Sprinter working hard, we careered through the Marches stations (with the longer-than-I-expected distance between Shrewsbury and Church Stretton particularly striking me). Somewhere before Hereford we passed 197001 (this bit of the journey is now a little bit of a blur given I, at the time, thought I was on the home stretch and could have a rest!), and, after rattling through Leominster, we slowed down for the stop at Hereford, passing 172339 as it made its way towards Worcester and Birmingham.
South of Hereford, the line curves west and, after passing lonely Tram Inn, a halt-turned-timing point, sweeps into and out of and into Wales, and then meanders through one of the more dramatic areas of south-east Wales, the line almost hidden under the huge shadow of the eastern Brecon Beacons, masked by swiftly-changing interludes of bright sunshine and horizontal rain. Gazing up to the black, forbidding peak, I remembered that one of my friends, for one reason or another, was camping up in that exposed, rainy spot, whereas I - hopefully - was on my way to the soft red cliffs and deep blue sea of the English Riviera. Either that or I would be marooned in Bristol.
After passing through Abergavenny and Cwmbran, our delay now reduced to about 65 minutes, we slowed to cross the Usk - twice - at Newport, passing track machine DR73924 at Maindee, before I alighted, under the leaking canopy, and waited for the 14.44 to Portsmouth Harbour. This would at least be interesting, as it was booked for a 166, which I was still yet to do for haulage.
First, however, I had to wait for 197046, packed to the rafters, cascading water off the finely chiselled edges of its sleek bodyside (the weather had become very Welsh), to leave the platform. An unruly passenger began smoking. The dispatchers conversed. People got on and off and on and off the train, squeezing into every cubic centimetre of space between the handsome leather seats and smart red carpet. In my position, well, I envied them their 197. Eventually, after a member of staff who wasn't the driver (the driver was in the cab the entire time) had got out, walked halfway down the platform to see the dispatcher, then spotted that the signal had been cleared, and hurried back to the cab, the train left. I think it was the 14.11 to Piccadilly (an ex-Carmarthen), which ended up terminating at Wilmslow. It was 25 minutes late. Luxury.
After watching 166213 leave towards Cardiff with the 14.34, 166211, still in FGW livery, turned up slightly early on my train. Being very similar to a 165, I found it perfectly enjoyable, apart from a very high-pitched noise infecting the entire saloon. Whether it was a singing bat or just my head I don't know, but I found a seat - explaining to the (very cheerful) guard that I had come off the down Manchester - and sat back as we clattered through Severn Tunnel Junction and into the four miles of the Severn Tunnel.
Climbing back out again, we took the right-hand route at Patchway and slowed for the stop at Filton Abbey Wood, passed by 221139 on the fast line and 165133+165132 on another Cardiff-bound service. 66550 overtook us, running light, before we overtook it again and passed Barton Hill, with 08516 on shed, before the arrival into Temple Meads presented me with an opportunity to recover the delay incurred on TfW.
The 14.45 CrossCountry towards Plymouth was running around half an hour late, and would be leaving from platform 10 - the southern end of the opposite side of the island platform (if this doesn't make sense, I could fill another report-sized post with an explanation of platform numbering at Temple Meads!). As it was leaving another set at Temple Meads, there was a chance that it would incur further delay and I would be able to run down the platform and catch it - but equally, I may as well cross over to platform 6 and wait for the 15.45 (running about 15-20 minutes late). Fortunately, the curve of the platform meant that it was immediately obvious that only the detached back set was left off the 14.45, so, my energy conserved but my schedule completely abandoned, I wandered over to platform 6 and settled down for a long wait.
Fortunately, I was in good company, as there was a nice amount of activity to keep me occupied. 150232 and 802109 were seen on the way in, before 220022 and 220012 arrived with a northbound CrossCountry. 166215 turned up on a local, and then 221140 on another CrossCountry, before 800309 arrived on a service from Paddington and 158750 was spotted in the distance on a service to Warminster. At this point, I was treated to the star of the show - 43029 and 43154 coming majestically round the corner on the 15.27 to Cardiff Central.
166202 (another local - I'm afraid I can't remember which way round 166215 or 166202 were, as one was on a Severn Beach branch service and one was going down to Weston-super-Mare) and 800308 were seen before the surprising sight of 802013 working the 15.51 all-stations service to Taunton! As the 15.45 was running about 20 minutes late at this point, I decided that I wouldn't be able to reliably connect off it at Taunton, and waited for the express. I had completely forgotten that I had split my ticket at Yatton and Worle, and, as it later transpired, I would have made the connection - but I'm getting ahead of myself with the story there!
158767 was the only other service spotted before a platform alteration was hurriedly announced for the 15.45, and the crowd cascaded into the subway and over to platform 4 as 221123 swept in. Racing down to the front coach, I grabbed a seat, put my rucksack under my feet, placed my hat on the seat-back table, and (almost literally) sighed with relief - I would be into Exeter in about an hour, I would only be 20 minutes later than my initial plan (as the Cardiff Central-Penzance stops everywhere except Bedminster, Parson Street, and Weston Milton!), I would be on the coast before dark. I would be able to eat a better dinner than the pedigree Yorkshire butcher's pork pie that I had saved for emergencies.
The carriage filled. We waited. 800001 came into the station. We continued to wait. I was getting used to this.
(At this point I should probably note that the final two entries in my notes are 221132 and 221137, but I didn't note whether they were together, or where I saw them, which I presume is an indicator of the mental state I was in after eight hours travelling and being at last on the home straight.)
We still waited. Nobody seemed to care, or think it unusual. I don't think I did, either.
Eventually, the doors closed and we pulled out of the station, 40 minutes late. At this rate I wouldn't be into Exeter until about half past five, and, having then negotiated another hour on the bus, wouldn't get in until after I prefer to eat. Then, I pulled out my ticket. I noticed the split. I panicked.
The journey to Taunton, behind an all-stops service as far as the junction for Weston, was decidedly slow. I noticed the speeding traffic on the M5. "They're probably looking at the crawling train and thinking, "Hah, losers!"" I thought. I envied them their uncongested motorway. I had been brought up to consider that the three certainties in life are death, taxes, and congestion on the M5 between Bristol and Taunton.
After coasting into Taunton - 802013 in the platform beside us - it was but a short journey to Tiverton Parkway, which was utterly deserted. It was also the point at which the Train Manager came through (there seemed to be two - one sorting out the doors and making announcements, and one checking tickets). I began to explain my situation with the tickets, but he stopped me about halfway through, going, "It's fine. We're 40 late, I'm not going to fuss." That's one positive thing I have to say about the journey - despite the constant delays, every single guard was helpful, informative, and understanding. A far cry indeed from the often unfeeling image the railways sometimes seem to project.
With dusk falling, we pulled into St Davids at 17.25, and I hauled myself off the train, escaped the station, and walked up the hill towards the bus station. It's not a desperately nice walk. It's also not desperately short, unless you get the train up to Exeter Central. Nevertheless: I was there, and that was all that I had the headspace to worry about!
The Return (thankfully a briefer story!)
The return began in quite possibly the most inauspicious manner possible. I had intended to travel back up on the 13.25 from St Davids, changing at either Sheffield, Doncaster, or York. However, due to the distance between the bus station and the railway station, the bus due in at 12.56 was deemed to cut it too fine, given the timetable is decidedly optimistic. I, along with a couple of friends who were also aiming for the 13.25 to Bristol Parkway, therefore waited for the bus at about quarter past 11. It was running about 20 minutes late. I had got used to the drill by now.
The high-tech timetable board, after it had passed the ever promising "1 minute", then started to count down in seconds. A double decker was expected round the corner any minute now, as it went past 30, then past 20, then past 10, then past 1, then back to 20, then past 10, then... disappeared.
As I had a flexible ticket, I was elected to the position of waiting for the next bus while everyone else asked for a lift from our host. As the buses are hourly, I had about 40 minutes to wait (fortunately, someone who wasn't in any hurry to leave agreed to come with me and ensure that I didn't get lost in Exeter). At pretty much the due time, up came a bus - on a different route. Having briefly got very excited at the prospect of a bus, we sat back down and waited.
A minute later, up came another bus, behind the first - on the route going the other way. After a second false start, we collapsed back against the wall and waited.
A minute later, in came a third bus - which, at last, was a service to Exeter! Having successfully proved the old adage about buses, we found the prime double-decker seats, and wondered how late the bus would be. I was reliably informed that the bus would probably end up about 10-15 minutes late, as the schedule while in Exeter made no allowance for traffic or traffic lights.
Fortunately, the bus driver was the Devonian version of Road Runner. If it didn't break any speed records, I will be amazed, and we were in Exeter bus station only a couple of minutes late. In fact, we made such good time that those with Advance tickets who had obtained a lift saw our bus behind them, despite setting off about 10 minutes earlier, and, consequently, it was deemed sensible to pick me up and drive me down the hill into St Davids, and I was on the station with over 10 minutes to spare. Time pressure, what time pressure?
150233 and 150261 were on an Exmouth service, with 802101 waiting with the 13.33 to Paddington. 800018+800012 showed up with the preceding Paddington service before 159003 led a SWR service down the hill and into platform 1, 802008 arrived with a Penzance service, and the 13.25 arrived, courtesy of 221134 and 220029. Joining the back unit, the carriage was empty enough that we could grab a table - even on a Voyager!
The unfortunate thing about our table was that we were positioned underneath a faulty PA loudspeaker - faulty in that it was considerably louder than designed. So, in amongst our typical mischief (discussing the surreal sight of a swan sitting in a puddle near Cowley Bridge Junction, and trying (and succeeding!) to properly work out the harmonies in "All I Ask Of You") were brief pauses while we all put our fingers in our ears, which lessened the noise to about the level of a normal person talking. The service was, unusually, routed via Doncaster rather than Leeds, which caused a couple of understandable slip-ups on the part of the TM (who I assume wouldn't need to know as a Bristol man).
My note-taking, consequently, wasn't quite as detailed as normal, and I can only presume that the next clump of numbers were spotted at Temple Meads: 802006, 802015, 66531, plus definite Temple Meads spots 166215, 43004 and 43153 (almost certainly the last GWR HST I will ever see, and still as futuristic-looking as when they were introduced in 1976!), and 802114.
158750 was in Barton Hill depot, along with an unidentified EMR 170 (does anyone know what on earth that was doing there?), and, as we accelerated northwards, I sat back to enjoy the view.
North of Bristol Parkway was new track for me, and consequently I was unfamiliar enough with the route to miss the yards around Gloucester and Bromsgrove station. I did see one Class 323 in the Longbridge area but it was going towards Bromsgrove so I couldn't see the number from the left-hand side. After slowing down through the tunnels, we came to a halt in Birmingham New Street, where I was joined at my table by a family with a very excitable toddler. I was slightly dreading the prospect of listening to the parents plug the child into Bluey or something, but, fortunately, the choice of entertainment was a jigsaw, which was significantly quieter.
390011, 196104, 220017, 172336, 220028, 350254, 323211, and 350371 entered or left the subterranean UFO of New Street while we stood there, followed by an announcement from the Train Manager that we were the 16.03 to Edinburgh but not the fastest way to Edinburgh, or a permitted way to Edinburgh (the 390 was on the 16.07 to Edinburgh). After crawling out of the station, we passed a very full Lawley Street: 66560, 70014, and 66551 amongst others were all waiting amongst the ranks of containers.
Proceeding north, we were booked to call at both Tamworth and Burton-on-Trent, the latter station surrounded by lots of stored stock. I had completely forgotten their existence, so was taken by surprise enough to only note down the number of Connex-liveried 1753. A couple of minutes late, we got to Derby, where the dwell time ironed out our delay and 170508 was working a local service, I think bound for Nottingham.
At this stage, I was wondering whether I should alight at Sheffield, Doncaster, or York. I had been tending towards Sheffield, but a tight seven-minute connection and a dead stand outside the station squashed that plan, from my position at the wrong end of the train. We arrived at Sheffield five minutes late, passing 158794, with 195016 and 195012 sitting dark and idle in the middle siding near platform one, and left fairly quickly, at which point I saw the Scarborough train still in the platform - it had been held behind us. 158758 was in charge, and it definitely looked on the cosy side, so I decided to go for York.
Our next stop was Doncaster, and it was getting a bit dark for numbers by this stage. 331108 was in the sidings, with 82208 and 91106 on the near side with a tail lamp attached (we were in platform 8, and it was on (I think) the closest track). And then the run to York, scheduled to take about half an hour but with 13 minutes (or something insane like that) of pathing time in there as well. Consequently, we arrived into the darkened station early at about 18.25, and I wandered across to platform 2 to wait for the 19.03. Along the way, I saw 195101 waiting in one of the southern bay platforms, 800110, 195021 in platform 1, and 220014 before my train came in - and, lo and behold, as it came round the corner, it was emitting that familiar 68 bass and that familiar hum - 68025 glided in with its rake, stopped, and, of course, took until 10 minutes before departure to release the doors.
Waiting to leave, there was just enough light to see 170457 on a Harrogate branch service, and 801225 on a service bound for the bright lights of Glasgow, before we rattled down those familiar curves, past the signal boxes, now merely bright lights in a darkening sky, through Malton, and then finally pulling into the little station at Seamer. As I got off, I saw something else coming the other way - another Mk5 set, the loco this time at the Scarborough end.
I stopped to watch it in, and to watch it leave. It was 68021 in charge. "This will probably be my last seen 68," I said to myself, glumly, as the loco powered away into the evening gloom.
Silence. Then the occasional mew of a circling buzzard, inconspicuous against the indigo-blue sky. As an orange sun peered inquisitively over the top of the row of hills, misty and hazy on the distant horizon, any observer, crouching quietly behind bracken, on a woodland carpet of moss, broken branches, and yellow, rustling leaves, would have heard the thin, underground scratching that precluded the removal of a small pile of mud and stones that lay below the lush, dewy grass of the neighbouring field. Creeping out from behind their secluded spot, they would have seen the resultant burrow, then stopped, and wondered. Maybe they would have noticed the unnaturally smooth sides of the curving tunnel. A mole? A rabbit? A badger that had shrunk in the wash?
There was, however, no such observer. Lord Gremlin, casting a quick glance over his temporary fiefdom, made sure of that, quickly ducking back down into his burrow just in case. His small, rugby-ball-shaped head contrasted with a roughly cylindrical body coated in thick mustard-coloured hide; his four short dusky legs each ended in three pointed toes; and his long, thin tail, mouse-like and blessed with a chameleon's camouflage, whisked around his back to lift his tricorn hat from his head. He descended into the small, hollow chamber, a couple of feet below ground level, and addressed his willing crew in a hushed whisper. "The coast is clear. We can start."
A young, inquisitive gremlin, slimmer and longer-legged than his master, raised his head and stood on his hind legs, as if to speak. Casting furtive looks about him, he took a deep draught of slightly musty air before finally stammering, "But... but where are we going?"
Lord Gremlin, having turned around to lead his company onwards, turned sharply round again to gaze at the speaker, who inched backwards and attempted to blend in with the wall. But His Lordship simply appeared to ignore him, and when he again spoke, he spoke in the same hushed whisper as before, rather than an authoritative shout. Lifting his tricorn back on his head, he quietly ordered his company into a neat single file before taking a few paces to the side in order to resume eye contact with the gremlin who had asked the question. The understudy again trembled, but Lord Gremlin appeared not to notice, keeping silent for several seconds.
"Where are we going?" asked the small gremlin again.
His Lordship exhaled deeply, the length of the mission perhaps coming home to roost in his cluttered mind, fevered with activity and ideas. Was it a lump he felt in his throat, and was it a quaver he felt approaching in his voice? In a fleeting thought, he dismissed his worry: he must show himself as the strong commander he was. But even he could not speak with the gravitas and the force he desired, as he fixed his noble gaze on his subordinate and finally answered, "Nantwich."
Many miles away, in the gathering gloom, a lone traveller awaited the train that would begin a tour he had planned to be roundabout: a journey that could be done in one change that he would accomplish with three, and a visit to Wales (albeit fleeting), an area, for him, tantalisingly unexplored compared to virtually everywhere else on the British mainland except Kent. As he entered the railway station, a dull morning fog enveloping the quiet Yorkshire dawn, and sleepy breakfast-time travellers trooping into the station one-by-one, he couldn't have known, and indeed didn't know, that his next two hours would lead to a collision course with the band that trudged secretively out of that calm woodland burrow.
The first thing to emerge from the fog was the glistening nose of a Mk5 set, propelling the 07.47 service towards Scarborough. Despite the railhead conditions (dewy, foggy autumn morning... not great) and the loco's immense power, it picked up surprisingly quickly out of the station. It was 68021 in charge. "This will probably be my last seen 68," I said to myself, glumly, as the loco powered away into the morning gloom.
I didn't have long to stew, as 185111 turned up promptly on the 07.54 to York. While visibility wasn't yet good enough to catch what we passed on the branch - and I was on the wrong side anyway - it began to brighten. Unfortunately, it chose to brighten just as we were entering York - no green and pleasant views for me then. At York, watching 801226 on an Anglo-Scottish service and 220028 disappear towards Newcastle, the nature of my scheme fully hit me. "This is ridiculous," I thought, "I could wait here for the delayed Plymouth train and just take that straight to Exeter St Davids, and be there in considerably under eight-and-a-half hours."
What was I doing instead, you may well ask? Well, my plan, from here, was to catch the 08.50 TransPennine Express service to Manchester Piccadilly, transfer onto the 10.30 Transport for Wales service to Cardiff Central, which, if it ran to time, would leave me twelve minutes to pick up the 14.00 GWR service to Penzance - fortunately not as far as Penzance, otherwise I may as well have done the last leg sculling in a barrel. Arriving at Exeter St Davids at 16.21, that would get me to my destination (about an hour on the bus from Exeter) just in time for dinner.
Those of you more familiar with TfW services will probably have noted the gigantic flaw in my logic, but, full of incurable optimism, I boarded 802211, which was a genuine case of a TPE train running early. 170456 was on the 08.49 to Leeds via Harrogate, and 195025 was (I think) in Platform 10, presumably due to run a service to Leeds the quick way.
Taking my reserved seat at the very back - thankfully with a window - I watched the scenery go by without a hope of grabbing a number as far as Neville Hill, where the resident shunter 08405 had 91107, 91111, 91124, 800108, 801214, 801102, and 333009 for company. Decelerating over the twisting viaduct, we passed 333011 heading towards Neville Hill before pulling into Platform 16 at Leeds, passing 220024 and 220002, 195101, 801107, and 185106 on a Saltburn service. Departing out the west end of Leeds station, there were several more units on view: 158908+158906, 333008, 158758, and 333007, with 801230 and 185124+185113 queuing outside the station.
The pleasant journey across the Pennines had 150220 and 185102 to show for itself (both, I think, seen in the Huddersfield area - but I am writing considerably more than a week after the journey itself, so the usual accuracy disclaimer does apply. And I've also lost my Baker Atlas. Again).
We were a couple of minutes down through Stalybridge before getting to Guide Bridge, where 195024 passed on a Rose Hill train and the conductor made a slightly premature announcement for our imminent arrival into Piccadilly. The various sidings around Ardwick had various units dotted about, with 323224, 185104, 323227, and 185148 visible enough to identify. After a brief chase with 185143, we were in slightly early (by the public timetable), which at least reduced my stress about the 17-minute connection onto the TfW train. Of course, I promptly lost that advantage by letting everyone else go ahead of me through the ticket barrier. Nevertheless, I consoled myself, I would at least get a seat - the train had only been in the station for five minutes, assuming it was on time.
I did not get a seat.
However, the advantage of not having travelled the route as many times as I've been across the Pennines (i.e. none as opposed to four or five!) is that I can remember a great deal more about the journey. My TPE train had arrived into platform 1, so it was easy to sweep the buffers: 323236, 150142, 390009, 150104, 323233, and 390117 plus my steed for the three-hour journey, 150256.
Meanwhile...
The grassy fields and forests of the night's camp had given way to marshy, uninhabited countryside, as Lord Gremlin called his followers to a halt next to a large post-and-wire fence. His handsome tail once more coiled around him and removed his tricorn. His company, in contrast to his air of insouciant well-scrubbedness, looked rather wet and bedraggled and considerably un-casual about being dragged many miles up hill and down dale to a remote bit of Cheshire with some pretty black-and-white buildings and a high concentration of rain - all except for old Grandfather Gremlin, who was holding an umbrella in his tail.
"Why are we even here?" piped up one bored gremlin from the back. "Is it a sightseeing tour or something?"
Lord Gremlin stood up on his hind legs and pointedly shrugged - he was in his element now, and rather enjoying himself. He far preferred being out in the country, causing mischief, than enduring sleepless nights in a far-away hollow. "Grandfather," he said, pointing to the oldest gremlin, a wheezy, gentle fellow with a fondness for comfortable chairs, old stories, and ginger biscuits. "Can you get through the fence?"
"If I can do it, anyone can," said Grandfather Gremlin, setting off. "But why are we doing this anyway? I'd far rather we found a new supply of ginger biscuits. I am running out."
"You can do that afterwards if you like," said Lord Gremlin, clenching his little teeth (Grandfather got through ginger biscuits at a quite extraordinary rate). "But this is orders from Grandmaster Gremlin."
"Why isn't Grandmaster Gremlin here?" asked another voice from the back.
"He's up in the Brecon Beacons making it rain," answered His Lordship, looking back at Grandfather Gremlin, who, with immense difficulty, was hauling himself under the lowest wire, which was sagging. Eventually, however, he was through, and Lord Gremlin shepherded all the little gremlins through before crawling under himself.
"Now what do we do?" asked Grandfather Gremlin.
"You follow me," said Lord Gremlin. "This is a very important plan - if we do this, and the ladies of our group perform the task Grandmaster Gremlin set them, then there will be chaos all across the region."
Every single gremlin's little ears pricked up at the word "chaos". It was balm to a weary gremlin's ears, a just reward for all the walking they had had to do. There was nothing that excited a gremlin more than the word "chaos".
"But what are we doing?" asked Grandfather, again.
"Do you see those wires over there?" said Lord Gremlin. "We will bite through them. It will cause no end of delay and disruption to those wretched little humans."
This got the younger gremlins very excited and they rushed over to the wires with colossal haste. "Begin biting if you wish," said Lord Gremlin - the more they did, the better, he thought - his teeth nowadays were not as sharp and pointed as they once were, whereas the younger gremlins had teeth like craft knives.
"Isn't it normally rats that do this?" asked Grandfather Gremlin.
"Yes, but gremlins are better, given our hide acts as an insulator and so it doesn't kill us," explained Lord Gremlin.
"And what are the ladies doing? We've been away from them for weeks!"
"Oh, I think they're up in Liverpool wreaking mischief with their new trains. And a fine job they're doing!"
Blissfully unaware of the gremlins' antics, I found the prime standing spot (near the door on the left-hand-side, one door along from the trolley), I wished anxiously for an enthusiastic driver who could at least roughly keep to time (I would have 19 minutes at Cardiff Central if we arrived on time). My wish was granted - after starting nearly a minute late, passing 37218 and 323231 in the Longsight area, we reached Stockport in just eight and a half minutes (conservative estimate). Given the Railway Performance Society's best recorded run with a 158 is 8 minutes 28 seconds, this seemed rather impressive, unless the members of the RPS have been dogged by extreme ill-luck!
After getting fuller at Wilmslow, we raced along the route, past Jodrell Bank (awesome sight) to Crewe, where we arrived about a minute late. Some people got off, some people got on. We waited.
350266 was on a Euston service, 390020 was on a southbound Avanti, and 730007 was sitting idle in a platform, presumably on test. We waited.
A few people ran down the stairs to get on - we had been put in platform 6, which constituted a platform alteration. We waited.
The clock ticked 11.18. The 350 disappeared. We waited.
The doors closed. Each sardine caught the eye of another sardine and smiled, that universal smile from stranger to stranger when a small adversity is overcome. Larger adversities usually result in pleased conversation instead of smiles. (For research purposes, I am ignoring the South. Nobody talks to anyone except their dog/cat in the South.)
We left the station. Going north.
After confusion had swept the carriage in a supersonic Mexican wave, the guard came over the PA. "Morning folks," he said, cheerfully, "there's a signalling problem, so we're being sent a different way via Chester. Our next stop is still Shrewsbury."
If you have much grasp of railway geography in the Welsh borders, you will probably have noticed that that was the understatement of the century. There was no mention of how late we were going to be, so I naturally assumed that we would only lose about 40 minutes or so, and I would still make my connection at Newport. I knew it was a long diversion, but not a totally insane diversion.
The journey between Crewe and Chester is simply a non-stop run through countryside of the sort that is pretty but not picture-postcard-pretty: I have 158820 in my notes which was seen somewhere between Crewe and Chester but I have no idea whether it was in the sidings at Chester, seen on the run, or seen arriving into Crewe. Slowing down into Chester, we passed 175115 outside the station, 777011 in the station (my first 777 spotted in revenue-earning service, assuming it hadn't broken down), and 197108 on depot. There were two other 175s in and around the station which I didn't identify: 175113 and 175105, as it later transpired (thanks @Techniquest for the information
).After Chester, we took the line towards Wrexham at Saltney Junction, where we were passed - of course - by a roomy, comfortable Mk4 set. At Wrexham General, I was rather hoping our arrival would coincide with that of a 230 on the Borderlands line (I still haven't seen a Stormtrooper 230), but no luck, and we were held at a signal at the very far end of the platform for quite some time before proceeding another mile and stopping again. Eventually, another (unidentified) 150 flashed past (@Techniquest - I'm wondering whether this was your 150285?), and we were let through a couple of minutes later.
At this stage I was fairly certain that I would miss my connection, even at Newport, and focused on scenery-watching, which was fortunate as the line between Wrexham and Shrewsbury is a glorious meander through lush green valleys and peaks, darker hills brooding on the horizon, and the line negotiating numerous earthworks and the impressive viaduct at Chirk.
I was even beginning to feel a little optimistic as we passed through Gobowen, but then we were held outside Shrewsbury for 10 minutes awaiting a platform. At Shrewsbury, the guard made another announcement on the PA - that passengers for all stations except Hereford, Newport, and Cardiff Central were to disembark and join the 197 on the opposite side of the island. I was ever-so-slightly jealous, having never been on a 197, but, I consoled myself, at least I wouldn't be very late into Exeter. After a little bit of passenger chess, which at least resulted in me finding a seat, we left Shrewsbury a mere 70 minutes late.
South of Shrewsbury, we were passed by 153906 and 153367 as we crossed the complex junction to the south, under the dominating shadow of Severn Bridge Junction signal box, the largest operational lever-frame box in the world. Passing a cluster of locos in the sidings to our right (which at least kind of made up for the delay): 37405, 97303, 97302 (my first Class 97s if I'm not forgetting anything), 56048, and 56049.
With the Sprinter working hard, we careered through the Marches stations (with the longer-than-I-expected distance between Shrewsbury and Church Stretton particularly striking me). Somewhere before Hereford we passed 197001 (this bit of the journey is now a little bit of a blur given I, at the time, thought I was on the home stretch and could have a rest!), and, after rattling through Leominster, we slowed down for the stop at Hereford, passing 172339 as it made its way towards Worcester and Birmingham.
South of Hereford, the line curves west and, after passing lonely Tram Inn, a halt-turned-timing point, sweeps into and out of and into Wales, and then meanders through one of the more dramatic areas of south-east Wales, the line almost hidden under the huge shadow of the eastern Brecon Beacons, masked by swiftly-changing interludes of bright sunshine and horizontal rain. Gazing up to the black, forbidding peak, I remembered that one of my friends, for one reason or another, was camping up in that exposed, rainy spot, whereas I - hopefully - was on my way to the soft red cliffs and deep blue sea of the English Riviera. Either that or I would be marooned in Bristol.
After passing through Abergavenny and Cwmbran, our delay now reduced to about 65 minutes, we slowed to cross the Usk - twice - at Newport, passing track machine DR73924 at Maindee, before I alighted, under the leaking canopy, and waited for the 14.44 to Portsmouth Harbour. This would at least be interesting, as it was booked for a 166, which I was still yet to do for haulage.
First, however, I had to wait for 197046, packed to the rafters, cascading water off the finely chiselled edges of its sleek bodyside (the weather had become very Welsh), to leave the platform. An unruly passenger began smoking. The dispatchers conversed. People got on and off and on and off the train, squeezing into every cubic centimetre of space between the handsome leather seats and smart red carpet. In my position, well, I envied them their 197. Eventually, after a member of staff who wasn't the driver (the driver was in the cab the entire time) had got out, walked halfway down the platform to see the dispatcher, then spotted that the signal had been cleared, and hurried back to the cab, the train left. I think it was the 14.11 to Piccadilly (an ex-Carmarthen), which ended up terminating at Wilmslow. It was 25 minutes late. Luxury.
After watching 166213 leave towards Cardiff with the 14.34, 166211, still in FGW livery, turned up slightly early on my train. Being very similar to a 165, I found it perfectly enjoyable, apart from a very high-pitched noise infecting the entire saloon. Whether it was a singing bat or just my head I don't know, but I found a seat - explaining to the (very cheerful) guard that I had come off the down Manchester - and sat back as we clattered through Severn Tunnel Junction and into the four miles of the Severn Tunnel.
Climbing back out again, we took the right-hand route at Patchway and slowed for the stop at Filton Abbey Wood, passed by 221139 on the fast line and 165133+165132 on another Cardiff-bound service. 66550 overtook us, running light, before we overtook it again and passed Barton Hill, with 08516 on shed, before the arrival into Temple Meads presented me with an opportunity to recover the delay incurred on TfW.
The 14.45 CrossCountry towards Plymouth was running around half an hour late, and would be leaving from platform 10 - the southern end of the opposite side of the island platform (if this doesn't make sense, I could fill another report-sized post with an explanation of platform numbering at Temple Meads!). As it was leaving another set at Temple Meads, there was a chance that it would incur further delay and I would be able to run down the platform and catch it - but equally, I may as well cross over to platform 6 and wait for the 15.45 (running about 15-20 minutes late). Fortunately, the curve of the platform meant that it was immediately obvious that only the detached back set was left off the 14.45, so, my energy conserved but my schedule completely abandoned, I wandered over to platform 6 and settled down for a long wait.
Fortunately, I was in good company, as there was a nice amount of activity to keep me occupied. 150232 and 802109 were seen on the way in, before 220022 and 220012 arrived with a northbound CrossCountry. 166215 turned up on a local, and then 221140 on another CrossCountry, before 800309 arrived on a service from Paddington and 158750 was spotted in the distance on a service to Warminster. At this point, I was treated to the star of the show - 43029 and 43154 coming majestically round the corner on the 15.27 to Cardiff Central.
166202 (another local - I'm afraid I can't remember which way round 166215 or 166202 were, as one was on a Severn Beach branch service and one was going down to Weston-super-Mare) and 800308 were seen before the surprising sight of 802013 working the 15.51 all-stations service to Taunton! As the 15.45 was running about 20 minutes late at this point, I decided that I wouldn't be able to reliably connect off it at Taunton, and waited for the express. I had completely forgotten that I had split my ticket at Yatton and Worle, and, as it later transpired, I would have made the connection - but I'm getting ahead of myself with the story there!
158767 was the only other service spotted before a platform alteration was hurriedly announced for the 15.45, and the crowd cascaded into the subway and over to platform 4 as 221123 swept in. Racing down to the front coach, I grabbed a seat, put my rucksack under my feet, placed my hat on the seat-back table, and (almost literally) sighed with relief - I would be into Exeter in about an hour, I would only be 20 minutes later than my initial plan (as the Cardiff Central-Penzance stops everywhere except Bedminster, Parson Street, and Weston Milton!), I would be on the coast before dark. I would be able to eat a better dinner than the pedigree Yorkshire butcher's pork pie that I had saved for emergencies.
The carriage filled. We waited. 800001 came into the station. We continued to wait. I was getting used to this.
(At this point I should probably note that the final two entries in my notes are 221132 and 221137, but I didn't note whether they were together, or where I saw them, which I presume is an indicator of the mental state I was in after eight hours travelling and being at last on the home straight.)
We still waited. Nobody seemed to care, or think it unusual. I don't think I did, either.
Eventually, the doors closed and we pulled out of the station, 40 minutes late. At this rate I wouldn't be into Exeter until about half past five, and, having then negotiated another hour on the bus, wouldn't get in until after I prefer to eat. Then, I pulled out my ticket. I noticed the split. I panicked.
The journey to Taunton, behind an all-stops service as far as the junction for Weston, was decidedly slow. I noticed the speeding traffic on the M5. "They're probably looking at the crawling train and thinking, "Hah, losers!"" I thought. I envied them their uncongested motorway. I had been brought up to consider that the three certainties in life are death, taxes, and congestion on the M5 between Bristol and Taunton.
After coasting into Taunton - 802013 in the platform beside us - it was but a short journey to Tiverton Parkway, which was utterly deserted. It was also the point at which the Train Manager came through (there seemed to be two - one sorting out the doors and making announcements, and one checking tickets). I began to explain my situation with the tickets, but he stopped me about halfway through, going, "It's fine. We're 40 late, I'm not going to fuss." That's one positive thing I have to say about the journey - despite the constant delays, every single guard was helpful, informative, and understanding. A far cry indeed from the often unfeeling image the railways sometimes seem to project.
With dusk falling, we pulled into St Davids at 17.25, and I hauled myself off the train, escaped the station, and walked up the hill towards the bus station. It's not a desperately nice walk. It's also not desperately short, unless you get the train up to Exeter Central. Nevertheless: I was there, and that was all that I had the headspace to worry about!
The Return (thankfully a briefer story!)
