Losing Track

Old Iron...

2012-01-24T13:13:00.000-08:00

"All the cycles I've ever owned..." Not really, that would be a very long list. You'll be relieved to know that I'm just going to give some edited highlights, starting with the first, a Triumph Palm Beach. My Dad did actually "put aside" a British Racing Green Raleigh from Curry's one Christmas when I was ten, but the shop sold it to someone else. My Uncle took pity on me and gave me his old bike. Into my teens, I repainted the poor thing white, put dropped handlebars on it and by the time I was fourrteen and growing fast, I had to buy a new, longer seat pin. It was a little like a pimped-up chav bike, before those things had ever been thought of.
I toured all over the Peak District, Cheshire and Anglesey on it. I didn't even have a puncture once. By now, I was riding with a local club and feeling the need for a "proper" racing machine. So I sold the Triumph (for £12!!) and bought a Penine with Reynolds 531 tubing. I remember my Dad telling me that I could "Buy a bloody car fer what that 'bike cost!" but it was like flying, riding that thing.
It was a blessing and a curse. I won a couple of small-time club races on it, but it had this strange unsteadiness about it when at speed. The last time I rode it, I was going away from my then girl-friend's house at the top of a steep hill. I set off like Mario Ciappucci, with bravura. The bike went into serious instability as I reached the "wobble band" at about 25 mph and I just couldn't control it. I went over the wall at the first bend and straight into the River Etherow. All this with her and her dad watching.

As so often happens in cycling clubs, when the news of my embarrassing incident became known and the laughter had died down, (that took quite a while) one of the old stagers in the club very kindly gave me a bike "to tide me over". Not just any old bike. A Reg Harris, no less, long in the tooth but immaculate- and a joy to ride. Later, I owned or had the use of several very fine machines but when out for a pleasure run, I would always take the Reg Harris. Someone tried to steal it once, while I was in a Model Shop in Manchester. I just caught sight of him outside and I tore after the guy. He couldn't get his foot into the rat-traps and I grabbed him by his neck. It must have hurt, judging by the scream he let out.He flailed at me, catching me with the pliers he'd used to break my cheapo lock. I had to walk the bike, blood streaming down my face, to Harry Hall's to get the forks re-set as he had bent them falling off. It never felt the same afterwards, but I kept it for a long time, until it was eventually stolen for good from our shed.

I subsequently had a number of exotic steeds, none of which I can remember with much fondness. Then I gave up cycling for hill-walking until I watched the 1987 Tour de France. Galvanised with rekindled passion for the sport, I ordered a Peugeot Perthus Pro. It was a grand's worth of bike and rode superbly... almost like riding nothing, like simply achieving locomotion by thinking about it. By now I was a member of a Glasgow cycling club and one or two of the other guys were unkind enough to say that the Perthus was wasted on an old man (I was 33 at the time). It just made me train harder, until one glorious afternoon in a club race, I strung the peloton out for a mile while climbing the Crow Road and gave my critics a little pain, as Bernard Hinault would have said.

I still have the Perthus. It has done over 8,000 miles, many of those in France. It's topped the Ventoux and the Snake Pass a few times. It sprints for village signs without my even needing to ask. I still get a thrill of excitement looking at it, sitting in our cosy store room. A few years ago, I got Harry Quinn to build me something similar, exactly to my own measurements...it's very comfortable. But I still prefer the Perthus.

Two Wheeled Tales- what goes round, comes around...

2012-01-09T13:29:00.000-08:00

Thanks to Ferev Garcia for the great photo, link at end of post

I wonder, as this blog is about transport, why I haven't mentioned cycling at all in the last seventy-odd posts. Especially when it has been such a big part of my life for as long as I can remember. So here goes. In an attempt to redress the balance, the first of my (many, I'm afraid...) two-wheeled tales.

I know it's a hard leap of the imagination now, but in my (slightly) earlier years, let's say between 18 and 45, I was a very keen racing cyclist. I'd ride to work by a circuitous route that added another 20 miles to the journey and on Sundays would do 80-100 miles with the club. Saturdays were for watching bike racing, racing, time trialling or usually....more miles. In order to preserve some sort of normal life and to make sure my wife didn't leave me, I would go out training in the summer months at 6 in the morning, an ideal time as the air is wonderful and there isn't much traffic on the road.

Except that when traffic comes, it isn't really awake, or expecting to see a cyclist. So, there I was, cycling along through East Kilbride, south of Glasgow, listening to the dawn chorus and powering up a slight hill, when I heard a heavy articulated truck behind me. I looked back to check and yes, it was coming for me. I didn't think for a minute that the driver hadn't seen me, since having an LGV licence myself, I had a good deal of faith in the profession.

The first thing I knew was that I was being propelled off my bike, head first in to a hedge, where I groggily noted that the truck had hastily stopped. As I picked myself up, wondering where I was, I saw the driver pulling the bike from under the tractor of his rig and then throwing it into the hedge. I shouted, to which he responded with a well known Glasgow response, questioning whether my parents had been married when I was born.

I knew the haulage company that owned the truck, because their vehicles were a familiar sight past my house at that time, so later, when I had walked home carrying the remains of my bike and treated the various cuts from the hedge, I gave them a phone. Of course, they denied everything, saying that they didn't have a truck on the road at that time. I phoned the police, who couldn't have been less interested, even when I told them that the company's story would be disproved by the tacho records of the truck. I decided to write it down to experience, telling myself that I had been incredibly lucky not to have been seriously injured.

Fast forward four years. I was called for jury service. A royal pain, as work was very busy at the time. Down at the courthouse, a very unsavoury character was being tried for attempted murder. The defence trotted out a story about how the gentleman managed a large haulage company and was of unimpeachable character. However, as the trial progressed, some very unpleasant stuff came out and, to cut a long story short, he was obviously going down. I was the foreman, and as I gave our verdict, the prosecution rushed to the bench and handed a huge sheaf of "previous" to be given in consideration, which made me feel we'd made the right decision.

A few days later, I was having a cup of coffee after a training run when my wife silently handed me the local newspaper, open at an article about the owner of a local haulage firm. He'd been sent to prison for 15 years.I looked at the photo- It was my man, right enough, but what made me splutter was the name of the firm. Yes, the same one that owned the truck that had mown me down. The company went bust a few months after. I can't say I shed any tears for the drivers, if they were all like the one I made the acquaintance of on my training run.

Ferev Garcia on Flickr

Wonderful Zodiac

2011-12-28T14:29:00.000-08:00

Martinwas in the back seat of the Ford Zodiac, going at some clip—sixty,sixty-five on the speedo’. His Dad was in the front and his UncleDerek was driving. It was misty, so that you couldn’t see furtherthan a couple of hundred yards, but Martin made out lights, neonsigns, then shadowy forms of things that could be buildings, or shipswith companionways lit up, maybe oil gantries, all blurred with thefog and the speed.

Thecar lurched sideways , throwing him from one side of the rear seat tothe other. Uncle Derek spun the wheel, this way, that way, churningthe world around in a haze of tyre smoke. Eventually, things stoppedmoving. All was still, except for the dizziness in his head. Theengine turned over quietly now, as if nothing had happened, as ifthis was all quite normal. Derek turned round, smiling. “How didyou like that, Marty? She can shift, can’t she!”

Synonymous with the sixties, mini-skirts and pop music, the trans-atlantic styled Ford Zephyr and it's up-market cousin the Zodiac were to be a runaway success on the British market.

Wikipedia: "The Mark II Zodiac was slightly altered to distinguish it from the lesser variants, having more elaborate tail-end styling and at the front a different grille. The auxiliary lamps and wing mirrors were deleted from the Zodiac range but it retained two-tone paint, whitewall tyres, chrome wheel-trim embellishers and gold plated badges.
A car tested by the British magazine The Motor in 1956 had a top speed of 87.9 mph (141.5 km/h) and could accelerate from 0-60 mph (97 km/h) in 17.1 seconds. A fuel consumption of 21.5 miles per imperial gallon (13.1 L/100 km; 17.9 mpg_-US) was recorded. The test car cost £968 including taxes.

Photo: Adrian Pingstone

Coupe de Ville

2011-12-27T03:18:00.000-08:00

A Cadillac...in the Scottish borders! This is a first generation Coupe de Ville, in magnificent condition. I saw it at the Abingdon services on one of my Aberdeen runs in the summer...it later overtook me as I lumbered north. Have to say... it sounded superb.

Sorry about the Tupperware trailer in the head-on photo.

Here's a Wiki link to the marque.

Barn Finds

2011-10-18T07:39:00.000-07:00

High up in a remote Welsh valley, we encountered a deserted farm. I knew from the cut of the place there would be an old tractor lurking - I just didn't expect two!

More Trains in the Landscape

2011-09-25T07:34:00.000-07:00

Linda and Blanche on the Ffestiniog Railway, passing in front of the Moelwyn mountains. Llyn Ystradau is in the middle left. Below, a view from the upper part of the quartz rib seen on the ground halfway up the mountain in the photo above. This time it's just Blanche.

Getting off at Paisley...

2011-08-28T02:38:00.000-07:00

That's an old Glasgow saying for not doing the job properly....Switch to Edinburgh, and it's all being written out for us there on the streets. The Tram project has been a fiasco, with all and sundry creaming off the top, brown-envelope style. It's been unpopular with locals, understandably, because of the chaos. But now the Edinburgh Councillors want to stop the project at Haymarket rather than continue into Princes Street.
Only thing is, the track is already laid towards Princes street. It will cost (a conservatively estimated) 9 million quid to get rid of it. Probably more when the brown envelopes have been passed round. I guess the councillors will sell the steel off cheap to some of their pals, perhaps, and that way their precious particulate spewing buses will be safe.
I used to do regular business in Edinburgh in the 80's. It was no use taking the car, as Princes Street is a war zone for traffic- and there's nowhere to park. So I got the train to Waverley and walked to my customer. Simple, pleasant and cost-effective- and a lot safer than dicing with death on the M8.. If I could get off a plane and then board a tram to Princes street, that would be brilliant. A recent visit to the city revealed that things are no better.
I love the poster at the head of this post, (thanks very much, "Edinburgh Van Man"). Somehow it misses the point, spectacularly. As do the Councillors of Edinburgh. But then, vested interest is always blind, isn't it?

This from the Guardian:
"According to the last detailed budget presented to councillors, ending the trams at Haymarket, west of the city centre, will lose the scheme £4m a year.
It also means the trams will end roughly two miles and three stops short of St Andrew Square, next to the city's main train and bus stations, which was chosen as a last-minute compromise to save the project from complete collapse. Running the line that far was expected to generate £2m a year in profits.
The project, once seen as the spine for a network of tram lines around the city, was originally intended to run for 11.5m (18.5km) from Edinburgh airport, through the city centre, to Leith and then Newhaven on the coast."
How did they ever get Manchester's trams off the drawing board?

Things are different in Ireland, too...see this link

Link to Edinburgh Trams official site here.

The Return of Jack Steeple!

2011-08-23T06:50:00.000-07:00

I've been working on my Jack Steeple strip again. I'd been thinking that casting Noel Edmunds as the devil was really rather silly, so I have substituted a shadowy figure of a miner. This only affects one page of the narrative, namely page 3. There's quite a bit more, which I will post very soon. If you want to catch up with the earlier episodes, click the link in the contents bar at the right under "Jack Steeple".

Road Running, Continental Style!

2011-08-20T07:56:00.000-07:00

There was me thinking the WHR had the monopoly on this kind of thing...

To think of all the faffing that goes on in Porthmadog on the WHR with signs, buzzers, lights, more signs, more lights, signs for cyclists...sheesh!
Thanks to "MagicTrains" on YouTube for this great film

Rotten to the Core...Landies in the landscape

2011-08-20T05:40:00.000-07:00

Contrary to popular belief, Land Rovers rust. The chassis quietly corrodes away to wafer thin-ness, and then something goes with a clang; or the MOT man fails the vehicle and all sorts of welded patches appear underneath. Then there's the corrosion of the aluminium body panels where they meet steel, and the bulkheads and the footwells. The outriggers. The rear three quarters. You can tell I've owned a Landy, can't you? It's OK. I'm recovering now.

These days I just like to photograph old Landies, preferably rusty, corroded ones that are past saving. It's kind of therapeutic.

Sleeping Fodens

2011-08-16T13:47:00.000-07:00

Perhaps the title is a little fanciful. Sadly, I don't think these trucks will ever wake up again. They've been sitting here in Blaenau Ffestiniog for the last six or seven years to my knowledge, probably longer. I kept driving past them and thought I'd better take a couple of snaps before it was too late, before they had sunk into the ground in a pile of rust and fibreglass shards.

This model of Foden is one of my favourites, and these trucks must have been very imposing in their day. One was an eight-legger and I can imagine the tips echoing to the mighty roar of it's engines. Ironically, the trucks are passed by a daily convoy of Scania and Volvo eight wheelers, taking slate for hard-core from the old Maenofferen tip to the Porthmadog by-pass, or the new gas pipeline in the vale of Ffestiniog.

Distantly Observed Trains

2011-07-12T14:16:00.000-07:00

More trains from a distance, but this time from the west side of the valley, high above Glan-y-Pwll. We were perched at an adit entrance from the Nyth-y-Gigfran mine...there is a drop of a few hundred feet, almost vertically from this point.
Our viewpoint for the photo in the previous post can be seen in the first photo- on the tips left of centre distance just above the green patches of heather.
The second photo is of Merddyn Emrys, blowing his whistle for the crossing at Glan-y-Pwll.

Spot the Train

2011-07-10T05:56:00.000-07:00

David Lloyd George, running from Tan-y-Grisiau towards Blaenau Ffestiniog. Seen from Diffwys floor six above Blaenau Ffestiniog.
More on Diffwys at Treasure Maps

Ashes to Ashes...

2011-02-05T02:28:00.000-08:00

No sign of Gene Hunt, but for some reason, we're back in the eighties again! Unfortunately, my car hasn't metamorphosed into an Audi Quattro, but never mind. Yes, it's another trawl through my father-in-law's old photos found in a cupboard...and many thanks to Widget for help with the historical bits, although I'm sure others will point out more mistakes I've committed to blog!

First off is this photo of Prince at Blaenau in ..possibly...eighty-two.