The return began in quite possibly the most inauspicious manner possible. I had intended to travel back up on the 13.25 from St Davids, changing at either Sheffield, Doncaster, or York. However, due to the distance between the bus station and the railway station, the bus due in at 12.56 was deemed to cut it too fine, given the timetable is decidedly optimistic. I, along with a couple of friends who were also aiming for the 13.25 to Bristol Parkway, therefore waited for the bus at about quarter past 11. It was running about 20 minutes late. I had got used to the drill by now.
The high-tech timetable board, after it had passed the ever promising "1 minute", then started to count down in seconds. A double decker was expected round the corner any minute now, as it went past 30, then past 20, then past 10, then past 1, then back to 20, then past 10, then... disappeared.
As I had a flexible ticket, I was elected to the position of waiting for the next bus while everyone else asked for a lift from our host. As the buses are hourly, I had about 40 minutes to wait (fortunately, someone who wasn't in any hurry to leave agreed to come with me and ensure that I didn't get lost in Exeter). At pretty much the due time, up came a bus - on a different route. Having briefly got very excited at the prospect of a bus, we sat back down and waited.
A minute later, up came another bus, behind the first - on the route going the other way. After a second false start, we collapsed back against the wall and waited.
A minute later, in came a third bus - which, at last, was a service to Exeter! Having successfully proved the old adage about buses, we found the prime double-decker seats, and wondered how late the bus would be. I was reliably informed that the bus would probably end up about 10-15 minutes late, as the schedule while in Exeter made no allowance for traffic or traffic lights.
Fortunately, the bus driver was the Devonian version of Road Runner. If it didn't break any speed records, I will be amazed, and we were in Exeter bus station only a couple of minutes late. In fact, we made such good time that those with Advance tickets who had obtained a lift saw our bus behind them, despite setting off about 10 minutes earlier, and, consequently, it was deemed sensible to pick me up and drive me down the hill into St Davids, and I was on the station with over 10 minutes to spare. Time pressure, what time pressure?
150233 and 150261 were on an Exmouth service, with 802101 waiting with the 13.33 to Paddington. 800018+800012 showed up with the preceding Paddington service before 159003 led a SWR service down the hill and into platform 1, 802008 arrived with a Penzance service, and the 13.25 arrived, courtesy of 221134 and 220029. Joining the back unit, the carriage was empty enough that we could grab a table - even on a Voyager!
The unfortunate thing about our table was that we were positioned underneath a faulty PA loudspeaker - faulty in that it was considerably louder than designed. So, in amongst our typical mischief (discussing the surreal sight of a swan sitting in a puddle near Cowley Bridge Junction, and trying (and succeeding!) to properly work out the harmonies in "All I Ask Of You") were brief pauses while we all put our fingers in our ears, which lessened the noise to about the level of a normal person talking. The service was, unusually, routed via Doncaster rather than Leeds, which caused a couple of understandable slip-ups on the part of the TM (who I assume wouldn't need to know as a Bristol man).
My note-taking, consequently, wasn't quite as detailed as normal, and I can only presume that the next clump of numbers were spotted at Temple Meads: 802006, 802015, 66531, plus definite Temple Meads spots 166215, 43004 and 43153 (almost certainly the last GWR HST I will ever see, and still as futuristic-looking as when they were introduced in 1976!), and 802114.
158750 was in Barton Hill depot, along with an unidentified EMR 170 (does anyone know what on earth that was doing there?), and, as we accelerated northwards, I sat back to enjoy the view.
North of Bristol Parkway was new track for me, and consequently I was unfamiliar enough with the route to miss the yards around Gloucester and Bromsgrove station. I did see one Class 323 in the Longbridge area but it was going towards Bromsgrove so I couldn't see the number from the left-hand side. After slowing down through the tunnels, we came to a halt in Birmingham New Street, where I was joined at my table by a family with a very excitable toddler. I was slightly dreading the prospect of listening to the parents plug the child into Bluey or something, but, fortunately, the choice of entertainment was a jigsaw, which was significantly quieter.
390011, 196104, 220017, 172336, 220028, 350254, 323211, and 350371 entered or left the subterranean UFO of New Street while we stood there, followed by an announcement from the Train Manager that we were the 16.03 to Edinburgh but not the fastest way to Edinburgh, or a permitted way to Edinburgh (the 390 was on the 16.07 to Edinburgh). After crawling out of the station, we passed a very full Lawley Street: 66560, 70014, and 66551 amongst others were all waiting amongst the ranks of containers.
Proceeding north, we were booked to call at both Tamworth and Burton-on-Trent, the latter station surrounded by lots of stored stock. I had completely forgotten their existence, so was taken by surprise enough to only note down the number of Connex-liveried 1753. A couple of minutes late, we got to Derby, where the dwell time ironed out our delay and 170508 was working a local service, I think bound for Nottingham.
At this stage, I was wondering whether I should alight at Sheffield, Doncaster, or York. I had been tending towards Sheffield, but a tight seven-minute connection and a dead stand outside the station squashed that plan, from my position at the wrong end of the train. We arrived at Sheffield five minutes late, passing 158794, with 195016 and 195012 sitting dark and idle in the middle siding near platform one, and left fairly quickly, at which point I saw the Scarborough train still in the platform - it had been held behind us. 158758 was in charge, and it definitely looked on the cosy side, so I decided to go for York.
Our next stop was Doncaster, and it was getting a bit dark for numbers by this stage. 331108 was in the sidings, with 82208 and 91106 on the near side with a tail lamp attached (we were in platform 8, and it was on (I think) the closest track). And then the run to York, scheduled to take about half an hour but with 13 minutes (or something insane like that) of pathing time in there as well. Consequently, we arrived into the darkened station early at about 18.25, and I wandered across to platform 2 to wait for the 19.03. Along the way, I saw 195101 waiting in one of the southern bay platforms, 800110, 195021 in platform 1, and 220014 before my train came in - and, lo and behold, as it came round the corner, it was emitting that familiar 68 bass and that familiar hum - 68025 glided in with its rake, stopped, and, of course, took until 10 minutes before departure to release the doors.
Waiting to leave, there was just enough light to see 170457 on a Harrogate branch service, and 801225 on a service bound for the bright lights of Glasgow, before we rattled down those familiar curves, past the signal boxes, now merely bright lights in a darkening sky, through Malton, and then finally pulling into the little station at Seamer. As I got off, I saw something else coming the other way - another Mk5 set, the loco this time at the Scarborough end.
I stopped to watch it in, and to watch it leave. It was 68021 in charge. "This will probably be my last seen 68," I said to myself, glumly, as the loco powered away into the evening gloom.
D6130
Established Member
Absolutely brilliant @Purple Train ! You should write a book about your travels! 
Purple Train
Established Member
Thank you! I think a book would have to wait until I either improve my memory or improve my organisation to the point of not waiting a week before drafting a trip reportAbsolutely brilliant @Purple Train ! You should write a book about your travels!
Purple Train
Established Member
"NO TRAINS UNTIL TUESDAY"
It seemed like a good idea at the time, but, as I miserably crawled into a waiting 387, I wondered what on earth had possessed me to make an extra three-hour journey simply to pick up a parcel. Actually, that's not quite correct. I wondered why on earth I had somehow missed the fact that there were strikes on GWR, especially given I checked thoroughly. As I squashed myself into the straight-backed ironing board for another half-hour slog, I would like to say that I thought that the entire sequence of events rather neatly summed up Tom Stoppard's explanation of chaos theory in his play Arcadia, but I wasn't in any frame of mind to think about anything other than my journey, so that would be a lie.
The best place to start a story, however, is at the beginning, so I suppose I shall start there. I had an event to go to on a Saturday evening, which I had assumed would make a perfect weekend jaunt. However, the weekend in question (3rd/4th) was pencilled in for strikes, well after the event had been arranged. I did, however, look at whether the strikes would affect Greater Anglia and GWR. I saw neither. Whether I was simply being thick or whether there was a genuine error, I don't know.
The event was in the Clacton area, and this presented Problem One: engineering work between London Liverpool Street and Shenfield. Getting around this involved a replacement bus from Newbury Park to Ingatestone. That was fine enough, as the buses were frequent, and Ingatestone was not a station at which I had boarded/alighted previously - bonus!
Problem Two was more complicated: a friend of mine (who was also going) had obtained a Christmas present for me (in time for Christmas) which was large enough to be uneconomic to post, and suggested that I pick it up from Swindon on the way back, because she didn't want to have to carry it for her entire journey. (Fortunately, it was considerably smaller than a lamp-post!) This would necessitate a complicated overshoot. I eventually decided just to concentrate on getting myself to the event, and sort it out at the ticket office there (a decision partially motivated by the fact that I was cutting it slightly fine for my train when I arrived at the station).
Innocent of tomorrow's palaver, I boarded 9U23 (1059 Reading-Abbey Wood), formed of 345035, and settled in for the all-too-familiar ride to Paddington. With a class 59 frustratingly parked under the shed at Stockley Junction freight siding, and having missed all the other numbers through a combination of ill-luck, inattention, and eyesight problems, my eyes refocused in time to spot 345047 at Hayes & Harlington.
800019 and 387140 were noted on the way to Southall, where 57009 G. J. Churchward was parked just outside the shed, in front of Standard 4 76017. Not one I'd seen before, but great to see it out and about, and on the mainline (I remember its classmate 76079 well on the NYMR: now stored pending overhaul).
DR 75011 was in the sidings at West Ealing, and 345050 at Ealing Broadway. 802007 and HEx duo 387133+387137 skipped through before we passed 345027 at Acton, emerging from the diveunder to find 66005, 66003, and 66085 waiting around in the yard. North Pole was just as busy, despite the length of time that has passed since Christmas: 802111, 800313, 802109, 802006, and 802001 were all in and around the shed. 800011 and 800020 passed on the 11.48 Paddington-Swansea before we descended into Paddington EL station on time at 11.54.
Before continuing, I had a couple of friends to wait for (as we figured that sticking together on the replacement bus wouldn't be the worst idea in the world). One was arriving on the 12.29 arrival from Penzance, and I must confess that the idea of deserting them was particularly tempting when I saw that the train, on time when I left the house, had suffered an existential crisis on the Berks & Hants and lost ten minutes. After returning from meeting my other friend off the up Swansea, formed of 800001 and a classmate (this took a while, during which I discovered that the Brunel statue is not an obvious landmark to someone at the back of a 10-coach train), this had increased to 25 minutes late. 802015 arrived on platform 8 with a Great Malvern train, and 387144 was on HEx duties before the recalcitrant 802016 (again, plus classmate) finally arrived from Penzance, and we ran down to the Elizabeth line station to board 345019, heading for Stratford.
The Penzance train's delay meant that our intended replacement bus - the 13.37 from Newbury Park - would leave about three minutes too early for us. The following bus - the 13.52 - had an advertised connection onto a Norwich service, which had a booked 30-second connection onto the Clacton train at Colchester. Due to the rather lopsided nature of the Sunshine Coast Line's timetable, the next service was 50 minutes later, which would pose a bit of a problem.
True to my prediction, we arrived at Newbury Park at 13.40, and the fun began. Entering the Replacement Bus Passenger Pen (whether this is the technical term, I don't know) involved choosing between two passageways, which normally functioned as entrances to the car park. One had a massive "one way" sign next to it; the other, a conspicuous "no entry" sign. I picked the one with a "one way" sign. This was incorrect.
Then it turned out that another passenger wanted Ashford (Kent), and had been directed to the replacement bus. Somehow, we ended up getting given his advice ("Go back into London and go to Victoria"). I reiterated that we wanted Ingatestone. The consequent and logical assumption, as far as the member of staff was concerned, was to say, "Billericay?" (There was a Southend Victoria bus leaving within two minutes of the Ingatestone bus.)
Eventually we ended up going to Ingatestone, although our bus left at the timetabled time of the Southend Victoria bus, which caused a minor amount of fingernail-chewing. After a brisk journey down the A12, we ended up in Ingatestone early. So early, in fact, that the Ipswich service we had intended to catch, and was booked to connect with the previous bus, was waiting for us!
Leaping aboard 720566, it was plain sailing from then on, passing 745002 in the platform, and, once again, I committed the rookie error of failing to differentiate between stock seen on the journey and stock seen in Colchester carriage sidings, so I shall give you my usual indiscriminate lump: 720546, 720128, 755327, 720575, 720511, 720122, 755329, 720535, and 720557. 720509 was waiting to take us along the Clacton line, 720553 was on the Colchester Town shuttle, and 745003 turned up early with the aforementioned Norwich train.
So far so good, and, if everything proceeded as relatively smoothly as that, I wouldn't have bothered making this a trip report. The following day, however, had easily as much chaos as all the much-longer-distance trips I've made, bar perhaps Lord Gremlin and his merry men on the way to Cardiff!
Day 2
Since I was meant to be seeing someone off on 1N09 (11.35 Clacton-Shenfield, 720123), I originally planned to buy an extension to Swindon then, a plan foiled by my forgetting my card. When I returned, the member of staff in the ticket office was on their lunch break, so I left it another hour. I made a bit of a meal of explaining what I wanted to do (I originally asked whether the ticket could simply be excessed), and the gentleman first offered me a single to Swindon, which I refused on the grounds that the train I wanted to catch didn't stop at my home station. He then did a bit of digging on his computer, and suggested a single from Reading to Swindon. I queried whether that was valid - I am from the London side of Reading, after all - and he turned round his monitor. He was right - it did suggest that it was valid. While he was dispatching the next Shenfield train (720132), I satisfied myself that the official Greater Anglia website was showing an itinerary that suggested that my existing ticket was valid via Reading, and bought it. I did ask whether it would be easier to buy from Paddington, but he said, "No, it's twice the cost, it's not worth it."
720557 called with the 12.45 from Shenfield before 720547 arrived with my train, the 13.35 off Clacton. We passed 755326 on an ECS heading into Colchester, and 720566 in the sidings, before proceeding to Marks Tey, where we were passed by 745008 heading for Norwich. 720529 was waiting patiently in the Braintree platform at Witham, and, when we got to Ingatestone, 745004 was waiting to head north. The bus was not as blissful an experience as on the way up, but the less said about that the better!
After making it to Stratford, 345030 was waiting with a Paddington service, with 378210 in the Overground platforms, and 345038 arriving just before we left. It was surprisingly quiet, though the fact that the train was terminating at Paddington probably had more to do with that than anything else.
Emerging into the daylight, we studied the departure boards intently. One train an hour to Swindon, Oxford, and Reading, the next Swindon service at 17.05. What we didn't see, however, was any information on how to get the third member of our group back to Plymouth. There were a few members of staff in GWR uniform hovering around the concourse, so we stopped one of them, and asked whether there were any Plymouth services running from Reading.
"No," he said cheerfully, "no trains to Plymouth until Tuesday."
"How close can you get?" I asked.
"Well, today, we are running only to Swindon and Oxford. Tomorrow will be even worse, only a few trains to Bristol. But if you wait until Tuesday, you can get to Plymouth."
We looked at each other helplessly.
"But," he continued, stepping forward with the coup de grâce, "you could go to Waterloo and get a train to Exeter from there. That's as far as you can go."
"Is ticket acceptance in place?"
He shrugged. "I don't know, but if you have a flexible ticket, you will be fine."
Fortunately, she did.
Having sorted out that particular problem, I then went to ask whether the ticket the Greater Anglia gentleman had sold me was, in fact, valid. First, I stopped someone in pink hi-vis with "Customer Service" in small writing on the back. He didn't know, went to the ticket kiosk behind the gateline, found it shut, went back onto the concourse, and eventually found his colleague, who confirmed that Greater Anglia's computer had, in fact, been having a complete meltdown. He did, however, say that he would allow me to just buy a ticket between my station and Reading, even if the train didn't stop (information which would have made the initial transaction easier!!) and sent me to the ticket office.
By this point, I was slightly stressed, and my friend was particularly annoyed that I didn't laugh at any of the man in the ticket office's jokes (meaning she had to show double the appreciation), in particular his advice, when I said that the man on the concourse had relaxed the splitting rules, to "get his name, preferably the badge as well". I shall place on record my appreciation here
800304 arrived from Oxford, and 387164 and 387151 were on the Swindon train. Originally I had planned to take the return working back to Reading and hence get home, but, when I checked on Realtime Trains, the return working had been cancelled, with the next train back at 19.45. There was a possession on the fast lines, with 66790 and 66712 on barrier/engineering trains in the vicinity, and 800317 at North Pole. 165117 was waiting at Reading, working to Basingstoke, before it got too dark for numbers.
Having successfully picked up the parcel, and crammed it into my dinner bag, I returned to the station, leapt aboard one of 387150+387159+387152 (I now honestly can't remember which) and waited for the off. Happy though I was at the lengthening of Christmas (though, with my high-church hat on, technically only by two days!) I couldn't help thinking that, maybe, just maybe, it would have been better to schedule a completely different visit to Swindon, rather than giving myself a seven-hour journey. Oh well. At least it made for a story worth telling here!
387167 was standing idle at Reading, and 345002 was in the platform with the 20.29 Elizabeth line service, with 345033 the only other unit I saw on the short journey.
Overall, though, I have to say that the disruption management, both with Greater Anglia and GWR, was fairly good, and that all the staff were patient, helpful, and courteous. It was a very welcome reminder that, in disruption (albeit planned), not all the railway is prone to leaving its passengers to fend for themselves, like in the stories that seem to surface with depressing regularity. Greater Anglia was, as usual, pretty slick and efficient (with the possible exception of the situation at Newbury Park on the way up) and, while GWR's punctuality still left a lot to be desired, I can't praise its staff enough. That being said, hopefully my next trip (I still have quite a bit of Travelcard-zone track left to do...) is a little less stressful!
Although, Greater Anglia, please sort out your computers!
It seemed like a good idea at the time, but, as I miserably crawled into a waiting 387, I wondered what on earth had possessed me to make an extra three-hour journey simply to pick up a parcel. Actually, that's not quite correct. I wondered why on earth I had somehow missed the fact that there were strikes on GWR, especially given I checked thoroughly. As I squashed myself into the straight-backed ironing board for another half-hour slog, I would like to say that I thought that the entire sequence of events rather neatly summed up Tom Stoppard's explanation of chaos theory in his play Arcadia, but I wasn't in any frame of mind to think about anything other than my journey, so that would be a lie.
The best place to start a story, however, is at the beginning, so I suppose I shall start there. I had an event to go to on a Saturday evening, which I had assumed would make a perfect weekend jaunt. However, the weekend in question (3rd/4th) was pencilled in for strikes, well after the event had been arranged. I did, however, look at whether the strikes would affect Greater Anglia and GWR. I saw neither. Whether I was simply being thick or whether there was a genuine error, I don't know.
The event was in the Clacton area, and this presented Problem One: engineering work between London Liverpool Street and Shenfield. Getting around this involved a replacement bus from Newbury Park to Ingatestone. That was fine enough, as the buses were frequent, and Ingatestone was not a station at which I had boarded/alighted previously - bonus!
Problem Two was more complicated: a friend of mine (who was also going) had obtained a Christmas present for me (in time for Christmas) which was large enough to be uneconomic to post, and suggested that I pick it up from Swindon on the way back, because she didn't want to have to carry it for her entire journey. (Fortunately, it was considerably smaller than a lamp-post!) This would necessitate a complicated overshoot. I eventually decided just to concentrate on getting myself to the event, and sort it out at the ticket office there (a decision partially motivated by the fact that I was cutting it slightly fine for my train when I arrived at the station).
Innocent of tomorrow's palaver, I boarded 9U23 (1059 Reading-Abbey Wood), formed of 345035, and settled in for the all-too-familiar ride to Paddington. With a class 59 frustratingly parked under the shed at Stockley Junction freight siding, and having missed all the other numbers through a combination of ill-luck, inattention, and eyesight problems, my eyes refocused in time to spot 345047 at Hayes & Harlington.
800019 and 387140 were noted on the way to Southall, where 57009 G. J. Churchward was parked just outside the shed, in front of Standard 4 76017. Not one I'd seen before, but great to see it out and about, and on the mainline (I remember its classmate 76079 well on the NYMR: now stored pending overhaul).
DR 75011 was in the sidings at West Ealing, and 345050 at Ealing Broadway. 802007 and HEx duo 387133+387137 skipped through before we passed 345027 at Acton, emerging from the diveunder to find 66005, 66003, and 66085 waiting around in the yard. North Pole was just as busy, despite the length of time that has passed since Christmas: 802111, 800313, 802109, 802006, and 802001 were all in and around the shed. 800011 and 800020 passed on the 11.48 Paddington-Swansea before we descended into Paddington EL station on time at 11.54.
Before continuing, I had a couple of friends to wait for (as we figured that sticking together on the replacement bus wouldn't be the worst idea in the world). One was arriving on the 12.29 arrival from Penzance, and I must confess that the idea of deserting them was particularly tempting when I saw that the train, on time when I left the house, had suffered an existential crisis on the Berks & Hants and lost ten minutes. After returning from meeting my other friend off the up Swansea, formed of 800001 and a classmate (this took a while, during which I discovered that the Brunel statue is not an obvious landmark to someone at the back of a 10-coach train), this had increased to 25 minutes late. 802015 arrived on platform 8 with a Great Malvern train, and 387144 was on HEx duties before the recalcitrant 802016 (again, plus classmate) finally arrived from Penzance, and we ran down to the Elizabeth line station to board 345019, heading for Stratford.
The Penzance train's delay meant that our intended replacement bus - the 13.37 from Newbury Park - would leave about three minutes too early for us. The following bus - the 13.52 - had an advertised connection onto a Norwich service, which had a booked 30-second connection onto the Clacton train at Colchester. Due to the rather lopsided nature of the Sunshine Coast Line's timetable, the next service was 50 minutes later, which would pose a bit of a problem.
True to my prediction, we arrived at Newbury Park at 13.40, and the fun began. Entering the Replacement Bus Passenger Pen (whether this is the technical term, I don't know) involved choosing between two passageways, which normally functioned as entrances to the car park. One had a massive "one way" sign next to it; the other, a conspicuous "no entry" sign. I picked the one with a "one way" sign. This was incorrect.
Then it turned out that another passenger wanted Ashford (Kent), and had been directed to the replacement bus. Somehow, we ended up getting given his advice ("Go back into London and go to Victoria"). I reiterated that we wanted Ingatestone. The consequent and logical assumption, as far as the member of staff was concerned, was to say, "Billericay?" (There was a Southend Victoria bus leaving within two minutes of the Ingatestone bus.)
Eventually we ended up going to Ingatestone, although our bus left at the timetabled time of the Southend Victoria bus, which caused a minor amount of fingernail-chewing. After a brisk journey down the A12, we ended up in Ingatestone early. So early, in fact, that the Ipswich service we had intended to catch, and was booked to connect with the previous bus, was waiting for us!
Leaping aboard 720566, it was plain sailing from then on, passing 745002 in the platform, and, once again, I committed the rookie error of failing to differentiate between stock seen on the journey and stock seen in Colchester carriage sidings, so I shall give you my usual indiscriminate lump: 720546, 720128, 755327, 720575, 720511, 720122, 755329, 720535, and 720557. 720509 was waiting to take us along the Clacton line, 720553 was on the Colchester Town shuttle, and 745003 turned up early with the aforementioned Norwich train.
So far so good, and, if everything proceeded as relatively smoothly as that, I wouldn't have bothered making this a trip report. The following day, however, had easily as much chaos as all the much-longer-distance trips I've made, bar perhaps Lord Gremlin and his merry men on the way to Cardiff!
Day 2
Since I was meant to be seeing someone off on 1N09 (11.35 Clacton-Shenfield, 720123), I originally planned to buy an extension to Swindon then, a plan foiled by my forgetting my card. When I returned, the member of staff in the ticket office was on their lunch break, so I left it another hour. I made a bit of a meal of explaining what I wanted to do (I originally asked whether the ticket could simply be excessed), and the gentleman first offered me a single to Swindon, which I refused on the grounds that the train I wanted to catch didn't stop at my home station. He then did a bit of digging on his computer, and suggested a single from Reading to Swindon. I queried whether that was valid - I am from the London side of Reading, after all - and he turned round his monitor. He was right - it did suggest that it was valid. While he was dispatching the next Shenfield train (720132), I satisfied myself that the official Greater Anglia website was showing an itinerary that suggested that my existing ticket was valid via Reading, and bought it. I did ask whether it would be easier to buy from Paddington, but he said, "No, it's twice the cost, it's not worth it."
720557 called with the 12.45 from Shenfield before 720547 arrived with my train, the 13.35 off Clacton. We passed 755326 on an ECS heading into Colchester, and 720566 in the sidings, before proceeding to Marks Tey, where we were passed by 745008 heading for Norwich. 720529 was waiting patiently in the Braintree platform at Witham, and, when we got to Ingatestone, 745004 was waiting to head north. The bus was not as blissful an experience as on the way up, but the less said about that the better!
After making it to Stratford, 345030 was waiting with a Paddington service, with 378210 in the Overground platforms, and 345038 arriving just before we left. It was surprisingly quiet, though the fact that the train was terminating at Paddington probably had more to do with that than anything else.
Emerging into the daylight, we studied the departure boards intently. One train an hour to Swindon, Oxford, and Reading, the next Swindon service at 17.05. What we didn't see, however, was any information on how to get the third member of our group back to Plymouth. There were a few members of staff in GWR uniform hovering around the concourse, so we stopped one of them, and asked whether there were any Plymouth services running from Reading.
"No," he said cheerfully, "no trains to Plymouth until Tuesday."
"How close can you get?" I asked.
"Well, today, we are running only to Swindon and Oxford. Tomorrow will be even worse, only a few trains to Bristol. But if you wait until Tuesday, you can get to Plymouth."
We looked at each other helplessly.
"But," he continued, stepping forward with the coup de grâce, "you could go to Waterloo and get a train to Exeter from there. That's as far as you can go."
"Is ticket acceptance in place?"
He shrugged. "I don't know, but if you have a flexible ticket, you will be fine."
Fortunately, she did.
Having sorted out that particular problem, I then went to ask whether the ticket the Greater Anglia gentleman had sold me was, in fact, valid. First, I stopped someone in pink hi-vis with "Customer Service" in small writing on the back. He didn't know, went to the ticket kiosk behind the gateline, found it shut, went back onto the concourse, and eventually found his colleague, who confirmed that Greater Anglia's computer had, in fact, been having a complete meltdown. He did, however, say that he would allow me to just buy a ticket between my station and Reading, even if the train didn't stop (information which would have made the initial transaction easier!!) and sent me to the ticket office.
By this point, I was slightly stressed, and my friend was particularly annoyed that I didn't laugh at any of the man in the ticket office's jokes (meaning she had to show double the appreciation), in particular his advice, when I said that the man on the concourse had relaxed the splitting rules, to "get his name, preferably the badge as well". I shall place on record my appreciation here
800304 arrived from Oxford, and 387164 and 387151 were on the Swindon train. Originally I had planned to take the return working back to Reading and hence get home, but, when I checked on Realtime Trains, the return working had been cancelled, with the next train back at 19.45. There was a possession on the fast lines, with 66790 and 66712 on barrier/engineering trains in the vicinity, and 800317 at North Pole. 165117 was waiting at Reading, working to Basingstoke, before it got too dark for numbers.
Having successfully picked up the parcel, and crammed it into my dinner bag, I returned to the station, leapt aboard one of 387150+387159+387152 (I now honestly can't remember which) and waited for the off. Happy though I was at the lengthening of Christmas (though, with my high-church hat on, technically only by two days!) I couldn't help thinking that, maybe, just maybe, it would have been better to schedule a completely different visit to Swindon, rather than giving myself a seven-hour journey. Oh well. At least it made for a story worth telling here!
387167 was standing idle at Reading, and 345002 was in the platform with the 20.29 Elizabeth line service, with 345033 the only other unit I saw on the short journey.
Overall, though, I have to say that the disruption management, both with Greater Anglia and GWR, was fairly good, and that all the staff were patient, helpful, and courteous. It was a very welcome reminder that, in disruption (albeit planned), not all the railway is prone to leaving its passengers to fend for themselves, like in the stories that seem to surface with depressing regularity. Greater Anglia was, as usual, pretty slick and efficient (with the possible exception of the situation at Newbury Park on the way up) and, while GWR's punctuality still left a lot to be desired, I can't praise its staff enough. That being said, hopefully my next trip (I still have quite a bit of Travelcard-zone track left to do...) is a little less stressful!
Although, Greater Anglia, please sort out your computers!
Kite159
Veteran Member
The issues at Newbury Park sound similar to the disorganised chaos of the rail replacement at Guildford where the timetable is a work of fiction. Sounded like a nice little trip to Clacton other than the issues with tickets
Purple Train
Established Member
It was, thanks
To be honest, I don't think I'd have thought the issues at Newbury Park too bad if I hadn't somehow got it into my head that rail replacement buses would have a relationship with the timetable more akin to trains than buses!Purple Train
Established Member
DEEPEST DARKEST DEVON
(Sorry, Cornwall - I could have put you in the title, but it might have spoilt the alliteration somewhat.)
Taking out my Baker atlas, and studying its yellow-highlighted lines intently - which I can't do, because I've lost mine - the first thing I notice is a total paucity of highlights in Cornwall (and Devon, with the exception of the lines east of Exeter). Now, I accept that this is because the atlas begins with Cornwall and Devon, but it still, to my mind, required rectification.
I was spending this long weekend just gone, as I write this, staying on Dartmoor, providing an excellent opportunity to fill in those first pages, if I at last find the atlas. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to crowbar in a journey from Plymouth to Gunnislake, but there's always next time.
As usual, my profuse thanks to those who answered my TOPS requests over the weekend - extremely useful as ever
Day 1
Displaying the punctuality for which I am not famed, I arrived at the station just as 9R38 (14.47 from Abbey Wood) was departing, which gave me just over ten minutes until the next Reading train - travelling in the evening has its uses! 800312 was first through, heading towards Paddington, before 387151+387157 drifted past with a service to Didcot Parkway. 802002, its front coupler hatch open, passed through, again towards Paddington, before 387162+387152 appeared on the up relief. An up and down Swansea - 800026+800020 and 800027+800005 - passed in quick succession before 345023, heading into the metropolis, crossed with 345037 on my service.
Maidenhead gave me an image that made me wish I had a camera, or at least an easel, a brush, a palette, and some basic art skills. The bench at the London end of platform 3 contains a statue of Sir Nicholas Winton (who lived and is buried in the town), reading his famous scrapbook. There is, therefore, space for one person on the bench - a man, sitting in exactly the same posture as that in which Sir Nicholas is depicted, reading whatever was on his phone. Imagine what a man of Sir Nicholas's determination and selflessness could have done with the wonders of technology; yet, at the same time, all it seems to do is stoke anger and division across the world, through the "anti-social media" of X-formerly-known-as-Twitter, to name but one.
For those of you displeased by this philosophical diversion away from trains, my apologies: this is as philosophical as I'll get, honest. I'm experimenting with different styles of trip report, and thought I'd try out a kind of travel-writing style with this one, rather than purely train-writing - please do let me know what you prefer, because, as you can probably tell, I do enjoy experimenting with these
387150+387156 were passed at Twyford as they called with a Didcot-Paddington service, and we passed 802013 and 802108 before arriving at Reading a couple of minutes late, after a dead stand just outside the station. 800031 was awaiting departure with an Oxford-Paddington service, 345046 stood in platform 12 with the 16.31 to Abbey Wood, 387149+387170 called with a service from Newbury to Paddington, and 455727 and 455739 - I think - occupied one of the ex-Southern platforms. 800308 (on a delayed service to Great Malvern), 165116 (heading to Basingstoke), and 387145 (arriving from Newbury) were noted as I made my way over to platform 7, waiting for 387163 on the 16.36 to Newbury (my ticket was split at Theale, Castle Cary, and Taunton).
Departing a minute late, 66594 clattered through the other side of the station, on a Wembley to Merehead train running some three hours late, ready to follow us. Colas 37219 was in the depot to our right as we passed through Reading West, and, thanks to a couple of minutes of allowance, ran early into Theale - one un-numbered, inaccessible platform on what seemed to be an up loop looking decidedly ramshackle - with 387161 calling on the opposite platform.
Calling only at Thatcham, we proceeded to the handsome brick station at Newbury, where 387153 waited in the bay. 165125 rumbled in with the arriving stopper from Bedwyn - surely it would have been easier simply to electrify as far as Bedwyn and its turnback siding - which, as it was extended to take a five-coach 80x anyway, could have been extended for an eight-car 387 - rather than splitting the stopping service here and necessitating a complex series of shunts across a three-platform station with two through roads to contend with?
Including this manifesto here is, I have to confess, a small indulgence. I was not, at this point, thinking about the absurdity of the electrification arrangements, for I was more concerned that my next, and hopefully, final, train - the 17.17 to Plymouth - was advertised as the 17.17 to Exeter St Davids. As 66594 made its way towards Merehead - being a class 7 train, at a maximum permitted speed of 45mph - I sought out the dispatcher, with the wavering query, "I know this sounds like a stupid question, but is this train going to Plymouth?"
The hope I held on to was that the train's activities at Exeter St Davids had confused the system: the train, formed of ten coaches, is booked to leave the rear five at St Davids, forming the 19.35 back to Paddington, before going on to Plymouth. While it doesn't stop at Bedwyn, Tiverton Parkway, or Dawlish, it does stop basically everywhere else it might or might not be expected to - from Newbury, it calls also at Hungerford, Pewsey, Castle Cary, Taunton, St Davids, Newton Abbot, Totnes, Ivybridge, and is due into Plymouth at 20.13.
The dispatcher, assuring me that it wasn't a stupid question, and that the train was normally advertised as "Plymouth & Exeter St Davids", sought out a colleague in the ticket office, who said that it wasn't planned to go beyond Exeter. As it pulled in, however - 802002 leading 802006 - it still displayed "Plymouth" on the destination display.
With the auto-announcer explaining the calling pattern in the most long-winded way possible, we had just left Pewsey, running six minutes late and getting later, when the guard came over the PA, announcing that we were following a freight train (66594, as it turned out), and that, due to a fault with the coupler, the train would indeed terminate at Exeter St Davids as the rear unit couldn't be detached. He also advised those for stations beyond Exeter to change onto the following Penzance service at Taunton, as then it would be a same-platform change.
Passing Woodborough - with 59201+59205 in the loop - we wound our way under the lush, green Mendips into Westbury some 13 minutes late, where 165103, heading for Weymouth, had been held for connections. With the recalcitrant 66594 held back to allow us past, there wasn't much visible in the yard, but 67027 and 66136 were joined by 59001 and 66620.
With the sun getting lower in the sky, we proceeded at normal pace towards Castle Cary. At this point, no longer being stressed about whether the train would continue to Plymouth without the opportunity for me to switch to the front set, I felt I could at last sit back - in the only "quiet carriage" worthy of the name I have experienced - and watch the shadows lengthen and the world go by. A fox watched us pass from its spot in an empty field. An egret flapped lazily overhead. The hills gradually gave way to a flatter landscape, as we called at Castle Cary 11 minutes down and whistled towards Cogload Junction.
I alighted, as per the guard's advice, at Taunton, where, as we were running roughly to the time of the 18.49 to Penzance, it was also expected around 12 minutes late. Awaiting the arrival of the 18.53 to Leeds (220019), I was repeatedly caught out, not only by the multiple announcements (two from the auto-announcer, and an extra one from the extremely well-spoken dispatcher on platform 5), but also by the angle of the car headlights on the approaching road, which, observed from the east end of platform 2, look extremely like train headlights from a distance! 800023, arriving from Cardiff Central, was put onto platform 3 in order to allow 802019+802011 in with the Penzance train.
37407 was a welcome surprise in one of the sidings as we departed, and, after a brief pause at Tiverton Parkway, on we trundled to Exeter St Davids. The "quiet carriage" was now nothing more than a name, as the two occupants of one of the tables let the entire carriage know that they liked Paris more than Rome, and that this train was so annoyingly slow and that they'd been on it for months and how could it take longer to get to Cornwall than to get to another country and a great deal more. Evidently they were echoing the sentiments of Bill Bryson, who once referred to the Paddington to Penzance train as "rigor mortis with scenery".
But what scenery. Passing 150233 and, somewhat surprisingly, 37607 in the east end of St Davids, we headed out towards the bank of the ever-widening Exe - a stretch of railway I have only previously observed watching from Exmouth on the other side. Twisting past Powderham Castle - helpfully indicated by a nice, large red sign - the view out of the left-hand window gradually filled up with moody, dark-grey sky and the outwardly calm, slate-grey sea of an evening high tide. 800014 was stopped in the Exeter platform at Dawlish Warren, and then on we proceeded round the curve towards Dawlish.
Don't ever let anyone tell you that Dawlish is only beautiful when the birds are singing, and the Riviera is bathing in the warm sunshine that brightens it into the Elysium originally described by the 1934 Cornish Riviera GWR guidebook. Admittedly, the excerpt referred more to the Penzance end of the line, but, as this section is actually termed the Riviera Line, I feel I can allow myself some poetic licence. And what isn't poetic about the Gothic scowl of sea and sky, separated from chirpy, bright-painted, balconied houses by the fragile thread of this daring route to the West, beneath the precarious cliffs - not a brown-streaked orangey-red as elsewhere along this coastline, but a bright, striking, almost auburn colour, with the faintest dash of pink - looking for all the world that, with a mere breath, to dust they shall return? You can probably sense that I was bowled over.
Burrowing through the tunnels, and under the brand-new rockfall shelter at Parsons Tunnel, we passed 166217 on a Paignton-Exmouth as we headed back up the narrowing Teign and slowed into Newton Abbot, effectively the boundary between the flat coastal route from Exeter and the steep inclines of the Devon banks. From a station platform, and, I presume, from the driving cab, one is much more aware of gradients than a passenger looking out of a side window, but even I could feel the gradient as we charged towards Dainton Tunnel, and then down the other side.
Our route had definitely lost the characteristics of a main line now - not only were the gradients still challenging even if I couldn't feel them, but the view out of the right-hand-side window was punctuated much more by the sight of the front of the train snaking round curves. I don't know what makes the sight of the front (or rear) of the train through the window so thrilling, but here it was, in abundance, framed by thick walls of trees.
Pausing at Totnes, nine minutes late, with the rather quaint-looking South Devon Railway platform gleaming on the other side of the river (though I'm not sure if you could pay me to go over that footbridge...) we hauled ourselves out of the platform towards Rattery. This train was booked to go non-stop from Totnes to Plymouth, but, as my original train was booked to call at Ivybridge - and depriving Ivybridge of one of its trains is not like depriving Clapham Junction of one of its trains - an extra stop was to be made there. Unlike at Hungerford, which is advertised as front five coaches only but, in reality, the front door of the sixth carriage can open as insurance, Ivybridge really can only take the front five carriages. The Train Manager made an announcement to this effect at both Exeter St Davids and Totnes, but undoubtedly at least one person didn't listen, and enjoyed an unexpected outing to Plymouth and back.
Departing Ivybridge gave the first proper view of Dartmoor - hitherto hidden completely by lineside trees, at least when I was concentrating - and it didn't disappoint. Here was a soaring view over a wide, rich valley, just bright enough under the leaden sky that its myriad shades of green shone out for a few brief seconds before the trees hid them once more.
On the home stretch at last, the train descended towards the Ocean City, trees of the field gradually giving way to houses as we crept through tightly-packed estates. Arrival into Plymouth platform 4 was ten minutes late at 20.31, with 150246, newly arrived from Gunnislake, idling in platform 3.
Day 2
The original plan had been to head for St Ives, but this was fairly quickly truncated into a journey to Looe. It doesn't look much on the map, but the far end of Cornwall is a long way from everywhere, even Plymouth - to get from Plymouth to Penzance takes the best part of two hours. Liskeard is a much more manageable half an hour from Plymouth, and Looe was a) likely to be quieter and b) probably the most interesting Cornish branch line from a railway standpoint, although, disappointingly, neither the train to or from Looe was booked to call at Coombe Junction Halt.
As a group of three, two of whom are about as good at mornings as at fencing (while simultaneously playing chess and speaking Russian), we were in something of a race against time to reach Plymouth station in time for the 08.40, which would connect into the 09.36 from Liskeard to Looe. The following service, we thought, was the 09.45, and an hour's wait at the station seemed unappetising; however, there was, fortunately, a 09.10. Less fortunately, it had a booked 55-minute connection at Liskeard, but Liskeard is a nicer place to wait than Plymouth.
We arrived at 08.36, still with tickets to get. Those of you who know Plymouth station will have spotted the fatal flaw in our timing. For those of you who don't, allow me to explain: Plymouth has no ticket machines, just a ticket office. The ticket office had two windows open, and four people in the queue.
The 08.40 very considerately left just as we got through the barrier, so that I could note down its number (802114) - 220013 was waiting with the 09.27 to Aberdeen, and 158745, standing in platform 5, eventually performed a shunt into the siding next to platform 3 - and then the vista across the station was blocked by the arrival of 800033 from Laira, forming the 09.00 to Paignton - presumably little more than a glorified positioning move for a Paignton to Paddington. Through its windows, however, I could at least see 802019 on the 08.48 to Cardiff Central, with 802020 arriving from Laira (ready to join up with 802011, bound for Paddington, arriving from Penzance) before royal unit 800003 arrived with the 09.10 - a service whose existence I am thankful for, because the 09.45 was held up for half an hour at Exeter and would have missed the connection at Liskeard!
After calling at Devonport - almost as comically small a station for an IET to stop at as Bedminster - we skimmed over rank upon rank of tightly-squashed dockyard houses lining the valley as we passed through Dockyard and Keyham. Buses are the transport à la mode in Plymouth, and, with all the suburban stations east of the Tamar - except Devonport - served on a two-hourly basis, I can see why. Hopefully, if the line from Bere Alston to Tavistock reopens, it will, despite being rather more circuitous for the good citizens of Tavistock than the route currently occupied by Drake's Trail, bring some much-needed improvements to stations that, amidst all the Devon and Cornwall Metro talk, seem to be forgotten. For a start, reopening the line to Tavistock would allow the service at these stations to be hourly, if main line paths allow.
As the auto-announcer, used to travelling at 125mph, announced our imminent arrival at Saltash, we left the Gunnislake line as it fell away to the bank of the Tamar and passed through St Budeaux Ferry Road, another example of how the Plymothian buses reign supreme. Ferry Road lies directly opposite Victoria Road - on the Gunnislake branch, and hence served every two hours - and, as a consequence, Ferry Road gets a rather paltry nine trains a day on Saturdays - three to Penzance, four to Plymouth, and two to Cardiff Central. Between 08.45 and 21.30, there are four trains, two each way. Miss the 10.49 to Penzance, and you will have to wait eight hours. On a weekday, things are slightly better, with 13 trains a day - two each way in the morning peak, then a Penzance train at 10.48. There is a train each way at around 13.45, a Penzance at 16.10, two each way in the evening peak, and a train to Bristol Temple Meads at 21.09. Surely it isn't rocket science to revert it to a train every two hours like its sister, hence giving a much more usable train an hour from St Budeaux?
I rather abruptly paused my train of thought in time to focus on the passage of the train over Brunel's magnificent Royal Albert Bridge over the Tamar - the Humber Bridge of rail, and of its day. The slow passage over the single track allowed a brilliant view downriver as it met the sea, something new coming into view every second as we inched our way across. Pausing at Saltash - from here on, it was all-stations to Penzance - there it was, behind us; its two magnificent tubular spans emblazoned with the name of its designer, slyly mimicked by the "Tamar Bridge 1961" writing on the road bridge alongside.
Making our way to St Germans, along a cut-off route opened in 1908 to bypass five viaducts, we left the handsome blue-painted station, complete with camping coaches, bang on time before calling at the little station at Menheniot, its equally beautiful shelter (on the up platform) picked out in white. Rapidly losing count of the number of viaducts, we decelerated into Liskeard a little early, but not before our tickets were checked by a ticket inspector with an actual ticket punch - I can't remember the last time I saw one of those!
Liskeard station is at the top of a hill, the line dipping down at each end to cross high, imposing viaducts - Liskeard to the east, Moorswater to the west. Waiting only to watch - and listen - to the semaphore signal being replaced, we strolled over the ramped footbridge and over the road to the car park to platform 3.
For those who don't know Liskeard, it is the only right-angled station in Britain. To put it slightly less ambiguously, the main line platforms 1 and 2, on a broadly east-west alignment, are at an almost perfect right angle to the north-facing bay platform 3, which is separated from platform 2 by the road to the station's car park. There is a sharply-curved chord (5mph permitted speed) linking the branch to the main line, but this isn't cleared for passenger-carrying trains. In effect, therefore, Liskeard has two stations.
Platform 3, marked by a quaint chocolate and cream sign saying "Trains to Looe", has a small museum-cum-waiting room, with a little on the history of railway ticketing in one room, and the other arrayed with a selection of old photographs and a potted history of the Looe Valley Line amidst the waiting benches. This, as it turned out, is a very agreeable place to pass the time, and I left it only to watch 221135 and 802004 head towards Plymouth along the main line. As the platform filled up - to the accompaniment of one rather displeased teenage boy exclaiming, "Two coaches?!" - we wandered out to await the arrival of 150244, on branch duties.
The line is timetabled to take about 28 minutes end-to-end, which means that keeping an hourly frequency is, to say the least, challenging, unless Road Runner is driving and can therefore switch cabs in 30 seconds. On the Looe branch, where each intermediate station is a request stop, they simply timetable some runs non-stop - and, therefore, quicker end to end - in order to keep the frequency. The 10.36 is timetabled non-stop, though, fortunately for me, the 13.05 on which we wished to return is timetabled to call at Sandplace, Causeland, and in my opinion the most evocatively-named station on the national network, St Keyne Wishing Well Halt.
First, however, the train has to make it to Coombe Junction. When the Looe Valley Line opened to passengers in 1879, it ran from a station at Moorswater, now the site of (I think) a cement terminal, where the line, originally opened for freight in 1860, joined the Liskeard and Caradon Railway, also freight-only. This, being a long way distant from Liskeard main line station, and 150 feet below it, was somewhat inconvenient, and, in the late 1890s, a scheme was proposed to build a linking line to Liskeard. This opened in 1901 - a sharply curved, two-mile line at a 1 in 40 gradient, forming virtually a complete circle. Hence, the Looe branch train today leaves Liskeard facing north, trundles down the link line, going underneath the main line facing south, curves round again to finally join on a level with the line down the valley to Looe, but, at this point, has turned to face north again. This necessitates a reversal at Coombe Junction.
Coombe Junction Halt station, just beyond the ground frame controlling the points, only receives a couple of passenger calls a day, with most trains stopping at the junction. Here, the guard changes the points, watches the train pass safely over, and then clambers on board again.
Now, as someone who takes an obsessive interest in British railways, I know the procedure (although I admit I only learnt the history from the information board at Liskeard station). However, judging by the guard's expression, as he wearily explained to a concerned passenger that it was entirely normal, that we were going in the right direction, and that the stop wasn't a delay, I think he probably gets at least one confused passenger a trip!
The Looe Valley Line builds gradually, almost teasingly; first, as a little branch, pushing through thick trees, with the East Looe River a thin trickle of a stream, studded with stones, running alongside. Then the trees gradually thin, the river gradually opens out, flows faster, plays host to wagtails, egrets, then suddenly - wow, out it opens, wide mudflats flanking an ever-widening watercourse, the railway hugging the side, twisting and turning on its little embankment, until the train arrives at the little station at Looe opposite the grand crescendo, East Looe River meeting West Looe River as they flow through the town and out to sea.
One paragraph isn't nearly enough to devote to it, but I would much rather you went and explored it yourself rather than reading the words of a writer who can't do it justice, even if I wrote seven more. It is a perfect country branch line - a jolly, cheerful atmosphere, no constant announcements, no constant worrying if the train is running to time, everything easy and casual. As Geoff Marshall and Vicki Pipe put it in their book about All The Stations, it is another world.
Looe itself is rather a nice place, although we counted nine ice-cream shops on one street, running from a little way beyond the station to the beach. I appreciate that it is a Cornish seaside resort, but that is surely seven more ice-cream shops than any street in the country needs, although Looe's partially makes up for this by being agreeably quaint and narrow. The town's museum, tantalising though it looked, didn't seem to be open, but there was a nice view over the sea from the low prom, and I can vouch for the sausage and chips from the prom café. The curry sauce didn't seem to get quite such a nice reception, but I trust, dear reader, that you are too sensible to pair curry sauce with chips.
The return journey to Liskeard was plain sailing - no one requested Sandplace, but there was custom at both Causeland and St Keyne Wishing Well Halt (adjacent to a museum of fairground organs, according to Wikipedia - hmm!) and we arrived at Liskeard in time to make an easy connection onto 802001+802003, on the up Royal Duchy, non-stop to Plymouth. The only thing of note that we passed was a Castle class HST set, the numbers for which are nigh on impossible from a passing train. Realtime Trains attributes the working to 43098+43156.
221120 and 150234 were waiting in Plymouth station as we descended into the subway, and, finally, 802009+802007 pulled in with the 11.03 Paddington-Penzance (14.18 from Plymouth).
Day 3 - no trains, but some really rather nice Piper stained-glass windows
Day 4
Having been tipped off that I should book my return journey from Okehampton station rather than Plymouth, I elected to go for the 12.27. Not because it was the most convenient, but because it was half the price of all the others - £16 with my railcard, which, I figured, wasn't bad for a journey from Dartmoor onto the Fifteen Billion Pound Railway.
As with the theme on both the journey to Plymouth and the journey to Looe, I missed it, by two minutes. As it was explained to me, Okehampton really has been a victim of its own success (258,000 journeys, according to the large sign on Platform 2). Station Road is a long, fairly narrow road, up a significant hill from the town centre. In the 25 years when Okehampton station was closed, and the 22 years when it existed in a kind of Corfe Castle-like state, residents could park their cars with no problem - no need for parking controls here. When the station reopened, both sides of the street were lined thickly with cars, making it a slow and torturous business going up to the station, weaving, ducking, and reversing into pockets of space to allow other cars through. And, being on a hill, momentum counts for a lot. Double yellow lines would give the residents nowhere to park, permit parking on one side of the road wouldn't provide enough space, permit parking on both sides would still restrict the space available. As such, it remains a nightmare.
Having 57 minutes to wait, however, turned out to be more of a blessing than a curse - the station is beautifully restored, although platforms 1 and 2 are sadly inaccessible after the footbridge was damaged in Storm Henk. The railway bookshop was closed, but there was a large array of flyers for local tourist attractions, including, I was pleased to see, the South Devon Railway and the camping coaches at St Germans (with a bonus extra at Hayle, apparently). The Bulleid Buffet was open (looking extremely tempting), and the platform liberally scattered with posters campaigning to extend the line to Bude and Holsworthy. Eventually, 158745 (a change from the usual 150) coasted up the hill and into the station, ready to form the 13.26.
Though marketed as the Dartmoor Line, not much of Dartmoor is very visible from the train, as the line is flanked by trees on both sides for almost all of its length. Another oddity is the junction arrangement - the line joins the Barnstaple single track at the old Coleford Junction, but has no platform at Yeoford and the line remains as two single tracks all the way to the physical junction at Crediton, where, after a brief pause at the signal box, we proceeded past the level crossing and into the platform, passing 150202 on the other circuit.
No one requested the infrequent halt at Newton St Cyres, and arrival at Exeter St Davids was bang on time. The interchange onto platform 5 was nice and simple, in easy time for the 14.15 up Mayflower towards Paddington, first announced as imminent a full eight minutes before it arrived, when it was passing through Starcross! 165108 was spotted working a Paignton-Exmouth and 159015 standing in Exeter depot before 802010+802004 pulled in a minute down. What slightly concerned me was that every GWR service towards Plymouth, except for the local services via Bristol, seemed to be delayed by upwards of an hour, due to an incident at Maidenhead. Before that, however - in the hope that it would all have cleared up by the time I ended up at Reading - I was looking forward to hopefully my first ever non-stop run down the Berks and Hants - the previous time I had attempted to take a fast service from Taunton to Reading, it had to make extra stops at Castle Cary and Westbury.
220025, already looking pretty full, passed us at Tiverton Parkway, awaiting three trainloads of passengers from Exeter to Plymouth! 800003, rather surprisingly, was in platform 6 at Taunton - I wonder what it was doing in there?. At Taunton, the guard came on the PA and announced that it was the final call for first-class passengers in the front set wanting Pullman dining. The train was arranged with all the first-class carriages in the middle, and announced as such. I appreciate that Pullman dining is a rather inefficient thing to serve in both sets, but why not declassify First Class in the rear set, rather than splitting the first-class ticket holders into those with Pullman dining and those without?
Given this is the smoothest journey (across both legs) that I have yet reported in this thread - well, excluding journeys with Greater Anglia - I'm not sure why this report is so liberally sprinkled with complaints! I did very much enjoy it, even if it doesn't sound that way!
One of my bugbears with cab ride videos is that they are almost exclusively in one direction only - a viewpoint, I think, supported by this journey. Now that I had light to see - unlike my previous ride towards London on this line - it did a wonderful job of complementing the view on the journey down. A herd of cattle gathered around one of the rhynes criss-crossing the flat pasture between Cogload Junction and Castle Cary, and the pièce de résistance, high above Westbury - the gleaming white horse of Bratton, west-facing and invisible, when forward-facing, from a down train.
Despite running a minute or so late all the way through, it was still looking possible - if we arrived at Reading roughly on time, where we were due in at 15.56 - that I could run and catch the 15.59 Abbey Wood train - the train I was originally intending to catch had I made the 12.27 at Okehampton! Unfortunately, a severe check just outside Newbury (with 387153 in the bay) lost us another couple of minutes, and a slow run thereafter - enlivened only by the passage of 60029 on a down freight - saw us into Reading six minutes late at 16.02.
800018 and 800019 - the former on a delayed service to Worcester Foregate Street, the latter on a slightly less delayed service from Hereford - were in the near side of the station as I descended onto platform 13 to wait for the 16.16 Elizabeth Line service. Just as I was about to reach the bottom, a platform alteration was announced onto platform 14, so, having reached the bottom of the escalator, I had to turn around and go right back up. It wouldn't have been quite so funny had the announcement not been so perfectly timed - Groundhog Day meets silent comedy...
387161+387159 (couldn't get the front unit) departed a couple of minutes late on the 16.10 to Paddington, while 345070 formed my service. 800011 arrived, appropriately, in platform 11, before 66598 trundled through the secret platform 13, heading to Whatley Quarry. As we departed, 455721 was waiting at the head of a Waterloo service, and, after a slow departure, we picked up speed into Twyford.
Leaving Twyford, 387168+387145 passed, heading to Didcot, with 387147 trailing a service to Bristol Parkway through Maidenhead, and 345036 closed out the day, proceeding towards Reading.
I know I usually end these trip reports with a long and dreary conclusion, but I only really have two things to say. One, fairly obviously, is, "Go to Looe!" and the other is that, in my estimation, there is very little to beat a cheerful little branch line, and that, if all the other branches in Cornwall are as unexpectedly delightful as Looe, then they are, and, hopefully, will always be, a perfect little trip out.
(Sorry, Cornwall - I could have put you in the title, but it might have spoilt the alliteration somewhat.)
Taking out my Baker atlas, and studying its yellow-highlighted lines intently - which I can't do, because I've lost mine - the first thing I notice is a total paucity of highlights in Cornwall (and Devon, with the exception of the lines east of Exeter). Now, I accept that this is because the atlas begins with Cornwall and Devon, but it still, to my mind, required rectification.
I was spending this long weekend just gone, as I write this, staying on Dartmoor, providing an excellent opportunity to fill in those first pages, if I at last find the atlas. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to crowbar in a journey from Plymouth to Gunnislake, but there's always next time.
As usual, my profuse thanks to those who answered my TOPS requests over the weekend - extremely useful as ever
Day 1
Displaying the punctuality for which I am not famed, I arrived at the station just as 9R38 (14.47 from Abbey Wood) was departing, which gave me just over ten minutes until the next Reading train - travelling in the evening has its uses! 800312 was first through, heading towards Paddington, before 387151+387157 drifted past with a service to Didcot Parkway. 802002, its front coupler hatch open, passed through, again towards Paddington, before 387162+387152 appeared on the up relief. An up and down Swansea - 800026+800020 and 800027+800005 - passed in quick succession before 345023, heading into the metropolis, crossed with 345037 on my service.
Maidenhead gave me an image that made me wish I had a camera, or at least an easel, a brush, a palette, and some basic art skills. The bench at the London end of platform 3 contains a statue of Sir Nicholas Winton (who lived and is buried in the town), reading his famous scrapbook. There is, therefore, space for one person on the bench - a man, sitting in exactly the same posture as that in which Sir Nicholas is depicted, reading whatever was on his phone. Imagine what a man of Sir Nicholas's determination and selflessness could have done with the wonders of technology; yet, at the same time, all it seems to do is stoke anger and division across the world, through the "anti-social media" of X-formerly-known-as-Twitter, to name but one.
For those of you displeased by this philosophical diversion away from trains, my apologies: this is as philosophical as I'll get, honest. I'm experimenting with different styles of trip report, and thought I'd try out a kind of travel-writing style with this one, rather than purely train-writing - please do let me know what you prefer, because, as you can probably tell, I do enjoy experimenting with these
387150+387156 were passed at Twyford as they called with a Didcot-Paddington service, and we passed 802013 and 802108 before arriving at Reading a couple of minutes late, after a dead stand just outside the station. 800031 was awaiting departure with an Oxford-Paddington service, 345046 stood in platform 12 with the 16.31 to Abbey Wood, 387149+387170 called with a service from Newbury to Paddington, and 455727 and 455739 - I think - occupied one of the ex-Southern platforms. 800308 (on a delayed service to Great Malvern), 165116 (heading to Basingstoke), and 387145 (arriving from Newbury) were noted as I made my way over to platform 7, waiting for 387163 on the 16.36 to Newbury (my ticket was split at Theale, Castle Cary, and Taunton).
Departing a minute late, 66594 clattered through the other side of the station, on a Wembley to Merehead train running some three hours late, ready to follow us. Colas 37219 was in the depot to our right as we passed through Reading West, and, thanks to a couple of minutes of allowance, ran early into Theale - one un-numbered, inaccessible platform on what seemed to be an up loop looking decidedly ramshackle - with 387161 calling on the opposite platform.
Calling only at Thatcham, we proceeded to the handsome brick station at Newbury, where 387153 waited in the bay. 165125 rumbled in with the arriving stopper from Bedwyn - surely it would have been easier simply to electrify as far as Bedwyn and its turnback siding - which, as it was extended to take a five-coach 80x anyway, could have been extended for an eight-car 387 - rather than splitting the stopping service here and necessitating a complex series of shunts across a three-platform station with two through roads to contend with?
Including this manifesto here is, I have to confess, a small indulgence. I was not, at this point, thinking about the absurdity of the electrification arrangements, for I was more concerned that my next, and hopefully, final, train - the 17.17 to Plymouth - was advertised as the 17.17 to Exeter St Davids. As 66594 made its way towards Merehead - being a class 7 train, at a maximum permitted speed of 45mph - I sought out the dispatcher, with the wavering query, "I know this sounds like a stupid question, but is this train going to Plymouth?"
The hope I held on to was that the train's activities at Exeter St Davids had confused the system: the train, formed of ten coaches, is booked to leave the rear five at St Davids, forming the 19.35 back to Paddington, before going on to Plymouth. While it doesn't stop at Bedwyn, Tiverton Parkway, or Dawlish, it does stop basically everywhere else it might or might not be expected to - from Newbury, it calls also at Hungerford, Pewsey, Castle Cary, Taunton, St Davids, Newton Abbot, Totnes, Ivybridge, and is due into Plymouth at 20.13.
The dispatcher, assuring me that it wasn't a stupid question, and that the train was normally advertised as "Plymouth & Exeter St Davids", sought out a colleague in the ticket office, who said that it wasn't planned to go beyond Exeter. As it pulled in, however - 802002 leading 802006 - it still displayed "Plymouth" on the destination display.
With the auto-announcer explaining the calling pattern in the most long-winded way possible, we had just left Pewsey, running six minutes late and getting later, when the guard came over the PA, announcing that we were following a freight train (66594, as it turned out), and that, due to a fault with the coupler, the train would indeed terminate at Exeter St Davids as the rear unit couldn't be detached. He also advised those for stations beyond Exeter to change onto the following Penzance service at Taunton, as then it would be a same-platform change.
Passing Woodborough - with 59201+59205 in the loop - we wound our way under the lush, green Mendips into Westbury some 13 minutes late, where 165103, heading for Weymouth, had been held for connections. With the recalcitrant 66594 held back to allow us past, there wasn't much visible in the yard, but 67027 and 66136 were joined by 59001 and 66620.
With the sun getting lower in the sky, we proceeded at normal pace towards Castle Cary. At this point, no longer being stressed about whether the train would continue to Plymouth without the opportunity for me to switch to the front set, I felt I could at last sit back - in the only "quiet carriage" worthy of the name I have experienced - and watch the shadows lengthen and the world go by. A fox watched us pass from its spot in an empty field. An egret flapped lazily overhead. The hills gradually gave way to a flatter landscape, as we called at Castle Cary 11 minutes down and whistled towards Cogload Junction.
I alighted, as per the guard's advice, at Taunton, where, as we were running roughly to the time of the 18.49 to Penzance, it was also expected around 12 minutes late. Awaiting the arrival of the 18.53 to Leeds (220019), I was repeatedly caught out, not only by the multiple announcements (two from the auto-announcer, and an extra one from the extremely well-spoken dispatcher on platform 5), but also by the angle of the car headlights on the approaching road, which, observed from the east end of platform 2, look extremely like train headlights from a distance! 800023, arriving from Cardiff Central, was put onto platform 3 in order to allow 802019+802011 in with the Penzance train.
37407 was a welcome surprise in one of the sidings as we departed, and, after a brief pause at Tiverton Parkway, on we trundled to Exeter St Davids. The "quiet carriage" was now nothing more than a name, as the two occupants of one of the tables let the entire carriage know that they liked Paris more than Rome, and that this train was so annoyingly slow and that they'd been on it for months and how could it take longer to get to Cornwall than to get to another country and a great deal more. Evidently they were echoing the sentiments of Bill Bryson, who once referred to the Paddington to Penzance train as "rigor mortis with scenery".
But what scenery. Passing 150233 and, somewhat surprisingly, 37607 in the east end of St Davids, we headed out towards the bank of the ever-widening Exe - a stretch of railway I have only previously observed watching from Exmouth on the other side. Twisting past Powderham Castle - helpfully indicated by a nice, large red sign - the view out of the left-hand window gradually filled up with moody, dark-grey sky and the outwardly calm, slate-grey sea of an evening high tide. 800014 was stopped in the Exeter platform at Dawlish Warren, and then on we proceeded round the curve towards Dawlish.
Don't ever let anyone tell you that Dawlish is only beautiful when the birds are singing, and the Riviera is bathing in the warm sunshine that brightens it into the Elysium originally described by the 1934 Cornish Riviera GWR guidebook. Admittedly, the excerpt referred more to the Penzance end of the line, but, as this section is actually termed the Riviera Line, I feel I can allow myself some poetic licence. And what isn't poetic about the Gothic scowl of sea and sky, separated from chirpy, bright-painted, balconied houses by the fragile thread of this daring route to the West, beneath the precarious cliffs - not a brown-streaked orangey-red as elsewhere along this coastline, but a bright, striking, almost auburn colour, with the faintest dash of pink - looking for all the world that, with a mere breath, to dust they shall return? You can probably sense that I was bowled over.
Burrowing through the tunnels, and under the brand-new rockfall shelter at Parsons Tunnel, we passed 166217 on a Paignton-Exmouth as we headed back up the narrowing Teign and slowed into Newton Abbot, effectively the boundary between the flat coastal route from Exeter and the steep inclines of the Devon banks. From a station platform, and, I presume, from the driving cab, one is much more aware of gradients than a passenger looking out of a side window, but even I could feel the gradient as we charged towards Dainton Tunnel, and then down the other side.
Our route had definitely lost the characteristics of a main line now - not only were the gradients still challenging even if I couldn't feel them, but the view out of the right-hand-side window was punctuated much more by the sight of the front of the train snaking round curves. I don't know what makes the sight of the front (or rear) of the train through the window so thrilling, but here it was, in abundance, framed by thick walls of trees.
Pausing at Totnes, nine minutes late, with the rather quaint-looking South Devon Railway platform gleaming on the other side of the river (though I'm not sure if you could pay me to go over that footbridge...) we hauled ourselves out of the platform towards Rattery. This train was booked to go non-stop from Totnes to Plymouth, but, as my original train was booked to call at Ivybridge - and depriving Ivybridge of one of its trains is not like depriving Clapham Junction of one of its trains - an extra stop was to be made there. Unlike at Hungerford, which is advertised as front five coaches only but, in reality, the front door of the sixth carriage can open as insurance, Ivybridge really can only take the front five carriages. The Train Manager made an announcement to this effect at both Exeter St Davids and Totnes, but undoubtedly at least one person didn't listen, and enjoyed an unexpected outing to Plymouth and back.
Departing Ivybridge gave the first proper view of Dartmoor - hitherto hidden completely by lineside trees, at least when I was concentrating - and it didn't disappoint. Here was a soaring view over a wide, rich valley, just bright enough under the leaden sky that its myriad shades of green shone out for a few brief seconds before the trees hid them once more.
On the home stretch at last, the train descended towards the Ocean City, trees of the field gradually giving way to houses as we crept through tightly-packed estates. Arrival into Plymouth platform 4 was ten minutes late at 20.31, with 150246, newly arrived from Gunnislake, idling in platform 3.
Day 2
The original plan had been to head for St Ives, but this was fairly quickly truncated into a journey to Looe. It doesn't look much on the map, but the far end of Cornwall is a long way from everywhere, even Plymouth - to get from Plymouth to Penzance takes the best part of two hours. Liskeard is a much more manageable half an hour from Plymouth, and Looe was a) likely to be quieter and b) probably the most interesting Cornish branch line from a railway standpoint, although, disappointingly, neither the train to or from Looe was booked to call at Coombe Junction Halt.
As a group of three, two of whom are about as good at mornings as at fencing (while simultaneously playing chess and speaking Russian), we were in something of a race against time to reach Plymouth station in time for the 08.40, which would connect into the 09.36 from Liskeard to Looe. The following service, we thought, was the 09.45, and an hour's wait at the station seemed unappetising; however, there was, fortunately, a 09.10. Less fortunately, it had a booked 55-minute connection at Liskeard, but Liskeard is a nicer place to wait than Plymouth.
We arrived at 08.36, still with tickets to get. Those of you who know Plymouth station will have spotted the fatal flaw in our timing. For those of you who don't, allow me to explain: Plymouth has no ticket machines, just a ticket office. The ticket office had two windows open, and four people in the queue.