I initially thought that this was in the late seventies, but I'm told that Prince spent much of the seventies languishing in Boston Lodge. Blaenau opened in 1982, and the old boy re-appeared with the stepped chassis in '81. Things look pretty raw on the ground, so I guess this is early eighties. Whatever, Prince is one of my favourites, although I'm told there are slim chances of him re-appearing for a long time. I love the way that he sounds when working hard, like a much bigger engine. In the background is Craig Nyth-y-gigfran and to the right, the south end of the Oakley tips.

Another one of my favourite locos, now consigned to the back of the works in a cupboard marked "maybe, one day"... and look Ma, no canopy! Strange to see Port without it's familiar roof over the platform. Mountaineer looks good here, with the reprofiled cab sides.

Here's Linda at an unspecified location, with the proud crew posing for the camera. I suspect the water tower is a give-away here.

Finally this little beauty, Linda at Dduallt with, I am told, Paul Lewin leaning noncholantly on the cab side. Again I thought this was Blanche but thanks to a kind Flickr contributor: "Linda has an open cab, whereas Blanche has a fixed pony truck cab section. Also Linda has the original square valve chest above the cylinders, Blanche was fitted with piston valves in the 70's so has angled valve chests." It's a nice photo, too...well done Bill!

Photos by kind permission of Bill Brown

I'm a Road Runner, Baby...

2011-01-20T12:40:00.000-08:00

Paul Lewin encourages Taliesin to take to the road past the Shell garage in Porthmadog

Apologies to Junior Walker and the All Stars, but there's something really fascinating about trains running on public roads. Especially when they are as charming as Taliesin, the famous single-Fairlie, seen here on a mince-pie and sherry charter for the Ffestiniog Railway. We'd watched the testing runs of empty trains over the bridge a few weeks back, but this was the first time either of us had seen a service train going over the Britannia Bridge.

The whole Porthmadog to Caernarfon line isn't fully open yet; This service would normally be running up the Ffestiniog to Trwyn-y-Garnedd, but can't as the line is severed because of the By-Pass construction- a bridge is being built for the line at Minffordd. This train runs to Hafod-y-Llyn and then back through to Pont Croesor where the pies and the sherry feature large-style. Taliesin couldn't manage further up the line without help from a friend, as the gradient racks up after Hafod-y-Llyn. On the flat though, he's quite happy with this kind of consist, and hurries the train along very respectably.

The big opening for through running to Caernarfon is 19/02/11 with two special inauguration specials, but full public services won't be until 20/04/11.

Thanks to those nice people on Flickr for making this photo Explore 135 today!

D'yer Like That?

2011-01-10T14:27:00.000-08:00

Foden images by kind permission of Gewil on Flickr

I often drive through the Llanberis Pass, usually on my way to the old slate quarries, or the slate quarry museum there. Every time I do, I'm aware of an image that seems to be lodged in my mind. It's an image of Fred Dibnah, driving his Aveling Steam Tractor over the top of the pass, a long cavalcade of cars behind him. For me, it symbolises the man; he was desperately ill at the time and didn't have long left. But there he was, in your face, going against the grain, chuffing up the pass to make a BBC documentary. A last flourish of bright flame before the fire went out forever

I've read some of the books about him and know that there were many sides to his character, not all of them cuddly or loveable. But he was special in so many ways, a one-off, someone completely immersed in the technology and forgotten skills of a bygone age...he didn't just wallow in nostalgia as some of us are prone to do, he lived it- by heck, he grabbed it by the throat, shook it and brought it to life again for us.

As a result, probably everybody knows that his house and workshop have been turned into a museum, a statue has been erected in his home (shouldn't that be “whoam”?) town of Bolton and people still remember him, buying his books and videos, the magazine tributes, the spin-offs, keeping the image alive.

I'm guilty myself of starting (although not finishing) a graphic novel featuring him as “Ted Steeple”...I wanted him to go back in time to meet Isambard Kingdom Brunel and Geordie Stephenson; it was a bit of fun which, if encouraged, I may well get back to.

What sparked these thoughts off was the photograph at the top of this post that I found on Flickr. The Fred Dibnah tribute livery is sensitively and superbly done. I've had a few adventures, good and bad, with Foden's over the years and will no doubt get round to writing about them, but they are still one of my favourite marques. I'd be proud to be seen in this truck.

Gewil's photos on Flickr

Excellent Wiki page about Fred

Welsh Highland Promise

2010-12-04T15:11:00.000-08:00

Just a few words to go with these two photos of my summer memories. Although we live quite near to the WHR, every time we took an afternoon off to go train spotting, the weather was characterised by a remarkable dullness at best. Of course, the next day (when we had to work) would be delightfully sunny and warm. C'est la guerre.

I'm going to try and be at the lineside a bit more next year, now that we will have a full railway and there will be the possibility of seeing Garrats, Mallets and double Fairlies on trains. Mallets, you say? Well, according to the mighty Isengard site, Statfold Barn's Mallet 0-4-4-0T, Jung works No.4878, will be on an extended visit next year on service trains. Well, they had to find some way of following an appearance by Julia Bradbury.

Many a slip 'twixt lip and cup

2010-10-20T04:55:00.000-07:00

Another time, another place- Blanche is ready for the off at Minffordd

If I was asked to name a favourite station on the Ffestiniog Railway, it would be Tan-y-Bwlch. It has a nice cafe, set in beautiful surroundings with excellent views of the train. The light is often rather lovely in the high summer as the rays filter through the tree canopy. But my main reason for enjoying the station is that in times of mist or drizzle, a slip and a bit of a struggle to get the train under way is almost guaranteed, unless the driver has almost supernatural capabilities. Starting a train on a curve, up a gradient, after a splashy water stop- well, that's a big ask. Even when under way, the loco will often slip again as the gradient worsens from 1 in 100 to 1 in 86 just outside the station on Creuau bank. It's music to the ears to listen as the driver expertly controls the slip, using the merest hint of regulator to get things going again.

Some years ago, we were watching Blanche and her crew take water on a brilliantly hot June day. Although we didn't know it, Blanche was about to exhibit the sort of behaviour I have only ever known her much naughtier sister Linda get up to. After a smart water stop and a quick check of the loco, a buffet person brought the driver and fireman cups of hot chocolate. The train was a full one and Blanche was furious to get going, as she always is- like a terrier that has seen a rat. There were several gricers standing around, giving anyone that would listen the benefit of their vast knowledge. The guard gave the right away and the driver, aware of his critical audience, stood on the footplate drinking his chocolate, then nudging the regulator as if it was an act of the utmost noncholance. A mighty slip followed, with a column of steam and oil smoke. The poor man's chocolate went flying amid a chorus of laughs from the gricers. I kept silent, for I have been the victim of one of Linda's tantrums a long time ago and still remember how it feels.

Again, the driver gingerly opened the regulator. Slip. the performance was repeated six or seven times, before the fireman decided to fill his chocolate cup with sand and pour it on the rails in front of Blanche. She was not impressed, moving forward a yard before slipping again. The driver always controlled the slip immediately, best practice in these situations- we all remember "Blue Peter's" disastrous slip some years ago which demolished the valve gear.

Blanche did eventually get going, and although the guys around me generally trashed the driver (I wonder if any of them had ever driven a train from this spot instead of just talking about it?) I reckoned the loco crew did well. Blanche continued to slip all the way up Creuau before finding her feet eventually on Tafarntrip. The crew's only crime was to try to be nonchalant. Blanche will sometimes pay you back for that.

The Ffestiniog Railway. Still here, still doing it in style.

2010-10-16T05:14:00.000-07:00

It's hard not to be aware of the trains in the Vale of Ffestiniog, as they snake precariously high above on a ledge. Sometimes a column of smoke in the trees or a glint of golden brass might give away the presence of the Earl of Meirioneth, or Blanche. A deep, mournful chime echoing off the Moelwyns means that David Lloyd George is probably on the case, working with the minimum of fuss. The railway gets on with things, as it always has done. Less obvious is the effort and cost, borne in great part by the volunteer work force, ordinary supporters and a key group of full-time staff.

I first visited the railway when I was five, which wasn't yesterday; and I was shown around the footplate of "Prince" by a friend of my Dad's who happened to be driving that day. So began a lifelong love of the line. As I grew up, I agonised over the progress of the Dduallt spiral, collected Green Shield Stamps for a new digger, toiled on the track and eagerly awaited the arrival of the society magazine each quarter. Even though I live less than a few crow's wingbeats from the line, I still open my Ffestiniog Magazine with a thrill of excitement.

It's been a hell of a journey from those early days with only "Prince" and a few bug boxes, to today. All along the way, there were those self-appointed experts who said it couldn't be done, and they are still droning on now, when the railway has proved to the world that it has, well, nothing to prove. Last week, some pompous fool told me authoritatively that Boston Lodge was struggling to cope with it's workload and that Blanche, once her ticket expires, would be put away for good, along with Prince, Linda and Mountaineer. That must be why the railway is considering restoring "Welsh Pony" , an uphill task if ever there was one.

Blanche could do with a rest, as anyone who has been on her footplate up the line can vouch; she punches well above her weight and is on the rivet for most of the run to Blaenau, requiring a high degree of skill from the regulator and fuel oil valve. I wouldn't mind her being preserved somewhere, as long as it was in centrally heated style and locally. But that's not the point. Whatever money struggles or desperate scratchings and scrapings go on under the surface, the Ffestiniog looks the part of a modern steam railway and carries things off in style. The other weekend, it decided to look like a Victorian railway and rolled out a magnificent array of cherished equipment. Some folk just can't cope with that, and wallow about in a mire of pointless detail, instead of just standing back, chilling out and enjoying the show. After all, it can't go on forever, can it?.

Steaming To Trawsfynydd again?

2010-10-15T10:55:00.000-07:00

Somebody once said that the Vale of Ffestiniog was just another stretch
of boring countryside for a preserved line to run through..(!) ..the line runs middle left
in this photo on the former course of an old narrow gauge mineral line.

Once more, there are rumours locally about the re-opening of the Blaenau to Trawsfynydd line as a tourist railway. Our local rag, the Caernarfon and Denbigh Herald ran an interesting piece about it on the 7th Oct. I've been doing some research, but all I have turned up is a great deal of negative comment by self-appointed experts. The project has a nice web-site, although its not encouraging that they can't spell Blaenau Ffestiniog correctly, but full marks for having the chutzpah to put it out there.

It's a mammoth task. Not quite as daunting as rebuilding the WHR, but as you can see from my photos here, the line is overgrown and will need re-sleepering and ballasting at the very least. But I'm not going to join the infantile chorus of nay sayers in the corner of the school playground. I'm just going to cross my fingers and hope it goes ahead. It would make this area a magnet for steam buffs (as if it wasn't already!) and would be great for Blaenau.

The trackbed between Llan Ffestiniog and Manod. Moelwyns are in the distance,

to the right, Cwmorthin tips and Craig-nyth-y-Gigfran. (rock of the raven's nest)

The Cynfal viaduct- another P Way and Infrastructure headache...but lovely.
Photo montage by Petra

DMU's...Dull, Monotonous and Uninteresting?

2010-09-29T06:48:00.000-07:00

A smoky departure from Ayr in 1986.
Photo by kind permission of Gordon Thomson
from his Flickr photostream here

I’m not a great fan of Diesel Multiple Units, no matter how much sense they make to the railway operating departments. Of course, the modern ones are comfortable (when not ludicrously overcrowded), fast and efficient. They do what it says on the tin with a commendable lack of fuss and with some syle.
But it wasn’t always so. When a young buck in the seventies, I had to commute for several months to Glasgow from Girvan on the old Sou’ West route. That meant travelling on those shambling, hirpling class 126 Swindon units, noisy, rattly, smelly and uncomfortable things that frequently broke down; when they weren’t rattling themselves into a collection of bits on the lineside, of course. Small wonder I would always try and come home the longer way via Kilmarnock and the Stranraer boat train, which was, at least, 47 hauled. A couple of times we even had a Whistler.

The Glasgow DMU’s always smelt of diesel, wherever you sat. I can’t believe I actually paid money for the privilege of being poisoned and damaged by particulates, while my eardrums were compromised by the tintinabulatory chorus of loose handrails, seats and body panels on board.

One morning I was alerted by the sense that a different, even more noxious smell was coming in to the carriage, something other than the emissions caused by my fellow commuter’s cauliflower cheese the night before. Having some experience of large goods vehicles, I know only too well what hot axles and brake linings smell like, and this one was accompanied by smoke. I made my way to the guard’s compartment, where I let the chap know. He stared at me in what I guess would be called an insouciant manner and simply shrugged his shouders. Returning to my carriage I was greeted by the sight of people rushing about screaming, as the side of the coach had caught fire. Someone pulled the emergency cord. Nothing happened for quite a long time, then the ensemble slowed to a halt, whereupon the fire really started.

Pwllhelli-Aberystwyth DMU calls in at
Minffordd, by the Ffestiniog Railway.

We all scrambled down on to the track, giving me the opportunity to help several young ladies off the train in the most gallant manner possible, whilst using this as an excuse to engage in conversation with one or two of the more shapely ones. We had debouched in the wilds, in a featureless desert of golf courses by the sea. A very dangerous place, as at any moment we were at risk of decapitation by flying golf balls.

Not surprisingly, our ever-helpful, gravitationally challenged guard didn’t feel like phoning control, or pretecting the train, which was left to the driver after an exchange between the two that consisted of many Ayrshire four letter words, sounding like a reluctant class 37 starting up on a frosty morning.

A Scotrail DMU framed by an Inverurie Hedgerow.

So. What do you do with 150 people on a slightly drizzly, April Monday morning when their train has caught fire? You make them wait for an hour on the lineside while their DMU burns itself to toast, making frequent trips down the line to phone control. At last, we heard, there was to be some transport for us. We just had to walk one and a half miles to the golf club, where three Alexander bodied Leyland Leopards, provided no doubt at great expense to the railway by Western SMT, were waiting for us.

As we drove out of the golf course car park, we were met by two of Ayr’s fire tenders. I really wanted to see them churn that golf course up on their way to fight the fire, but I had to content myself with watching the smoke disappear into the distance as our very comfortable, pleasant coach drove us quietly to Glasgow. I’ll bet the fire tenders’ sides were dented by golf balls as they ruined someone’s handicap that morning. I didn’t care, I was sitting next to a very pretty young lady and we were having a lovely chat.