The 08.40 very considerately left just as we got through the barrier, so that I could note down its number (802114) - 220013 was waiting with the 09.27 to Aberdeen, and 158745, standing in platform 5, eventually performed a shunt into the siding next to platform 3 - and then the vista across the station was blocked by the arrival of 800033 from Laira, forming the 09.00 to Paignton - presumably little more than a glorified positioning move for a Paignton to Paddington. Through its windows, however, I could at least see 802019 on the 08.48 to Cardiff Central, with 802020 arriving from Laira (ready to join up with 802011, bound for Paddington, arriving from Penzance) before royal unit 800003 arrived with the 09.10 - a service whose existence I am thankful for, because the 09.45 was held up for half an hour at Exeter and would have missed the connection at Liskeard!
After calling at Devonport - almost as comically small a station for an IET to stop at as Bedminster - we skimmed over rank upon rank of tightly-squashed dockyard houses lining the valley as we passed through Dockyard and Keyham. Buses are the transport à la mode in Plymouth, and, with all the suburban stations east of the Tamar - except Devonport - served on a two-hourly basis, I can see why. Hopefully, if the line from Bere Alston to Tavistock reopens, it will, despite being rather more circuitous for the good citizens of Tavistock than the route currently occupied by Drake's Trail, bring some much-needed improvements to stations that, amidst all the Devon and Cornwall Metro talk, seem to be forgotten. For a start, reopening the line to Tavistock would allow the service at these stations to be hourly, if main line paths allow.
As the auto-announcer, used to travelling at 125mph, announced our imminent arrival at Saltash, we left the Gunnislake line as it fell away to the bank of the Tamar and passed through St Budeaux Ferry Road, another example of how the Plymothian buses reign supreme. Ferry Road lies directly opposite Victoria Road - on the Gunnislake branch, and hence served every two hours - and, as a consequence, Ferry Road gets a rather paltry nine trains a day on Saturdays - three to Penzance, four to Plymouth, and two to Cardiff Central. Between 08.45 and 21.30, there are four trains, two each way. Miss the 10.49 to Penzance, and you will have to wait eight hours. On a weekday, things are slightly better, with 13 trains a day - two each way in the morning peak, then a Penzance train at 10.48. There is a train each way at around 13.45, a Penzance at 16.10, two each way in the evening peak, and a train to Bristol Temple Meads at 21.09. Surely it isn't rocket science to revert it to a train every two hours like its sister, hence giving a much more usable train an hour from St Budeaux?
I rather abruptly paused my train of thought in time to focus on the passage of the train over Brunel's magnificent Royal Albert Bridge over the Tamar - the Humber Bridge of rail, and of its day. The slow passage over the single track allowed a brilliant view downriver as it met the sea, something new coming into view every second as we inched our way across. Pausing at Saltash - from here on, it was all-stations to Penzance - there it was, behind us; its two magnificent tubular spans emblazoned with the name of its designer, slyly mimicked by the "Tamar Bridge 1961" writing on the road bridge alongside.
Making our way to St Germans, along a cut-off route opened in 1908 to bypass five viaducts, we left the handsome blue-painted station, complete with camping coaches, bang on time before calling at the little station at Menheniot, its equally beautiful shelter (on the up platform) picked out in white. Rapidly losing count of the number of viaducts, we decelerated into Liskeard a little early, but not before our tickets were checked by a ticket inspector with an actual ticket punch - I can't remember the last time I saw one of those!
Liskeard station is at the top of a hill, the line dipping down at each end to cross high, imposing viaducts - Liskeard to the east, Moorswater to the west. Waiting only to watch - and listen - to the semaphore signal being replaced, we strolled over the ramped footbridge and over the road to the car park to platform 3.
For those who don't know Liskeard, it is the only right-angled station in Britain. To put it slightly less ambiguously, the main line platforms 1 and 2, on a broadly east-west alignment, are at an almost perfect right angle to the north-facing bay platform 3, which is separated from platform 2 by the road to the station's car park. There is a sharply-curved chord (5mph permitted speed) linking the branch to the main line, but this isn't cleared for passenger-carrying trains. In effect, therefore, Liskeard has two stations.
Platform 3, marked by a quaint chocolate and cream sign saying "Trains to Looe", has a small museum-cum-waiting room, with a little on the history of railway ticketing in one room, and the other arrayed with a selection of old photographs and a potted history of the Looe Valley Line amidst the waiting benches. This, as it turned out, is a very agreeable place to pass the time, and I left it only to watch 221135 and 802004 head towards Plymouth along the main line. As the platform filled up - to the accompaniment of one rather displeased teenage boy exclaiming, "Two coaches?!" - we wandered out to await the arrival of 150244, on branch duties.
The line is timetabled to take about 28 minutes end-to-end, which means that keeping an hourly frequency is, to say the least, challenging, unless Road Runner is driving and can therefore switch cabs in 30 seconds. On the Looe branch, where each intermediate station is a request stop, they simply timetable some runs non-stop - and, therefore, quicker end to end - in order to keep the frequency. The 10.36 is timetabled non-stop, though, fortunately for me, the 13.05 on which we wished to return is timetabled to call at Sandplace, Causeland, and in my opinion the most evocatively-named station on the national network, St Keyne Wishing Well Halt.
First, however, the train has to make it to Coombe Junction. When the Looe Valley Line opened to passengers in 1879, it ran from a station at Moorswater, now the site of (I think) a cement terminal, where the line, originally opened for freight in 1860, joined the Liskeard and Caradon Railway, also freight-only. This, being a long way distant from Liskeard main line station, and 150 feet below it, was somewhat inconvenient, and, in the late 1890s, a scheme was proposed to build a linking line to Liskeard. This opened in 1901 - a sharply curved, two-mile line at a 1 in 40 gradient, forming virtually a complete circle. Hence, the Looe branch train today leaves Liskeard facing north, trundles down the link line, going underneath the main line facing south, curves round again to finally join on a level with the line down the valley to Looe, but, at this point, has turned to face north again. This necessitates a reversal at Coombe Junction.
Coombe Junction Halt station, just beyond the ground frame controlling the points, only receives a couple of passenger calls a day, with most trains stopping at the junction. Here, the guard changes the points, watches the train pass safely over, and then clambers on board again.
Now, as someone who takes an obsessive interest in British railways, I know the procedure (although I admit I only learnt the history from the information board at Liskeard station). However, judging by the guard's expression, as he wearily explained to a concerned passenger that it was entirely normal, that we were going in the right direction, and that the stop wasn't a delay, I think he probably gets at least one confused passenger a trip!
The Looe Valley Line builds gradually, almost teasingly; first, as a little branch, pushing through thick trees, with the East Looe River a thin trickle of a stream, studded with stones, running alongside. Then the trees gradually thin, the river gradually opens out, flows faster, plays host to wagtails, egrets, then suddenly - wow, out it opens, wide mudflats flanking an ever-widening watercourse, the railway hugging the side, twisting and turning on its little embankment, until the train arrives at the little station at Looe opposite the grand crescendo, East Looe River meeting West Looe River as they flow through the town and out to sea.
One paragraph isn't nearly enough to devote to it, but I would much rather you went and explored it yourself rather than reading the words of a writer who can't do it justice, even if I wrote seven more. It is a perfect country branch line - a jolly, cheerful atmosphere, no constant announcements, no constant worrying if the train is running to time, everything easy and casual. As Geoff Marshall and Vicki Pipe put it in their book about All The Stations, it is another world.
Looe itself is rather a nice place, although we counted nine ice-cream shops on one street, running from a little way beyond the station to the beach. I appreciate that it is a Cornish seaside resort, but that is surely seven more ice-cream shops than any street in the country needs, although Looe's partially makes up for this by being agreeably quaint and narrow. The town's museum, tantalising though it looked, didn't seem to be open, but there was a nice view over the sea from the low prom, and I can vouch for the sausage and chips from the prom café. The curry sauce didn't seem to get quite such a nice reception, but I trust, dear reader, that you are too sensible to pair curry sauce with chips.
The return journey to Liskeard was plain sailing - no one requested Sandplace, but there was custom at both Causeland and St Keyne Wishing Well Halt (adjacent to a museum of fairground organs, according to Wikipedia - hmm!) and we arrived at Liskeard in time to make an easy connection onto 802001+802003, on the up Royal Duchy, non-stop to Plymouth. The only thing of note that we passed was a Castle class HST set, the numbers for which are nigh on impossible from a passing train. Realtime Trains attributes the working to 43098+43156.
221120 and 150234 were waiting in Plymouth station as we descended into the subway, and, finally, 802009+802007 pulled in with the 11.03 Paddington-Penzance (14.18 from Plymouth).
Day 3 - no trains, but some really rather nice Piper stained-glass windows
Day 4
Having been tipped off that I should book my return journey from Okehampton station rather than Plymouth, I elected to go for the 12.27. Not because it was the most convenient, but because it was half the price of all the others - £16 with my railcard, which, I figured, wasn't bad for a journey from Dartmoor onto the Fifteen Billion Pound Railway.
As with the theme on both the journey to Plymouth and the journey to Looe, I missed it, by two minutes. As it was explained to me, Okehampton really has been a victim of its own success (258,000 journeys, according to the large sign on Platform 2). Station Road is a long, fairly narrow road, up a significant hill from the town centre. In the 25 years when Okehampton station was closed, and the 22 years when it existed in a kind of Corfe Castle-like state, residents could park their cars with no problem - no need for parking controls here. When the station reopened, both sides of the street were lined thickly with cars, making it a slow and torturous business going up to the station, weaving, ducking, and reversing into pockets of space to allow other cars through. And, being on a hill, momentum counts for a lot. Double yellow lines would give the residents nowhere to park, permit parking on one side of the road wouldn't provide enough space, permit parking on both sides would still restrict the space available. As such, it remains a nightmare.
Having 57 minutes to wait, however, turned out to be more of a blessing than a curse - the station is beautifully restored, although platforms 1 and 2 are sadly inaccessible after the footbridge was damaged in Storm Henk. The railway bookshop was closed, but there was a large array of flyers for local tourist attractions, including, I was pleased to see, the South Devon Railway and the camping coaches at St Germans (with a bonus extra at Hayle, apparently). The Bulleid Buffet was open (looking extremely tempting), and the platform liberally scattered with posters campaigning to extend the line to Bude and Holsworthy. Eventually, 158745 (a change from the usual 150) coasted up the hill and into the station, ready to form the 13.26.
Though marketed as the Dartmoor Line, not much of Dartmoor is very visible from the train, as the line is flanked by trees on both sides for almost all of its length. Another oddity is the junction arrangement - the line joins the Barnstaple single track at the old Coleford Junction, but has no platform at Yeoford and the line remains as two single tracks all the way to the physical junction at Crediton, where, after a brief pause at the signal box, we proceeded past the level crossing and into the platform, passing 150202 on the other circuit.
No one requested the infrequent halt at Newton St Cyres, and arrival at Exeter St Davids was bang on time. The interchange onto platform 5 was nice and simple, in easy time for the 14.15 up Mayflower towards Paddington, first announced as imminent a full eight minutes before it arrived, when it was passing through Starcross! 165108 was spotted working a Paignton-Exmouth and 159015 standing in Exeter depot before 802010+802004 pulled in a minute down. What slightly concerned me was that every GWR service towards Plymouth, except for the local services via Bristol, seemed to be delayed by upwards of an hour, due to an incident at Maidenhead. Before that, however - in the hope that it would all have cleared up by the time I ended up at Reading - I was looking forward to hopefully my first ever non-stop run down the Berks and Hants - the previous time I had attempted to take a fast service from Taunton to Reading, it had to make extra stops at Castle Cary and Westbury.
220025, already looking pretty full, passed us at Tiverton Parkway, awaiting three trainloads of passengers from Exeter to Plymouth! 800003, rather surprisingly, was in platform 6 at Taunton - I wonder what it was doing in there?. At Taunton, the guard came on the PA and announced that it was the final call for first-class passengers in the front set wanting Pullman dining. The train was arranged with all the first-class carriages in the middle, and announced as such. I appreciate that Pullman dining is a rather inefficient thing to serve in both sets, but why not declassify First Class in the rear set, rather than splitting the first-class ticket holders into those with Pullman dining and those without?
Given this is the smoothest journey (across both legs) that I have yet reported in this thread - well, excluding journeys with Greater Anglia - I'm not sure why this report is so liberally sprinkled with complaints! I did very much enjoy it, even if it doesn't sound that way!
One of my bugbears with cab ride videos is that they are almost exclusively in one direction only - a viewpoint, I think, supported by this journey. Now that I had light to see - unlike my previous ride towards London on this line - it did a wonderful job of complementing the view on the journey down. A herd of cattle gathered around one of the rhynes criss-crossing the flat pasture between Cogload Junction and Castle Cary, and the pièce de résistance, high above Westbury - the gleaming white horse of Bratton, west-facing and invisible, when forward-facing, from a down train.
Despite running a minute or so late all the way through, it was still looking possible - if we arrived at Reading roughly on time, where we were due in at 15.56 - that I could run and catch the 15.59 Abbey Wood train - the train I was originally intending to catch had I made the 12.27 at Okehampton! Unfortunately, a severe check just outside Newbury (with 387153 in the bay) lost us another couple of minutes, and a slow run thereafter - enlivened only by the passage of 60029 on a down freight - saw us into Reading six minutes late at 16.02.
800018 and 800019 - the former on a delayed service to Worcester Foregate Street, the latter on a slightly less delayed service from Hereford - were in the near side of the station as I descended onto platform 13 to wait for the 16.16 Elizabeth Line service. Just as I was about to reach the bottom, a platform alteration was announced onto platform 14, so, having reached the bottom of the escalator, I had to turn around and go right back up. It wouldn't have been quite so funny had the announcement not been so perfectly timed - Groundhog Day meets silent comedy...
387161+387159 (couldn't get the front unit) departed a couple of minutes late on the 16.10 to Paddington, while 345070 formed my service. 800011 arrived, appropriately, in platform 11, before 66598 trundled through the secret platform 13, heading to Whatley Quarry. As we departed, 455721 was waiting at the head of a Waterloo service, and, after a slow departure, we picked up speed into Twyford.
Leaving Twyford, 387168+387145 passed, heading to Didcot, with 387147 trailing a service to Bristol Parkway through Maidenhead, and 345036 closed out the day, proceeding towards Reading.
I know I usually end these trip reports with a long and dreary conclusion, but I only really have two things to say. One, fairly obviously, is, "Go to Looe!" and the other is that, in my estimation, there is very little to beat a cheerful little branch line, and that, if all the other branches in Cornwall are as unexpectedly delightful as Looe, then they are, and, hopefully, will always be, a perfect little trip out.
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Iskra
Established Member
A very pleasant report.
I still need to do the Looe branch and your report has just propelled it up the priority list.
I still need to do the Looe branch and your report has just propelled it up the priority list.
Purple Train
Established Member
Thank you!
D6130
Established Member
A very enjoyable and well-written report. Thanks for taking the trouble to write it up. You've whetted my appetite for my visit to Devon next month for the Forum meal/drinks - when the stops at Newton St Cyres will most definitely be requested - and also my annual trip to Cornwall in September to meet my ex-Aylesbury colleague, who is now a driver with GWR at Par. Last year we went to Falmouth for the day....this year sounds promising for Looe.
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Purple Train
Established Member
Thank you very much - I hope you enjoy yourself!
Kite159
Veteran Member
Been far too long since I last went to Looe. Might have to change that at some-point over the summer.
Purple Train
Established Member
It was surprisingly busy on the way down - which begs the question, I wonder how it coped with a 153?
@Purple Train is sharpening up their pencil…
Purple Train
Established Member
Pencil? I bought some pens specially!
IN SEARCH OF THE METROCAR
"Then our porter said he thought that must be it on the high-level platform; said he thought he knew the train. So we went to the high-level platform, and saw the engine-driver, and asked him if he was going to Kingston. He said he couldn’t say for certain of course, but that he rather thought he was. Anyhow, if he wasn’t the 11.5 for Kingston, he said he was pretty confident he was the 9.32 for Virginia Water, or the 10 a.m. express for the Isle of Wight, or somewhere in that direction, and we should all know when we got there. We slipped half-a-crown into his hand, and begged him to be the 11.5 for Kingston.
“Nobody will ever know, on this line,” we said, “what you are, or where you’re going. You know the way, you slip off quietly and go to Kingston.”
“Well, I don’t know, gents,” replied the noble fellow, “but I suppose some train’s got to go to Kingston; and I’ll do it. Gimme the half-crown.”
Thus we got to Kingston by the London and South-Western Railway.
We learnt, afterwards, that the train we had come by was really the Exeter mail, and that they had spent hours at Waterloo, looking for it, and nobody knew what had become of it."
- Jerome K. Jerome, Three Men in a Boat
I apologise for starting this report with a large chunk of literature, and promise faithfully that it is not to increase my word count in an underhand manner. I do admittedly have an ulterior motive: if you are confused as to the relevance of Three Men in a Boat with regard to a journey made without a dog on completely the other side of the country, you shall simply have to read on until the end. Or you can skip to the relevant passage. No one will ever know.
I have been to Newcastle only a couple of times. Certainly not for many years: my last memory of the place is when I was about eight or nine and calling in at a butcher's shop on our way to Scotland. While I am sure the food procured was extremely nice, I am afraid that all I can remember is that the butcher in question had such a strong accent that I didn't understand what he was saying, what we were buying, or anything. This doesn't necessarily count as a bad experience, but it was basically my only experience, and, based on that, there were other areas of the country I wished to explore first. This acted in tandem with the inescapable logistical fact that Newcastle is, as the crow almost certainly wouldn't fly, approximately 270 miles from where I live. That is slightly too far to walk.
Nevertheless, Newcastle - or, to put myself at less risk of causing offence to locals, the Tyne and Wear region - had been in my mind for some time as a possible destination. Both the Glasgow Subway and the Tyne and Wear Metro were my favourite of all things, a quirky little light rail system. Both the Glasgow Subway and the Tyne and Wear Metro were about to get new rolling stock. I had missed the boat with the Subway. I would not miss the boat with the Metro. (If Bernard Woolley is reading this report, I apologise for the mixed metaphor, and offer the Shields Ferry as some small compensation.)
Who was I kidding? Of course I would. Any trip to Newcastle couldn't be spontaneous, and planning trips is not something I am very good at. However, it came to pass that I was, as usual, spending the Christmas holidays on the Yorkshire coast. It's my favourite time to be there: not swelled and swarmed by streams of sunseekers, but quiet and intimate. However, the flip side is that, in a seaside resort out of season, not much is open, and that which is open is invariably the same year on year. To put it slightly less delicately, after about three days there was nothing to do. But Yorkshire has one big advantage, in terms of the goal at the back of my head, on Berkshire. Yorkshire is much closer to Newcastle. Going to Newcastle would be something to do.
And so I found myself, early on the morning after New Year's Day, wondering idly why everyone made such a fuss of yesterday when it was exactly the same as the day before, and waiting for the next train to Scarborough. It was a bit too cold for waiting around. I would have to do some more of it as well - my originally intended train, 2C00 (the 05.42 Sheffield-Scarborough) was running ten minutes late, and, on the Yorkshire Coast Line, with its long signalling blocks and sections of single track, that would only increase. I had prior experience of this. Therefore, I decided to get 2W04, the 06.39 Hull-Scarborough - my old friend the Sprinter diagram. I did briefly consider getting its next working, the 08.15 Scarborough-York, but that would get me into York over an hour after the next direct train via Malton, and the earlier I got to Newcastle, the more chance I had to explore. This would, however, leave me with three-quarters of an hour to wait at Scarborough for the 08.54, but better that than risk missing the train entirely.
155345 was making its infrequent foray north, and it arrived into Scarborough slightly early at 08.08. 185141 was already in platform 3 with the Manchester Victoria train, but it was locked and idle. Remembering my last experience of waiting at Scarborough for a train to be unlocked (see post #42), I went out to Poundland to buy some pens. Something to do, I suppose. When I returned, it was still not unlocked, so I stood by a door and waited. The driver had turned the engines on, and was waiting in his cab, but the doors still remained stubbornly locked.
At 08.50, I was just getting my first twinge of unease, when the guard appeared and unlocked the doors. It being winter, the three-coach 185 was perfectly adequate as a people-guzzler, and we were away unusually promptly. I have described the journey from Scarborough to York before in these pages, so I shan't ramble on about it here, but it was as pleasant as ever in the crisp, low winter sun. The guard, incidentally, was the same cheerful Mancunian gentleman as mentioned in post #42, although for understandable reasons I did not inform him of this.
After a brief stand outside the station, we arrived at York. 185119 was departing northwards, 158871 was standing in the siding between platform 2 and the car park, 170473 was waiting in platform 8, and 185109 and 801104 were in platforms 6 and 7.
My ticket to Newcastle was valid only on TPE services, so I was mentally preparing myself to wait for the 10.22 northwards. However, as 802203 on the 09.21 - apparently delayed due to "congestion" - was standing in platform 9, I leapt aboard it, noticing 801223 in platform 10 on a considerably more punctual service to Edinburgh.
The train left 28 minutes late, and the auto-announcer promised that we wouldn't call at Darlington, Durham, or Chester-le-Street, instead running non-stop to Newcastle. On the racing track northwards to Darlington - a panorama of rolling fields, broken up only by the halfway sign at Overton, a few floods and Thirsk station - I saw no reason to doubt this until we slowed to cross the pointwork in Darlington station throat - we were evidently going through the platform. Despite this, we did not, in fact, stop, although passage was slow enough that I could note down 801101 on the 09.43 Newcastle-York in the southbound platform, and 156496 in one of the bay platforms with the eventual goal of reaching Saltburn, preferably without breaking down on the way.
As we were not stopping at Durham, there was not much time to appreciate Bill Bryson's favourite view from a railway carriage, that of Durham Cathedral from the viaduct. Lovely though it is, and fantastic though the cathedral is, one of my favourites has to be the view from the King Edward Bridge before Newcastle station, all but one of the rest of the bridges spread out gloriously downstream, and journey's end waiting for you. I realise that describing this view is getting ahead of myself slightly in the story, but 66013 was the sole occupant of Tyne Yard, and while a 125mph journey is fabulously convenient, it doesn't provide terribly much trip-report material.
As the train arrived, having made up six minutes from York thanks to the skipped stops, 158816 was leaving with the 10.46 to Carlisle, 158850 was awaiting the right-away with the 10.46 to Ashington, 801213 was working the 10.43 to Edinburgh, 158815 was in one of the other east-facing platforms, 158796 arrived with the 10.57 to Morpeth, and 803003 and 801225 were working competing services to Kings Cross. After this brief exploration of the station, I went down to the Metro ticket hall, to be confronted by four things: a closed set of ticket barriers, a whiteboard, a ticket machine, and a man in a Metro tabard. The ticket machine was the one I focused on first, successfully buying a Day Saver ticket that would allow me the run of the system. So far, so good.
The man in the Metro tabard approached me next. "Excuse me," he said, and thankfully I could understand his accent, "there are no trains from this station." I looked at the whiteboard. "10.30 am," it read, "no trains between Heworth and Four Lane Ends/Heworth and Regent Centre due to overhead line damage".
"What do I do then?" I asked.
"Where are you trying to go?" he replied.
This was a perfectly reasonable question, of course, but one that required a lot of effort to answer. However, despite this communication issue, I left the station armed with the advice that Monument station, on which trains were running between St James and Four Lane Ends, was a 10-minute walk away, straight down Grainger Street. Not only was this an easy route to follow, it was also relatively obvious where I was going, as Monument station is named after a monument, and said monument is extremely effective in its purpose as a monument as it happens to be gargantuan, or, at the very least, tall enough to see from quite a distance. It depicts the 2nd Earl Grey. Good for him. A small amount of research reveals that he was Prime Minister from 1830 to 1834, and in those four minutes managed to pass the Great Reform Act. He is also the namesake of Earl Grey tea, for reasons that are about as clear as the waters of the Tyne.
Descending to Monument's second island platform - platforms 1 and 2 are for trains travelling north/south through the core (i.e. the suspended section), and platforms 3 and 4 for trains travelling east/west on the Yellow Line - I did, despite just missing a train to St James, almost immediately find myself on an eastbound train formed of units 4016 and 4030. The Metrocars, for those unfamiliar with them, only have a half-width cab, so there is a seat at the front rather like the DLR. On some units, although not all, there is a rather forbidding blue sign stating that the front seats are out of use. I was the only person who took any notice.
The line runs underground to the first station at Manors before climbing out onto a viaduct. It was when passing 4063 and another unit on this viaduct that I discovered that getting the numbers of both Metrocar units in a formation is quite difficult when both are moving, although the front is a near-certainty in good light if you can see out the front; likewise with the back unit from the back. At Byker, the line dives underground yet again before negotiating a tight reverse curve and arriving at Chillingham Road, which is handily situated adjacent to Heaton Depot. A few units were on shed, including half a 156, but 800210 was the only one close enough to identify. From Chillingham Road, the line is virtually poker-straight - an excellent view from the front - through the next stops at Walkergate, Wallsend (complete with signage claiming to be in Latin, although whether the Romans bothered to invent a way of saying "platform 2" is debatable) and Hadrian Road.
The Metrocar then slows to 30 kilometres an hour to cross the Willington Dene viaduct, commanding a spectacular view high over the valley, the large park down below providing a pleasant interlude from the spreading suburbia and the industrial might alongside the river. The line then passes through Howdon, where there is a large, apparently-temporary depot that was completely empty both times I passed it, Percy Main (closer to the depot if you want to access it on foot), and Meadow Well, the latter two stations extremely close together, although I think the journey time between Sunderland and Park Lane is shorter. I had planned to get out at North Shields and use the Shields Ferry to get to the terminus at South Shields. However, I had just missed a ferry - the service runs every half an hour - so I got off at the magnificent station at Tynemouth, splendidly and sympathetically restored and so huge that it hosts a market within the station confines every weekend. 4089, 4035, 4019, 4013 and 4014 were the additions to my spotting book on the journey from Monument before I boarded 4058 and 4078 back to North Shields, where we crossed with 4036 and 4048.
The walk from North Shields to the North Shields ferry terminal is neither the most pleasant nor the least complicated I've had on these trips, but neither was it the least pleasant or the most complicated. Were I doing it in the other direction, I think my opinion of it would be considerably more negative, as it is down quite a steep hill! Having negotiated this hill, I boarded Pride of the Tyne on the 12.00 crossing, the river so calm that I was able to digest my lunch.
The other, newer vessel, Spirit of the Tyne, was moored up perpendicular to the ferry terminal at South Shields, from which it was a relatively simple walk to the new South Shields station. The old one closed in 2019, and, unless my map reading was seriously at fault, still features on some of the maps near the ferry terminal. That's my excuse for getting slightly lost anyway.
At South Shields, I had about 15 minutes to wait for the next service. The usual interval between Metro services is 12 minutes, but, due to the ongoing service suspension through the core, there wasn't enough stock stranded south of the river to run the usual service. I attempted to eat some more lunch at this juncture, but a seagull decided to sit in front of me and mew plaintively like a cat. I didn't give in - I owl-called at it in the hope that it would realise that the food was not for avian consumption - but one cannot owl-call and eat at the same time. (It didn't work - the gull just sat there until we both got bored.)
4067 and 4071 were working the next Heworth service, although I wasn't able to get a seat near the front and therefore can't really describe this section of the journey in as great detail as the journey to North Shields. The first stop out of South Shields is Chichester - I'm sure there is an excellent pub quiz question in there somewhere - followed by Tyne Dock (as utilitarian as it sounds). After calling at Simonside, a later addition to the network, I couldn't help but throw in a mention for the stop at Bede - not only in homage to the Venerable Bede, but also because it's a rare example of a station with staggered platforms that are not either side of a level crossing; rather, they are either side of an underbridge.
Sections of this branch were originally single track, although they were redoubled a couple of years ago: the stops space out as the train calls first at Jarrow and then at Hebburn. The latter station has a particularly impressive stagger astraddle an overbridge. I'd love to know why, and why it was so dramatic, as the platforms were conventionally sited opposite each other before the Metro was opened. On the journey from South Shields, I had noted down Metrocars 4023, 4081, 4028, and 4061: crossing the complex junction at Pelaw led us past Pelaw sidings, which held 4020, 4024, 4075, 4049, and 4050.
Arriving at Pelaw's island platform, where the information board was of the belief that there was no South Hylton train imminent, we waited for several minutes, being passed by 156440 on the main line, until the driver announced that we were waiting for a train in Heworth station to turn around. Therefore, I got off, in the hope that it would be a South Hylton service, and was proven right, as 4064 and 4025 trundled in with a Green Line train.
The line between Pelaw and Sunderland is shared between Metro and National Rail services. This does generate a certain apprehension, as the small and fragile-looking Metrocar ventures onto the big, scary mainline network. It does, however, give it a chance to stretch its legs at its maximum 50mph permitted speed, although that does make numbers particularly difficult!
At Brockley Whins, the second station from Pelaw after Fellgate (which, as with East Boldon and Seaburn, was still open for National Rail trains before conversion to a Metro stop - now mainline trains between Sunderland and Newcastle stop only at Heworth) there is still the junction for the Tyne Dock branch, which now heads along a new-looking alignment as the original has been taken over by the Metro between Tyne Dock and South Shields. At East Boldon, it briefly passes into open country before threading its way through suburban Sunderland as it calls at Seaburn, Stadium of Light (decorated in red and white), and St Peter's (ironically slightly closer to Sunderland's football stadium). After an extremely brief stop at St Peter's (no one got on or off there, I think, both times I stopped here), the train edged slowly over the Wear, flanked by the green road bridge on the left, and dived underground into Sunderland station.
It does seem very odd calling at a station with direct London services in the humble Metrocar, although I was focusing slightly more on the gibberish produced by the information boards, given they weren't quite sure whether we were the delayed 12.45, or the 13.09, or whatever! While (spoiler alert) I didn't get a go on the sole 555 diagram, I wonder if they, with their similar looks to the 777, full-width cabs, and plethora of modern features, will feel slightly more like a proper train as opposed to a light rail vehicle? (To go wildly off-topic, I think Stadler missed a trick not doing the headlight clusters in the Calvert font...)
After squealing round the curve to Park Lane, we paused at the close-together stops at University, Millfield, and Pallion, with a little more of a run to the terminus at South Hylton, where I swapped to the front seat of 4025 as it didn't have the forbidding blue sign. Having missed a few sets on the journey from Pelaw (noting down 4015, 4011, 4008, and 4060), I wasn't planning on missing more than I needed to!
The branch from Sunderland to South Hylton, unlike the rest of the Metro-only parts of the network, is signalled to mainline standards with speed limits in miles per hour as well as in kilometres per hour. Apparently this is to allow Network Rail measurement trains to access it, although doubtless someone local on here can confirm.
Retracing our steps to Park Lane (passing 4047 and 4079 there), we waited for the signal to clear before entering Sunderland station, frustratingly just as the tail lights of a 158 retreated into the tunnel and over the Wear. At both Park Lane and Sunderland, we had been advertised as an Airport train, which raised my hopes of the line through the core having been reopened. After Seaburn, the track stretching out, almost perfectly straight, for quite some distance, it suddenly struck me just how visible the gradients were, even on this relatively easy stretch of line. Railways are not generally associated with hills, unless you are Roman Abt, but they are so much more obvious from the "cab" than the saloon. I appreciate the half-cabs may not be well-liked by the drivers, but they were a real eye-opener for me!
156488 flashed past, on the 12.56 Hexham-Nunthorpe, before we arrived back at Pelaw, where the driver announced that we would still be terminating at Heworth. 4060 and 4005 were waiting in the Pelaw-bound platform as we arrived, and were pointed towards various buses. I went down to the National Rail station - a grim and depressing place hemmed in by grey concrete cutting walls, peremptory shelters cut into them and nothing so much as a floodlamp or an information screen to leaven the feeling of neglect. If anyone with the power to do so is reading this, please show Heworth station some TLC. I don't think it bites.
With no train due for half an hour, I got a 58 service bus, on account of the fact that it was going to Newcastle and not Gateshead, and also because the 900 Metro replacement bus was being described as "extremely limited", and I didn't want to push my luck. Before this, however, I was treated to the sight of GBRf 60056 plodding through on a freight. After a mind-bendingly slow journey around innumerable estates, we found ourselves trooping into Gateshead Interchange behind one of these replacement buses. I ran to board it.
The atmosphere could best be described as "cosy" as we crossed the Tyne road bridge and picked through the maze of traffic to Newcastle Central station. The bus was going to Regent Centre, which would not only let me access the airport, but is also the closest station to South Gosforth depot. I have been dragged round the outside of depots all my life, usually kicking and screaming. I like trains as much as the next man - why else am I here? - but depots usually mean wandering outside, invariably in the cold (it was two degrees at most on this particular day), with the constant fear of being apprehended and told off by an official for wandering around suspiciously in the car park with a pair of binoculars, and usually having to peer through a tiny slit in a fence to view a small portion of something that seemed like a train, but was too invisible to be sure of it being a train. My father, however, has very fond memories of exploring various depots during his childhood, and it seemed a shame to not give the depot magic a chance to work on me. I am yet young. Maybe I shall be converted.
I shan't bore you with details of the bus journey. All you really need to know in your capacity as reader is that it was extremely slow, the only bright spot was seeing 4041 in the platform at South Gosforth (thanks to being on the top deck), and, by the time we finally reached Regent Centre, the light was fading, and I had mysteriously missed my next five birthdays.
South Gosforth depot, however, is, not to put too fine a point on it, much better than most. The best viewing spot, assuming you have either binoculars or a pet eagle and means of communicating with same, is here (Google Street View link); if you don't, you can get the numbers of lots of what's on the depot simply by walking up and down the many paths in the wooded area here (another Google Street View link, although it's changed a bit since 2020). The following units were visible: 4054, 4059, 4029, 4018, 4027, 4086, 4026, 555021, 555006, 555027, 4012, 4004, 4066, 4001, 4032, 4035, 555013, 4089, 555001, 555002, 4037, 4033, and 4003. Even I have to admit that it's an excellent depot to visit.