A class 150 runs down into Dolwyddelan
from Blaenau Ffestiniog under threatening skies

Rain, Steam and (moderate) Speed...an 8F comes to Blaenau Ffestiniog!

2010-09-19T06:04:00.000-07:00

Taliesin to 8F: "Do you know Land of my Fathers?"

There was a "Festival of Rain" in Blaenau Ffestiniog this year. That it was a great success will come as no surprise to those who know and love the town, but their unfortunate slogan on the town's new guide book said "Let the train take the strain, come visit the rain"...

Certainly there were some misty moments when Petra and I turned out to photograph 48151 "Gauge O Guild" on it's trip every wednesday, particularly further up the line towards Dolwyddellan. But by the time we'd chased the train up to Blaenau, the sun came out every time.

Petra's super panning shot of 48151 powering through Dolwyddellan

The last occasion I'd seen an 8F really working was back in 1968 and it was covered in rust and filth. Where I lived at the time, 8F's were the only form of motive power you would be likely to see, unless a 9F turned up, which would be a cause for excitement. So we tended to scorn the humble "8", although that was as nothing to my youthful disgust at what displaced them. I stopped being interested in railways for a while until finding some vestiges of steam on the NCB railways.

An apocalyptic moment, weather wise, near Dolwyddellan.

Framed by the Ffestiniog Railway's canopy, the 8F has
run round it's train and waits for the passengers to return
from their tour of the Llechwedd slate quarry.

One of the lovely things about photographing the 8F in Blaenau was the opportunity it gave for comparison shots, little and large style. The sun helped, as did the angry clouds over the Votty and Bowydd tips above the town, making the light scud along the platforms. I know I'm biased, but the little Ffestiniog locos, which feel so large and heavy when you are on them, look like delicate objects of beauty next to the majestic Stanier.

Palmerston poses in front of 48151, who can't disguise
her excitement at meeting a new friend.

Wandering Bloggers in Industrial Wales

2010-09-15T10:06:00.000-07:00

Petra and Sam in the chamber at Cwt-y-Bugail slate mine

Mrs RM (aka Petra) and I have been wandering around the quarries and industrial ruins of North Wales for some years now, amassing a large collection of photographs and information. As with everything, it seems that the more you find out, the less you know, but we've been having a fine time sploshing about in old ruins and quarry adits, putting the pieces slowly together and gradually building up a picture. Then I had the idea of tying in the exploratious meanderings all together with my maps, as much of what I find out goes into making new ones. So...(modest fanfare) I announce the new blog, "Treasure Maps" which Petra and I are both working on, wherein will be found some photos of our adventures,some maps, and hopefully, some interesting observations on industrial archaeology.

A snippet from my new Anglesey map, an A3 this time.

My "Robinson Writes" blog hasn't been updated in a while, a tad ironic really because I have been doing very little else for the last few months but writing, working on a big project. There will be some new stories on the blog soon...a big thank you to all my followers there...he knows who he is.

Treasure Maps

The rumble of Unexpected Truckage

2010-09-13T08:44:00.000-07:00

A Slate truck passes a vintage Foden, throwing up a cloud of spray and providing some rare sun beams.

I was working at my desk when Petra shouted at me to look out of the window. I had heard the grumbling of big oil, but we are on a route taken by loaded slate quarry trucks, so didn’t look up. Much as I like Scanias, I usually get bored after the thirty-sixth eight-wheeler goes careering by.

But when I saw her grabbing her camera and running for the door I started to become interested. It was raining outside, too...Petra doesn’t do rain, does she?
Then I saw a glimpse of something going past. Something Mammoth Major shaped. I was down those stairs like a fifty-something ninja in a trilby, even allowing for a last minute obstruction by my mother-in-law, trying to kick- start her stair-lift.

Amazingly, ordained by the kindness of fate, a Vintage Commercial Road Run was coming right past our front door. It was raining, but neither of us cared as we behaved like small children, exclaiming “It’s a Super Comet!” or “Wow, a Sentinel!”. In on the game, the drivers waved and tooted at us as we snapped them, to the mystification of passing motorists and dog walkers. The slate trucks tooted at the old timers, too, adding to the carnival atmosphere.

Looking through our photos afterwards, we decided that we needed to get out more. All this work lately and not getting out to steam rallies had given us cabin fever. The next morning, we were getting in the car, ready to do some quarry exploration when a familiar axle whine caught my ear. We turned to look at each other, paused for a split second, then shouted “AEC!!”. I was out of that car faster than Huggy Bear sensing a quick buck, but Petra beat me. The trucks were coming down the hill from Blaenau this time, on their way back to wherever they had come from. It wasn’t raining, either, and the sun was shining, definitely a first for Blaenau. The trucks were slightly grimy from the rain the day before, making them look that bit more authentic, although Petra says I have an unhealthy appetite for filth.
We did make it to the quarry, and took loads more photos, but I couldn’t wait to get home and see our new truck shots...
No Mother-in-Laws were harmed in the making of this post, and I would strongly point out that the inclusion of a trilby was for comic effect and that I have never worn, and have no intention of wearing, said headgear.

In the Summer Time, when the weather is fine...

2010-09-09T12:35:00.000-07:00

Slipping slightly as she leaves Porthmadog,
The Riley Black 5 makes a splendid sight in the rain.

Theoretically, at least. This year, here in North Wales, we have been blessed with a number of wonderful regular steam diagrams. An 8F running into Blaenau every Wednesday, and a Black five running along the Cambrian Coast line all week in August. Plus any amount of activity on the preserved lines, of course. Wonderful! Now, it doesn’t always rain in Wales, in fact it’s been a pretty good summer here. In Blaenau we’ve even seen the sun reflecting off the slate tips on at least two occasions.

The meeting! Porthmadog

The only trouble is, both Mrs RM and I have been busy in work, and could only get away in the afternoons, and that just on specific days. The days when it was raining, I mean. The next day would be brilliantly sunny, of course, as we looked balefully out from the studio windows.

The surprise is that despite the drizzle, (or on occasions, apocalyptic downpour) we enjoyed ourselves and came back with some useable photos. Not great ones, but photos anyway. No dazzling sun to blow the whites. No crazy blue skies, or glare from reflective surfaces. Just rain.

My only gripe is that if you don’t photograph the “Cambrian” in the morning, she’s facing bunker first...I must confess, this caught me out the first time. If I win the lottery, I’m installing a turntable at Pwllhelli!

Passing under the bridge at Minffordd, just before we got steamed!

We also decided to take a photo from under the bridge at Minffordd...it worked out quite well, but both of us were kippered...how we suffer for our art! For the last shot, we had the company of some ordinary, Arriva type, fare paying passengers, for whom the steam train was something of a surprise. Their delight and enthusiasm warmed the cockles of my cynical (and damp) heart.

Powering towards Harlech in the pouring rain.

A Day Out on Anglesey

2010-05-19T01:49:00.000-07:00

We try not to miss the Anglesey Vintage Rally, even though last year's was the victim of a biblically proportioned deluge. This year, the sun shone and, as always, there was a variety of wonderful stuff to gaze appreciatively at.
I found myself observing the unloading of engines from their transporters, as most of these seemed to be ERF's, and I'm afraid that I took many photos. I'm very sad, I know. Mrs RM became fascinated with this wonderful steam roller- the finest restoration I have seen in some time.
As usual, I was accosted by some bloke who looked like he was going to tell me, gratuitously of course, the history of the engine. As if I had never seen one before. Anyway, I'd already studied the thoughtfully provided card about the loco attached to the roll carrier at the side.
It started alright, with him telling me how good it was to see so many young people on the locos. "They are the future, you know" . Fair enough, thanks for the lecture. But then it became a little dark as he started to tell me about the useless ***** in hoodies who sit around at street corners, claiming benefit. Unlike these shining paragons of youth atop gleaming footplates. Life, as I have experienced it, is rarely as black and white. I tried to interject, but he droned on.
I turned my back and walked away, wondering how many more there are like him. The ones that give our hobby a bad name. I've met a few, I'm sure we all have. The one that started to give me the history of the Croesor Tramway at the top of the Rhosydd Incline will remember me, I think.
My son wears a hoodie, has long hair and hangs about with his mates. He gets up to quite a bit of mischief, as most teenagers do, or should. I know I did. He's also the kindest, most considerate person I know, works hard and plays guitar like an axe god. They are the future, you know!

Pottering in Port

2010-04-19T12:41:00.000-07:00

Photo by the Railway Muddler

It was time for the unavoidable...the weekly trip to Tescos. Both Mrs R.M. and I hate this ritual, but it does have something to recommend it during the summer months. Once you have found a parking space (quite an achievement in Porthmadog during the tourist season) a healthy stroll takes you to either the Welsh Highland Heritage line or the Ffestiniog Railway, and the chance of some fine steamage. Today, we fancied the Ffestiniog, and were greeted by the heartwarming sight of Blanche, nicely polished and waiting for the off with a train of elderly coach trippers from Llandudno.

Blanche is my all-time favourite narrow gauge loco. I drove her a few years ago, up and down the line, and the day still shines in my memory. I've had a little drive of her sister, Linda, too, and I can tell you, she's completely different. An old hand once told me that Linda is the embittered spinster aunt who will watch you, then pay you back for any mistakes. Blanche seems an altogether more kindly auntie, the sort that would probably knit you jumpers that were too big; but you wouldn't mind because you loved her. She's only a few years into her current boiler certificate, so will be around to enjoy for a while yet. For an engine built in the 1890's she's certainly looking good, although how much of her remains from the original is debatable...the works plate, perhaps?

I strolled around taking a few trainspottery style pics, then Mrs R.M. said "Can I have the camera please, darling?" That's usually the cue for her to put me to shame, as here, when she spotted this very unusual angle on the old girl's dome. I did look at the dome, but although it gave rise to steamy thoughts, I didn't see the creative possibilities.

This is why we don't have the Tesco doorstep deliveries.

Photo by Petra Brown

Mysterious Moments in Aberystwyth.

2010-04-08T13:38:00.000-07:00

Mrs R.M. and I have been struck down by the common cold this week, so missed out on all the wonderful junketings at the Welsh Highland (C and H) and Ffestiniog Railways last weekend.
However, feeling a little improved, and seeing as it was my Aberdeen run this Friday, the aforementioned wonderful woman suggested a trip down the coast to sunny Aberystwyth, since neither of us has ever had any luck in actually seeing a train there. Of the steam variety, I mean. There are 158's every hour if that's your cup of tea.

Now, the Vale of Rheidol for me is a mysterious line. It runs through marvellous, idyllic country that I am familiar with from my early childhood, and is operated by amazing looking engines with a whiff of Manchester about them, underneath the Brunswick greenery. It's also been very shy, the last few times we have been.

The loco is a lot bigger than this, the driver is walking on a platform beside the track.

Today, however, we were rewarded by the glorious sight of No.8, whose driver posed for us as he oiled round the loco. It was a sight well worth waiting for, and we swore to return with more time to take a train up to Devil's bridge.

I can't say the surroundings at Aberystwyth are too edifying. While vestiges of the magnificent Cambrian station and canopy remain for the cognoscenti to nod smugly at, the line is surrounded here on one side by a brutal Matalan store designed by drugged monkeys and what I suspect is a Network Rail signalling centre on the other, by the school of depressing gimcrack tat. The result, when the sun shines, is like a hot afternoon in Leningrad.

I wasn't cheered by the sight of Owain Glyndwr's remains lying beside the platform either, if that's what they are. But the other stock is in superb condition and really is a credit to the railway. Once you develop the knack of shutting out the Soweto shanty architecture skirting the line, the place has a fascinating atmosphere. It is basically a genuine, surviving GW steam shed, converted for narrow minded purposes. I half closed my eyes and imagined Dukedogs.

Cheerful people were very busy cleaning a diesel loco in the yard, but I don't really do diesels, so I pointed my lens at some more bits of rusty stuff. Owain's boiler, no doubt, and a loco which I vaguely recognise but couldn't put a name to- can anyone help me out?

This leads me to the other mysterious thing. Those fifty-somethings like me, really small boys in scratchy short trousers drinking Tizer at heart, wittering nonsense at the platform end, often talk on forums and the like of a secret stash of narrow gauge locos hereabouts. I reckon it's an urban legend, but it's a nice thought.

No mystery about it. The Vale of Rheidol is well worth a visit!

No7 in happier times, 1994. Photo by Herbert Ortner.
How much nicer it looks without the tin retail shacks behind.

Save that Puffer!

2010-04-05T12:25:00.000-07:00

I like painting in watercolours, something I don't do enough these days. So this week I opened my old paint box and decided to have a potter about. What better subject than a Clyde Puffer?
For most people the name "Clyde Puffer", if it means anything, will bring the famous Ealing comedy "The Maggie" to mind. Or the series of programmes from the Neil Munro book, about the dodgy skipper Para Handy and his trusty old Puffer "The Vital Spark". I used to see a boat of that name regularly at Crinan, on the Caledonian Canal in the nineties, and wondered what had happened to it. Well, it's alive and well, but in need of a little support these days. It can be seen at the Inveraray Maritime centre and is undergoing restoration.
The story of the Puffer is a detailed one, and of course, all these surviving little ships were originally built as Inshore Victualling Craft, during the war (VIC for short). My "Vital Spark" is in fact VIC 72, the last working (diesel) Clyde Puffer, although several other craft have borne that name when being filmed. VIC27 also survives at Inveraray, and is a proper steamer. The third puffer to survive is VIC32, which works out of Crinan as a rather wonderful floating hotel. It is sponsored by the heritage lottery fund and needs constant financial support to keep it afloat, like any boat!
I have noticed on Flickr that there is another Puffer, the Pibroch, rotting away in Ireland. Don't go looking at those pictures unless you are of a strong disposition!

Save the Puffer web site
The Vital Spark- Inveraray Maritime Experience
Poor Pibroch
Let's finish with another healthy Puffer. This time chugging past "Paddy's Milestone" in the Firth of Clyde off Girvan. (Ailsa Craig is the island.)

The original paintings are on my Folksy shop here.

Spotting's Halcyon Days

2010-03-29T13:20:00.000-07:00

Photo from my collection

Here are a couple of photos with a connection to my early spotting days. As opposed, that is, to my spotty days, which more-or-less ran concurrently. I had acne so badly that dogs whimpered when I passed and babies learned suddenly to walk in order to get away from me. I'm zit free now, have been for years, although parts of me still look like the surface of some crater strewn planetoid.