I walked back to Regent Centre, and followed a man in a Metro jacket down the steps. However, just as I reached the bottom, the doors closed and the train pulled away. I expressed my irritation. The man in the Metro jacket - I shall call him Dave - turned to me. "It's more irritating for me," he said, "I was supposed to be driving it. Seems he didn't know I was relieving him. And it's cold out."
Thankfully for my fingers, the warmth of the next train wasn't too far away, as 4053 and 4043 cautiously negotiated the crossover. There only seemed to be two units working between Regent Centre and the Airport, so I sat at the back - I had identified 4042 on the back of the train I had missed, but not the front unit. The first station, Wansbeck Road, is sited on a bridge above the street, but Fawdon, Kingston Park (where we crossed with 4042 and 4057), Bank Foot, and Callerton Parkway all feature open crossings without gates - quite the novelty for me, but trains pass over them at 15 kilometres per hour (a shade under 10mph) and there didn't seem to be as much misuse as one might expect - the only instance I saw was at Howdon, way back on the first stretch of the journey, although maybe I got lucky.
With a beautiful lilac sunset stretching over the fields past Callerton Parkway, we picked up speed for the final stretch before a gentle arrival at the simple, modern island platform, although only one is in use. It was around half past four, and my ideal train back was the 18.03 - which, from a glance at Realtime Trains, unfortunately seemed to be formed of 802203 again, but you can't have everything! I was reasonably confident that I could get back in time, even with the Metro to the station closed, despite the horrendous traffic, although there was a slight nagging doubt in the back of my mind. Dave set up the cab ready for departure, and we pulled away into the gathering dark.
At Wansbeck Road, Dave came on the PA. "I have some good news," he announced. "Well, some small good news. The power's back on, and we can go as far as South Gosforth. Well, it's a start." The auto-announcer, however, had other ideas, and confidently announced that we would be terminating at Regent Centre. As we arrived, everyone else in the carriage made to get off. A well-meaning elderly gentleman tapped me on the shoulder. "Come on," he said, "we're terminating here." Before I could protest, the carriage had emptied, the doors had closed, and we disappeared into the unknown.
We arrived at South Gosforth in one piece. Evidently a couple of other people had listened to the manual announcement, as they emerged and asked questions of one of the members of staff in blue jackets on the platform. I queued up to ask one of them if trains were running via the coast - I figured it might be quicker than the bus - but he made various irritated noises at the people before me in the queue, and I decided not to make his day even worse. As I walked onto the footbridge, I heard the words "via the coast" from down below, and went back down to ask the first member of staff I saw, which turned out to be Dave.
"I don't know why I've been taken off this early," he said, walking up the footbridge. "You see that man there?" He pointed to a window in the building opposite, where a man with a chic moustache sat at a desk. Dave's voice dropped to an awed whisper. "He dictates everything." Meanwhile, the Metrocar on which I had arrived had been taken into a distant siding by the replacement driver.
On the other platform, I sought out a different blue-jacketed staff member. "Yes, trains are running via the coast," she confirmed.
"When's the next one?"
"We don't know," she replied cheerfully, "it might be 10-15 minutes."
Meanwhile, a host of other passengers had turned up requiring the airport. The train's headlights, in the distant siding, switched on, as 4038 and 4063 arrived in the other platform.
After a brief discussion with someone on her radio, the member of platform staff confirmed that an Airport train would be along next, followed by a train to St James. Dave emerged from the control centre, and agreed with her that he had been told to take the next train (i.e. the one that he had been kicked off) to the airport. For the avoidance of doubt, the member of platform staff made an announcement. "The next train on this platform is for the Airport." The train moved off from the siding. Everyone was content. Briefly.
As the train came into view, those of us on the platform became aware of the inescapable fact that it was displaying "St James via the coast" on its destination screen. The train came to a stop at the end of the platform. Dave went over to talk to the driver. A conversation took place. I didn't hear all of it, but it seemed to be along the lines of:
Dave: It's going to the airport.
Other driver: Are you sure?
Dave: Well, I was told to take this train, and I'm definitely going to the airport.
Other driver: But I've just relieved you off it!
Dave: I think you're meant to be on the next one.
Eventually the train, all members of staff, and all passengers came to a consensus that this was the Airport train. I just hope for their sakes that the signaller did. I presume so.
In now-complete darkness, 4038 and 4063 reversed in the siding, I boarded it, and they did indeed take me around the coast. As it was dark, I didn't get many numbers (4013, 4014, 4044, 4065, and 4016), nor was I able to appreciate the journey in all its fullness, but at least I was able to marvel at the magnificent original architecture of the coastal stations: West Monkseaton, Monkseation, Whitley Bay, and Cullercoats. Not forgetting Tynemouth, of course, but I had already given that due appreciation. I'm definitely coming back, at least to do the missing core section, but the coastal section is one I want to do again. I also still need to tick off Monument-St James: I was cutting it a bit fine for the 18.03, but a brisk run down Grainger Street got me there in time.
As predicted, 802203 was in charge, with 156438 in platform 10 next to it. 150214 and 150271 made for an unusual sight of two Class 150s on separate duties at the same time in York station, with 170473 again in Platform 8, fulfilling its Harrogate duties. In a further repeat performance, 185141 was working the 19.10 to Scarborough. At Seamer, I had to wait for 185113+185101 to call with the 20.00 to Manchester Airport, before 170453 called with the 20.05 back down the coast.
Jerome would undoubtedly have enjoyed the situation at South Gosforth, and certainly almost all the Metro's communication systems shared the unfortunate characteristic of being useful in all situations apart from when something has gone wrong. Besides that, however, I was quite impressed with the Metro, and, besides the desire to complete all the track, it's a system I'd definitely like to return to and properly explore in depth. That being said, it'll be a lot less fun without the Metrocars, but, after 45 years of sterling service, I think they definitely deserve to put their feet up.
IN SEARCH OF THE METROCAR
"Then our porter said he thought that must be it on the high-level platform; said he thought he knew the train. So we went to the high-level platform, and saw the engine-driver, and asked him if he was going to Kingston. He said he couldn’t say for certain of course, but that he rather thought he was. Anyhow, if he wasn’t the 11.5 for Kingston, he said he was pretty confident he was the 9.32 for Virginia Water, or the 10 a.m. express for the Isle of Wight, or somewhere in that direction, and we should all know when we got there. We slipped half-a-crown into his hand, and begged him to be the 11.5 for Kingston.
“Nobody will ever know, on this line,” we said, “what you are, or where you’re going. You know the way, you slip off quietly and go to Kingston.”
“Well, I don’t know, gents,” replied the noble fellow, “but I suppose some train’s got to go to Kingston; and I’ll do it. Gimme the half-crown.”
Thus we got to Kingston by the London and South-Western Railway.
We learnt, afterwards, that the train we had come by was really the Exeter mail, and that they had spent hours at Waterloo, looking for it, and nobody knew what had become of it."
- Jerome K. Jerome, Three Men in a Boat
I apologise for starting this report with a large chunk of literature, and promise faithfully that it is not to increase my word count in an underhand manner. I do admittedly have an ulterior motive: if you are confused as to the relevance of Three Men in a Boat with regard to a journey made without a dog on completely the other side of the country, you shall simply have to read on until the end. Or you can skip to the relevant passage. No one will ever know.
I have been to Newcastle only a couple of times. Certainly not for many years: my last memory of the place is when I was about eight or nine and calling in at a butcher's shop on our way to Scotland. While I am sure the food procured was extremely nice, I am afraid that all I can remember is that the butcher in question had such a strong accent that I didn't understand what he was saying, what we were buying, or anything. This doesn't necessarily count as a bad experience, but it was basically my only experience, and, based on that, there were other areas of the country I wished to explore first. This acted in tandem with the inescapable logistical fact that Newcastle is, as the crow almost certainly wouldn't fly, approximately 270 miles from where I live. That is slightly too far to walk.
Nevertheless, Newcastle - or, to put myself at less risk of causing offence to locals, the Tyne and Wear region - had been in my mind for some time as a possible destination. Both the Glasgow Subway and the Tyne and Wear Metro were my favourite of all things, a quirky little light rail system. Both the Glasgow Subway and the Tyne and Wear Metro were about to get new rolling stock. I had missed the boat with the Subway. I would not miss the boat with the Metro. (If Bernard Woolley is reading this report, I apologise for the mixed metaphor, and offer the Shields Ferry as some small compensation.)
Who was I kidding? Of course I would. Any trip to Newcastle couldn't be spontaneous, and planning trips is not something I am very good at. However, it came to pass that I was, as usual, spending the Christmas holidays on the Yorkshire coast. It's my favourite time to be there: not swelled and swarmed by streams of sunseekers, but quiet and intimate. However, the flip side is that, in a seaside resort out of season, not much is open, and that which is open is invariably the same year on year. To put it slightly less delicately, after about three days there was nothing to do. But Yorkshire has one big advantage, in terms of the goal at the back of my head, on Berkshire. Yorkshire is much closer to Newcastle. Going to Newcastle would be something to do.
And so I found myself, early on the morning after New Year's Day, wondering idly why everyone made such a fuss of yesterday when it was exactly the same as the day before, and waiting for the next train to Scarborough. It was a bit too cold for waiting around. I would have to do some more of it as well - my originally intended train, 2C00 (the 05.42 Sheffield-Scarborough) was running ten minutes late, and, on the Yorkshire Coast Line, with its long signalling blocks and sections of single track, that would only increase. I had prior experience of this. Therefore, I decided to get 2W04, the 06.39 Hull-Scarborough - my old friend the Sprinter diagram. I did briefly consider getting its next working, the 08.15 Scarborough-York, but that would get me into York over an hour after the next direct train via Malton, and the earlier I got to Newcastle, the more chance I had to explore. This would, however, leave me with three-quarters of an hour to wait at Scarborough for the 08.54, but better that than risk missing the train entirely.
155345 was making its infrequent foray north, and it arrived into Scarborough slightly early at 08.08. 185141 was already in platform 3 with the Manchester Victoria train, but it was locked and idle. Remembering my last experience of waiting at Scarborough for a train to be unlocked (see post #42), I went out to Poundland to buy some pens. Something to do, I suppose. When I returned, it was still not unlocked, so I stood by a door and waited. The driver had turned the engines on, and was waiting in his cab, but the doors still remained stubbornly locked.
At 08.50, I was just getting my first twinge of unease, when the guard appeared and unlocked the doors. It being winter, the three-coach 185 was perfectly adequate as a people-guzzler, and we were away unusually promptly. I have described the journey from Scarborough to York before in these pages, so I shan't ramble on about it here, but it was as pleasant as ever in the crisp, low winter sun. The guard, incidentally, was the same cheerful Mancunian gentleman as mentioned in post #42, although for understandable reasons I did not inform him of this.
After a brief stand outside the station, we arrived at York. 185119 was departing northwards, 158871 was standing in the siding between platform 2 and the car park, 170473 was waiting in platform 8, and 185109 and 801104 were in platforms 6 and 7.
My ticket to Newcastle was valid only on TPE services, so I was mentally preparing myself to wait for the 10.22 northwards. However, as 802203 on the 09.21 - apparently delayed due to "congestion" - was standing in platform 9, I leapt aboard it, noticing 801223 in platform 10 on a considerably more punctual service to Edinburgh.
The train left 28 minutes late, and the auto-announcer promised that we wouldn't call at Darlington, Durham, or Chester-le-Street, instead running non-stop to Newcastle. On the racing track northwards to Darlington - a panorama of rolling fields, broken up only by the halfway sign at Overton, a few floods and Thirsk station - I saw no reason to doubt this until we slowed to cross the pointwork in Darlington station throat - we were evidently going through the platform. Despite this, we did not, in fact, stop, although passage was slow enough that I could note down 801101 on the 09.43 Newcastle-York in the southbound platform, and 156496 in one of the bay platforms with the eventual goal of reaching Saltburn, preferably without breaking down on the way.
As we were not stopping at Durham, there was not much time to appreciate Bill Bryson's favourite view from a railway carriage, that of Durham Cathedral from the viaduct. Lovely though it is, and fantastic though the cathedral is, one of my favourites has to be the view from the King Edward Bridge before Newcastle station, all but one of the rest of the bridges spread out gloriously downstream, and journey's end waiting for you. I realise that describing this view is getting ahead of myself slightly in the story, but 66013 was the sole occupant of Tyne Yard, and while a 125mph journey is fabulously convenient, it doesn't provide terribly much trip-report material.
As the train arrived, having made up six minutes from York thanks to the skipped stops, 158816 was leaving with the 10.46 to Carlisle, 158850 was awaiting the right-away with the 10.46 to Ashington, 801213 was working the 10.43 to Edinburgh, 158815 was in one of the other east-facing platforms, 158796 arrived with the 10.57 to Morpeth, and 803003 and 801225 were working competing services to Kings Cross. After this brief exploration of the station, I went down to the Metro ticket hall, to be confronted by four things: a closed set of ticket barriers, a whiteboard, a ticket machine, and a man in a Metro tabard. The ticket machine was the one I focused on first, successfully buying a Day Saver ticket that would allow me the run of the system. So far, so good.
The man in the Metro tabard approached me next. "Excuse me," he said, and thankfully I could understand his accent, "there are no trains from this station." I looked at the whiteboard. "10.30 am," it read, "no trains between Heworth and Four Lane Ends/Heworth and Regent Centre due to overhead line damage".
"What do I do then?" I asked.
"Where are you trying to go?" he replied.
This was a perfectly reasonable question, of course, but one that required a lot of effort to answer. However, despite this communication issue, I left the station armed with the advice that Monument station, on which trains were running between St James and Four Lane Ends, was a 10-minute walk away, straight down Grainger Street. Not only was this an easy route to follow, it was also relatively obvious where I was going, as Monument station is named after a monument, and said monument is extremely effective in its purpose as a monument as it happens to be gargantuan, or, at the very least, tall enough to see from quite a distance. It depicts the 2nd Earl Grey. Good for him. A small amount of research reveals that he was Prime Minister from 1830 to 1834, and in those four minutes managed to pass the Great Reform Act. He is also the namesake of Earl Grey tea, for reasons that are about as clear as the waters of the Tyne.
Descending to Monument's second island platform - platforms 1 and 2 are for trains travelling north/south through the core (i.e. the suspended section), and platforms 3 and 4 for trains travelling east/west on the Yellow Line - I did, despite just missing a train to St James, almost immediately find myself on an eastbound train formed of units 4016 and 4030. The Metrocars, for those unfamiliar with them, only have a half-width cab, so there is a seat at the front rather like the DLR. On some units, although not all, there is a rather forbidding blue sign stating that the front seats are out of use. I was the only person who took any notice.
The line runs underground to the first station at Manors before climbing out onto a viaduct. It was when passing 4063 and another unit on this viaduct that I discovered that getting the numbers of both Metrocar units in a formation is quite difficult when both are moving, although the front is a near-certainty in good light if you can see out the front; likewise with the back unit from the back. At Byker, the line dives underground yet again before negotiating a tight reverse curve and arriving at Chillingham Road, which is handily situated adjacent to Heaton Depot. A few units were on shed, including half a 156, but 800210 was the only one close enough to identify. From Chillingham Road, the line is virtually poker-straight - an excellent view from the front - through the next stops at Walkergate, Wallsend (complete with signage claiming to be in Latin, although whether the Romans bothered to invent a way of saying "platform 2" is debatable) and Hadrian Road.
The Metrocar then slows to 30 kilometres an hour to cross the Willington Dene viaduct, commanding a spectacular view high over the valley, the large park down below providing a pleasant interlude from the spreading suburbia and the industrial might alongside the river. The line then passes through Howdon, where there is a large, apparently-temporary depot that was completely empty both times I passed it, Percy Main (closer to the depot if you want to access it on foot), and Meadow Well, the latter two stations extremely close together, although I think the journey time between Sunderland and Park Lane is shorter. I had planned to get out at North Shields and use the Shields Ferry to get to the terminus at South Shields. However, I had just missed a ferry - the service runs every half an hour - so I got off at the magnificent station at Tynemouth, splendidly and sympathetically restored and so huge that it hosts a market within the station confines every weekend. 4089, 4035, 4019, 4013 and 4014 were the additions to my spotting book on the journey from Monument before I boarded 4058 and 4078 back to North Shields, where we crossed with 4036 and 4048.
The walk from North Shields to the North Shields ferry terminal is neither the most pleasant nor the least complicated I've had on these trips, but neither was it the least pleasant or the most complicated. Were I doing it in the other direction, I think my opinion of it would be considerably more negative, as it is down quite a steep hill! Having negotiated this hill, I boarded Pride of the Tyne on the 12.00 crossing, the river so calm that I was able to digest my lunch.
The other, newer vessel, Spirit of the Tyne, was moored up perpendicular to the ferry terminal at South Shields, from which it was a relatively simple walk to the new South Shields station. The old one closed in 2019, and, unless my map reading was seriously at fault, still features on some of the maps near the ferry terminal. That's my excuse for getting slightly lost anyway.
At South Shields, I had about 15 minutes to wait for the next service. The usual interval between Metro services is 12 minutes, but, due to the ongoing service suspension through the core, there wasn't enough stock stranded south of the river to run the usual service. I attempted to eat some more lunch at this juncture, but a seagull decided to sit in front of me and mew plaintively like a cat. I didn't give in - I owl-called at it in the hope that it would realise that the food was not for avian consumption - but one cannot owl-call and eat at the same time. (It didn't work - the gull just sat there until we both got bored.)
4067 and 4071 were working the next Heworth service, although I wasn't able to get a seat near the front and therefore can't really describe this section of the journey in as great detail as the journey to North Shields. The first stop out of South Shields is Chichester - I'm sure there is an excellent pub quiz question in there somewhere - followed by Tyne Dock (as utilitarian as it sounds). After calling at Simonside, a later addition to the network, I couldn't help but throw in a mention for the stop at Bede - not only in homage to the Venerable Bede, but also because it's a rare example of a station with staggered platforms that are not either side of a level crossing; rather, they are either side of an underbridge.
Sections of this branch were originally single track, although they were redoubled a couple of years ago: the stops space out as the train calls first at Jarrow and then at Hebburn. The latter station has a particularly impressive stagger astraddle an overbridge. I'd love to know why, and why it was so dramatic, as the platforms were conventionally sited opposite each other before the Metro was opened. On the journey from South Shields, I had noted down Metrocars 4023, 4081, 4028, and 4061: crossing the complex junction at Pelaw led us past Pelaw sidings, which held 4020, 4024, 4075, 4049, and 4050.
Arriving at Pelaw's island platform, where the information board was of the belief that there was no South Hylton train imminent, we waited for several minutes, being passed by 156440 on the main line, until the driver announced that we were waiting for a train in Heworth station to turn around. Therefore, I got off, in the hope that it would be a South Hylton service, and was proven right, as 4064 and 4025 trundled in with a Green Line train.
The line between Pelaw and Sunderland is shared between Metro and National Rail services. This does generate a certain apprehension, as the small and fragile-looking Metrocar ventures onto the big, scary mainline network. It does, however, give it a chance to stretch its legs at its maximum 50mph permitted speed, although that does make numbers particularly difficult!
At Brockley Whins, the second station from Pelaw after Fellgate (which, as with East Boldon and Seaburn, was still open for National Rail trains before conversion to a Metro stop - now mainline trains between Sunderland and Newcastle stop only at Heworth) there is still the junction for the Tyne Dock branch, which now heads along a new-looking alignment as the original has been taken over by the Metro between Tyne Dock and South Shields. At East Boldon, it briefly passes into open country before threading its way through suburban Sunderland as it calls at Seaburn, Stadium of Light (decorated in red and white), and St Peter's (ironically slightly closer to Sunderland's football stadium). After an extremely brief stop at St Peter's (no one got on or off there, I think, both times I stopped here), the train edged slowly over the Wear, flanked by the green road bridge on the left, and dived underground into Sunderland station.
It does seem very odd calling at a station with direct London services in the humble Metrocar, although I was focusing slightly more on the gibberish produced by the information boards, given they weren't quite sure whether we were the delayed 12.45, or the 13.09, or whatever! While (spoiler alert) I didn't get a go on the sole 555 diagram, I wonder if they, with their similar looks to the 777, full-width cabs, and plethora of modern features, will feel slightly more like a proper train as opposed to a light rail vehicle? (To go wildly off-topic, I think Stadler missed a trick not doing the headlight clusters in the Calvert font...)
After squealing round the curve to Park Lane, we paused at the close-together stops at University, Millfield, and Pallion, with a little more of a run to the terminus at South Hylton, where I swapped to the front seat of 4025 as it didn't have the forbidding blue sign. Having missed a few sets on the journey from Pelaw (noting down 4015, 4011, 4008, and 4060), I wasn't planning on missing more than I needed to!
The branch from Sunderland to South Hylton, unlike the rest of the Metro-only parts of the network, is signalled to mainline standards with speed limits in miles per hour as well as in kilometres per hour. Apparently this is to allow Network Rail measurement trains to access it, although doubtless someone local on here can confirm.
Retracing our steps to Park Lane (passing 4047 and 4079 there), we waited for the signal to clear before entering Sunderland station, frustratingly just as the tail lights of a 158 retreated into the tunnel and over the Wear. At both Park Lane and Sunderland, we had been advertised as an Airport train, which raised my hopes of the line through the core having been reopened. After Seaburn, the track stretching out, almost perfectly straight, for quite some distance, it suddenly struck me just how visible the gradients were, even on this relatively easy stretch of line. Railways are not generally associated with hills, unless you are Roman Abt, but they are so much more obvious from the "cab" than the saloon. I appreciate the half-cabs may not be well-liked by the drivers, but they were a real eye-opener for me!
156488 flashed past, on the 12.56 Hexham-Nunthorpe, before we arrived back at Pelaw, where the driver announced that we would still be terminating at Heworth. 4060 and 4005 were waiting in the Pelaw-bound platform as we arrived, and were pointed towards various buses. I went down to the National Rail station - a grim and depressing place hemmed in by grey concrete cutting walls, peremptory shelters cut into them and nothing so much as a floodlamp or an information screen to leaven the feeling of neglect. If anyone with the power to do so is reading this, please show Heworth station some TLC. I don't think it bites.
With no train due for half an hour, I got a 58 service bus, on account of the fact that it was going to Newcastle and not Gateshead, and also because the 900 Metro replacement bus was being described as "extremely limited", and I didn't want to push my luck. Before this, however, I was treated to the sight of GBRf 60056 plodding through on a freight. After a mind-bendingly slow journey around innumerable estates, we found ourselves trooping into Gateshead Interchange behind one of these replacement buses. I ran to board it.
The atmosphere could best be described as "cosy" as we crossed the Tyne road bridge and picked through the maze of traffic to Newcastle Central station. The bus was going to Regent Centre, which would not only let me access the airport, but is also the closest station to South Gosforth depot. I have been dragged round the outside of depots all my life, usually kicking and screaming. I like trains as much as the next man - why else am I here? - but depots usually mean wandering outside, invariably in the cold (it was two degrees at most on this particular day), with the constant fear of being apprehended and told off by an official for wandering around suspiciously in the car park with a pair of binoculars, and usually having to peer through a tiny slit in a fence to view a small portion of something that seemed like a train, but was too invisible to be sure of it being a train. My father, however, has very fond memories of exploring various depots during his childhood, and it seemed a shame to not give the depot magic a chance to work on me. I am yet young. Maybe I shall be converted.
I shan't bore you with details of the bus journey. All you really need to know in your capacity as reader is that it was extremely slow, the only bright spot was seeing 4041 in the platform at South Gosforth (thanks to being on the top deck), and, by the time we finally reached Regent Centre, the light was fading, and I had mysteriously missed my next five birthdays.
South Gosforth depot, however, is, not to put too fine a point on it, much better than most. The best viewing spot, assuming you have either binoculars or a pet eagle and means of communicating with same, is here (Google Street View link); if you don't, you can get the numbers of lots of what's on the depot simply by walking up and down the many paths in the wooded area here (another Google Street View link, although it's changed a bit since 2020). The following units were visible: 4054, 4059, 4029, 4018, 4027, 4086, 4026, 555021, 555006, 555027, 4012, 4004, 4066, 4001, 4032, 4035, 555013, 4089, 555001, 555002, 4037, 4033, and 4003. Even I have to admit that it's an excellent depot to visit.
I walked back to Regent Centre, and followed a man in a Metro jacket down the steps. However, just as I reached the bottom, the doors closed and the train pulled away. I expressed my irritation. The man in the Metro jacket - I shall call him Dave - turned to me. "It's more irritating for me," he said, "I was supposed to be driving it. Seems he didn't know I was relieving him. And it's cold out."
Thankfully for my fingers, the warmth of the next train wasn't too far away, as 4053 and 4043 cautiously negotiated the crossover. There only seemed to be two units working between Regent Centre and the Airport, so I sat at the back - I had identified 4042 on the back of the train I had missed, but not the front unit. The first station, Wansbeck Road, is sited on a bridge above the street, but Fawdon, Kingston Park (where we crossed with 4042 and 4057), Bank Foot, and Callerton Parkway all feature open crossings without gates - quite the novelty for me, but trains pass over them at 15 kilometres per hour (a shade under 10mph) and there didn't seem to be as much misuse as one might expect - the only instance I saw was at Howdon, way back on the first stretch of the journey, although maybe I got lucky.
With a beautiful lilac sunset stretching over the fields past Callerton Parkway, we picked up speed for the final stretch before a gentle arrival at the simple, modern island platform, although only one is in use. It was around half past four, and my ideal train back was the 18.03 - which, from a glance at Realtime Trains, unfortunately seemed to be formed of 802203 again, but you can't have everything! I was reasonably confident that I could get back in time, even with the Metro to the station closed, despite the horrendous traffic, although there was a slight nagging doubt in the back of my mind. Dave set up the cab ready for departure, and we pulled away into the gathering dark.
At Wansbeck Road, Dave came on the PA. "I have some good news," he announced. "Well, some small good news. The power's back on, and we can go as far as South Gosforth. Well, it's a start." The auto-announcer, however, had other ideas, and confidently announced that we would be terminating at Regent Centre. As we arrived, everyone else in the carriage made to get off. A well-meaning elderly gentleman tapped me on the shoulder. "Come on," he said, "we're terminating here." Before I could protest, the carriage had emptied, the doors had closed, and we disappeared into the unknown.
We arrived at South Gosforth in one piece. Evidently a couple of other people had listened to the manual announcement, as they emerged and asked questions of one of the members of staff in blue jackets on the platform. I queued up to ask one of them if trains were running via the coast - I figured it might be quicker than the bus - but he made various irritated noises at the people before me in the queue, and I decided not to make his day even worse. As I walked onto the footbridge, I heard the words "via the coast" from down below, and went back down to ask the first member of staff I saw, which turned out to be Dave.
"I don't know why I've been taken off this early," he said, walking up the footbridge. "You see that man there?" He pointed to a window in the building opposite, where a man with a chic moustache sat at a desk. Dave's voice dropped to an awed whisper. "He dictates everything." Meanwhile, the Metrocar on which I had arrived had been taken into a distant siding by the replacement driver.
On the other platform, I sought out a different blue-jacketed staff member. "Yes, trains are running via the coast," she confirmed.
"When's the next one?"
"We don't know," she replied cheerfully, "it might be 10-15 minutes."
Meanwhile, a host of other passengers had turned up requiring the airport. The train's headlights, in the distant siding, switched on, as 4038 and 4063 arrived in the other platform.
After a brief discussion with someone on her radio, the member of platform staff confirmed that an Airport train would be along next, followed by a train to St James. Dave emerged from the control centre, and agreed with her that he had been told to take the next train (i.e. the one that he had been kicked off) to the airport. For the avoidance of doubt, the member of platform staff made an announcement. "The next train on this platform is for the Airport." The train moved off from the siding. Everyone was content. Briefly.
As the train came into view, those of us on the platform became aware of the inescapable fact that it was displaying "St James via the coast" on its destination screen. The train came to a stop at the end of the platform. Dave went over to talk to the driver. A conversation took place. I didn't hear all of it, but it seemed to be along the lines of:
Dave: It's going to the airport.
Other driver: Are you sure?
Dave: Well, I was told to take this train, and I'm definitely going to the airport.
Other driver: But I've just relieved you off it!
Dave: I think you're meant to be on the next one.
Eventually the train, all members of staff, and all passengers came to a consensus that this was the Airport train. I just hope for their sakes that the signaller did. I presume so.
In now-complete darkness, 4038 and 4063 reversed in the siding, I boarded it, and they did indeed take me around the coast. As it was dark, I didn't get many numbers (4013, 4014, 4044, 4065, and 4016), nor was I able to appreciate the journey in all its fullness, but at least I was able to marvel at the magnificent original architecture of the coastal stations: West Monkseaton, Monkseation, Whitley Bay, and Cullercoats. Not forgetting Tynemouth, of course, but I had already given that due appreciation. I'm definitely coming back, at least to do the missing core section, but the coastal section is one I want to do again. I also still need to tick off Monument-St James: I was cutting it a bit fine for the 18.03, but a brisk run down Grainger Street got me there in time.
As predicted, 802203 was in charge, with 156438 in platform 10 next to it. 150214 and 150271 made for an unusual sight of two Class 150s on separate duties at the same time in York station, with 170473 again in Platform 8, fulfilling its Harrogate duties. In a further repeat performance, 185141 was working the 19.10 to Scarborough. At Seamer, I had to wait for 185113+185101 to call with the 20.00 to Manchester Airport, before 170453 called with the 20.05 back down the coast.
Jerome would undoubtedly have enjoyed the situation at South Gosforth, and certainly almost all the Metro's communication systems shared the unfortunate characteristic of being useful in all situations apart from when something has gone wrong. Besides that, however, I was quite impressed with the Metro, and, besides the desire to complete all the track, it's a system I'd definitely like to return to and properly explore in depth. That being said, it'll be a lot less fun without the Metrocars, but, after 45 years of sterling service, I think they definitely deserve to put their feet up.
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@Purple Train has got some new pens ready for us...
Purple Train
Established Member
Same old pens I'm afraid, even nine months later!
BEHIND THE PENNINE CURTAIN
Nobody has ever accused me of being a Yorkshireman. Nobody ever will. However, my maternal family mostly hail from God's Own County (though a few have ended up in Lincolnshire, which scores less highly on account of having a disappointing rail service), and the East Riding is unmatchable for a short seaside holiday, when all is busy and stressed in the world, and you have no safe, familiar ground left, except the knowledge that nothing in the East Riding will change without severe provocation. This means that, however incorrectly I may pronounce the word "bath", and however many clothes I will stubbornly wear even when it isn't raining, Yorkshire has a reliable and irrepressible claim on the portion of my heart that looks for a regional identity, and finds none. I may have never lived there, but at least it is the one area of the country that I know I will almost certainly never forsake.
What this does mean, however, is that the other side of the Pennines is a complete unknown as far as I'm concerned. I have stayed in Lancaster once, briefly (ten years ago), and Preston once, briefly, and that is it - nothing further north or more immersive. I haven't even eaten a Chorley cake. So this was very much a journey into the unknown for me, and I hope you, dear reader, will forgive me for talking a little less about trains and a little more like some wide-eyed, faintly ridiculous journalist.
The long journey began on Friday morning. Due to the disruption on the Underground during the last week, I elected to go via Reading and Birmingham rather than travelling into London and out again. Plus, if I travelled into London, I would probably alight at Slough out of habit, which is not something you ever want to hear yourself saying. Hence, after getting my eye in by spotting 802107 on 1L11, the 07.43 Swansea-Paddington, I caught 9R22, the 09.18 Abbey Wood-Reading, formed of 345048.
345002 and 165123 were present at Maidenhead, with 345024 in the sidings, and arrival at Reading was four minutes late at 10.44, leaving me half an hour to wait for the next CrossCountry train north. 701058 was in charge of the 11.09 to Waterloo (the first time I've seen a Class 701 at Reading), and 387160, 800008, 802001, 800320 (on the very delayed 10.29 to Penzance, which ended up nearly an hour late by the time it got to Cornwall), 802114, 800004, 802022, and 800304 were also noted during all the comings and goings. I dread to think how all these services would have made it through the old layout at Reading, but thankfully the new layout kept everything flowing. 66559 trundled through on a freight working, before 220027 and 220023 pulled in with the 11.15 to Manchester Piccadilly.
I know it is fast approaching a cliche to say that double Voyagers need to become the norm, but it is absolutely true - almost every seat was taken on departure from Reading. Not to castigate the Voyagers or anything, but, given how much on an increase there's been in leisure travel since the pandemic - often at the expense of more traditional routes, i.e. those into London - surely it's time to reflect that in the rolling stock?
802113 and 387145 were at Didcot Parkway as we swept along the avoiding line, and 66004 was poking its head out of a siding near Appleford station. 66154 was also present in one of the yards south of Oxford, with 165037 and 66596 passing us as we called at the city of dreaming spires, and 165124 in the carriage sidings to the north (on the east side - I must be unobservant as I've never seen anything in there before). We overtook an unidentified 168 at Aynho Junction before proceeding to Banbury, where there was a trio of 165s - 006, 004, and 029 - in the sidings, as well as 68032 and 68029 testing rakes of debranded Mk5a sets. 168328 and 168324 were waiting for departure with the seemingly random 12.05 to Marylebone - Geoff Marshall and Vicki Pipe wrote that Chiltern's timetable appears to be "masterminded by an evil genius", and it is difficult to disagree with them. To round off the brief hive of activity, 66722 was at the head of an aggregates train north of the station - appropriately, given the location, named Sir Edward Watkin.