Anyhow, back in the day, I would hang out at Crewe, usually Basford sidings, Weston Road, where a good variety of motive power could be appreciated. I developed the knack of moving my whole body when watching a train go past, so as not to disturb my spotty neck. A discipline that stood me in good stead many years later, when taking panning shots of trains.

The shot at the top is quintissential for me. It's sunny and it's all there, although the jarring note is the catenary wires for the hated usurpers, electric trains. But the photo is a blessed moment in time, the fireman relaxed, taking a moment or two perhaps to wonder about that new skiffle group, the "Quarrymen", or how much he fancies Kathy Kirby. I was an Alma Cogan fan, myself.

The second loco was my first remembered sight of a main line steam locomotive. Four years old, walking down the steps of Crewe station with my Dad and there she was. It was love at first sight. I can remember the smell of Welsh coal and hot oil, the sound of escaping steam and the ominous rumble from her boiler as the injector was deployed to stop her blowing off. It was some time before I was to witness an equally stirring sight- my teens, in fact. Sadly, I don't have any photos of Janet Hardacre to share and in any case, I think they would be outwith blogger's terms of service.

Later in my teens, we moved to sunny Lancashire and the dark, satanic Tame Valley, where I witnessed the last dreadful throes of steam. My pal, Dave Blythe and I ranged far and wide in search of steam, covering most sheds in the North West. One of my last memories is of the cripple line at Speke, with countless 9F's ranged up in varying degrees of rust and decrepitude. Dave and I were a little subdued that day.

My very last sixties steam memory is a funny one though. I was lucky enough (?) to go to school at Hyde Grammar, the Hyde of "Life on Mars" fame. This school had an unhealthy obsession with all things sporting and cricket in particular, a sport I loathe. I know, it's not like me to sit on the fence, but... our sports field overlooked the old GC line to Godley and one day, whilst acting as a terminally bored outfielder, I heard behind me the bubbly squeal of a Stanier hooter. I turned and watched as the loco wheezed past and garnered a friendly wave from the driver. It was a funny sort of wave, it seemed quite frantic somehow. I became aware, too, of shouting coming in my direction, just before something very hard hit me in the middle of the back. I awoke a couple of minutes later to see the cherubic face of my Maths master and namesake, P.F. Robinson, who was stooping over me with a concerned look on his face. He was a railway buff, which at least made Maths lessons a bit more bearable. Anyway, he was trying to say something to me, so I concentrated through the wooziness. "Robinson, lad. Did you get the number...?"

Photo by Walter Robinson, from my collection

Beautiful Beattock

2010-03-09T06:10:00.001-08:00

Voyager speeding in the Clyde Valley near Beattock. Photo by KOYLI from his Flickr photostream

“Pulling up Beattock, a steady climb:
The gradient's against her, but she's on time.”

I’ve done the Aberdeen run over 208 times now. There are some parts of the journey that I don’t enjoy much...the M56/M6 interchange, quickly followed by the mayhem over Thelwall viaduct, for instance. Interesting view, I imagine, but when people are dodging about all over the place at over eighty miles an hour and I’m nursing the Muddlermobile along at sixty, trying to reach the relative safety of lane one, it’s not a relaxing place.

I do love Beattock, though, especially the southbound climb. The way the moorland opens out as you reach the plateau, then the wonderful descent into Dumfriesshire with the railway keeping company as you hold back the speed, while reps in their Audis and trains streak past. Last week I was passed by a huge train of Tesco containers, rumbling like a giant worm through the forestry to my right. The Voyagers rush past effortlessly, making me wish that I was sitting in quiet, air conditioned comfort, drinking coffee, perhaps reading a railway magazine instead of putting up with the deafening row from the engine and a myriad of little whistling draughts.

I imagine that, once away from the madness of the M74, there is a tranquility and grandeur in the hills, given scale by the eerie cries of the Curlew and the bleating of tenacious hill sheep. One day, when I don't have a schedule to keep, I will turn off and explore.

Traffic on A74, Beattock Summit (1971)
Originally uploaded by The Douglas Campbell Show

Much Cursing in the Motorway Services

2010-03-01T04:14:00.000-08:00

A regular sight at Bothwell: this tidy ERF owned by J Bairner and Sons. Proper Truck!

One of my regular stops on the Aberdeen run is Bothwell services, near Hamilton. It’s a fairly large area with plenty of parking and it has pleasant staff. The chips are good, too.

One Friday, having partaken of said chippage, I was manouevring the mighty and rather thirsty muddlermobile towards the fuel area, following two ladies in a Nissan Micra. They were going very slowly, no surprise there, but when they reached the entrance to the fuel area, they stopped in the middle of the road, making it impossible for me to pass. There was obviously some sort of debate going on in the car. I waited. Knight of the road, you know, and all that. Then, after several minutes passed, my patience cracked.

I gave them the benefit of the sonorous muddler horn. Once the thick clouds of local Crows, Starlings and Magpies had cleared, I noticed that the little car had begun to move. Slowly. To the left, towards the HGV bunkering. I swung round, to pass them, at which point the lady accellerated across my bows towards the car facilities. I thought she might do this, so I wasn’t surprised, but then she reversed almost into me as I parked up, wanting to change her mind again.

Walking across to the office, I am sorry to say that I did make a little comment about the lady’s driving, along the lines of “having a bad day?”, etc . She was a pretty woman, in her late thirties, with an equally attractive companion. However, what came out of the lady’s mouth was not particularly edifying. Lots of words beginning with f, and then she suggested that I hadn’t known my dear old Dad, and that I was a sanitary appliance made from vitreous enamelled pottery, all in a rich Glasgow accent.
I don’t know why I did what I did next. Sometimes my mouth takes over and I stand back surprised. I had been reading a lot of Jane Austen, that’s all I can say in my defence.
I gave the lady and her companion a respectful bow, and then said something like: “Madam, it is an honour to be addressed by such a dignified and erudite lady. I bow to your impressive command of the vernacular. Your humble servant, madam.” Another small bow and I went into the office. Two trucking friends were standing nearby and I could hear their laughter, so I had made their day, at least.
Coming out of the office the two ladies were very subdued, so I just smiled and nodded at them as I walked past. They were obviously waiting for me to move well out of the way before paying.

As I slowly accellerated out...(actually, that’s too glib a word for the long, patient, gearbox oddysey that is the muddlermobile’s journey to it’s 60mph cruising speed) I spotted an old friend in the hard standing area, his lovely new Scania sparkling in the sun, so I pulled in and climbed out to have a word. We were chatting about this and that, when the two delightful ladies came very slowly past in their Micra. The window lowered and we were treated to an extensive display of invective, the sort of swearing that really ought to be an event at the commonwealth games, delivered in stereo, like a subversive chorus. Did I mention the hand gestures, too? I’m sure you can imagine. Let’s not go there.

My friend, Derek, is a typical Perthshire Scot, unflappable, solid, possessed of the dry humour that is fitted as standard in this part of the world. He watched and listened as the lovely ladies drove past without any visible reaction on his face. When they moved on to the motorway, he nodded his head in their direction and said: “They’ll be friends of yours, then, eh?”

I don't like Diesels...I love 'em...I think?

2010-02-28T07:47:00.000-08:00

This is the only photograph I have ever taken of a diesel. Yes, I know, a diesel electric. I did see a pair of 37's at Conwy recently and tried to take a photo but I couldn't get the blasted camera to wake up in time. It was the noise that attracted me, rather than the aesthetic qualities of the machines. British diesels, to me, are all rather effete things, Deltics aside, compared to something like a GP40 or any Santa Fe unit in warbonnet livery, they feel like dinky toys.

Deltics are something different. Perhaps it's that haughty look they have, full of character, perhaps its the way they vibrate at that high frequency when turning over(as does everything else within 300 yards...) and of course, the noise, smoke, occasional jets of flame etc....

I had the mixed fortune to have to travel a great deal from Glasgow to Crianlarich in the early eighties, and have every reason to loathe 37's as they slipped, scrabbled and generally frothed themselves into oblivion during the winter. The first thing to go was the steam heat, then usually clouds of black smoke would signal a stop in the middle of nowhere and a wait of an hour or so. Happy days.

When I wasn't travelling to Crianlarich, I was going to Stranraer from Glasgow, usually in the capable hands of a class 47 if one managed to change at Troon. Anything to get out of the DMU's on the Ayr line. A couple of times, a class 40 was rostered. This was something to admire. Whilst it had the outward appearance of blandness, it was obviously a thing of great power and complexity, and of course, the whistling was a charming characteristic.

Perhaps this photo of a 37 was my attempt at getting a little revenge. They would sit at the end of Queen Street, turning over with that strange mechanical noise that sounded like a foul mouthed biker on a tape loop, exuding smoke, smell and particulates. I looked through the rails of the bridge and there it was, in captivity...snap!

More Tales from the Truck Cab- Seventies Style.

2010-01-01T04:50:00.000-08:00

Not a Tipper, but substantially the same chassis as my old AEC.

I’d seen the advert in the Manchester Evening News. “It’s a friend dropping in” the slogan used to say on the masthead. I don’t know about that, but on this occasion it was pretty useful. The advert said “ tipper drivers required” and the money looked reasonable enough. I was hoping to earn enough money to continue through Art College over the next year, and I reckoned I was a dab hand at this truck driving lark. Youth and a little experience are a heady combination, aren’t they? I turned up at the depot of O’Donnel and Milligan in Ancoats and was shown into an office where a very unhealthy looking, red faced man asked me what experience I had. Showing him my licence, I confessed that I’d not had much driving since passing my class 2 rigid test- nursing scabby TK’s around Yorkshire and some cross-Penine stints on an AEC Mercury 6 wheeler. Did I mention this was 1975? Just in case any truck anoraks are reading. The red faced gentleman, however, didn’t seem interested in my licence and gave me the job immediately. This should have alerted me, but in my naivety I was delighted.

The next morning I reported to the depot in a scene straight from “Hell Drivers”. I asked what the orders were and was told to grab a key from the twenty or so sets on the rack and follow the others to a large mill that was being demolished. I took one set only to have my wrist nearly broken by the grip of an imposing looking man, who took the keys from me and with a smile, said: “That’s Michael’s truck, me lad...” Every time I tried to pick up a key, this public convenience made of baked clay would put me right, handing the keys on to someone else until there was only one set left, which he handed to me with a not unkindly smile and a pat on the back. As the dust of the departing trucks cleared, I saw my ride sitting there: a slightly battered but still very handsome AEC Mammoth Major 8-legger. I checked round quickly, noting levels and tyre condition- at BRS, the outfit I had last worked for, they were sticklers for this. A mechanic saw me and shouted: “What the hell are yer doing- get out before the boss sees yer!” I smiled apologetically and jumped up into the cab, looking round at the unfamiliar sight. Key in the ignition, plugs on to warm..then open up the fuel and....a series of braying, painful convulsions came from the engine, but encouragingly, she was starting to bite and suddenly burst into unruly life. I became aware of a dense cloud of exhaust smoke from underneath the front bumper and an unbelievable racket from the mill to my left.

After a struggle, I managed to select a low gear, (not first, it was some time before I found that one) and gingerly moved out of the depot onto Manchester road. That was when I realised that there was no power steering, and why that big gentleman’s grip was so fierce. The truck was a nightmare in traffic, the gearbox was like stirring rice pudding and on the road you had to decide on a line and hell mend anyone who got in your way. Double declutch changes were of course, de rigeur, the only reassuring thing was that there was obviously plenty of power to hand. Turning up at the site I parked up at the rear of a line of our trucks, all AECs, and jumped out. A huge Drott was tipping bricks and rubble into the lead truck. I spoke to a couple of the other lads and was given the destination, a site about six miles away, but right across the city centre. I very gradually became used to manouevring, fully loaded, through the traffic after sweating my own weight in one hour and destroying a couple of bollards. Eventually, I even got the hang of the tipping gear. Strangely enough, I also developed very large arm muscles. It’s amazing what you get used to, and I became very fond of the AEC and decided to hold on to it when offered a slightly newer model at the end of a couple of weeks at the job. This earned me the undying respect of the other drivers, although I think they also thought I was a little touched. I loved my time with the company, the guys were great and I learned one hell of a lot. About life, mostly.

My time was to end on a sad note, however. On my last week at O’Donnel and Milligan, I was sent, along with four other tippers, to a mill in Oldham that was being demolished. I was told to park up against a wall and wait until the Drott was ready for me. There was a wrecking ball working on site, too, and you had to be careful. I jumped out and had a chat with the other guys while we waited. As I listened to a tall story that Kenny Guilfoyle, (the dispenser of the keys), was telling me, I saw his face assume the look of someone who was about to be hit by a train. I looked round in terror, just in time to see my beloved truck disappear under a mountain of rubble. The site men must have thought I was under it too, because a shout went up and they all started frantically digging with their bare hands, bless them. I let them know pretty quickly that I was OK, and I rode back with one of my mates to the depot. The next day I saw the AEC being pulled out and put on the back of a low loader, never to be seen again. One of the site guys told me that it had actually started and moved on it’s own, but that the power steering had gone. We all had a good laugh at that one. Power steering? I don't think so!

Gronk takes to the Road

2009-12-31T02:38:00.000-08:00

It was my last Aberdeen trip for 2009, and as a special treat, Mrs R.M. was riding shotgun. Not strictly true, since she drove, with her customary skill, from Blaenau to Forton-where we encountered this mighty sight above, piggybacking a nice Volvo F10. I was able to take the photo, since I wasn't struggling with the wayward wheel of the mighty muddlermobile.

Subsequent enquiries have revealed that the shunter was making it's way from Crewe to Carlisle...obviously too slow to clutter up the WCML and get in the way of Mr Branson's toys. One thing that livens up the unending monotony of my frequent trips up and down the M6 (and 56, and 9) is the sight of locomotives, wheels, carriages and freight wagons like HAA's being hauled on the back of an artic. As someone once said, what a way to run a railway!

The services at Forton deserve a mention because of their retro 70's style, like an episode from "Life on Mars", although the tower isn't used any more. There used to be a restaurant at the top...now it is used as an office for the services management.

Dinky Maudslay- a childhood delight.

2009-12-30T03:35:00.000-08:00

This is the only toy I have left from a very happy childhood, (apart from Bruno the bear...). It was bought for me in 1959, by my dear old Dad as a reward for staying in school for a whole day- I had a habit of "disappearing" from that place... it was a typically forbidding, tall, brick built edifice with the feel of a grim Giles cartoon of the period.
This model was bought from a toyshop in Crewe, and I had been eyeing it in the window for several weeks previously. Later I had a Thorneycroft Antar and an army Scammel, but these have disappeared in the mists of time.

Land Rovers of the Far North: The Lightweight

2009-12-15T07:12:00.000-08:00

Big Sandy sent me this pic from the bustling metropolis of Kinbrace, in Sutherland. It's a lightweight military, of course, and Sandy supplied me with some info which I share below. But the army must have a funny idea of what constitutes lightweight...I mean, a ruddy great generator, two batteries...never mind. Apart from this being a sweet little roller skate, look at the fence to the extreme left. The Sandbach ninjas have been. Never mind, a Foden logo is welcome anywhere.

For the purists, the Land Rover is a SIII lightweight, FFR (fitted for radio) 24v, with a 2.25 litre petrol engine. Military reg number was 18 HF 96... Under the bonnet there will be a huge generator, and all the cabling will be shielded. There's a shunt box between the seats in the front, with the ammeters etc. Not sure how they work. The batteries to power all this radio telecomms are between the seats in the centre, where the seat base would be if it had three seats. Here's a photo of the dash..showing the military light switch (or 'bonking lights' as they call them....) There will be an oil cooler and a rectifier behind the grille too...

Post Script: Sandy emailed me a little more information...

Aye, lightweight is a bit of a misnomer, isnt it. It is lighter than a standard Land Rover though...it actually weighs half a ton, where the standard SWB would weigh in at around 1.3 tons... The hubs are different too, they don't have top hats like the series models, they have drive flanges that are flat, so they don't stick out and foul things in aircraft..Apparently! Still wouldn't want it parked on your foot though!

Thanks to Big Sandy for the pics and all the information.

Unmissable on Flickr...

2009-12-08T04:53:00.000-08:00

GCR/LNER O4 2-8-0 63601 on shed at Loughborough. Photo by loose_grip_99

Three photographers, three different approaches; but each in their own way have inspired, informed and amused me over the last year or so, while trawling the limitless photographic treasure trove of Flickr. If you have a particular interest, perhaps steam locos, diesels, buses, obscure marques of cars- even lamp posts, there's at least one person who will be on Flickr with a wonderful collection of photos, the product of years of diligent observation.
So it is with these three gentlemen. There are so many great photographers on the site, and I could have cited at least another five that are equally as good, but there's something about the work that each of these three produces, that really strikes a chord with me.

Heaton Mersey Stockport 21st June 1968 by loose_grip_99

My first is loose_grip_99 , a most interesting photographer who has an unerring eye, great skill and technique, and a photographic collection going back to the sixties and the end of steam. His sets on Flickr range from shots taken at many of the old strongholds of steam like Heaton Mersey or Stockport Edgeley, through many fascinating overseas locations, to collections of modern steam, particularly on the Great Central Railway. These have an added veracity since LG is a volunteer fireman there and many of his shots are taken in unusual situations as well as on the footplate. The other thing I love about the collection is that many of the shots have a fascinating description, LG takes the time to entertain and inform, adding a further dimension to the enjoyment of his superb photos.

Close up pan of 37425 passing Valley, 31 October 2009. by darkprince66

Colwyn Bay as a class 175 passes on the 1120 Cardiff Central-Holyhead by darkprince66

The wonderfully titled darkprince66 has a photostream which is modern image in content. He follows the main lines around North Wales and the marches, recording what he sees in a style which is always individual and honest, often reminding the viewer to reappraise everyday sights which all too soon will be a memory. Since he tends to chase trains, hunting them down to specific locations, his work has an engaging immediacy, yet it seems that from every expedition he returns with thought-provoking shots and a bag of courageous, highly effective compositions. His superb collection of Class 37's is a must for any tractor fan. Darkprince66 has also managed to record some very dynamic shots of one of my own favourites, the "Thunderbirds" or class 57/3. Highly recommended if these do it for you.

An apocalypitic shot from Martyn Fordham...Trent Junction

The last photographer is someone whose work often makes me lost for superlatives. Martyn Fordham has the ability to transmutate every scene, however mundane, into visual gold. For me, several of his photos are the best railway shots I have ever seen. I think it's because he has an artist's eye for composition and light, especially the latter, and he doesn' t concentrate solely on the train either; it has to play it's part in the composition in order to earn top billing. His technical abilities are outstanding, resulting in some amazing work which, at last, is beginning to be rewarded by appearances in the railway press.

Scunthorpe Steelworks, by Martyn Fordham

I you haven't already seen the work of these gentlemen, I urge you to get down to Flickr...although once you start looking, you can probably write off anything else you might have had planned. I spend too much time on Flickr...but then the work of these masters and many others has inspired me to take up photography again after a lapse of over 20 years. Bad news for everyone else, but what fun for me!
Flickr main site
Loose_grip_99's photostream
Martyn Fordham's photostream
darkprince66's photostream

Penny Steam

2009-11-29T05:00:00.000-08:00

I'm sure that everyone, except perhaps the most Luddite among us, accepts by now that the internet is a wonderful resource. Sometimes, though, even your web-toughened, world weary scribe is surprised by the things that turn up. Take this wonderful collection of videos, going under the collective name of "Penny Steam". As if the lovable little terrier in the opening scenes wasn't enough, the videos are some of the most interesting and delightful on the 'Tube.

I've watched a good few of the videos now, some of them twice, but it's going to take me some time to get through them all. I won't be bothering with any commercial compilations for a while. Why? Well, this latest offering from the intrepid terrier and her boss gives a feel for the quality and interest that is to be found in the whole collection. The NYMR set is fascinating. From early morning preparations on shed, through to coaling and oiling, the whole process is covered, with the camera lingering lovingly over the locos. The stars are allowed to speak for themselves; there is no commentary, thank goodness- or muzak to spoil the atmosphere. The sound, too, is top notch- a good directional mike has obviously been used.

The man behind the camera is Kenneth Baker, a tireless photographer of the railway scene. His Photopic gallery is a good way to spend a few hours, apart from some cracking shots of the Ffestiniog railway, (many from unusual locations), he has covered several of the most exciting preserved lines and some not so well known, such as the Foxfield Railway and the Churnet Valley. It's very difficult to film an entertaining video of a steam line that isn't just a collection of bits of film. Ken has managed to find locations and shots that make interesting sequences, and the fact that he has some A4 footage and some Hunslet Austerities makes it for me!

The Penny Steam Videos are here

And the K F Baker Photopic site is here

More exploits of Walter...

2009-11-26T12:49:00.000-08:00

This photo came to light recently. I'm sorry it's very poor quality, the original had several tears and marks on it, probably the result of being used as a tea coaster at some time. I'm reliably informed that this was taken at Crewe North, and shows my Uncle Walter on the right, leaving the sheds on some turn or other. There's a full tender of very large lump coal, the injector is on and the cylinder drain cocks are hissing, so I reckon they are for the off. The sheds would be behind the photographer- it looks as if he is the recipient of some classic Walter badinage, poor chap.

I know there are some other photos of Walter about, I occasionally spot one in a book...he was pals with several photographers, notably Bishop Eric Treacy, whom he always addressed as "Bish"; ironically, this was Walter's nickname as a boy!

The Fairport Fan and the Footplate Fool

2009-11-11T04:00:00.000-08:00

This beautiful shot by Phil Sangwell (onemanandhisdogs) from his superb photostream on Flickr.

This lovely photo of the “Flying Scotsman” made me realise what a beautiful locomotive she really is. I was reminded of a time in the seventies, when the “Scotsman” paid a visit for a week or so to Dinting Railway Centre, near Glossop. I was a young volunteer at the centre, a general dog’s body, cleaning locos and tidying up. I was so lowly, I wasn’t even allowed to dispose of loco ash. But I loved it, though, because the place was so friendly and there weren’t too many “chiefs” with their little empires, unlike on some other concerns.

I sometimes used to turn up first thing in the morning to help prep the locos in steam that day. Often in the autumn, on opening the big new steel loco shed, we would find the locos sitting in a thick fog of steam, with condensation running off them. Ventilation on the shed was sorted pretty quickly after that was reported. The warm engines had made their own little micro climate in there. I realised why BR sheds were so well ventilated.

During the Scotsman’s visit I was asked if I would stay on the footplate during the day whilst she sat on display in the shed, to make sure nobody took anything and to answer visitors’ basic questions. I loved this. It was such a priviledge, and of course wouldn’t be allowed today unless I had an NVQ “standing on a footplate” certificate. I soon developed a relaxed, knowing stance in the drivers’ seat, and the second day of my duty I appeared sporting overalls and a locoman’s hat. There was no end to the routes I travelled in my head, sitting in that seat. Settle and Carlisle, the Waverley route...I even had a crack at the Mallard’s record, but was interrupted by my aunt Babs bringing me a cup of tea.

My finest moment, though, was soon to come. I welcomed a group of characters onto the footplate and fielded their interested questions. They all seemed in their mid-twenties, a couple of long haired, hippie looking guys, and a pretty girl with a lovely voice, who smiled at the guys and took a photo of them with me. I was a little bit smitten with this girl, so pretty and so intelligent, although well out of my league, and the guys, well they were really nice, a good laugh. We talked for probably half an hour before they left, saying they had to get back to work.

That evening I got home and absent mindedly put on “Unhalfbricking”, my favourite album of the time, by Fairport Convention. Perhaps it was my subconscious at work, because as I gazed at the sleeve while thinking of the girl I had seen that day, her face stared out at me from the album. The guys, too. I don’t know why it hadn’t registered before; maybe because I was in “Bill Hoole” mode, stalwart Gresley man of the LNER.

I often wondered about that photo Sandy Denny took. I went to watch Richard Thompson, ex Fairport, a couple of years ago; I’ve always loved his music. He’d be just the man to write a song about the “Scotsman”.

I was on the footplate with him, once. Flying Scotsman, it was, as I recall, racing up the East Coast main line with 12 on...

Sandy Denny Bio here

Thomas or Ivor...which is better? Fight!!

2009-11-05T12:28:00.001-08:00

Thanks very much to Tevermar on Flickr for the above photo

- on his photostream here.

Somewhere under all that awful paint and strange camouflage is a lovely Peckett. I can't deny that the folks of the Battlefield line have done a thorough job, and in a way it is a fond tribute to a wonderful character. I'd rather have the real Peckett, though. That got me thinking: why had I not condemned this bit of loco vandalism immediately- as I would if, heaven forbid, I saw my beloved Linda or Blanche with a Thomas face?

I think the reason lies in the difference between the two stories, or put another way: Thomas versus Ivor..which is best? Fight!!

For years, I sat through Thomas videos with my son, listening to the pedestrian narration of Ringo Starr as the Reverend Awdry's stories unfolded. Tales of pride and envy, with harsh consequences for the guilty parties. Poor Henry, locked away in a tunnel for being proud. Engines down mines, covered in mud, slate, coal or "cut down to size" like Peter Sam...for being, you guessed it, proud. To be fair, Wilf did cover most of the seven deadly bases in the stories apart from murder and coveting thy neighbours' permanent way..oh, no, wait- I think he did that one.

There was the occasional moment of kindness, and some feelgood stuff, but generally the feeling is one of Scottish Presbyterianism at it's sternest, presided over by a "big boned" and very stern controller. Is it me, or did all the humans seem to be made from clothes pegs?

The Ivor stories, on the other hand, exude gentle, good natured humour. The drawings come from Peter Firmin's fair hand and have great charm, while Oliver Postgate's voiceovers are perfect. The stories, too, are magical yet essentially human in scale and emphasise kindness and loyalty. Ivor is a headstrong, but well meaning locomotive whose driver is a friend. They go through life helping people and having humourous escapades along the way. I don't recall pride ever being an issue, and nobody gets punished. There's a Dragon that lives in Ivor's firebox, as well, although I hear he has taken up residence in a certain Fairlie's furnace at the moment.

I suppose the real issue is that you can't just slap an Ivor face onto a loco, it has to be an all-over makeover with some real engineering. You'd have to be daft, or the Battlefield line, to do it.

On the other hand, it's relatively easy to make up a terrifyingly bad Thomas face from fibreglass or somesuch and hang it on the front of some poor loco that you've painted blue. I know there are other issues here, that children are supposed to like to see the faces. That the owners of the franchise charge large amounts, so the railways have to get their money's worth, which I guess they do.

However, I know that if I find out that a certain loco is running with a face, on the Talyllyn, for instance, then I won't be going that weekend. Neither will many other enthusiasts. So why bother, if it annoys as many as it (supposedly) pleases?

Surely, the railways can still shift all the Thomas and Ivor merchandise in the shops- then perhaps they could have some respect for the ordinary child punters and their families who come to see the trains, and who can make the imaginative leap between the Thomas books and the real thing, without having it patronisingly dressed up for them.

I suppose I have come down on Ivor's side, so here's a picture I found on Fairlightworks' photostream, of a wonderful model seen at ExpoNG this year. It was called "Jones the Steam stops for tea" by Matt Wildsmith and is also featured on the excellent Fairlightworks blog, linked here.

They Call this Progress?

2009-10-13T13:05:00.000-07:00

In 2009, above- and in 1962 below...

Photograph by Andrew Muckley

The photos above are of the station at Llanidloes, a charming Mid Wales town.. Last weekend Mrs RM and I swung by the town and I suggested having a look at the station to see how it had fared. The last time I was there was 1978, and I half expected it to be razed to the ground and a shopping mall in it's place. Well, things weren't quite as bad as that, but as the photos show, the road builders have been making their mischief.

The joke is, that at the time of closure in December 1962, there were over 100 passengers a day from the station and there was a sizeable local protest at the closure. BR had other ideas, probably something to do with a fat man called Beeching and a big brown envelope full of money carrying a tarmac postmark. The same thing has happened at Welshpool, although the railway is still in place there, just shifted to one side to make way for the infinitely more "important" dual carriageway. The station sits gloriously isolated from the platforms, it's beautiful French Rennaissance facade looking on to the bus shelters on the platforms across the road.

I suppose we should be glad that it isn't a guided busway, and that the buildings are still there, but while sitting having a morning coffee in one of Llanidloes's lovely cafes I couldn't help noticing a poster about the lack of public transport in the area.