It is perhaps worth mentioning at this point that there were three quite elderly ladies in the seats behind me, having a very pleasant and wide-ranging conversation, which was interrupted only when someone who had reserved a seat that they were occupying boarded the train. This was by no means unusual. I appreciate that there is a great appetite for reserved seating and general digital whizziness, both on this forum and elsewhere, but I couldn't help but think that there is a better way to do it than splitting up friends. Therefore, in case they were kicked out again at Birmingham, I looked at the GWR website to see if I could book three linked seat reservations for them - the train was by no means full and standing, being of a proper length. It was only when I followed one of them off the train at Wolverhampton, and she began talking to those of us that had helped her with her case, that I realised that, in fact, the three of them had met on the train and were totally unconnected with one another. It does just go to show that a stranger is a friend you haven't met yet, not that that knowledge will make me any less antisocial!
The last time I reported a journey on the Reading-Manchester axis in the down direction in these pages, the train was diverted via Solihull. Thankfully, we made it past Leamington Spa - with 196001 in the bay platform for Nuneaton trains - without incident, and proceeded along the Kenilworth line. Kenilworth station, despite only having a single platform, seemed to have two footbridges. Was I hallucinating? Having left Coventry three minutes late, we made up a couple of minutes to arrive at Birmingham New Street (where we had a booked ten-minute dwell) at 12.52 - but still ended up leaving at 13.02, remaining a minute late. Those ten minutes added 730014, 390127, 730041, and 730013 to my notebook.
With no stops en-route, we made it north to Wolverhampton, a station which I was surprised to learn I had never alighted at before. Clearly the fact that the stop is usually announced ludicrously early due to the slow linespeed there, and that the train usually then waits there for several minutes, must have something to do with it. My much-treasured copy of Britain's Railways From The Air, by John Glover and Ian Hay (the ultimate railway book for obsessive small children) describes Platform 6 at Wolverhampton as "well hidden from those unfamiliar with the station". I am familiar with the book, and therefore familiar with Wolverhampton station as pictured from above, and it was on my third walk along Platform 2 that I realised that Platform 6 was actually still there. The brand new black and gold station building looks fantastic in the pictures, but is poorly viewed from platform level. 221113 left with a service to Bristol Temple Meads, but 390040 then swept in with the 13.32 to Glasgow Central, for the next stage of my journey, to Lancaster. I was a little apprehensive about getting a seat, as the train seemed to be fully booked, but I was able to sit down, albeit in an aisle seat. Thank goodness for coach C.
Without talking about the scenery, there is very little that can be said about a high-speed train journey, unless you have utterly superb eyesight and reaction times to take down numbers. There is very little that can be said about the scenery if one is in an aisle seat, particularly on a Pendolino with its small windows. Therefore, there is very little that can be said at all without being completely boring and/or off-topic. But I love going off-topic, so shall slip in a mention for our next call at Stafford, a typically brutalist BR station that somehow manages to make straight lines appear completely visually confusing - a very impressive feat, in its own way. The architecture historian David Lawrence rather optimistically describes it as "a singular architectural design composed of several different, sometimes conflicting, features", a description also notable for the sheer amount of nothing it says. Leaving to one side Dr. Lawrence and his otherwise excellent book, we proceeded along the slow line to Crewe, engaging in a little race with 390010 on 1H67 Euston-Piccadilly, before I got distracted by the presence of 730232 to the east side of the line, and a host of electric locomotives in the LSL sidings, among them 87002, 89001, 86101 (I think?) and a very smart-looking 90026. 390157 was heading south on 9M54, the 10.52 Edinburgh-Euston, while 350257 and 350109 waited to leave with the 14.13 stopping service to Euston.
Having left platform 11 two minutes late for whatever reason, we stopped at Warrington Bank Quay before picking through endless junctions to get to the hive of activity that is Wigan North Western. Having passed TfW-liveried 769421 parked up at Springs Branch, we coincided with 331015 and 323235 awaiting their next duties. I also have written down 769458, which I seem to recall we passed south of the station, but which I cannot find on Realtime Trains to save my life. As we have seen with the footbridge at Kenilworth, the possibility that I was hallucinating very much exists.
Having changed to a Scottish crew at Preston's magnificently ornate station, I immediately had my ticket checked for the first time on the journey, as we passed Pride-liveried 390119 on one side, and St Walburge's Roman Catholic church on the other. St Walburge's is the tallest parish church in the UK - only dwarfed by the cathedrals of Salisbury and Norwich - and, interestingly, the limestone its spire was built from was salvaged from the sleepers of the former Preston & Longridge Railway. It is, I guess, a small comfort that, however many of our Victorian clay embankments are at risk from climate change, at least we don't have limestone sleepers to contend with...
After a brief journey through rolling hills, the landscape getting ever wilder and more rugged, we arrived at Lancaster just a minute late at 15.10. 156409 was standing idle in platform 2, and, after a brief wait, 156421 trundled in with the 15.23 to Morecambe. As a line which takes just ten minutes to traverse end-to-end, one would think that the Morecambe branch would have a more regular service than it does, with seemingly arbitrary gaps between trains that can be up to an hour: it is, in fact, a nightmare pathing trains along the busy main line even for such a short distance, as evidenced by the fact that we had to leave two minutes late in order to run behind 397011 on the slightly delayed 14.04 Manchester Airport-Edinburgh.
The little branch train hauls itself out of Lancaster station (I'm sure there must be a gradient involved: there usually is on the West Coast) before passing over the wide expanse of the River Lune. Part of the reason why the Morecambe branch trains are so difficult to path is that they have little to no opportunity to achieve any significant speed before having to slow down to take the curve at Morecambe South Junction. The north curve, from Hest Bank, is used only once daily, at a completely antisocial time, and only towards Morecambe, so that can be one for another day, I feel.
The two curves converge and then immediately diverge again just east of Bare Lane station. After rationalisation in the 80s (one for the bingo card), what was once double track became a pair of parallel single tracks: the right-hand track for Morecambe, the left-hand track for Heysham. Grinding over this pointwork is slow enough that I had enough time to cast my eye over the sea of bungalows on either side of the line, liberally sprinkled with St George's crosses. Given the fact that the appearance of these flags in my hometown has driven me to the cusp of protest - I am easily the least confrontational member of my family - I decided not to dwell on this while I was still in a reasonably happy mood (induced, I think, by biscuits).
Bare Lane is a simple, pretty enough little station abutting a level crossing, railwayana adorning one or two of the gardens that peer onto the track, and overgrown platform ends forming a tantalising reminder of what once was. From here, it is a brisk run between the houses to the slightly disappointing terminus at Morecambe. I say "slightly disappointing" - I don't think the railway station has been invented that I wouldn't have some soft spot to find for. But it is an unprepossessing, modern construction rather haphazardly adjoined to a roundabout, with a walk to the sea just long enough for one to curse the 1994 closure of Morecambe Promenade station when the weather is at its most Lancastrian, which, handily, it wasn't quite yet.
Having checked into the Travelodge - pretty handy for most places, including the station, perched on top of a shopping centre, though with somewhat convoluted access, and across the road from a run-down building with "God Is Love" graffitied across the highest ledge (nothing to do with me, honest) - I went and sniffed the sea before heading back into Lancaster on the 17.32 to Leeds via Bentham, formed of 158815. As we came to a stop on the curve towards the main line, waiting for a late-running Avanti train, our young guard, Dave (not his real name), was stopped by a passenger as he made his way towards the back cab.
"Is this train always late?" she asked him.
He shrugged. "Er, yeah, pretty much." Pausing, he turned to the window. "There's a fox that sometimes plays in this field here."
Everyone within earshot craned to look towards the field, but, alas, the fox was nowhere to be found.
On arrival at Lancaster, the weather had briefly become extremely Lancastrian, so, after briefly sheltering under the station canopy, hearing Ian the Selfie King announce the incoming "Train Grande Vitesse to Barrow-in-Furness", and admiring as much as I could of Sir William Tite's imposing Tudor Revival building, I decided to brave the walk.
I had the evening, then, to sample the delights of Lancaster city centre, and, once I had trekked down the hill from the station, I have to say I very much enjoyed it. The place is crammed full of places to eat - mostly Italian, mind you, but at least they're all a treat for the nose regardless of culinary preference - and everywhere is within a five- or ten-minute walk of everywhere else, with a ring encircling the inner city. After a couple of circuits I was able to make my way round like I knew the place well, however distracted I got by either an enticing-looking stone alleyway (Bashful Alley is an all-timer as road names go), or the sight of yet another possible place to eat. In the end, I settled on a very agreeable dinner from Bella Italia, and a gentle stagger up the hill, past the castle (another day...), and to the station just in time to catch 156403 on the 20.34 back to Morecambe.
156403 was on branch duties for the morning train on Saturday at 09.41, and 156421 was waiting for departure to Barrow-in-Furness. Was I unfortunate, or is there usually a mini-pool allocated to services in this area for a short space of time? Or is there some sort of temporary arrangement in place during the closure of Whitehaven tunnel? I had a small amount of time while waiting for the return service at 17.12, so could indulge in some trainspotting, as well as hearing the distant noises of Lancaster City beating Ilkeston Town at the football. 195107 was in charge of the 16.49 to Preston, with 390137 forced to wait behind it with the delayed 16.39 to Euston (and no, there wasn't a train in platform 5 at the time - is there a restriction on its use?), and 195120 passed through running ECS from Preston to Barrow before 158870 arrived in platform 1. I wasted no time boarding it, as the weather - once again - had become extremely north-western. 156409 arrived from Barrow, 390156 called with the 16.58 to Glasgow Central, 390123 was operating the delayed 16.59 to Euston, and 156421 arrived in platform 5 having worked from Morecambe. Once again, we were held to wait for a slightly delayed down service, this time 390118 on the 17.09 to Glasgow Central, and there was an unexpected bonus in the form of 37884 hauling freshly overhauled 769456. The unit was honestly the most sparkling clean train I have ever seen in my life. I hope it works.
After arriving at Morecambe, I had the chance, finally, to have a little more of an explore. I mentioned earlier that I don't think the railway station has been invented that I wouldn't enjoy in some way, or find some sweet little quirk. Even Moston. The same is true of towns. You could probably put me in Easterhouse and I'd find something to feel content about. Even Slough, with a high street so devoid of life and laughter it would probably tempt John Betjeman to even greater atrocities than those he threatened, is a place I can take some pride in and call home. I even enjoyed visiting Clacton, despite the fact that it is famous only for being the British town most disposed to like Brussels sprouts, as of about 25 years ago, and for being the official residence of Mr Toad of Toad Hall, or at least his invisible friend.
I have long expressed the hope that Mr Toad's invisible friend will be reformed this side of the next world, and I express the same hope about Morecambe. While being much smaller than I assumed it was - I was expecting something on the scale of Scarborough, and this is not necessarily a complaint - it still seemed a little too big for itself, like a small boy in enormous hand-me-downs from his most adjacent cousin. I was, in fact, more closely reminded of Bridlington, perhaps in the way that there are bustling hotspots and utter desolation, and nothing in between. A succession of small, sandy beaches, oases amidst the quicksands and mudflats of Morecambe Bay, is almost entirely overshadowed by a decidedly impressive promenade, and a long stone jetty protruding from its widest sweep of curve. Excellent for a decorous Victorian, and good news for the redshanks picking about in the mud underneath, but less good news for a hardened sand-seeker. (Fortunately I am a Victorian.)
The contrast between bright, perky, touristy Morecambe and untouched, desolate, neglected Morecambe is stark and often severe. Starting my walk from the clock tower, a striking construction offering both the correct time and benches protected from the elements, it was like repeatedly walking through night, day, night, day, under a leaden sky. Here was a jaunty statue of Eric Morecambe, binoculars in hand, encircled by stars of his most famous quotes and guests. I sent a picture to some of my friends, to test how well Morecambe and Wise have permeated into the consciousness of today's youth. One person correctly guessed I was looking at a statue of Eric Morecambe in Morecambe. A second correctly guessed I was looking at Eric Morecambe, but assumed that, being on the shore of Morecambe Bay, I was naturally in Blackpool. (Londoners...) A third offered no attempt at the geographical variable, and guessed either Elton John or Rapids Johnson from Gigglebiz. Hence, my research is inconclusive.
From the statue of Eric Morecambe, one can either walk around the curve of the prom, or through what, with TLC, would be a magnificent esplanade garden, but is in reality an ellipse of half-fenced-off concrete and grass. One might call it wasteland. Google Maps's satellite view claims that it is capable of transforming itself into a funfair if necessary, but, even out of season, a seaside resort really needs as little confusion and decay as possible. The tale is repeated all along the promenade. A glitzy Art Nouveau arcade (now a sort of artspace, I think, but I couldn't quite tell), the old station, now a shopping destination and arts centre, and the stylish Art Deco Midland Hotel, built by the LMS, mingle with unlit terraces in beige and grey, either wholly unoccupied or occupied but silent. Small, independent places, my kind of places, "Rita's Cafe", "Jose's Tapas Bar". Hanging on. Hibernating for the winter. Waiting for either a completely new dawn, or a heyday on which I fear the sun set long ago. I may be completely at home in a cheerful greasy spoon cafe, with only a limited choice of food. But the present is another country; they do things differently there.
At some point along the promenade, the grey clouds have turned into a drizzle. At the corner where the promenade meets both the beach and Marine Drive, I look back along the jetty, wind-lashed and weather-beaten, choppy waves swimming menacingly around its point, the small lights of a cafe the only sign that humans have been here, seen it, built it. Then to the beach, sloping towards the water's edge, a smattering of stones between the promenade and the sand. Then to the thoroughfare, busy with cars, but nobody but a lone dog walker in sight along the promenade. The wind picks up. The rain starts to come down harder, and inclines closer to the horizontal. There is rain in my eyes and my hair is a mess. I probably should care, but I don't. In the distance, two further figures appear on the deserted prom - a mother, on foot, chasing a delighted toddler on a bike. They don't seem to care either.
As the prom follows the curve of the coast, I become vaguely aware that the rain is coming down much harder now, and that, since I am really fighting my way through the gale, it may be sensible to find some shelter. A gap in the landward wall of the promenade opens out onto the footpath of the road alongside, and, as I walk through it, a constant, dull thudding against the top of my head informs me that the horizontal rain has become horizontal hail.
While waiting for the storm to pass, I end up sheltering under the derelict awning of what appears to be, or have once been, a cafe. Rain is pouring through holes in the glass, dripping in curtains off the curve of the roof, soaking the road and pavement in standing water. The hail may have passed, but I am suddenly aware that it is quite cold.
And I'm fine.
The flags of St George that pepper these streets are not the inane bleatings of fringe, ignorable idiots. They are the cries of an identity that has lost itself. A flavour of politics that has overtaken its beginnings to become the beginning itself. And in spite of the extra limbs that may have disfigured it or given it strength, depending on one's point of view, it has the same question at its heart: what does it mean to be British?
It sounds an odd thing to consider, I know, standing underneath a derelict awning in a seaside town that, nowadays, is probably better known for being in the vicinity of Heysham nuclear power station. But it's a question I've been wrestling with for some time, because, even with an opposition to the new "flag mania" as strongly-held as mine (this in spite of my obsession with flags since the age of about three), I still couldn't answer that question. Not seriously, anyway.
But I think there's something powerful in that: the idea of being by the seaside, caught in a storm, having to shelter under a derelict awning, and still being satisfied, content with life, happy to let the storm pass. There were four other people under that Morecambe awning. I didn't exchange a single word with any of them. They will have no idea who I am, and I will have no idea who they are. But there we all were - and we were all just fine. Not too bad. Despite the non-zero chance of getting thoroughly soaked, despite the lingering fear that the awning would collapse, there we were, together, unfussed about where we came from, what we were doing, or where we were going, and completely content with life. No enemies, no shouting, no gnashing of teeth, just the steadying knowledge that life could be a whole lot worse, and is too short to get worked up about.
In this state of patriotic fervour I walked to Atkinson's fish and chip shop and scoffed the most delicious fish and chips I have found anywhere except the East Riding.
Oh yes, I'm supposed to be talking about trains, aren't I? Oops.
And thus, Sunday. Those of you who are familiar with Northern's operations on Sundays will probably be able to guess the first part of the story, which began at quarter to 10 under the clock tower, staring at a metal representation of the Lakeland panorama over the water, trying to match the mountain to the graphic, and keeping an eye out for the arrival of a number 100 bus, which arrived near enough on time, decked out in a special Royal British Legion livery, and almost completely empty, a state in which it would remain for the rest of the journey.
After ambling along beside the water, passing the curiously elevated sailing club building, we took a right turn to go through Bare, as in Bare Lane, the only place in Britain that shares its name with a colloquial quantifier. I mentioned at the very beginning of this report - yes, a week's worth of reading time ago - that one of the things I like about the East Riding is that it has a certain comforting resistance to change. There was a similar phenomenon in Bare, but not quite: instead of a gradual adoption of technology as and when it suited (i.e. about ten years after everyone else), there was a tentative mix of dyed-in-the-wool old and genuinely new in a way that didn't quite form a coherent whole. The "traditional" village pub, the Dog and Partridge, had, despite its hunting-inspired name and old-fashioned air, a set of shiny EV chargers in the car park; on the other side of town, after negotiating endless bungalows that were incongruously dwarfed by our double-decker, the working men's club had a shiny LED screen beaming news and notices at passers-by. This may be a little unfair, but I do think it's emblematic of an area that seems to be in something of an identity crisis, its need of help ignored by most, exploited by the rest. Every medium-large item of street furniture that had been picked out in white - I avoid using the term "mini-roundabout" because of the hideous concoction on the B5321 at Scale Hall - had had a pair of lines, however wobbly and at whatever angle, in a colour vaguely approximating to red slapped upon it. Of course, I could be misunderstanding, and all the red marks could mean "X marks the spot", i.e. treasure, but I can't quite decide whether it's worse to think of grown-ups messing up the task of painting a St George's Cross on a roundabout, or messing up the task of painting a letter X on a roundabout/hideous concoction (delete as appropriate).
In no time at all, the bus was in Lancaster, and I alighted to look for a church to attend. Having had an excellent time, I treated myself to a Subway before walking to the station, aiming to catch the 13.58 towards Birmingham.
When I got there, about 20 minutes early, it was to the unexpected news that, instead of the two trains to London in the next 20 minutes that I was anticipating, there were, in fact, four. Due to a disturbance on board a TPE train (a new one on me - I wonder what the problem was?), all southbound trains had been held up for an hour. As I had a flexible ticket, I could therefore catch the delayed 12.57, rather than wait however long for the 13.58 at the back of the queue. Having let 390002 depart on the 12.42 direct to Euston, 57 minutes behind schedule, and spotted 158903 on the 13.44 to Leeds, I boarded 390118, which left the platform 47 minutes down.
To the accompaniment of exhaustive connection advice from the outgoing Train Manager, we pulled slowly into Preston, passing 802201, the TPE train on which the incident had unfolded, parked in an overgrown siding, 323232, and 390126. After a crew change and what appeared to be a restocking of the onboard shop, we departed southwards at 14.06, inching later and later as we called at Wigan North Western and Warrington Bank Quay 51 minutes down, where the Train Manager made an announcement for those who wanted a direct Euston service to change.
At Crewe, there was a little more activity: having noted down 91120 north of the station, I spotted 197112 and 197120 in the north-facing bays. 805004 and 805012 pulled in with the 12.48 Holyhead-Euston, and 170510 was awaiting departure for Newark Castle. It always seems weird to me to see 170s on EMR local services, when I remember them as the "big trains" that went to Birmingham and Cardiff.
South of the station, 197101, 730220, 730232, and 730215 were parked up in various sidings. After the stop at Stafford, we made it to Wolverhampton, where 730004, 730007, and 730030 were parked together in a siding. Having managed to save ten minutes between Warrington and here, we left a mere 41 minutes behind schedule, passing 390049 on its way up to Glasgow.
As we picked up speed along the elevated course the railway takes, I looked down at the rail-served, DB-operated Wolverhampton Logistics Centre. The road through the complex had its speed limit set at 9mph. I would love to meet whoever came up with that idea.
There were 730s aplenty as we got nearer Birmingham: 213, 212, 018, and 029 were the numbers I got, but I did miss some. I have to confess that, having initially thought them horribly ugly, they have grown on me. I've only been on one once, and I have to say I was rather impressed, so I'm very much looking forward to sampling them again.
New Street, as ever, was ludicrously busy. It was also quite wet. Thankfully, I could observe from the comfort of my seat the likes of 730013, leaving for Redditch, 390117, leaving for Euston, 350115 and 350402, on the stopping service for Euston, 805011 and 805010, terminating from Euston, and 196103, in no way connected with Euston, and in fact arriving at the terribly cramped platform 4C with a service from Shrewsbury.
As I have previously alighted at Wolverhampton and Coventry, and having no real desire to change trains at New Street unless I can help it, I decided to change at Birmingham International, which we reached 35 minutes late. It is a perfectly adequate station for the purpose it serves, and, bonus, had a very warm waiting room on the island forming platforms 4 and 5. Using this to escape from the rain, I noted down 158831+158839, on the 16.07 to Aberystwyth and Pwllheli, and 730001 arriving on the local train from Rugeley Trent Valley.
221133 was operating the slightly delayed 16.13 to Southampton Airport Parkway. Unlike the CrossCountry train on the way up, it has only five coaches, which is no fault of its own. However, at least the preceding train, if not the one before that also, had been cancelled. This did not make things ideal, especially when it transpired that the front door at the right-hand-side of coach F was out of use and would not open. I squeezed myself uncomfortably into the crowded vestibule. Other people were able to do the same, thanks to the excellent trolley attendant, Dave (not her real name), opening the door between it and the cab door, however, despite her best efforts, we did end up leaving some passengers behind. This arrangement did mean that I was sharing the rest of the journey with the trolley, the microwave, Dave, and a very respectable middle-aged lady. I couldn't actually see anything outside the train. Hence the amount I can report on this section of the journey is best described as "negligible". There could have been the Greatest Gathering Mk II at Kenilworth, Tornado at Fenny Compton, or even a slightly unusual swan at Aynho Junction: but I wouldn't know.
In the general re-arrangement of people at Leamington Spa as we tried to let people off the train, I caught a brief sight of 196006 on Nuneaton duties, but that was it until Oxford, when we were kicked out of the trolley area due to the impending reversal at Reading, but, fortunately, the train always empties out at Oxford, and there were only four of us in the vestibule as we left. 165039 was in one of the Chiltern platforms, a unit that I seem to see without fail every single time I end up on Chiltern metals. I don't know if others have had the same experience.
At Reading, I wandered over to platform 13, where 345007 was waiting with the 17.59, noting as I did so 387169, 387147, and 387155. There were other units there as well, but a) it was raining and I've just been told I need to get my eyes checked, and b) I've already seen all the GWR 80xs and 387s and had no energy left to look at anything except the floor. However, I did briefly raise my eyes high enough to catch sight of 387163, before 802108 passed us going into Reading as we departed, and 800307 overtook us with a Hereford-Paddington service.
So how can I sum it up? The getting there (or getting back) was a bit of a nightmare, but I was surprised by how much I enjoyed this little excursion. There's something about a new place, I feel, that acts as a bit of a shock to the system - not in a bad way, but in a way that provokes thought. Exploration in every sense of the word. We have a whole Earth for a reason, and individually we can never scratch the surface of exploring it. But there really is something to gain when you travel by train.
BEHIND THE PENNINE CURTAIN
Nobody has ever accused me of being a Yorkshireman. Nobody ever will. However, my maternal family mostly hail from God's Own County (though a few have ended up in Lincolnshire, which scores less highly on account of having a disappointing rail service), and the East Riding is unmatchable for a short seaside holiday, when all is busy and stressed in the world, and you have no safe, familiar ground left, except the knowledge that nothing in the East Riding will change without severe provocation. This means that, however incorrectly I may pronounce the word "bath", and however many clothes I will stubbornly wear even when it isn't raining, Yorkshire has a reliable and irrepressible claim on the portion of my heart that looks for a regional identity, and finds none. I may have never lived there, but at least it is the one area of the country that I know I will almost certainly never forsake.
What this does mean, however, is that the other side of the Pennines is a complete unknown as far as I'm concerned. I have stayed in Lancaster once, briefly (ten years ago), and Preston once, briefly, and that is it - nothing further north or more immersive. I haven't even eaten a Chorley cake. So this was very much a journey into the unknown for me, and I hope you, dear reader, will forgive me for talking a little less about trains and a little more like some wide-eyed, faintly ridiculous journalist.
The long journey began on Friday morning. Due to the disruption on the Underground during the last week, I elected to go via Reading and Birmingham rather than travelling into London and out again. Plus, if I travelled into London, I would probably alight at Slough out of habit, which is not something you ever want to hear yourself saying. Hence, after getting my eye in by spotting 802107 on 1L11, the 07.43 Swansea-Paddington, I caught 9R22, the 09.18 Abbey Wood-Reading, formed of 345048.
345002 and 165123 were present at Maidenhead, with 345024 in the sidings, and arrival at Reading was four minutes late at 10.44, leaving me half an hour to wait for the next CrossCountry train north. 701058 was in charge of the 11.09 to Waterloo (the first time I've seen a Class 701 at Reading), and 387160, 800008, 802001, 800320 (on the very delayed 10.29 to Penzance, which ended up nearly an hour late by the time it got to Cornwall), 802114, 800004, 802022, and 800304 were also noted during all the comings and goings. I dread to think how all these services would have made it through the old layout at Reading, but thankfully the new layout kept everything flowing. 66559 trundled through on a freight working, before 220027 and 220023 pulled in with the 11.15 to Manchester Piccadilly.
I know it is fast approaching a cliche to say that double Voyagers need to become the norm, but it is absolutely true - almost every seat was taken on departure from Reading. Not to castigate the Voyagers or anything, but, given how much on an increase there's been in leisure travel since the pandemic - often at the expense of more traditional routes, i.e. those into London - surely it's time to reflect that in the rolling stock?
802113 and 387145 were at Didcot Parkway as we swept along the avoiding line, and 66004 was poking its head out of a siding near Appleford station. 66154 was also present in one of the yards south of Oxford, with 165037 and 66596 passing us as we called at the city of dreaming spires, and 165124 in the carriage sidings to the north (on the east side - I must be unobservant as I've never seen anything in there before). We overtook an unidentified 168 at Aynho Junction before proceeding to Banbury, where there was a trio of 165s - 006, 004, and 029 - in the sidings, as well as 68032 and 68029 testing rakes of debranded Mk5a sets. 168328 and 168324 were waiting for departure with the seemingly random 12.05 to Marylebone - Geoff Marshall and Vicki Pipe wrote that Chiltern's timetable appears to be "masterminded by an evil genius", and it is difficult to disagree with them. To round off the brief hive of activity, 66722 was at the head of an aggregates train north of the station - appropriately, given the location, named Sir Edward Watkin.
It is perhaps worth mentioning at this point that there were three quite elderly ladies in the seats behind me, having a very pleasant and wide-ranging conversation, which was interrupted only when someone who had reserved a seat that they were occupying boarded the train. This was by no means unusual. I appreciate that there is a great appetite for reserved seating and general digital whizziness, both on this forum and elsewhere, but I couldn't help but think that there is a better way to do it than splitting up friends. Therefore, in case they were kicked out again at Birmingham, I looked at the GWR website to see if I could book three linked seat reservations for them - the train was by no means full and standing, being of a proper length. It was only when I followed one of them off the train at Wolverhampton, and she began talking to those of us that had helped her with her case, that I realised that, in fact, the three of them had met on the train and were totally unconnected with one another. It does just go to show that a stranger is a friend you haven't met yet, not that that knowledge will make me any less antisocial!
The last time I reported a journey on the Reading-Manchester axis in the down direction in these pages, the train was diverted via Solihull. Thankfully, we made it past Leamington Spa - with 196001 in the bay platform for Nuneaton trains - without incident, and proceeded along the Kenilworth line. Kenilworth station, despite only having a single platform, seemed to have two footbridges. Was I hallucinating? Having left Coventry three minutes late, we made up a couple of minutes to arrive at Birmingham New Street (where we had a booked ten-minute dwell) at 12.52 - but still ended up leaving at 13.02, remaining a minute late. Those ten minutes added 730014, 390127, 730041, and 730013 to my notebook.
With no stops en-route, we made it north to Wolverhampton, a station which I was surprised to learn I had never alighted at before. Clearly the fact that the stop is usually announced ludicrously early due to the slow linespeed there, and that the train usually then waits there for several minutes, must have something to do with it. My much-treasured copy of Britain's Railways From The Air, by John Glover and Ian Hay (the ultimate railway book for obsessive small children) describes Platform 6 at Wolverhampton as "well hidden from those unfamiliar with the station". I am familiar with the book, and therefore familiar with Wolverhampton station as pictured from above, and it was on my third walk along Platform 2 that I realised that Platform 6 was actually still there. The brand new black and gold station building looks fantastic in the pictures, but is poorly viewed from platform level. 221113 left with a service to Bristol Temple Meads, but 390040 then swept in with the 13.32 to Glasgow Central, for the next stage of my journey, to Lancaster. I was a little apprehensive about getting a seat, as the train seemed to be fully booked, but I was able to sit down, albeit in an aisle seat. Thank goodness for coach C.
Without talking about the scenery, there is very little that can be said about a high-speed train journey, unless you have utterly superb eyesight and reaction times to take down numbers. There is very little that can be said about the scenery if one is in an aisle seat, particularly on a Pendolino with its small windows. Therefore, there is very little that can be said at all without being completely boring and/or off-topic. But I love going off-topic, so shall slip in a mention for our next call at Stafford, a typically brutalist BR station that somehow manages to make straight lines appear completely visually confusing - a very impressive feat, in its own way. The architecture historian David Lawrence rather optimistically describes it as "a singular architectural design composed of several different, sometimes conflicting, features", a description also notable for the sheer amount of nothing it says. Leaving to one side Dr. Lawrence and his otherwise excellent book, we proceeded along the slow line to Crewe, engaging in a little race with 390010 on 1H67 Euston-Piccadilly, before I got distracted by the presence of 730232 to the east side of the line, and a host of electric locomotives in the LSL sidings, among them 87002, 89001, 86101 (I think?) and a very smart-looking 90026. 390157 was heading south on 9M54, the 10.52 Edinburgh-Euston, while 350257 and 350109 waited to leave with the 14.13 stopping service to Euston.
Having left platform 11 two minutes late for whatever reason, we stopped at Warrington Bank Quay before picking through endless junctions to get to the hive of activity that is Wigan North Western. Having passed TfW-liveried 769421 parked up at Springs Branch, we coincided with 331015 and 323235 awaiting their next duties. I also have written down 769458, which I seem to recall we passed south of the station, but which I cannot find on Realtime Trains to save my life. As we have seen with the footbridge at Kenilworth, the possibility that I was hallucinating very much exists.
Having changed to a Scottish crew at Preston's magnificently ornate station, I immediately had my ticket checked for the first time on the journey, as we passed Pride-liveried 390119 on one side, and St Walburge's Roman Catholic church on the other. St Walburge's is the tallest parish church in the UK - only dwarfed by the cathedrals of Salisbury and Norwich - and, interestingly, the limestone its spire was built from was salvaged from the sleepers of the former Preston & Longridge Railway. It is, I guess, a small comfort that, however many of our Victorian clay embankments are at risk from climate change, at least we don't have limestone sleepers to contend with...
After a brief journey through rolling hills, the landscape getting ever wilder and more rugged, we arrived at Lancaster just a minute late at 15.10. 156409 was standing idle in platform 2, and, after a brief wait, 156421 trundled in with the 15.23 to Morecambe. As a line which takes just ten minutes to traverse end-to-end, one would think that the Morecambe branch would have a more regular service than it does, with seemingly arbitrary gaps between trains that can be up to an hour: it is, in fact, a nightmare pathing trains along the busy main line even for such a short distance, as evidenced by the fact that we had to leave two minutes late in order to run behind 397011 on the slightly delayed 14.04 Manchester Airport-Edinburgh.
The little branch train hauls itself out of Lancaster station (I'm sure there must be a gradient involved: there usually is on the West Coast) before passing over the wide expanse of the River Lune. Part of the reason why the Morecambe branch trains are so difficult to path is that they have little to no opportunity to achieve any significant speed before having to slow down to take the curve at Morecambe South Junction. The north curve, from Hest Bank, is used only once daily, at a completely antisocial time, and only towards Morecambe, so that can be one for another day, I feel.
The two curves converge and then immediately diverge again just east of Bare Lane station. After rationalisation in the 80s (one for the bingo card), what was once double track became a pair of parallel single tracks: the right-hand track for Morecambe, the left-hand track for Heysham. Grinding over this pointwork is slow enough that I had enough time to cast my eye over the sea of bungalows on either side of the line, liberally sprinkled with St George's crosses. Given the fact that the appearance of these flags in my hometown has driven me to the cusp of protest - I am easily the least confrontational member of my family - I decided not to dwell on this while I was still in a reasonably happy mood (induced, I think, by biscuits).
Bare Lane is a simple, pretty enough little station abutting a level crossing, railwayana adorning one or two of the gardens that peer onto the track, and overgrown platform ends forming a tantalising reminder of what once was. From here, it is a brisk run between the houses to the slightly disappointing terminus at Morecambe. I say "slightly disappointing" - I don't think the railway station has been invented that I wouldn't have some soft spot to find for. But it is an unprepossessing, modern construction rather haphazardly adjoined to a roundabout, with a walk to the sea just long enough for one to curse the 1994 closure of Morecambe Promenade station when the weather is at its most Lancastrian, which, handily, it wasn't quite yet.