Unexpected Burrellage...

2009-10-12T15:18:00.000-07:00

Mrs RM and I decided to take a couple of days away last weekend and explore Shropshire's bucolic byways. After a rather damp start, the weather began to look encouraging and we headed to the Welsh Marches. An early lunch was had in Church Stretton, where, suitably replete, Mrs RM steered the mighty Muddlermobile towards Ludlow, or so we thought. For I was navigating, and, not being accustomed to any road that is not the M6, I only turn off at places with a Costa's sign. After a short time, it became apparent that we were going in the wrong direction- for Ludlow, anyway.

Years of experience have accustomed Mrs Muddler to this sort of thing, and she quickly sized up a small industrial estate as a likely place to turn round, but some of her many other fine instincts were working, too. As we approached the junction, she remarked on a strangely familiar smell...I thought she must mean that the broccoli bake I had for lunch was begining to manifest itself in the usual way, but as she lined up the turn, we came face to face with two beautiful Burrells, smokily emerging like glowing steel angels from a dreary background of corrugated business units. There was just time to snatch a picture or two, although the very kind driver slowed down to allow me to focus, as he could see that I was a little overcome at sight of such engineering comeliness.

For the record, the handsome red engine is Burrell single crank compound "Spider", built 1908, works no. 3017, and completely rebuilt by the present owner in 1986.

The green engine is a 5nhp Single Crank Compound, Burrell Devonshire class traction engine, rejoicing in the name "Old Duch" makers no. 2417, built in 1901.

You're nicked!

2009-10-10T08:51:00.000-07:00

This photo has long been a favourite of mine. It shows my Dad (on the left) larking about with his workmates, deep in the Cheshire countryside. These guys were all ex-army, straight from wartime service into the police as soon as they demobbed. The Rover is one of several allocated to Macclesfield division in the early sixties, painted in a handsome brunswick green...just why they were that colour and not black escapes me. Perhaps it was a job lot, bought cheaply, in the same spirit of frugality that Aberdeenshire exercised, having their fire tenders in unpainted aluminium finish...to save money. Some urban myths are true, you know!

Anyhow, I like this photo because it captures the old boy pretty well, smiling and joking, yet pretty serious about the job for all that. He was an advanced driver with the police and later became a HGV specialist, passing the class one test, so that he could advise on abnormal load manoevres and inspect HGV's. In those days, the traffic cops in Cheshire had to stay with one car, being responsible for it's maintenance- one day every month was spent in the garage servicing the car and checking for any faults that might require more specialised attention.

I guess I get my love of trucks from the old boy, as he and I spent long hours on the road together when he was driving on leave from the police. Normally, having a second job was heavily frowned upon in those days, but Dad was expected to keep his skills in, and naturally, he tought me a few things about trucks. I remember my first attempt behind the wheel of a Bedford TK in Taylor's yard, Hyde. Kangaroo jumps were the order of the day...

I will end with one amusing memory from the late sixties which shows the old chap at his best. I would be in my mid-teens, and had become a fanatical cycle racer, spending evenings and weekends (before my discovery of girls) riding with a local club, clocking up forty miles a night, over a hundred on a Sunday. One weekend we were cranking it large, powering down the Woodhead Pass, me sitting in a group of 20 or so racers. I guess we must have been doing 40 mph. A Morris Minor hove ahead, pottering along at 30mph, and as a group we passed the car. Unfortunately, a Ford Zephyr police car had been tailing us and quickly overtook the pack, signalling us to stop, which we did with great difficulty. The policeman got out, and coming towards us said "Do you know what speed you bloody idiots were doing? Do you think you're all Tommy Simpson?" (Poor old Tommy was still alive at this point) Then the gimlet eye of the progenitor caught sight of me, trying to look inconspicuous in the pack, and his face assumed a look of supreme disgust... "Oh, it's you, you daft bugger!" We all waited in the silence that followed, wondering what would happen. Suddenly Dad turned back to the car, with a shout of: "Right, I'll pace you to Glossop but it's woe betide any silly bugger that falls behind!" The ride to Glossop was rather quicker than I would have preferred, but we were well fired up by the police escort, siren sounding and blue lights flashing up ahead. Almost felt like the Tour de France!

Tales of Hairy -Chested Trucking- Seventies Style.

2009-09-27T05:12:00.001-07:00

AEC Mandator Mk V in a still from the film "Alfie"

Back in the 70’s, while at Art college, I worked part-time for a trucking outfit who moved foodstuffs in reefer semi-trailers from Liverpool to Sheffield, overnight. Our route was out over the Woodhead road and down onto Sheffield while, as they say, the city slept. I had been learning to drive and had graduated up until there was only the hurdle of the class 1 licence to achieve, and often I would be sent over the pennines with an irascible little Liverpudlian, supposedly to load and unload, and be taught how to handle the ageing AEC Mandator that was our usual steed in those days. The reality was a little different, of course. I had to load and check everything, then drive down the East Lancs road to the Manchester depot while John, my instructor, slept. At Manchester I would load off fulls and load empties up onto the semi while my mate browsed the collection of girlie mags in the watchman’s office and supped tea. Then it was up and onto the pennines via Stalybridge, Tin whistle and the Longdendale reservoirs until we would reach the pub on the top with about an hour to go before closing. We would go in and John would have a few black and tans while I, scared of losing my precious licence, would sip orange juice while having good-natured joshing aimed at me by the other drivers, who were, of course, all supping ale like it was going to be banned the next day. I’m not running John down, he was a great mate and he trusted me to do the needful, sleeping through most of my “instruction” and pretending not to notice some of my more notable errors of judgement. I loved it, driving down into Sheffield, eating past-dated pies and flashing lights at the other trucks that we knew, like the three “Sooties” or Suttons flatbeds that came grinding up loaded with steel, or the “snottys”, Guy big J’s pulling for British Tissues, with their illuminated headboards. I was young, the world was a fascinating and exciting place, and I had 32 tons on the pin. I even got paid!

Work River

2009-09-19T04:27:00.000-07:00

I've just been watching Grumpy Old Git's latest video on his superb blog here ...and it started me reminiscing about my year as an artist in residence at the Glasgow Shipyard of Kvaerner and UIE*.

I'd always been fascinated with the shipyards, and in the mid 1980's, decided to write to Glasgow City Council to see if I could get a grant, to paint an aspect of Glasgow life that seemed to be fast disappearing. I had a difficult interview with an official who obviously wasn't keen on my work, but after some awkward moments, we got talking about railways and industrial archaeology, and I hoped he could see that I loved the subject at least. About a month later, just when I had given up hope, a letter fell onto the doormat bearing the council logo. They wrote that if I contacted the Yard myself and arranged things, I would get a materials grant towards my expenses, and they would buy one or more of the resultant paintings. And so it transpired. I was to spend a very happy year playing with a giant set of meccano, having the full run of both yards. I had different overalls and hard hats for each yard, and had to remember where I was going to, as there was still fierce competition and it wouldn't go down well to turn up with the wrong gear on!

Having driven trucks for some years and experienced the rufty tufty man's world, I was under no illusions that it would be easy being a "poncy artist" in a shipyard, where they drank Irn Bru and ate girders for breakfast after a "guid night oot" and occasionally suspended people they didn't like at the end of a crane jib over the Clyde. But I couldn't have been more wrong.

I was adopted by a gang (or team, as the trendy parlance goes now) in each yard, with our own howff where we drank tea so strong I'm sure it was used to caulk the seams on the hulls of ships. The guys soon started to tell me about aspects of the yard where they thought the light was particularly good at various times, and I even made some paintings for the guys themselves. I became adept at climbing up a hundred foot of scaffolding to get to a viewpoint and heard countless stories from the men who were almost all fiercely proud to be doing what they did. I loved the cranes, and became friendly with a driver who occasionally allowed me up into the dizzying and dangerous world high above the yard, swivelling vertiginously around on rail travelling legs with a giant motor behind us and fifty tons on the jib. He would constantly get requests from men on the radio to lift items onto the ship and woe betide anybody who had crossed him...they would wait a long time for their lift. The cabs were quite spacious, with high windows which served to emphasise the craziness of what we were doing. On the ground, it was a different story. One man told me that the crane drivers were like girls, you had to ply them with compliments and gifts and even then they would sometimes ignore you.

Oh, I could go on for pages and bore you endlessly with tales like this. Suffice to say that I had an exhibition at the end of my tenure, and Glasgow did buy one of my paintings; the one at the top of this post. I met two other artists, who were actually working at the yard, one has since become an internationally renowned artist, Tom McKendrick, and he's a top guy, too. That year spent on the Clyde still informs my work and inspires me to this day.

*ex Fairfields and John Brown's, of course.

The MV Norsea, launched from Govan in 1986.

Small is beautiful in Llanberis

2009-08-18T14:09:00.000-07:00

Dolbadarn, beautifully restored, takes on water at Gilfach Ddu.

Llanberis, in the heart of Snowdonia, is not just Britain's biggest coach park, where disorientated folk stagger off their luxury, air conditioned, fully reclining tour of Britain to gaze bewildered at the surroundings and eye up the local tea shops. "Eh up! the landscape's stopped! We must be at a cafe!" Nor is it solely famous for the wonderful Snowdon Mountain Railway, panting uphill into the mists to the most expensive noshery in the principality.

For behind the shifting mountain wraiths lie the gloomy grey hulks of Elidir Fach and Elidir Fawr, presiding over a ravaged landscape of broken promises. The high quarries yawn, revealing slate panoramas of victorian despoilage and exploitation. Dinorwig.

At its peak in the late 1800s, "when it was producing an annual output of 100,000 tonnes", Dinorwig employed over 3,000 men and was the second largest opencast slate producer in the country. Even by 1930, when the number of people employed at the quarry had dropped to 2,000, production was steady until 1969. Level after level was opened up to the sky as the owners of the quarry desperately harried the slate vein to earth.

This is what we're talking about...nature begins to reclaim the lower slopes,
but this shows only a part of the old quarries. Photo from Wikipedia Commons (Dennis Egan)

So what do we have from all this commercial plunderage, apart from a landscape that looks like a titanic angry toddler has been building slate castles? For the railway enthusiast, there is the Padarn Railway, or as it is now called in it's new, narrower gauge incarnation, the Llanberis Lake Railway. And for the Railway Muddler, that means lovely little Hunslets, just to prove that out of something so big can come forth sweetness and beauty...

Elidir

Three little Hunslets ply the line regularly, and I've managed to capture two of them so far on film. A fourth engine, "Una", is kept in the nearby (and excellent) slate museum. She has occasional runs along the line, so I'm told. "Tomos Bach" escapes me, too, for the moment. I was relieved to find that the name refers to the locos' regular driver in the quarries, not anything else.

Mrs R.M. and I visited recently and started to explore the area in a more detailed way, discovering the old quarry hospital, inclines and more. But that will have to wait for another post. In the meantime I will leave you with a recommendation to visit Dave Sallery's superb web site on the slate quarries of North Wales here.

Mrs R.M. photographing Elidir...cheap Polish coal in evidence...

Elidir outside the Slate Quarry Museum

Sittingbourne and Kemsley Renaissance?

2009-08-16T13:00:00.000-07:00

"Triumph" on Milton Regis Viaduct.

At the end of 2008, things looked as bleak as they could get for the supporters of the Sittingbourne and Kemsley Light railway. The line, a highly characterful little 2' 6" gauge operation kept going by a keenly dedicated band of volunteers, runs for 2 miles from Sittingbourne towards Kemsley Down. The line was once owned by Bowaters Paper Mill, who used it to transport paper and raw materials around the mill and to Ridham dock.

Over the last few years there have been some almost insuperable obstacles against the railway.

In January 2007 Mreal, the successors to Bowaters, closed Sittingbourne Paper Mill. Luckily, the Church Marshes Country Park comittee wanted to see the surrounding area between Milton Regis Halt and Kemsley Down being turned into a fully-fledged country park. The future looked secure, as Mreal agreed to let the railway keep their depot on land within the mill, outwith the country park.

Then, there was the question of the structural integrity of an 118 span viaduct, crossed shortly after leaving Sittingbourne- one of the first and longest reinforced concrete viaducts in the world. Pronounced unsafe, it might have scuppered the future of the line, but with a great deal of hard work the funding for repairs and restoration was forthcoming. Apparently, English Heritage are now considering listing the structure.

In August 2008, just as the society must have thought the worst was over, Mreal announced an uncompromising closure plan. They were to move out and sell the land, pulling the rug from under everything the railway had worked so hard to achieve.

Melior at Kemsley Down

A flicker of light occurred when the Heritage Railway Association announced that the line had won it's prestigious 2008 Small Group Award, but it was little consolation for a group of supporters about to lose everything they had worked so hard for.

Like many small operations before them, the supporters just carried on, working on the track and quietly building links with the local council. The railway managed to get Swale Borough council on their side fairly early on, the officials seeing the benefits to the local area of a tourist operation and possibly an eco-friendly source of transport. Lobbying intensified towards the early part of 2009 with a visit by Baron Faulkner, chairman of the Railway Heritage Committee, a statutory body which oversees the preservation of railway artefacts in the United Kingdom.

To cut a long and complicated story short, things escalated to an international governmental level, with the railway and Swale Borough Council refusing to budge from their position at one end, and the Finnish government being asked to put pressure on Mreal.

Right up until the eleventh hour things looked increasingly bleak, but a press release here reveals that Mreal and the S&KLR have reached an agreement which will safeguard the immediate future of the railway and allow it to run through the country park.

The press release reads: "M-real has donated tracks, sleepers and materials to SKLR in addition to its previous donations of rolling stock.....SKLR is also grateful to M-real for a cash donation made by M-real to assist SKLR with its expenses during this period of reduced income."

So maybe, with a fair wind and the continued help of it's supporters, this fine little line will survive. There is still a great deal of money needed, but there is an optimistic feeling that, having been through the mill, this line won't be closing any time soon.

For a list of the fascinating collection of locomotives and rolling stock on the line, visit the S&KLR web site here.

Thankyou to Paul Best, S&KLR Public Relations Officer, for permission to use his photographs of the railway.

Departure from Cowes...then and now.

2009-08-12T04:28:00.000-07:00

I was looking for reference photographs of Cowes signal box (yes, I know, I'm a man of curious obsessions) when I found these two. The difference fair takes the breath away. I suppose it's crass to say "is this progress?" seeing as the station site has been filled up with faux toytown architecture and of course, the railway scourged...just when we need it most, as our beleaguered country fills up with cars. The only recognisable things to remain are the older brick houses in the background, directly above the signal box in the earlier photo. At least some of the Isle of Wight railway remains elswhere on the Island. As well as some of the original stock, they have a very sexy Andrew Barclay 0-6-0T, a sister of my beloved Waterside Wonder, but with a slightly more spectacular back story. I couldn't resist including this picture of her:

The Isle of Wight Steam Railway have an excellent site:

Isle of Wight Steam Railway Web Site

Incidentally, the Cowes photos are from the rather intriguing Geograph site, a glorious cornucopia of photographs of the British Isles...

Geograph

An Uplifting Experience

2009-08-07T06:37:00.000-07:00

My eyes narrowed in concentration as I negotiated the road's twists and turns in that curiously smudged part of Cheshire, neither town nor country, between Northwich, Frodsham and Runcorn. Here the Trent and Mersey canal and the Weaver Navigation writhe under, over and beside the road as it struggles between old brick terraces, birch infested ruins and, for the most part, execrable modern development.
It's an area which, although firmly within the twenty-first century, seems to be dominated by the nineteenth, with everything seemingly made in the wrong scale- so you will not be surprised to find that it fascinates me.

A helpful brown sign at the side of the road pointed the way to The Anderton Boat Lift, somewhere I'd always wanted to inspect, although I had a feeling it would disappoint. I needn't have worried.

The site is accessed from a country park, set within a kind of post-nuclear landscape, the skyline dotted with disused factories glimpsed over the foliage of young birch trees. Bijou housing estates sprout here and there, and along the canal, the gardens of inscrutable brick homes boast identical features: plastic herons, gnomes and furniture bought, no doubt, from the same local B&Q.

At first glance, the lift looked a little disappointing seen from the top level. However, once money had changed hands and we had descended stairs to the lower level, a very impressive view was revealed. The "Interpretative Centre" is unusual in that it doesn't try to dumb down the fascinating story of the lift (first built in 1875!) but presents the picture in an amusing and stylish way, full of detail and fact. Then, when you go outside and view the impressive structure of the lift, little snippets of information surface in your brain to surprise and amuse you. Well, that's the way my brain works, yours may be better!

Apparently, the Lift had fallen upon very hard times in the eighties and nineties. A determined local appeal was set up to rescue it, before it fell, bit by rusty bit, into the Weaver. It was a hard time for all who cared about the structure, but to their immense credit, they succeeded- the Lift was completely restored by 2001, and is available for canal traffic again.

As the day was very hot, Mrs R.M. and I availed ourselves of tea and buns in the excellent cafe. Here a view can be had over the River Weaver below to a fascinating, yet truly grim looking industrial area...she of the camera skills was already squinting her glamorous eyes in the viewfinder towards said industry...the results certainly give the atmosphere of the place.

A fascinating experience and well worth a visit. The Boat Lift has an excellent web site which gives details and enough history to satisfy most folk. photos: Mrs. R.M.

Anderton Boat Lift web site

There's a nice time-lapse video of a boat going down (and up again!) in the lift here.

Looking the other way from the boat lift, over the Weaver Navigation.
It can, indeed, be grim up North.

The Railway Children

2009-08-06T13:24:00.000-07:00

What a classic. "The Railway Children", Lionel Jeffries' 1970 film (adapted from E Nesbit's novel of the same name) has been a favourite of mine since I first saw it. It seems to tug at my heartstrings every time I hear Bobby cry those famous lines..."Daddy...my Daddy!" as her father, newly released from prison, steps out from the excessive clouds of steam on the station platform.

I lived in the North of England at the time when the film was made, and was familiar with the locations- and the locomotives. The Keighley and Worth Valley Railway in the late sixties and early seventies was a fascinating place. It's sidings were full of rusty rescued locomotives awaiting attention, and the line had a lovely, romantic charm about it. It still has, of course, although in the much more polished form of a modern steam tourist railway.

I enjoyed the later BBC remake of the story, (made on the Bluebell Line this time), especially as Jenny Agutter carried the baton from the first film. I suppose that the new cast of actors are, in some ways, more polished and interesting...Gregor Fisher has a first class try at Perks, for instance, but I still favour the original, as the North Country location has been fixed in my mind and reminds me of youthful days spent trawling the pennine railways ont' bike for remnants of steam.

The locomotives made in the 1970 film are an interesting lot...the film company made use of whatever locos were serviceable, repainting some of them them into a livery reminiscent of the London, Brighton and South Coast Railway, which annoyed me at the time. Now I see it as a little bit of theatricality, transforming things slightly for effect. Why not? All of the locomotives survive, some still on the K&WVR. Here's my favourite loco from the film- also known as the "Green Dragon", seen here in shiny black ...

ex-L&YR 52044 "ironclad" built in 1876, at Haworth K & WVR MPD
...thanks to Mark Allatt for the photo.

Talking of unusual liveries, here's 1369 (MSC 67) another of the stars of the film, a Hudswell Clarke 0-6-0T, built 1921 and a denizen of the Manchester Ship Canal Railway until given a home on the Worth Valley. She has since undergone a substantial overhaul at the Middleton Railway in Leeds and has been outshopped in this, less than engine cleaner-friendly, style:

Thanks to the Middleton Railway Trust for the photo.

Looks more like a toy in this colour scheme, but a thing of great charm, nonetheless. There's a very good page on the K&WVR's own site, listing the locos from the film, with a fascinating selection of accounts from people who were involved- much of interest there, and I recommend it.

Keighley and Worth Valley Railway site

K&WVR's own (superb) Railway Children page here

Middleton Railway Trust

Claude Buckle 1905-1973

2009-08-05T09:08:00.000-07:00

Claude Buckle is probably best known among transport buffs as the artist behind many eye- catching posters and carriage prints made for British Railways, notably in the nineteen fifties. It shouldn't be surprising to find, however, that there was much more to the man.

He was a talented painter in watercolours, turning his unwavering eye to a wide variety of subjects and a close friend of Terence Cuneo, who was an admirer of his work.

Buckle studied architecture at Bristol University, and found employment firstly with Fry's Chocolate as an architectural student, and then with an architectural practice, Wallis, Gilbert and Partners, who were responsible for some notable art deco style industrial buildings such as the General Electric Company's works in Aston, Birmingham, below.

At the age of 26, Buckle decided to forge a career in commercial art. In 1932 he designed and produced a poster for the Southern Railway, which was to be a major commission for him. 85 posters and 25 carriage prints were to follow until the Beeching axe, when work of this nature dried up. By this time, he had made his name as an artist, and was beginning to have a following in private galleries- he was never short of work. His marine scenes are famous for their attention to detail and superb treatment of atmosphere and sky, as this carriage print shows-

Cuneo advised him that his strengths were more in watercolour than oils, and he concentrated almost solely on this to the end of his life. He became a member of the Royal Institute of Painters in Watercolour and a member of the Royal Society of Marine Artists, painting until he died in 1973.

Prints are available from the "Travelling Art Gallery" here

Books featuring Buckle's work:

Landscapes under the Luggage Rack by Greg Nordon, 1997
Railway Posters 1923-1947, Beverley Cole & Richard Durack, 1992
Happy Holidays, Michael Palin, 1987

A web page which appears to be compiled by his son is here. It is worth persevering with the slightly odd navigation as there is much of interest on the site.

A Touch of Claas

2009-08-04T11:42:00.001-07:00

Big Sandy Writes...

That time again muddlerfans!

So what’s new in the Highland fastnesses…?? Well, nothing really new, more some things that are old! I was out and about and came across some old farming implements that I thought you might be interested in.

The first is a Claas Columbus Combine harvester. These were quite common from about 1958 to 1970. Running from a Volkswagon petrol engine (Benzine) or a Perkins 4.99…(the Bedford CF engine) Four cylinder, 34 horsepower., with three gears. Somehow, I don’t think this one will be going anywhere fast, do you?

Behind it is a swath turner (I think)…these have been sitting in the field like this for at least ten years now. I doubt they will ever move again. Strange thing is though, these sorts of things are all over the place here…and will likely remain until they become one with nature again.

Another sight whilst out and about- would you have any idea what this is??

It is the remains of a threshing machine! Most of the metal parts are still there from what I can see… I think it is a Massey Harris thresher, which were quite common on the north east coasts, driven by a belt from either a traction engine, or one of them new fangled tractor thingies! I would say it’s probably from around the early 1900’s to the thirties, at a guess. Hard to say, in that condition! One was rebuilt quite recently by a group of enthusiasts in Caithness…I wonder if any of them had been past this one!

It’s a funny old world…most of the old machinery is lying around on crofts, mostly having no real value, not even as scrap. But show some interest, and suddenly it must be valuable….There is a kind of habit of leaving things in sheds and fields, in the hope that they may repair themselves of whatever ailed them, perhaps. I know of a couple of Landies that are ‘mending’ themselves in this way…

I recall one farmer that had a byre full of horse drawn implements, ploughs, seed drills, all the harness, hames etc. We asked for one to put at the front of the farm, painted up, with the name of the farm on the plough share. No, he wasn’t having it “They might be worth some money” was all he would say.

Well, a few months after we were doing some fencing work there, and went into the byre to find all the equipment gone. When questioned about it, he said that he had “Got a good price for them off a gent who came in with a lorry… I got £100 for them all, and that’s twenty pounds more than I paid for the lot in 1930”…..

Takes all sorts I suppose…. Bye for now!

The Wonderful World of Rowland Emett

2009-08-03T12:41:00.000-07:00

click for larger image

I first became aware of Rowland Emett's work when leafing through a "Model Railway Constructor" mag in the sixties. Inside was an article about some 4mm scale models based upon Emett's whimsical drawings of his "Far Twittering and Oysterperch Railway" locomotives. I wasn't able to find any more examples of his work for some months until a visit to the Central Library in Manchester. There I managed to find several of his publications- which quickly, as they say, blew my mind.

A comparison is often made with the work of William Heath Robinson. Whilst W.H.R. 's work has immense charm and humour, Emett's creations could be made to work, and often did. He made several working "Kinetic Art" pieces which are still with us today, such as his water powered musical clock, "The Aqua Horological Tintinnabulator", which was installed on the lower floor of the Victoria Centre, Nottingham- it may still be seen at work there.

Much as I like the machines, for me it is his railway drawings which fascinate. The locos somehow embody burlesque elements which bring to mind a montage of imagery- something like Quarry Hunslet meets Aspinall Highflyer on a dark night behind Fred Dibnah's corrugated iron workshop.

I saw the image at the head of this piece for the first time the other night and found it irresistable. My uncle, an old-school engine driver, often spoke of "lodging turns" in Perth or Carlisle as if it was some gothic ordeal...the forties equivalent of going offshore, I guess.

The last word must come from the ‘Times Literary Supplement’ in 1948, noting that: “Emett has widened the scope of his art, without altering his style. . . . the book may not appeal to tall elderly men with prominent noses, long moustaches, bald heads and very thin legs, but nearly everybody else will enjoy it.”

Emett on Wikipaedia

Article from "Narrow Lines" about Emett

Jack Delano

2009-07-30T04:36:00.000-07:00

I have featured the work of Jack Delano here before, but I thought it was high time to look at a wider selection. Delano was a professional photographer working in the thirties and forties initially for the Farm Security Administration in the USA. Seems he was well suited to this work as a great deal of his earlier shots focus sharply on the human condition. Social issues of the day were not shied from, and the result is a telling collection of poignant and discomforting images. But we are concerned with his railway photography, and in this I feel that he is one of the greatest American railway photographers. He eschewed gimmickry and shot what he saw in a documentary style that, for me, echoes the Shipyard paintings of Stanley Spencer- interestingly, being made at around the same period.

I love the photos because they seem very much of the era and are uncompromisingly truthful in their feeling despite often being posed. He was so good at capturing atmosphere and character -be it person or machine. Most of these photos are available to view at high resolution from the American Library of Congress collection on Flickr, here.

Museum of Contemporary Photography Biography

Railway plus Town= prosperity

2009-07-23T02:11:00.000-07:00

Prince receives the attentions of a lady volunteer at Harbour Station.

Several blogs ago, I was wittering on about the contribution that a preserved railway makes to the immediate local economy, with reference to the Welsh Highland Heritage Railway here in Porthmadog. I hinted that the contribution of it's larger brother, the WHR/Ffestiniog railway might be significant, but just how significant has surprised your cynical scribe into putting (two) digits to keyboard again for further witterage.

I have been reading the latest Ffestiniog Railway Society comic, which carries a fascinating article- about a doctorial dissertation, no less, into the contribution that the railway and it's workers/volunteers make to said local economy. A proper survey was taken- workers, locals and businesses were canvassed by a post graduate student, working towards a phd. Apparently, the railway contributes even more than your admittedly partial scribe would have imagined, and the academic lady was quoted as saying that should the railway cease to exist, the local shops, guest houses and businesses would feel more than a pinch where it hurts most. How about a figure of 9 million pounds a year into the local economy last year? Since construction started on the WHR in 1997, the railway has estimated to have contributed over 60 million pounds across the board, from meals in local restaurants, Bed and Breakfasts, shops and of course with local contractors. This doesn't include the immense contribution to the community from schemes run by the railway such as the schools apprentice scheme, for instance.

Informal discussion with local folk by your tireless reporter here has elicited the response "what a load of rubbish" which would suggest the railway still has some way to go in winning hearts and minds locally, but this information can only help in the long run. Let's hope the publicity and goodwill gained can survive the local P.R. disaster of the road/rail crossing over Britannia Bridge!

David Lloyd George in soup dragon livery, 2002, climbing the Dduallt spiral.
Manod Mawr looks on in the background.

Polkemmet Postscript...

2009-07-20T03:42:00.000-07:00

I thought I'd got Polkemmet out of my system with the last post I made here, but while browsing Flickr, (my favourite photo resource) I came across a very atmospheric and gritty set which really brought the place back to life for me. These photos were taken in 1979, a couple of years after I had first visited the site in East Lothian. One of them is taken from the same place that I made some sketches from, included here. As usual, on my visit I was having camera trouble, so the sketches were my only record.I noted from 4buttongnomes' notes on the photos that the pit was called the "Dardanelles" because the latest shaft was sunk during that terrible campaign. It was aptly named, that's all I can say!