Having checked into the Travelodge - pretty handy for most places, including the station, perched on top of a shopping centre, though with somewhat convoluted access, and across the road from a run-down building with "God Is Love" graffitied across the highest ledge (nothing to do with me, honest) - I went and sniffed the sea before heading back into Lancaster on the 17.32 to Leeds via Bentham, formed of 158815. As we came to a stop on the curve towards the main line, waiting for a late-running Avanti train, our young guard, Dave (not his real name), was stopped by a passenger as he made his way towards the back cab.
"Is this train always late?" she asked him.
He shrugged. "Er, yeah, pretty much." Pausing, he turned to the window. "There's a fox that sometimes plays in this field here."
Everyone within earshot craned to look towards the field, but, alas, the fox was nowhere to be found.
On arrival at Lancaster, the weather had briefly become extremely Lancastrian, so, after briefly sheltering under the station canopy, hearing Ian the Selfie King announce the incoming "Train Grande Vitesse to Barrow-in-Furness", and admiring as much as I could of Sir William Tite's imposing Tudor Revival building, I decided to brave the walk.
I had the evening, then, to sample the delights of Lancaster city centre, and, once I had trekked down the hill from the station, I have to say I very much enjoyed it. The place is crammed full of places to eat - mostly Italian, mind you, but at least they're all a treat for the nose regardless of culinary preference - and everywhere is within a five- or ten-minute walk of everywhere else, with a ring encircling the inner city. After a couple of circuits I was able to make my way round like I knew the place well, however distracted I got by either an enticing-looking stone alleyway (Bashful Alley is an all-timer as road names go), or the sight of yet another possible place to eat. In the end, I settled on a very agreeable dinner from Bella Italia, and a gentle stagger up the hill, past the castle (another day...), and to the station just in time to catch 156403 on the 20.34 back to Morecambe.
156403 was on branch duties for the morning train on Saturday at 09.41, and 156421 was waiting for departure to Barrow-in-Furness. Was I unfortunate, or is there usually a mini-pool allocated to services in this area for a short space of time? Or is there some sort of temporary arrangement in place during the closure of Whitehaven tunnel? I had a small amount of time while waiting for the return service at 17.12, so could indulge in some trainspotting, as well as hearing the distant noises of Lancaster City beating Ilkeston Town at the football. 195107 was in charge of the 16.49 to Preston, with 390137 forced to wait behind it with the delayed 16.39 to Euston (and no, there wasn't a train in platform 5 at the time - is there a restriction on its use?), and 195120 passed through running ECS from Preston to Barrow before 158870 arrived in platform 1. I wasted no time boarding it, as the weather - once again - had become extremely north-western. 156409 arrived from Barrow, 390156 called with the 16.58 to Glasgow Central, 390123 was operating the delayed 16.59 to Euston, and 156421 arrived in platform 5 having worked from Morecambe. Once again, we were held to wait for a slightly delayed down service, this time 390118 on the 17.09 to Glasgow Central, and there was an unexpected bonus in the form of 37884 hauling freshly overhauled 769456. The unit was honestly the most sparkling clean train I have ever seen in my life. I hope it works.
After arriving at Morecambe, I had the chance, finally, to have a little more of an explore. I mentioned earlier that I don't think the railway station has been invented that I wouldn't enjoy in some way, or find some sweet little quirk. Even Moston. The same is true of towns. You could probably put me in Easterhouse and I'd find something to feel content about. Even Slough, with a high street so devoid of life and laughter it would probably tempt John Betjeman to even greater atrocities than those he threatened, is a place I can take some pride in and call home. I even enjoyed visiting Clacton, despite the fact that it is famous only for being the British town most disposed to like Brussels sprouts, as of about 25 years ago, and for being the official residence of Mr Toad of Toad Hall, or at least his invisible friend.
I have long expressed the hope that Mr Toad's invisible friend will be reformed this side of the next world, and I express the same hope about Morecambe. While being much smaller than I assumed it was - I was expecting something on the scale of Scarborough, and this is not necessarily a complaint - it still seemed a little too big for itself, like a small boy in enormous hand-me-downs from his most adjacent cousin. I was, in fact, more closely reminded of Bridlington, perhaps in the way that there are bustling hotspots and utter desolation, and nothing in between. A succession of small, sandy beaches, oases amidst the quicksands and mudflats of Morecambe Bay, is almost entirely overshadowed by a decidedly impressive promenade, and a long stone jetty protruding from its widest sweep of curve. Excellent for a decorous Victorian, and good news for the redshanks picking about in the mud underneath, but less good news for a hardened sand-seeker. (Fortunately I am a Victorian.)
The contrast between bright, perky, touristy Morecambe and untouched, desolate, neglected Morecambe is stark and often severe. Starting my walk from the clock tower, a striking construction offering both the correct time and benches protected from the elements, it was like repeatedly walking through night, day, night, day, under a leaden sky. Here was a jaunty statue of Eric Morecambe, binoculars in hand, encircled by stars of his most famous quotes and guests. I sent a picture to some of my friends, to test how well Morecambe and Wise have permeated into the consciousness of today's youth. One person correctly guessed I was looking at a statue of Eric Morecambe in Morecambe. A second correctly guessed I was looking at Eric Morecambe, but assumed that, being on the shore of Morecambe Bay, I was naturally in Blackpool. (Londoners...) A third offered no attempt at the geographical variable, and guessed either Elton John or Rapids Johnson from Gigglebiz. Hence, my research is inconclusive.
From the statue of Eric Morecambe, one can either walk around the curve of the prom, or through what, with TLC, would be a magnificent esplanade garden, but is in reality an ellipse of half-fenced-off concrete and grass. One might call it wasteland. Google Maps's satellite view claims that it is capable of transforming itself into a funfair if necessary, but, even out of season, a seaside resort really needs as little confusion and decay as possible. The tale is repeated all along the promenade. A glitzy Art Nouveau arcade (now a sort of artspace, I think, but I couldn't quite tell), the old station, now a shopping destination and arts centre, and the stylish Art Deco Midland Hotel, built by the LMS, mingle with unlit terraces in beige and grey, either wholly unoccupied or occupied but silent. Small, independent places, my kind of places, "Rita's Cafe", "Jose's Tapas Bar". Hanging on. Hibernating for the winter. Waiting for either a completely new dawn, or a heyday on which I fear the sun set long ago. I may be completely at home in a cheerful greasy spoon cafe, with only a limited choice of food. But the present is another country; they do things differently there.
At some point along the promenade, the grey clouds have turned into a drizzle. At the corner where the promenade meets both the beach and Marine Drive, I look back along the jetty, wind-lashed and weather-beaten, choppy waves swimming menacingly around its point, the small lights of a cafe the only sign that humans have been here, seen it, built it. Then to the beach, sloping towards the water's edge, a smattering of stones between the promenade and the sand. Then to the thoroughfare, busy with cars, but nobody but a lone dog walker in sight along the promenade. The wind picks up. The rain starts to come down harder, and inclines closer to the horizontal. There is rain in my eyes and my hair is a mess. I probably should care, but I don't. In the distance, two further figures appear on the deserted prom - a mother, on foot, chasing a delighted toddler on a bike. They don't seem to care either.
As the prom follows the curve of the coast, I become vaguely aware that the rain is coming down much harder now, and that, since I am really fighting my way through the gale, it may be sensible to find some shelter. A gap in the landward wall of the promenade opens out onto the footpath of the road alongside, and, as I walk through it, a constant, dull thudding against the top of my head informs me that the horizontal rain has become horizontal hail.
While waiting for the storm to pass, I end up sheltering under the derelict awning of what appears to be, or have once been, a cafe. Rain is pouring through holes in the glass, dripping in curtains off the curve of the roof, soaking the road and pavement in standing water. The hail may have passed, but I am suddenly aware that it is quite cold.
And I'm fine.
The flags of St George that pepper these streets are not the inane bleatings of fringe, ignorable idiots. They are the cries of an identity that has lost itself. A flavour of politics that has overtaken its beginnings to become the beginning itself. And in spite of the extra limbs that may have disfigured it or given it strength, depending on one's point of view, it has the same question at its heart: what does it mean to be British?
It sounds an odd thing to consider, I know, standing underneath a derelict awning in a seaside town that, nowadays, is probably better known for being in the vicinity of Heysham nuclear power station. But it's a question I've been wrestling with for some time, because, even with an opposition to the new "flag mania" as strongly-held as mine (this in spite of my obsession with flags since the age of about three), I still couldn't answer that question. Not seriously, anyway.
But I think there's something powerful in that: the idea of being by the seaside, caught in a storm, having to shelter under a derelict awning, and still being satisfied, content with life, happy to let the storm pass. There were four other people under that Morecambe awning. I didn't exchange a single word with any of them. They will have no idea who I am, and I will have no idea who they are. But there we all were - and we were all just fine. Not too bad. Despite the non-zero chance of getting thoroughly soaked, despite the lingering fear that the awning would collapse, there we were, together, unfussed about where we came from, what we were doing, or where we were going, and completely content with life. No enemies, no shouting, no gnashing of teeth, just the steadying knowledge that life could be a whole lot worse, and is too short to get worked up about.
In this state of patriotic fervour I walked to Atkinson's fish and chip shop and scoffed the most delicious fish and chips I have found anywhere except the East Riding.
Oh yes, I'm supposed to be talking about trains, aren't I? Oops.
And thus, Sunday. Those of you who are familiar with Northern's operations on Sundays will probably be able to guess the first part of the story, which began at quarter to 10 under the clock tower, staring at a metal representation of the Lakeland panorama over the water, trying to match the mountain to the graphic, and keeping an eye out for the arrival of a number 100 bus, which arrived near enough on time, decked out in a special Royal British Legion livery, and almost completely empty, a state in which it would remain for the rest of the journey.
After ambling along beside the water, passing the curiously elevated sailing club building, we took a right turn to go through Bare, as in Bare Lane, the only place in Britain that shares its name with a colloquial quantifier. I mentioned at the very beginning of this report - yes, a week's worth of reading time ago - that one of the things I like about the East Riding is that it has a certain comforting resistance to change. There was a similar phenomenon in Bare, but not quite: instead of a gradual adoption of technology as and when it suited (i.e. about ten years after everyone else), there was a tentative mix of dyed-in-the-wool old and genuinely new in a way that didn't quite form a coherent whole. The "traditional" village pub, the Dog and Partridge, had, despite its hunting-inspired name and old-fashioned air, a set of shiny EV chargers in the car park; on the other side of town, after negotiating endless bungalows that were incongruously dwarfed by our double-decker, the working men's club had a shiny LED screen beaming news and notices at passers-by. This may be a little unfair, but I do think it's emblematic of an area that seems to be in something of an identity crisis, its need of help ignored by most, exploited by the rest. Every medium-large item of street furniture that had been picked out in white - I avoid using the term "mini-roundabout" because of the hideous concoction on the B5321 at Scale Hall - had had a pair of lines, however wobbly and at whatever angle, in a colour vaguely approximating to red slapped upon it. Of course, I could be misunderstanding, and all the red marks could mean "X marks the spot", i.e. treasure, but I can't quite decide whether it's worse to think of grown-ups messing up the task of painting a St George's Cross on a roundabout, or messing up the task of painting a letter X on a roundabout/hideous concoction (delete as appropriate).
In no time at all, the bus was in Lancaster, and I alighted to look for a church to attend. Having had an excellent time, I treated myself to a Subway before walking to the station, aiming to catch the 13.58 towards Birmingham.
When I got there, about 20 minutes early, it was to the unexpected news that, instead of the two trains to London in the next 20 minutes that I was anticipating, there were, in fact, four. Due to a disturbance on board a TPE train (a new one on me - I wonder what the problem was?), all southbound trains had been held up for an hour. As I had a flexible ticket, I could therefore catch the delayed 12.57, rather than wait however long for the 13.58 at the back of the queue. Having let 390002 depart on the 12.42 direct to Euston, 57 minutes behind schedule, and spotted 158903 on the 13.44 to Leeds, I boarded 390118, which left the platform 47 minutes down.
To the accompaniment of exhaustive connection advice from the outgoing Train Manager, we pulled slowly into Preston, passing 802201, the TPE train on which the incident had unfolded, parked in an overgrown siding, 323232, and 390126. After a crew change and what appeared to be a restocking of the onboard shop, we departed southwards at 14.06, inching later and later as we called at Wigan North Western and Warrington Bank Quay 51 minutes down, where the Train Manager made an announcement for those who wanted a direct Euston service to change.
At Crewe, there was a little more activity: having noted down 91120 north of the station, I spotted 197112 and 197120 in the north-facing bays. 805004 and 805012 pulled in with the 12.48 Holyhead-Euston, and 170510 was awaiting departure for Newark Castle. It always seems weird to me to see 170s on EMR local services, when I remember them as the "big trains" that went to Birmingham and Cardiff.
South of the station, 197101, 730220, 730232, and 730215 were parked up in various sidings. After the stop at Stafford, we made it to Wolverhampton, where 730004, 730007, and 730030 were parked together in a siding. Having managed to save ten minutes between Warrington and here, we left a mere 41 minutes behind schedule, passing 390049 on its way up to Glasgow.
As we picked up speed along the elevated course the railway takes, I looked down at the rail-served, DB-operated Wolverhampton Logistics Centre. The road through the complex had its speed limit set at 9mph. I would love to meet whoever came up with that idea.
There were 730s aplenty as we got nearer Birmingham: 213, 212, 018, and 029 were the numbers I got, but I did miss some. I have to confess that, having initially thought them horribly ugly, they have grown on me. I've only been on one once, and I have to say I was rather impressed, so I'm very much looking forward to sampling them again.
New Street, as ever, was ludicrously busy. It was also quite wet. Thankfully, I could observe from the comfort of my seat the likes of 730013, leaving for Redditch, 390117, leaving for Euston, 350115 and 350402, on the stopping service for Euston, 805011 and 805010, terminating from Euston, and 196103, in no way connected with Euston, and in fact arriving at the terribly cramped platform 4C with a service from Shrewsbury.
As I have previously alighted at Wolverhampton and Coventry, and having no real desire to change trains at New Street unless I can help it, I decided to change at Birmingham International, which we reached 35 minutes late. It is a perfectly adequate station for the purpose it serves, and, bonus, had a very warm waiting room on the island forming platforms 4 and 5. Using this to escape from the rain, I noted down 158831+158839, on the 16.07 to Aberystwyth and Pwllheli, and 730001 arriving on the local train from Rugeley Trent Valley.
221133 was operating the slightly delayed 16.13 to Southampton Airport Parkway. Unlike the CrossCountry train on the way up, it has only five coaches, which is no fault of its own. However, at least the preceding train, if not the one before that also, had been cancelled. This did not make things ideal, especially when it transpired that the front door at the right-hand-side of coach F was out of use and would not open. I squeezed myself uncomfortably into the crowded vestibule. Other people were able to do the same, thanks to the excellent trolley attendant, Dave (not her real name), opening the door between it and the cab door, however, despite her best efforts, we did end up leaving some passengers behind. This arrangement did mean that I was sharing the rest of the journey with the trolley, the microwave, Dave, and a very respectable middle-aged lady. I couldn't actually see anything outside the train. Hence the amount I can report on this section of the journey is best described as "negligible". There could have been the Greatest Gathering Mk II at Kenilworth, Tornado at Fenny Compton, or even a slightly unusual swan at Aynho Junction: but I wouldn't know.
In the general re-arrangement of people at Leamington Spa as we tried to let people off the train, I caught a brief sight of 196006 on Nuneaton duties, but that was it until Oxford, when we were kicked out of the trolley area due to the impending reversal at Reading, but, fortunately, the train always empties out at Oxford, and there were only four of us in the vestibule as we left. 165039 was in one of the Chiltern platforms, a unit that I seem to see without fail every single time I end up on Chiltern metals. I don't know if others have had the same experience.
At Reading, I wandered over to platform 13, where 345007 was waiting with the 17.59, noting as I did so 387169, 387147, and 387155. There were other units there as well, but a) it was raining and I've just been told I need to get my eyes checked, and b) I've already seen all the GWR 80xs and 387s and had no energy left to look at anything except the floor. However, I did briefly raise my eyes high enough to catch sight of 387163, before 802108 passed us going into Reading as we departed, and 800307 overtook us with a Hereford-Paddington service.
So how can I sum it up? The getting there (or getting back) was a bit of a nightmare, but I was surprised by how much I enjoyed this little excursion. There's something about a new place, I feel, that acts as a bit of a shock to the system - not in a bad way, but in a way that provokes thought. Exploration in every sense of the word. We have a whole Earth for a reason, and individually we can never scratch the surface of exploring it. But there really is something to gain when you travel by train.
Purple Train
Established Member
HASTINGS: THE MULTIMEDIA EXPERIENCE
(I hope this works.)
I'm not the kind of enthusiast to pick a tribe and stick to it. Wars may have been fought over whether track bashing or haulage bashing is superior, or whether you can really count all the units in a consist if you only travelled in one set, or whether you can highlight a line in your track atlas if you've only travelled over it in one direction. I simply do my best to treat each tribe with complete indifference - except for people who measure the distance between the train and the buffer stops at termini, because that way lies madness - and vaguely cheer as many corners as I can without appearing populist or insincere. This does mean that I can scribble "smug gloating so-and-so" over the page when the otherwise very funny Bill Bryson mocks the Branch Line Society, with no hint of hypocrisy other than the fact that I laugh at his strictures on literally everyone else. However, this also means that I cannot for the life of me plan any trip for which there is no ulterior non-railway motive, because how is a poor student meant to derive an answer to the eternal debate of whether this should be a trip to tick off track, or a trip to tick off stock?
Fortunately, a double helping of hand came along in the form of the Great British Rail Sale, a catchy enough concoction to make me significantly more amenable to the possibility of taking time out of my schedule for, shock horror, a day off, and my father, who actually reads the rail magazine I subscribe to and therefore knew it was happening. The sale meant one important thing that swayed the discussion in favour of a track-bashing day: certain tickets were running cheap enough that, with a careful selection, I could create my own mini-Rover, thereby potentially ticking off one of the annoying lines that exist in an extortionate, Rover-less vacuum - bonus points if it was one of a very few awkward routes in a region I had already mostly cleared. The line between Tonbridge and Hastings fitted both criteria, and included a bonus circular route: one carefully-selected ticket later, and we had a plan. Said plan was to head for Hastings via St Pancras and Rye, explore the delights of Hastings for however long took our fancy, then return via Tonbridge and London Bridge. A bonus on top of the bonus was that I hadn't cleared Class 395s for haulage to my satisfaction: I travelled on one during the 2012 Paralympics, but, as I have since transitioned from a skipping cherub of a small child to a grumpy journalistic bore scoffing a packet of Bananas & Shrimps, I considered the time ripe for another go.
In a fit of extreme forward planning, we got 9U55, the 08.00 Maidenhead-Abbey Wood, despite not being booked to leave St Pancras until 09.40. I can't now remember why we did it - possibly in case there was an 810 at St Pancras - but it turned out to be very much the correct decision. Not that we knew that at first, as we settled into 345027, and, after a brief flurry of excitement when 57312 and 57604 passed us with the stock from the up Night Riviera, I contented myself with showing my dad - who lurks I know not where in the depths of the forum - the excellent "Back in the day..." thread, which I am too young and too disorganised to contribute to.
By the time I had been told the story of the journey behind 47660 from Edinburgh to Kings Cross in 1990 (an excellent tale, but not mine to tell), we were at Hanwell, which was pleasing. Less pleasing was the fact that we were not moving. Even less pleasing was the fact that nothing seemed to be moving in the opposite direction. After a little time, the driver came on the PA and announced that, due to overhead wire problems in the Paddington area, the journey into London would be very slow. After passing 230001 in West Ealing sidings - when is there going to be progress on that? - we made an extra call at West Ealing before arriving at Ealing Broadway.
Having sat there for a few minutes, the driver rather despondently announced that there were several trains ahead of us in the section to Paddington and that the journey would be "signal to signal", again due to the overhead wire issues. (According to NRE, the issue was a safety inspection of the track at Acton... details, details.) At 08.56, running nearly half an hour late and with 44 minutes until our train from St Pancras, we made a split-second decision to abandon the train and get the Central Line. We ran to board a waiting train, which obligingly set off just after we got on, and, once we'd caught our breath, realised that we'd potentially made a catastrophic mistake.
Now, as it turned out, 9U55 left Ealing Broadway two minutes after we bailed, and suffered no further delay. We didn't know this at the time, but it would nevertheless make failure all the more galling. From Ealing Broadway on the Central Line, there are two possible routes to St Pancras: either change at White City, walk 200 yards down the road to Wood Lane, and get the Drumstick Line to Kings Cross St Pancras; or take the Central Line all the way to Oxford Circus and change for the Victoria Line. After quite a lot of discussion - and some unhelpfully long pauses at stations - we opted for the latter.
Having undertaken a brisk walk to the Victoria Line platforms at Oxford Circus - running being futile when there's a train every 60 seconds, not to mention the fact that I have temporarily been medically invalided from exercise - we boarded a train at 09.24. Given the Victoria Line operates at warp factor 7, I was fairly confident that we would be sped to Kings Cross St Pancras in enough time to reach our train with what qualifies in the bashing world as comfort. Looking back, the idea seems so ridiculous that I have been putting off typing this sentence for 24 hours in the hopes of alleviating my naivete.
We reached Kings Cross St Pancras at 09.30 sharp. My father expressed the view that we would make it. I pointed out that (as above) doctor's orders forbid me from exerting myself too much (although, given my phone is convinced that I walk at least three miles a day, the amount of practice I am in is up for debate), and from propelling myself at a speed above 3mph. I also pointed out that the last time I had been at Kings Cross St Pancras tube station, I had got lost (best date ever).
To cut a long story short, my misgivings caused such concern that we ran. Ran all the way from the top of the Victoria Line escalator to platform 13 at St Pancras. I was stiff for three days afterwards.
395014 + 395024 were waiting with the 09.40 to Margate, and we reached the sixth coach with four minutes to spare. 3008 and 4026 were waiting in the Eurostar platforms - as Eurostar allocations aren't on Realtime Trains, I have no idea what they were doing there, but it was certainly exceptionally odd to proceed, not onto the Midland Main Line, but into the space-age tunnel-bridge above Copenhagen Fields, emerging at Stratford International, all concrete, glass, and wind.
395026 + 395020 were heading in the opposite direction with a service from Ramsgate to St Pancras, and we accelerated into the other, longer tunnel, a seemingly interminable tube picking its way deftly under East London. Then, all of a sudden, daylight again, as we emerged blinking at Dagenham Dock, immediately confronted with the concrete piers of the A13 Thames Gateway road, and whisking along at 140mph parallel to the c2c line.
On and on we plunged, overtaking 66722 on the c2c line as easily as if it had been shunting its London Gateway-bound freight train. Then, suddenly, having enjoyed the delights of London's new docklands to the right, I looked over to the left - a rolling patchwork of fields, golf courses, and pretty, red-brick villages, a little church standing proud amidst the (rather damp-looking) pastures. And all this less than fifteen minutes from London, and separated, by the merest will-o'-the-wisp of steel rails, from a warren of industry, trade, commerce; clean white warehouse surfaces, and hot, hardboiled concrete plains, a stone's throw from a distant shore.
We flew under the QE2 Bridge - something I'd never seen before, but it was as if I was meeting an old friend. This is what a fourteen-years-and-counting obsession with the Radio 2 traffic news does to you. Another mere crack of a whip later, and we were at Ebbsfleet International - surprisingly busy for what seems to be little more than a white elephant, although if London continues sprawling southeastwards at its current rate, it will probably become extremely desirable at some point during my working life. Too bad I won't be able to afford to live anywhere south of Leicester.
A mere 38 minutes after leaving St Pancras, we arrived at Ashford International, where a tight six-minute connection onto the 10.24 to Eastbourne was not helped by a) the subway being disobligingly far from our chosen carriage, through no fault of its own, and b) hordes of people trying to get Eastbourne or wherever. This meant that 171805 was standing room only as we departed, passing 375601 and 375703 on a service from Charing Cross to Dover Priory, and 377508, 375818, 377124, and 375614 in the sidings as we curved away towards the lonely marshes.
For some reason, we departed early from both Ham Street and Appledore, quirky stations (the latter in a definition of the middle of nowhere that I have only found rivalled by Longcross and the Looe branch on my travels south of the Thames) with impressively staggered platforms. Given the patronage, I presume this caused no inconvenience, but my sense of punctuality was still mildly prickled. It is also worth noting at this point that, between Appledore and Rye, there are some very prominent wind turbines to the south-east, looking towards Dungeness. I have a driver's-eye-view DVD, bought from the Ian Allan shop at Waterloo, of the route from Brighton to Ashford - rather enjoyable, although not real-time. Ever since I bought it, it has stuck on a view of these turbines and refused to show any part of the DVD after it, which, according to the case, included several bonus features. Oh well.
Rye was, it turned out, where everybody was going, as the train basically emptied out, and we crossed with 171810. The flat, marshy landscape was now giving way to a slightly more three-dimensional picture, as we called at Winchelsea (apparently pronounced Win-Chelsea, as in Liam Rosenior's pre-match team talk, and a steep walk from the eponymous village), passed through Doleham (a kind of reverse Falls of Cruachan with calls only in the hours of winter darkness, though thankfully a year-round service), and called at the tiny halt at Three Oaks, where only the front coach was platformed. A couple of hikers had clearly not got the memo as they flew past us in the second carriage. I don't think they made it off.
After curving through thickly wooded cuttings and the long Ore Tunnel, we made it to Ore - the limit of my previous Southern Daysave explorations, back in the dying days of the 313s - and over a high bridge and embankment to Hastings. Incidentally, if you like nice urban vistas, the view from the bridge between Ore and Hastings is fantastic, looking out over little picture-postcard multicoloured houses squashed together up the side of the valley. Similarly excellent is the view departing Brighton station, when heading east towards London Road.
Hastings station is a rather neat visual microcosm of most British seaside towns - a perfectly functional, fit-for-purpose building with some nice retro features, but with a little bit of TLC necessary. The paint on the canopies is peeling and the ticket hall seems a little down-at-heel, but there is a lovely set of semaphore signals at the Ore end of the platforms, and it is by no means uninviting. 375913 and 375823 were waiting in platform 4, preparing to work the 11.30 to Charing Cross, and, as I waited for 171805 to depart, the idea of illustrating my reams of boring prose with a selection of tacky phone pictures was almost too tempting - hence the title of this report.
We were booked on the 15.44 back to Charing Cross, which would allow us a leisurely four-and-a-half hours to explore the delights that Hastings had to offer. I was going into it completely cold: my dad had done some research, but, equally, hadn't ever alighted at Hastings, and had passed through at most once or twice since the days of Thumpers. So it was very much a journey into the unknown for us.
Most of the seaside towns I know are in the north - those who have read my previous trip reports will know that I have a particular fondness for Scarborough and environs - and therefore I was wondering how many similarities there would be between the rather jolly, quaintly Northern resorts I am used to, and a resort filtered through the perhaps more cultured but less jolly Southern reserve/taciturnity (delete according to taste). However, I knew I would feel right at home when a young man with a beer can collared us outside the shopping centre, as we admired the Spirit of Cricket sculpture by Allan Sly which marks the location of the old cricket ground, and challenged us to find the ball. (If you go there, look on the wall of the building.)
There were a few posters in the town centre advertising attractions within a fairly wide radius - mostly connected to William the Conqueror, and hence printed in both English and French. I had hoped to be able to catch a glimpse of France, but, alas, the Continent was shrouded in mist when we got down to the seafront.
I don't know if seeing France would have avoided this, but I suddenly began to get the most terribly weird sense of dislocation, as we stood on the seafront. The view to my left, looking eastwards along the low promenade, was so uncannily like Scarborough - with the sand replaced by shingle - that I wasn't really fit to do more than stand gazing at it for a good few minutes. Once I'd got over the initial shock, however, it was rather pleasing to be in such a familiar environment - although I realise that describing the view in detail would be particularly tedious given this is meant to be about trains. If you'd like to know more, just visit Hastings - to save you reading the rest of the report, it is an excellent place.
After a pleasant walk along the shingle, heading eastwards, we moved back onto the road and picked our way through a small adventure playground with a massive crazy golf course (apparently the home of the World Crazy Golf Championships). It was at this point, roaming along the footpath, that we both heard the distinct hum of a diesel engine - and not only that, it didn't sound much like a car.
Upon further investigation, this was, in fact, the Hastings Miniature Railway, a 10.25"-gauge line (NB: apologies, my laptop doesn't do vulgar fractions) which, conveniently, links the main sweep of beach to the area known as Rock-a-Nore, home of several tempting-looking attractions, and where we were vaguely thinking of heading. There was a man standing next to the diesel locomotive, which was idling on a turntable, its rake of enclosed carriages standing patiently in the platform. I never did get his name, but he delivered us a fantastic and entertaining potted recent history of the railway before confessing to us that there was a minor operational snag.
The Christmas decorations were still up, which may have had something to do with it, but, either way, he had the correct key - the blue one - and the turntable was resolutely failing to unlock, and, with the points being sprung, there was no other way of running the locomotive round. To solve this problem, a Mobile Operations Manager (his son) had been dispatched in the Mobile Operations Motorcycle, and, hopefully, he would be able to diagnose the issue.
We were there a little while - during which some other punters turned up - awaiting the MOM, who eventually turned up, and trudged across the turntable to inspect the recalcitrant key and lock. He inspected the key for about a second, then, wordlessly, stared balefully at his father with a look of supreme teenage annoyance, and trudged off back to the Mobile Operations Motorcycle in order to collect the key from Rock-a-Nore.
It was worth it, though. It was so worth it. The line is laid on shingle through a narrow gap between the backs of the buildings along the main harbour road and the path running alongside the beach itself, twisting and turning as if it is a real branch line laid like a pipe cleaner through the deft folds of a real landscape, and those buildings are mountains...
The line passes Hastings Contemporary Art Gallery - which we didn't have time for but is on my list for next time - before negotiating a brilliantly fun tunnel, seemingly passing through a fish and chip shop (I think it's simply had a first-floor extension built over it), and entering the terminus. After thanking our driver, we crossed the line to have a quick look at the excellent Fishermen's Museum next door, which, like the Shipwreck Museum two doors down, is free. There is nothing better than a free museum, particularly one that has such a thought-provoking mix of entertaining bits and bobs and real reminders of the dangers of deep-sea fishing - the large boat that you can access the deck of is scary enough on dry land! It was also an excellent source of information on the distinctive "net shops" which line the road along the seafront - tall and charmingly rickety constructions made of wood, with the unsurprising purpose of storing fishermen's nets and other accoutrements. I confess I developed enough of a soft spot for them that I couldn't resist taking a photograph.
At this point, I treated myself to a fresh pot of vinegary prawns from the nearest seafood stall (in the North they serve them plain, which is nicer), and, for our next trick, we decided to sample the East Hill funicular railway which runs from outside the Fishermen's Museum up, you guessed it, East Hill. (There is also the West Hill Lift, which we didn't have time for and is also on my list for next time.) Despite costing an extortionate £5.50 (though students go at a discounted rate), it has plenty going for it, having the steepest climb of any funicular in the country at around 1 in 3. It looks a lot steeper from inside the carriage! The view, both from the carriage and the top of the hill, is magnificent, looking over the sea and over Hastings Old Town (the area east of the station).
The crenellated funicular building is at the top of the cliff, but the hill itself continues steeply for quite some way. For those who are so inclined, there are lots of signed walks along the coast, mostly radiating out east towards Fairlight: if they're as nice as the little walk we took, then I'd imagine they'd be glorious on a summer's day. We just walked straight on, in a broadly north-east direction, the path turning into a little road as we passed seemingly the entire dog-owning population of East Sussex in the opposite direction, and, having essentially come out onto a semi-urban road on the outskirts of Ore (I apologise for butchering the local geography, but this is as close as I can get), we decided to turn towards Hastings, eventually coming out onto Harold Road at its junction with Godwin Road. I suspect there is a theme there.
At least in the downhill direction, it is a splendid walk. At a complicated junction, the High Street forks off to the right, an interesting mix of old and new buildings teeming with niche shops (antiques are a particular speciality). This was pleasing enough, and we took it at a leisurely pace to take in the architecture, but, just as we neared the sea, the beautiful noise of a busker playing some jazz guitar music led us down George Street, which runs behind the prom and lies at the bottom of the West Cliff Lift. The reason I mention this street in particular is that it is home to the most amazing bookshop - Albion Books - which has a fantastic transport section (including buses, trolleybuses, and trams as well as rail) and is so full of books that there is absolutely no room at all to swing a cat. Of course, when faced with such a veritable selection of railway books, I bought a selection of theological essays, but it was fun looking at them on the shelf...!
After a very late fish and chip lunch from the wonderfully named The Cod Father establishment - also pictured, because it was excellent (by Southern standards) - we just had time to battle up the hill to make a flying visit to the Hastings Museum. It being a flying visit, there isn't that much of a review I can give, but for those of you interested in railway history, there is a very good display on Thomas Brassey and his equally interesting family. His son, also called Thomas, was a Liberal politician who became Governor of Victoria. There is a huge model of their family yacht, Sunbeam, which became the first private yacht to circumnavigate the world (and I think the museum also claimed it was the first steam-powered circumnavigation, but I may have got that mixed up), and, when he was 79, Brassey sailed it to Greece for use as a hospital ship during the Gallipoli campaign.
(Apologies, I appreciate that Thomas Brassey Senior is the more interesting from a railway perspective!)
A leisurely stroll took us down to Hastings station in plenty of time for the 15.44 back to London. 375913 and 375823 were just departing with the preceding 15.20, while 171805 called with the 15.25 to Ashford International (I still get a thrill of pleasure from seeing a semaphore move) and 387123 and 387221 worked the 15.25 to Three Bridges from platform 2: a Southern service, worked by one unit in Great Northern livery and one unit in Gatwick Express livery. Obviously it's nice to see this flexibility, given the general allergy to cascading that the railway seems to have been prone to over the last few years, but it was a good image of how needlessly fragmented the railway's corporate identity is. Where's Frank Pick when you need him?
375607 and 375819 were in charge of the 15.44, but, just as they were arriving, I caught sight of a test train running into platform 2, that would more than likely be obscured by the arriving train. Thankfully, the test train's passage was slow enough that my little legs were able to transport me to the platform end to get a photograph of 73961 at its head - 73963 brought up the rear. It appeared to have worked from Dollands Moor to Eastbourne earlier in the day, before reversing in the sidings between Hastings and Ore, heading to Tonbridge and back, and thence via Ashford International and Clapham Junction to Woking Yard.
(You will no doubt be pleased to learn that at this point it started becoming dark, so I lost the ability to take awful phone pictures.)
377119 passed us with the 15.37 to Ore, before we departed 90 seconds late and headed towards the excellently-named Bopeep Tunnel and Bopeep Junction, where we diverged from the line towards Eastbourne. We had picked an all-stations service, so the journey wasn't especially fast, but it was a pleasant enough run through thickly wooded hills in the crepuscular light. Having gone through Battle - one of Simon Jenkins's top hundred stations - we called at Robertsbridge, terminus of the preserved Rother Valley Railway, where Class 03 shunter D2112 was parked in a siding, and passed Hastings diesel unit 1001 at Wadhurst, which was working a charter to Hastings from Windsor & Eton Riverside. I have seen it before. It's very square.
For those of you who may be confused by why this unit would be particularly square, the story goes way back to when the line from Tonbridge to Hastings was first built, in the early 1850s. The South Eastern Railway was feeling particularly tight - as were many companies during the Mania - and wished to build its line to Hastings as quickly as possible, because it was in competition with the London, Brighton, and South Coast Railway (one for the bingo card). In order to achieve this, they took the cheapest contractor they could find, who charged them for six layers of brick lining in the tunnels, and left them to it. Fast forward to when the line opened, and one of the tunnels collapsed. This led to the nasty realisation, on the SER's part, that, instead of six layers of bricks, the tunnels had been built with only four layers. It would be prohibitively expensive to rebore the tunnels, so they simply added two layers of bricks and ordered special, narrower rolling stock, a restriction which continued until the Hastings diesels. (When the line was electrified in the late 1980s the track was singled through the tunnels, so normal trains could fit, hence why our class 375 does not look square.)
For those of you who may be confused by why I am offering a less full description of this line compared to my description of the Marshlink line, it was just too dark to make out much scenery, plus I've got bored of my own writing style.
After pausing at the magnificent-looking station at Tunbridge Wells, we trundled down the hill through High Brooms into Tonbridge, where 375924 was attached to the front, and we passed 375918 and 375302 on the 16.47 to Dover Priory, as well as 375903, making a move to the south of the station in order to arrive in the platform after us and attach to the following Hastings-Charing Cross service, which skips West St Leonards, Crowhurst, Robertsbridge, Etchingham, Stonegate, and Frant and was therefore only 20 minutes behind us.
Now running as a 12-car consist, we sped on into the darkness. 700020 was in a siding at Sevenoaks, with 700039 in the station having arrived from Blackfriars, and 465922 + 465029 arrived in the platform adjacent to us with a service from Charing Cross. At Orpington, we rejoined what was, for me, the beaten track, and various half-sighted carriage numbers in the various lit sidings as we picked our way into London - plus the odd unit passed at a station - brought a few more numbers: 700033, 375805, 375615, 465016, and 465161. Yes, I know that paragraph was light on detail. Sorry. I was hungry when I made my notes.
As we arrived into London Bridge, where ordinarily we would change, my dad asked me very nicely if I wouldn't mind making use of the Travelcards we'd bought to get into London, and wandering around getting a few of his required units which were showing up on Realtime Trains. I wasn't exactly going to say no, given the amount of new track that had been added to my record - it's only fair he got something out of the trip, right?
Hence, having been given a head-start by spotting 377164 at London Bridge, we proceeded to Waterloo East in order to make it to Clapham Junction, where we might track down the other unit. A quick run through the connecting passageway got us into the concourse in time to catch the slightly delayed 17.36 to Hampton Court - which, in possibly the pleasantest surprise of this day of pleasant surprises, was formed of 5721 and 5732. (We'd had our "last day" riding the 455s in December, so this was a very nice and unexpected bonus.)
Obviously Waterloo was replete with numbers. I have 701058 in my notes, but RTT insists that it would have been 701050 which I saw in platform 1 (see above remark on hunger), but I am dead certain that 450037 + 450114 were operating the 17.33 to Guildford, with 701037 and 701039 also making themselves plain at Waterloo and Vauxhall respectively.
Thankfully, we were just late enough into Clapham Junction - four down - to see 377439, our target, at the rear of its train to Dorking in platform 15. (It was too dark to see much else, but the essential trainspotter's companion of a pair of binoculars can work wonders, even if it makes you look a bit weird. It helps that we're both twitchers.) Objectives now complete, our thoughts turned to how far we could take our 455 swansong, now that we had no need to alight at Clapham. Earlsfield was ruled out, as we had attempted to make a quick change there on our 455 bash, and very nearly been defeated by its double gateline, but we really rather wanted to be back home in time for tea. So Wimbledon it was.
On the approach to Wimbledon, an idea occurred to us. Rather than heading back into Waterloo, why didn't we get a Sutton Loop train back to Farringdon, and change there for the Elizabeth Line? I checked RTT, and yes, there was a train at 18.07 - only a ten-minute wait. We alighted at Wimbledon, and made sure to take a picture of our definite final 455 as it departed, before we went to check the departure boards.
The departure board told us that the 18.07 was, in fact, running half an hour late, but was showing as on time on RTT as it hadn't yet reached Sutton. So with that plan foiled, we wandered over to platform 5, spotting 450099 + 450092 on the way, as well as trams 2530 and 2546.
158885 + 159006 + 159011 passed us on a service from Salisbury - I was certain the latter unit (in the middle of the consist) was 159022, but RTT disagreed. See above remark on hunger. 450043 + 450048 were also spotted, before we caught 450056 + 450052 back to Vauxhall in order to get the Victoria Line back to Oxford Circus, and hence get to Bond Street and home.
When we got down to the platform, there was a train there, stationary. Within about 30 seconds the operator had come on the PA and said that we were operating in severe delays and only as far as Kings Cross St Pancras due to a points failure at Seven Sisters. After a very long time, the doors closed, and we proceeded to Pimlico, after the operator had warned that we would likely spend several minutes at each station, as the line was operating effectively station-to-station to avoid stranding trains in tunnels, and the reversal process at Kings Cross St Pancras was taking some time.
After a comparatively short wait at Pimlico, the operator joyfully announced that the failure had been resolved, and we were now all systems go for Walthamstow. Having negotiated the always-very-busy Oxford Circus, which appeared to be operating some complicated one-way entrance/exit system, it was an easy and pleasant walk to Hanover Square, surprisingly peaceful for central London. And, with 10 minutes until the next Reading train, we couldn't resist one last haulage manoeuvre, slipping in a quick hop to Liverpool Street on 345059 before getting 345026 home. (The home straight was not a totally featureless journey - it's just that, having now ticked off all 345s, GWR 387s, and GWR 80xs for sight, I now don't usually bother noting them down except for haulage. By the same logic, I ought not note down 345s for haulage any more, given I've had them all, but what is spotting without a little inconsistency?)
I know I tend to write overly verbose conclusions to these, so I shall instead leave you with one simple thought. Why does the British seaside resort get such a bad press? Is it just because it's cold? Obviously I have never sampled the delights of Lanzarote or Tenerife or wherever - and I may be tempted to such exotic destinations, if only for the birding - but surely I'm not the only person who still gets a thrill of pleasure and a fulfilling day out from a pot of prawns and some fish and chips? Or am I just unhealthily addicted to seafood?
As for Hastings specifically, well: I think Mr Schwarzenegger had the phrase for it. And what other hobby could I have, I wonder, that could provide a legitimate excuse for taking what are sneeringly branded "staycations" at arbitrary points in the year, with no fewer possible destinations to explore than I had when I started?
(I hope this works.)
I'm not the kind of enthusiast to pick a tribe and stick to it. Wars may have been fought over whether track bashing or haulage bashing is superior, or whether you can really count all the units in a consist if you only travelled in one set, or whether you can highlight a line in your track atlas if you've only travelled over it in one direction. I simply do my best to treat each tribe with complete indifference - except for people who measure the distance between the train and the buffer stops at termini, because that way lies madness - and vaguely cheer as many corners as I can without appearing populist or insincere. This does mean that I can scribble "smug gloating so-and-so" over the page when the otherwise very funny Bill Bryson mocks the Branch Line Society, with no hint of hypocrisy other than the fact that I laugh at his strictures on literally everyone else. However, this also means that I cannot for the life of me plan any trip for which there is no ulterior non-railway motive, because how is a poor student meant to derive an answer to the eternal debate of whether this should be a trip to tick off track, or a trip to tick off stock?
Fortunately, a double helping of hand came along in the form of the Great British Rail Sale, a catchy enough concoction to make me significantly more amenable to the possibility of taking time out of my schedule for, shock horror, a day off, and my father, who actually reads the rail magazine I subscribe to and therefore knew it was happening. The sale meant one important thing that swayed the discussion in favour of a track-bashing day: certain tickets were running cheap enough that, with a careful selection, I could create my own mini-Rover, thereby potentially ticking off one of the annoying lines that exist in an extortionate, Rover-less vacuum - bonus points if it was one of a very few awkward routes in a region I had already mostly cleared. The line between Tonbridge and Hastings fitted both criteria, and included a bonus circular route: one carefully-selected ticket later, and we had a plan. Said plan was to head for Hastings via St Pancras and Rye, explore the delights of Hastings for however long took our fancy, then return via Tonbridge and London Bridge. A bonus on top of the bonus was that I hadn't cleared Class 395s for haulage to my satisfaction: I travelled on one during the 2012 Paralympics, but, as I have since transitioned from a skipping cherub of a small child to a grumpy journalistic bore scoffing a packet of Bananas & Shrimps, I considered the time ripe for another go.
In a fit of extreme forward planning, we got 9U55, the 08.00 Maidenhead-Abbey Wood, despite not being booked to leave St Pancras until 09.40. I can't now remember why we did it - possibly in case there was an 810 at St Pancras - but it turned out to be very much the correct decision. Not that we knew that at first, as we settled into 345027, and, after a brief flurry of excitement when 57312 and 57604 passed us with the stock from the up Night Riviera, I contented myself with showing my dad - who lurks I know not where in the depths of the forum - the excellent "Back in the day..." thread, which I am too young and too disorganised to contribute to.
By the time I had been told the story of the journey behind 47660 from Edinburgh to Kings Cross in 1990 (an excellent tale, but not mine to tell), we were at Hanwell, which was pleasing. Less pleasing was the fact that we were not moving. Even less pleasing was the fact that nothing seemed to be moving in the opposite direction. After a little time, the driver came on the PA and announced that, due to overhead wire problems in the Paddington area, the journey into London would be very slow. After passing 230001 in West Ealing sidings - when is there going to be progress on that? - we made an extra call at West Ealing before arriving at Ealing Broadway.
Having sat there for a few minutes, the driver rather despondently announced that there were several trains ahead of us in the section to Paddington and that the journey would be "signal to signal", again due to the overhead wire issues. (According to NRE, the issue was a safety inspection of the track at Acton... details, details.) At 08.56, running nearly half an hour late and with 44 minutes until our train from St Pancras, we made a split-second decision to abandon the train and get the Central Line. We ran to board a waiting train, which obligingly set off just after we got on, and, once we'd caught our breath, realised that we'd potentially made a catastrophic mistake.
Now, as it turned out, 9U55 left Ealing Broadway two minutes after we bailed, and suffered no further delay. We didn't know this at the time, but it would nevertheless make failure all the more galling. From Ealing Broadway on the Central Line, there are two possible routes to St Pancras: either change at White City, walk 200 yards down the road to Wood Lane, and get the Drumstick Line to Kings Cross St Pancras; or take the Central Line all the way to Oxford Circus and change for the Victoria Line. After quite a lot of discussion - and some unhelpfully long pauses at stations - we opted for the latter.
Having undertaken a brisk walk to the Victoria Line platforms at Oxford Circus - running being futile when there's a train every 60 seconds, not to mention the fact that I have temporarily been medically invalided from exercise - we boarded a train at 09.24. Given the Victoria Line operates at warp factor 7, I was fairly confident that we would be sped to Kings Cross St Pancras in enough time to reach our train with what qualifies in the bashing world as comfort. Looking back, the idea seems so ridiculous that I have been putting off typing this sentence for 24 hours in the hopes of alleviating my naivete.
We reached Kings Cross St Pancras at 09.30 sharp. My father expressed the view that we would make it. I pointed out that (as above) doctor's orders forbid me from exerting myself too much (although, given my phone is convinced that I walk at least three miles a day, the amount of practice I am in is up for debate), and from propelling myself at a speed above 3mph. I also pointed out that the last time I had been at Kings Cross St Pancras tube station, I had got lost (best date ever).
To cut a long story short, my misgivings caused such concern that we ran. Ran all the way from the top of the Victoria Line escalator to platform 13 at St Pancras. I was stiff for three days afterwards.
395014 + 395024 were waiting with the 09.40 to Margate, and we reached the sixth coach with four minutes to spare. 3008 and 4026 were waiting in the Eurostar platforms - as Eurostar allocations aren't on Realtime Trains, I have no idea what they were doing there, but it was certainly exceptionally odd to proceed, not onto the Midland Main Line, but into the space-age tunnel-bridge above Copenhagen Fields, emerging at Stratford International, all concrete, glass, and wind.
395026 + 395020 were heading in the opposite direction with a service from Ramsgate to St Pancras, and we accelerated into the other, longer tunnel, a seemingly interminable tube picking its way deftly under East London. Then, all of a sudden, daylight again, as we emerged blinking at Dagenham Dock, immediately confronted with the concrete piers of the A13 Thames Gateway road, and whisking along at 140mph parallel to the c2c line.
On and on we plunged, overtaking 66722 on the c2c line as easily as if it had been shunting its London Gateway-bound freight train. Then, suddenly, having enjoyed the delights of London's new docklands to the right, I looked over to the left - a rolling patchwork of fields, golf courses, and pretty, red-brick villages, a little church standing proud amidst the (rather damp-looking) pastures. And all this less than fifteen minutes from London, and separated, by the merest will-o'-the-wisp of steel rails, from a warren of industry, trade, commerce; clean white warehouse surfaces, and hot, hardboiled concrete plains, a stone's throw from a distant shore.
We flew under the QE2 Bridge - something I'd never seen before, but it was as if I was meeting an old friend. This is what a fourteen-years-and-counting obsession with the Radio 2 traffic news does to you. Another mere crack of a whip later, and we were at Ebbsfleet International - surprisingly busy for what seems to be little more than a white elephant, although if London continues sprawling southeastwards at its current rate, it will probably become extremely desirable at some point during my working life. Too bad I won't be able to afford to live anywhere south of Leicester.
A mere 38 minutes after leaving St Pancras, we arrived at Ashford International, where a tight six-minute connection onto the 10.24 to Eastbourne was not helped by a) the subway being disobligingly far from our chosen carriage, through no fault of its own, and b) hordes of people trying to get Eastbourne or wherever. This meant that 171805 was standing room only as we departed, passing 375601 and 375703 on a service from Charing Cross to Dover Priory, and 377508, 375818, 377124, and 375614 in the sidings as we curved away towards the lonely marshes.
For some reason, we departed early from both Ham Street and Appledore, quirky stations (the latter in a definition of the middle of nowhere that I have only found rivalled by Longcross and the Looe branch on my travels south of the Thames) with impressively staggered platforms. Given the patronage, I presume this caused no inconvenience, but my sense of punctuality was still mildly prickled. It is also worth noting at this point that, between Appledore and Rye, there are some very prominent wind turbines to the south-east, looking towards Dungeness. I have a driver's-eye-view DVD, bought from the Ian Allan shop at Waterloo, of the route from Brighton to Ashford - rather enjoyable, although not real-time. Ever since I bought it, it has stuck on a view of these turbines and refused to show any part of the DVD after it, which, according to the case, included several bonus features. Oh well.
Rye was, it turned out, where everybody was going, as the train basically emptied out, and we crossed with 171810. The flat, marshy landscape was now giving way to a slightly more three-dimensional picture, as we called at Winchelsea (apparently pronounced Win-Chelsea, as in Liam Rosenior's pre-match team talk, and a steep walk from the eponymous village), passed through Doleham (a kind of reverse Falls of Cruachan with calls only in the hours of winter darkness, though thankfully a year-round service), and called at the tiny halt at Three Oaks, where only the front coach was platformed. A couple of hikers had clearly not got the memo as they flew past us in the second carriage. I don't think they made it off.
After curving through thickly wooded cuttings and the long Ore Tunnel, we made it to Ore - the limit of my previous Southern Daysave explorations, back in the dying days of the 313s - and over a high bridge and embankment to Hastings. Incidentally, if you like nice urban vistas, the view from the bridge between Ore and Hastings is fantastic, looking out over little picture-postcard multicoloured houses squashed together up the side of the valley. Similarly excellent is the view departing Brighton station, when heading east towards London Road.
Hastings station is a rather neat visual microcosm of most British seaside towns - a perfectly functional, fit-for-purpose building with some nice retro features, but with a little bit of TLC necessary. The paint on the canopies is peeling and the ticket hall seems a little down-at-heel, but there is a lovely set of semaphore signals at the Ore end of the platforms, and it is by no means uninviting. 375913 and 375823 were waiting in platform 4, preparing to work the 11.30 to Charing Cross, and, as I waited for 171805 to depart, the idea of illustrating my reams of boring prose with a selection of tacky phone pictures was almost too tempting - hence the title of this report.
We were booked on the 15.44 back to Charing Cross, which would allow us a leisurely four-and-a-half hours to explore the delights that Hastings had to offer. I was going into it completely cold: my dad had done some research, but, equally, hadn't ever alighted at Hastings, and had passed through at most once or twice since the days of Thumpers. So it was very much a journey into the unknown for us.
Most of the seaside towns I know are in the north - those who have read my previous trip reports will know that I have a particular fondness for Scarborough and environs - and therefore I was wondering how many similarities there would be between the rather jolly, quaintly Northern resorts I am used to, and a resort filtered through the perhaps more cultured but less jolly Southern reserve/taciturnity (delete according to taste). However, I knew I would feel right at home when a young man with a beer can collared us outside the shopping centre, as we admired the Spirit of Cricket sculpture by Allan Sly which marks the location of the old cricket ground, and challenged us to find the ball. (If you go there, look on the wall of the building.)
There were a few posters in the town centre advertising attractions within a fairly wide radius - mostly connected to William the Conqueror, and hence printed in both English and French. I had hoped to be able to catch a glimpse of France, but, alas, the Continent was shrouded in mist when we got down to the seafront.
I don't know if seeing France would have avoided this, but I suddenly began to get the most terribly weird sense of dislocation, as we stood on the seafront. The view to my left, looking eastwards along the low promenade, was so uncannily like Scarborough - with the sand replaced by shingle - that I wasn't really fit to do more than stand gazing at it for a good few minutes. Once I'd got over the initial shock, however, it was rather pleasing to be in such a familiar environment - although I realise that describing the view in detail would be particularly tedious given this is meant to be about trains. If you'd like to know more, just visit Hastings - to save you reading the rest of the report, it is an excellent place.
After a pleasant walk along the shingle, heading eastwards, we moved back onto the road and picked our way through a small adventure playground with a massive crazy golf course (apparently the home of the World Crazy Golf Championships). It was at this point, roaming along the footpath, that we both heard the distinct hum of a diesel engine - and not only that, it didn't sound much like a car.
Upon further investigation, this was, in fact, the Hastings Miniature Railway, a 10.25"-gauge line (NB: apologies, my laptop doesn't do vulgar fractions) which, conveniently, links the main sweep of beach to the area known as Rock-a-Nore, home of several tempting-looking attractions, and where we were vaguely thinking of heading. There was a man standing next to the diesel locomotive, which was idling on a turntable, its rake of enclosed carriages standing patiently in the platform. I never did get his name, but he delivered us a fantastic and entertaining potted recent history of the railway before confessing to us that there was a minor operational snag.
The Christmas decorations were still up, which may have had something to do with it, but, either way, he had the correct key - the blue one - and the turntable was resolutely failing to unlock, and, with the points being sprung, there was no other way of running the locomotive round. To solve this problem, a Mobile Operations Manager (his son) had been dispatched in the Mobile Operations Motorcycle, and, hopefully, he would be able to diagnose the issue.
We were there a little while - during which some other punters turned up - awaiting the MOM, who eventually turned up, and trudged across the turntable to inspect the recalcitrant key and lock. He inspected the key for about a second, then, wordlessly, stared balefully at his father with a look of supreme teenage annoyance, and trudged off back to the Mobile Operations Motorcycle in order to collect the key from Rock-a-Nore.
It was worth it, though. It was so worth it. The line is laid on shingle through a narrow gap between the backs of the buildings along the main harbour road and the path running alongside the beach itself, twisting and turning as if it is a real branch line laid like a pipe cleaner through the deft folds of a real landscape, and those buildings are mountains...
The line passes Hastings Contemporary Art Gallery - which we didn't have time for but is on my list for next time - before negotiating a brilliantly fun tunnel, seemingly passing through a fish and chip shop (I think it's simply had a first-floor extension built over it), and entering the terminus. After thanking our driver, we crossed the line to have a quick look at the excellent Fishermen's Museum next door, which, like the Shipwreck Museum two doors down, is free. There is nothing better than a free museum, particularly one that has such a thought-provoking mix of entertaining bits and bobs and real reminders of the dangers of deep-sea fishing - the large boat that you can access the deck of is scary enough on dry land! It was also an excellent source of information on the distinctive "net shops" which line the road along the seafront - tall and charmingly rickety constructions made of wood, with the unsurprising purpose of storing fishermen's nets and other accoutrements. I confess I developed enough of a soft spot for them that I couldn't resist taking a photograph.
At this point, I treated myself to a fresh pot of vinegary prawns from the nearest seafood stall (in the North they serve them plain, which is nicer), and, for our next trick, we decided to sample the East Hill funicular railway which runs from outside the Fishermen's Museum up, you guessed it, East Hill. (There is also the West Hill Lift, which we didn't have time for and is also on my list for next time.) Despite costing an extortionate £5.50 (though students go at a discounted rate), it has plenty going for it, having the steepest climb of any funicular in the country at around 1 in 3. It looks a lot steeper from inside the carriage! The view, both from the carriage and the top of the hill, is magnificent, looking over the sea and over Hastings Old Town (the area east of the station).
The crenellated funicular building is at the top of the cliff, but the hill itself continues steeply for quite some way. For those who are so inclined, there are lots of signed walks along the coast, mostly radiating out east towards Fairlight: if they're as nice as the little walk we took, then I'd imagine they'd be glorious on a summer's day. We just walked straight on, in a broadly north-east direction, the path turning into a little road as we passed seemingly the entire dog-owning population of East Sussex in the opposite direction, and, having essentially come out onto a semi-urban road on the outskirts of Ore (I apologise for butchering the local geography, but this is as close as I can get), we decided to turn towards Hastings, eventually coming out onto Harold Road at its junction with Godwin Road. I suspect there is a theme there.
At least in the downhill direction, it is a splendid walk. At a complicated junction, the High Street forks off to the right, an interesting mix of old and new buildings teeming with niche shops (antiques are a particular speciality). This was pleasing enough, and we took it at a leisurely pace to take in the architecture, but, just as we neared the sea, the beautiful noise of a busker playing some jazz guitar music led us down George Street, which runs behind the prom and lies at the bottom of the West Cliff Lift. The reason I mention this street in particular is that it is home to the most amazing bookshop - Albion Books - which has a fantastic transport section (including buses, trolleybuses, and trams as well as rail) and is so full of books that there is absolutely no room at all to swing a cat. Of course, when faced with such a veritable selection of railway books, I bought a selection of theological essays, but it was fun looking at them on the shelf...!
After a very late fish and chip lunch from the wonderfully named The Cod Father establishment - also pictured, because it was excellent (by Southern standards) - we just had time to battle up the hill to make a flying visit to the Hastings Museum. It being a flying visit, there isn't that much of a review I can give, but for those of you interested in railway history, there is a very good display on Thomas Brassey and his equally interesting family. His son, also called Thomas, was a Liberal politician who became Governor of Victoria. There is a huge model of their family yacht, Sunbeam, which became the first private yacht to circumnavigate the world (and I think the museum also claimed it was the first steam-powered circumnavigation, but I may have got that mixed up), and, when he was 79, Brassey sailed it to Greece for use as a hospital ship during the Gallipoli campaign.
(Apologies, I appreciate that Thomas Brassey Senior is the more interesting from a railway perspective!)
A leisurely stroll took us down to Hastings station in plenty of time for the 15.44 back to London. 375913 and 375823 were just departing with the preceding 15.20, while 171805 called with the 15.25 to Ashford International (I still get a thrill of pleasure from seeing a semaphore move) and 387123 and 387221 worked the 15.25 to Three Bridges from platform 2: a Southern service, worked by one unit in Great Northern livery and one unit in Gatwick Express livery. Obviously it's nice to see this flexibility, given the general allergy to cascading that the railway seems to have been prone to over the last few years, but it was a good image of how needlessly fragmented the railway's corporate identity is. Where's Frank Pick when you need him?
375607 and 375819 were in charge of the 15.44, but, just as they were arriving, I caught sight of a test train running into platform 2, that would more than likely be obscured by the arriving train. Thankfully, the test train's passage was slow enough that my little legs were able to transport me to the platform end to get a photograph of 73961 at its head - 73963 brought up the rear. It appeared to have worked from Dollands Moor to Eastbourne earlier in the day, before reversing in the sidings between Hastings and Ore, heading to Tonbridge and back, and thence via Ashford International and Clapham Junction to Woking Yard.
(You will no doubt be pleased to learn that at this point it started becoming dark, so I lost the ability to take awful phone pictures.)
377119 passed us with the 15.37 to Ore, before we departed 90 seconds late and headed towards the excellently-named Bopeep Tunnel and Bopeep Junction, where we diverged from the line towards Eastbourne. We had picked an all-stations service, so the journey wasn't especially fast, but it was a pleasant enough run through thickly wooded hills in the crepuscular light. Having gone through Battle - one of Simon Jenkins's top hundred stations - we called at Robertsbridge, terminus of the preserved Rother Valley Railway, where Class 03 shunter D2112 was parked in a siding, and passed Hastings diesel unit 1001 at Wadhurst, which was working a charter to Hastings from Windsor & Eton Riverside. I have seen it before. It's very square.
For those of you who may be confused by why this unit would be particularly square, the story goes way back to when the line from Tonbridge to Hastings was first built, in the early 1850s. The South Eastern Railway was feeling particularly tight - as were many companies during the Mania - and wished to build its line to Hastings as quickly as possible, because it was in competition with the London, Brighton, and South Coast Railway (one for the bingo card). In order to achieve this, they took the cheapest contractor they could find, who charged them for six layers of brick lining in the tunnels, and left them to it. Fast forward to when the line opened, and one of the tunnels collapsed. This led to the nasty realisation, on the SER's part, that, instead of six layers of bricks, the tunnels had been built with only four layers. It would be prohibitively expensive to rebore the tunnels, so they simply added two layers of bricks and ordered special, narrower rolling stock, a restriction which continued until the Hastings diesels. (When the line was electrified in the late 1980s the track was singled through the tunnels, so normal trains could fit, hence why our class 375 does not look square.)
For those of you who may be confused by why I am offering a less full description of this line compared to my description of the Marshlink line, it was just too dark to make out much scenery, plus I've got bored of my own writing style.
After pausing at the magnificent-looking station at Tunbridge Wells, we trundled down the hill through High Brooms into Tonbridge, where 375924 was attached to the front, and we passed 375918 and 375302 on the 16.47 to Dover Priory, as well as 375903, making a move to the south of the station in order to arrive in the platform after us and attach to the following Hastings-Charing Cross service, which skips West St Leonards, Crowhurst, Robertsbridge, Etchingham, Stonegate, and Frant and was therefore only 20 minutes behind us.
Now running as a 12-car consist, we sped on into the darkness. 700020 was in a siding at Sevenoaks, with 700039 in the station having arrived from Blackfriars, and 465922 + 465029 arrived in the platform adjacent to us with a service from Charing Cross. At Orpington, we rejoined what was, for me, the beaten track, and various half-sighted carriage numbers in the various lit sidings as we picked our way into London - plus the odd unit passed at a station - brought a few more numbers: 700033, 375805, 375615, 465016, and 465161. Yes, I know that paragraph was light on detail. Sorry. I was hungry when I made my notes.
As we arrived into London Bridge, where ordinarily we would change, my dad asked me very nicely if I wouldn't mind making use of the Travelcards we'd bought to get into London, and wandering around getting a few of his required units which were showing up on Realtime Trains. I wasn't exactly going to say no, given the amount of new track that had been added to my record - it's only fair he got something out of the trip, right?
Hence, having been given a head-start by spotting 377164 at London Bridge, we proceeded to Waterloo East in order to make it to Clapham Junction, where we might track down the other unit. A quick run through the connecting passageway got us into the concourse in time to catch the slightly delayed 17.36 to Hampton Court - which, in possibly the pleasantest surprise of this day of pleasant surprises, was formed of 5721 and 5732. (We'd had our "last day" riding the 455s in December, so this was a very nice and unexpected bonus.)
Obviously Waterloo was replete with numbers. I have 701058 in my notes, but RTT insists that it would have been 701050 which I saw in platform 1 (see above remark on hunger), but I am dead certain that 450037 + 450114 were operating the 17.33 to Guildford, with 701037 and 701039 also making themselves plain at Waterloo and Vauxhall respectively.
Thankfully, we were just late enough into Clapham Junction - four down - to see 377439, our target, at the rear of its train to Dorking in platform 15. (It was too dark to see much else, but the essential trainspotter's companion of a pair of binoculars can work wonders, even if it makes you look a bit weird. It helps that we're both twitchers.) Objectives now complete, our thoughts turned to how far we could take our 455 swansong, now that we had no need to alight at Clapham. Earlsfield was ruled out, as we had attempted to make a quick change there on our 455 bash, and very nearly been defeated by its double gateline, but we really rather wanted to be back home in time for tea. So Wimbledon it was.
On the approach to Wimbledon, an idea occurred to us. Rather than heading back into Waterloo, why didn't we get a Sutton Loop train back to Farringdon, and change there for the Elizabeth Line? I checked RTT, and yes, there was a train at 18.07 - only a ten-minute wait. We alighted at Wimbledon, and made sure to take a picture of our definite final 455 as it departed, before we went to check the departure boards.
The departure board told us that the 18.07 was, in fact, running half an hour late, but was showing as on time on RTT as it hadn't yet reached Sutton. So with that plan foiled, we wandered over to platform 5, spotting 450099 + 450092 on the way, as well as trams 2530 and 2546.
158885 + 159006 + 159011 passed us on a service from Salisbury - I was certain the latter unit (in the middle of the consist) was 159022, but RTT disagreed. See above remark on hunger. 450043 + 450048 were also spotted, before we caught 450056 + 450052 back to Vauxhall in order to get the Victoria Line back to Oxford Circus, and hence get to Bond Street and home.
When we got down to the platform, there was a train there, stationary. Within about 30 seconds the operator had come on the PA and said that we were operating in severe delays and only as far as Kings Cross St Pancras due to a points failure at Seven Sisters. After a very long time, the doors closed, and we proceeded to Pimlico, after the operator had warned that we would likely spend several minutes at each station, as the line was operating effectively station-to-station to avoid stranding trains in tunnels, and the reversal process at Kings Cross St Pancras was taking some time.
After a comparatively short wait at Pimlico, the operator joyfully announced that the failure had been resolved, and we were now all systems go for Walthamstow. Having negotiated the always-very-busy Oxford Circus, which appeared to be operating some complicated one-way entrance/exit system, it was an easy and pleasant walk to Hanover Square, surprisingly peaceful for central London. And, with 10 minutes until the next Reading train, we couldn't resist one last haulage manoeuvre, slipping in a quick hop to Liverpool Street on 345059 before getting 345026 home. (The home straight was not a totally featureless journey - it's just that, having now ticked off all 345s, GWR 387s, and GWR 80xs for sight, I now don't usually bother noting them down except for haulage. By the same logic, I ought not note down 345s for haulage any more, given I've had them all, but what is spotting without a little inconsistency?)
I know I tend to write overly verbose conclusions to these, so I shall instead leave you with one simple thought. Why does the British seaside resort get such a bad press? Is it just because it's cold? Obviously I have never sampled the delights of Lanzarote or Tenerife or wherever - and I may be tempted to such exotic destinations, if only for the birding - but surely I'm not the only person who still gets a thrill of pleasure and a fulfilling day out from a pot of prawns and some fish and chips? Or am I just unhealthily addicted to seafood?
As for Hastings specifically, well: I think Mr Schwarzenegger had the phrase for it. And what other hobby could I have, I wonder, that could provide a legitimate excuse for taking what are sneeringly branded "staycations" at arbitrary points in the year, with no fewer possible destinations to explore than I had when I started?
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