It's not often that a photo captures the monolithic bulk and purposefulness of a steam engine, even one as comparitively benign as this lovely Andrew Barclay Pug, but this one does it for me.

Thanks again to Stephen for permission to use the photos.

Is it a Bird? A Train...a Land Rover...?

2009-07-13T02:40:00.000-07:00

More musings from our roving Land Rover correspondent, Big Sandy...

Well Muddlerfans, I have been out and about again! This time into the heady metropolis that is Brora, a village on the far north eastern seaboard of our septic isle. Not much further to go and you hit John O Groats…… So what’s sat in the station parking area? It’s a Defender 127 Hi-cap which has been converted to run on the rail lines. It’s quite a long vehicle as you can see from the first pic, and the next two photos show the running gear that is associated with rail use. The view in from the passenger side window shows a lot of clutter…and also the operating system for railway working. The steering has to be locked once on the line, and the correct lights must be shown. There are a few rules and regulations involved which I don’t fully understand, not being au fait with railway terminology, but I was sure you’d like to see the piccies! It’s a Land Rover, which is what attracted me…. For this blog…well, best of both worlds, eh? We see these operating quite regularly on the north line from Inverness to Wick and Thurso, particularly on the sections between Helmsdale and Forsinard. They are always walking the line there… There is a much newer model operating at the moment, with the name ‘Aquarius’ on the side..I’ll try and catch that one for you when I see it. (You know how it is, if I see something interesting I don’t have the camera…have the camera and I don’t see anything interesting!!) I would like to ride on the line in one of these….. ’Look at him, him down there, in the white and yellow, cruising the endless curves of the north line. Wouldn’t you like to ride in one of those screams?’ Ahh..lost it. Must be the hot weather! (Though maybe somebody knows where I’m coming from…! ) Catch you later folks. Big Sandy

Handsome is as handsome does...

The High Intensity ditchlight, mounted on the front
frame extensions gives the game away
that this is Network rail...oh, and the rail wheels, did I mention those?

What a mess!

Focus on the front bumper showing the mechanism for locking
the rail wheels in position.

The latest issue of LandyWave magazine is available online to read- check out www.landywave.com.

Industrial Revolution... the Comic - No. 3

2009-07-03T09:21:00.000-07:00

Here's the third in the series from the pen of Charlie Bedford- hope you enjoy it! As usual, click on the image to get a more readable version.

On the cob

2009-07-01T03:06:00.000-07:00

It was a little too hot to work yesterday afternoon...by 14.00 it felt like the warmer part of an Amazonian rain forest in our little studio. We battled our way through the midge laden air of the Snowdonian rain forest to our ancient car, which was even hotter. After a five minute trip with the windows down, however, the world seemed bearable, and we parked at Boston Lodge, armed with the new camera and every intention of a healthy walk.

Mrs RM wanted to walk along the cob, which was fine with me, although the traffic noise is damnable- but the ever-resourceful girl had the idea of walking down at the seaward side, which is the haunt of swans and washed up plastic bottles, as well as a cross section of all the rubbish that 21st century mankind chucks in the sea. But it was blissfully quiet and peaceful.

Before long, the down ex-Blaenau train whistled for Boston Lodge and we climbed up to take a photo. David Lloyd George and his crew fussed about in the station for a while, whistle occasionally popping, before coming back over the cob towards the carriage sidings with empty stock. This time, the conditions were perfect and Mrs RM took a few shots of the train coming quickly towards us, sounding like a sewing machine, the crew too intent on some discussion to notice us standing on the rocks below.

After a whistle for the points at BL, quiet returned, save for the sounds of the swans waffling in the water and the menacing roll of distant thunder.

Hear that Lonesome Whistle Blow...

2009-06-29T12:51:00.001-07:00

Westbound Santa Fe freight at Corwith Yard,
Chicago Illinois, March 1943.
Photographer:Jack Delano,
courtesy of US Library of Congress ref: LC-USW36-608

The sound of wagons being slowly pulled out in a string, their couplings clanking, or the metallic clash as a loco performed a "rough shunt" ...these were all part of my boyhood's grimy backdrop in the dreary suburbs of Crewe. The crows and whoops as a loco dragged a train out of the yard, exhaust barking, would sometimes stop me in my play to wonder what the loco was, or who was driving it. We later moved to a Lancashire mill town, where my homework was usually interrupted by the distant hacking and clanking of a 9F freight loco, struggling with a heavy train up the long bank to Diggle. Often the steady, slow rhythm would be interrupted by a crescendo of noise as the big engine lost her feet, and I would imagine the driver struggling to close the regulator. Despite sympathising with the crew, the sound, as it drifted across the dark rooftops and fields, was strangely comforting.

I was in a secondhand bookshop recently, and picked up a copy of Allan Sillitoe's "Saturday Night and Sunday Morning". I'd wanted to read it ever since hearing an interview with him on the radio, and I wasn't disappointed. It painted a picture of a Britain coming out of the war years and was full of conversations that rang true, since I'd heard them all from my parents, uncles and aunts while growing up. His descriptions of place and atmosphere were masterfully crafted in a most unselfconscious manner. Gritty northern realism, I suppose..

One of the devices that struck me most was his use of the sound of railway wagons, drifting up from the yard on the other side of town, as a way to give a feeling or mood to interaction between characters. The railway is there, throughout the book, almost as a background chorus- I'm sure I was only conscious of it because of my gricing credentials. This set me thinking about the many other instances of the railway in modern fiction, where it is used as a device to convey the plot along as well as provide atmosphere.

A still from "Saturday Night and Sunday Morning",
with a backdrop of the grimy railway yards of Nottingham

It's very obvious in the films of the fifties...many of which were influenced or inspired by Sillitoe's book, which itself was made into a massively successful film. "Whistle Down the Wind" with Hayley Mills, for instance, where the train whistles, almost cries for help, across the Lancashire moors...the screenplay for this was collaborated on by Keith Waterhouse and produced by Richard Attenborough. "A Taste of Honey", (1961) directed by Tony Richardson, is another interesting story, developed from a stage play. In quieter, largo passages, the characters are seen in their meditative moments, walking by the canal, or against a gritty backdrop, to the sound of railway activity.

Even in a film about the docks, "Pool of London", (1951), the inevitable ship's hooters are punctuated by a background of children playing and the drifting sounds of shunting. I guess it was an important, if unconscious part of the fabric of urban lives, and both film makers and authors included the railway, with it's very emotive sounds, to give credibility and a sense of normality and place..

I remember watching many old American films, usually gangster films, and being very aware of the classic freight train wail during some scenes, far off in the background. Like many other enthusiasts, for me this was a doubly poignant sound, as I would be imagining a long-gone, American freight loco, probably wondering what it was. If the locomotive is actually glimpsed, the magic is somehow diluted; it must be the mystery of the sound that gives it emotional power.

Although Westerns are a genre unto themselves, I can't resist mentioning a sequence in the Eastwood poncho-flick "for a Few Dollars More" , where the train wails a lament before coming into view, and then underpins the scene emotionally by providing the visual backdrop, wheels glimpsed behind a fence. The Loco's Westinghouse pump pants, like an elemental clock, breathing out the seconds before Eastwood snuffs out another bad guy's life.

Wallis and Steevens in "The Wrong Rally"

2009-06-29T01:10:00.000-07:00

Wallis and Steevens no. 1169 "Mayrnagh" of 1883, 7nhp traction engine.

Apologies to Nick Park, but this pluperfectly beautiful, nay, exquisite Wallis and Steevens was caught on pixellage recently by the equally lovely Mrs RM, at the Chelford Rally. Chelford was my first steam rally, a long time ago, on board a six ton super Sentinel...1969 maybe. In those days, we steam types furrowed our brows and looked sympathetically at the owners of vintage vehicles and stationary engines, coming along to our rally and basking in our aura. . We looked over our cab apron at the serried ranks of traction engines, rollers and waggons at the rally and hoped that the internal combustion crowd might, with help, overcome their afflictions. I've since come to deeply appreciate most forms of vintage transport, but have never warmed to stationary engines.

So the railway muddler wasn't too chuffed to find Chelford overcome with the gasping, wheezing, popping and farting of over a thousand stationary engines, filling the air with various noxious fumes. It's my fault...I assumed that when it said "Thousand Engine Rally" there might be at least a few steam portables, but I couldn't find 'em. Now, the guys who own these funny little engines are entitled to their moment and yes, I was definitely in the wrong place...good luck to them.

There was also a vast tented area with many well stocked autojumbles, a very popular feature judging by the enthusiastic faces glimpsed rummaging on the stalls. There were other, stranger items on sale...but no doubt the people who had come for miles to buy a tea towel were happy.

The commentary in the ring was never less than hilarious- it can't be easy. I would be a complete mess, having to witter on all day. I did keep wondering, though... if it was actually David Duffield on a day off from trampling about over the cycling on Eurosport. "Do horses feel the cold, Sean?"

Perfect truckery- these are as fine a brace as you'll find.

In fairness, there were some very tasty vintage vehicles, more tractors than you could quiver a hay bale at, and a lovely display of Land Rovers. Huddled at the gate area were one or two steamers, looking like refugees, but things of great beauty nonetheless. The deliriously delightful "Mayrnagh", was worth the two hour trip from North Wales alone. Special mention must go to Clayton and Shuttleworth "Elizabeth"...not the most beautiful engine, but mightily, lustily impressive....and my heartfelt thanks to the crews for bringing their wonderful steam engines along, their presence went a long way to make up for all that popping and wheezing.

This Albion was in concours condition, absolutely immaculate.
For once, superlatives fail the railway muddler!

Land Rover Curiosities of the Highlands

2009-06-25T11:43:00.000-07:00

You can just make out the front wings in this shot...

Here’s a random thing you might find interesting, spotted whilst out and about on my travels around the lonely lanes of the Highlands…

Hidden by the wall of a long empty cottage, a bit of ingenuity! A waterwheel made from, of all things, a LWB Land Rover rear axle, and some front wings (sacrilege or what??). The wheel should be in the water, and drive is taken from what would have been the INPUT end of the differential. Clever I guess, but, would it work? I think they had some teething problems with it, as a bit further away from the water in a long roofless shed, a diesel engine connected to a generator (I think it’s out of a Daihatsu Fourtrak). All long dead…. The nearest mains electric would be a good 7 miles away from this point, at least. Can’t blame them for trying can we?

Also about the house in various hordes of rampant nettles were several lawn mowers, and two LWB Land Rover chassis that had seen activity from the dreaded tin worm…..still got the front axles though, and the springs. I (Land Rover anorak that I am) can tell that at least one of the chassis is a Series II, owing to the sill channel that is still attached to one side of one of the chassis…getting few and far between these are.

Randomly…there were two pairs of skis as well. Odd old world we live in, aint it?

Big Sandy

Finella, fairest of the Fowlers?

2009-06-24T02:49:00.000-07:00

Seen at Castle Fraser, the magnificent restoration by the Barrack's steam team of "Finella", a lovely Fowler A7. After a varied life, the engine spent it's last working years winching timber in the plantations along Loch Tay. When it retired from that arduous duty, it spent the next 60 years parked in the garage of the Barrack's haulage business. The team have done a lovely job of restoring the loco, named after a hill near Auchenblae, Aberdeenshire. Finalla was to be seen chuffing around the rally field, with the occasional impressive blast from her ex-Canadian Pacific whistle starting up a cacophony of whistles from all the other engines on the field.

Also seen was this sweet little Fowler showman's tractor in an unusual colour scheme. It's very nice to see an engine in work worn condition with slightly faded paintwork, and for the Railway Muddler, the effect was charming.

The Waterside Wonder: No. 24.

2009-06-18T07:52:00.000-07:00

I'm sorry for posting another piece about colliery pugs so soon. I was having a trawl through my old photos and this fell out, along with some memories of a perfect summers' day in 1977. Never mind that my companion and I looked like bit-part actors from Starsky and Hutch, with questionable hair and 'taches- the scene was priceless, as the crew of Andrew Barclay No. 24 eased off a train of fulls at the interchange yard of the Waterside system. Tam Bruce, the driver, gave us an almost imperceptible nod as he climbed down and slipped away for his piece. Well, we had been there at the lineside rather a lot that summer, savouring the last swan song of the colliery line from Pennyvenie to Dunaskin. All fell quiet for a while until a couple of class 20's could be heard whistling up the line into the sidings, looking for another load of coal for Ayr docks.

That evening we climbed to the top of Carsphairn for the hell of it, but I didn't notice the view. My head was full of pugs.

Uncle Walter

2009-06-18T02:39:00.000-07:00

Walter and the railway muddler, back in the fifties...

Walter Robinson was a locoman all his working life, at Crewe North. He started just before the second world war as a cleaner, rapidly rising through the grades, as the depleted railway staff became spread out ever thinly across the region.

He was my uncle, and I used to see him often as I grew up. He would take me down to the sheds to collect his pay, and on other occasions I would have a couple of hours on the footplate with him if he was on a shunting turn, at Gresty Lane, for instance.

I hope it can be mentioned now, as he has been dead for many years, but Walter was one of life’s characters- to put it mildly. He had a very abrasive personality and didn’t seem to take anything or anyone very seriously. I could write a book about some of the things he used to get up to on the railway, but perhaps another few years will have to pass for that one.

As I grew into my twenties, his studied nonchalance about the job annoyed me. He called steam locos “Camels” ...and I was upset when he called Brush type 4’s “Frothboxes” . My youthful idealism was soon to be shattered fully, however. One day, I gingerly climbed aboard a Liverpool bound Jubilee at a pre-arranged moment, as the train left the station. I found myself in the middle of a torrent of foul abuse directed at the loco, rounding off with “black-hearted bitch”.

To travel with him on the footplate, however, was to see that he was a master of his craft. The Jubilee rocked and rolled like a corvette on a stormy atlantic convoy detail, yet Walter coaxed some kind of performance out of her, especially impressive since the fireman admitted he couldn’t get her to steam properly. Walter also attended to the firing duties, giving out instructions to his mate on the regulator, while we all hung on for dear life. All the while, of course, he peppered the noise with shouted abuse and general mickey-taking, of the fireman and yours truly. No-one was immune.

I recall one occasion, when travelling with him to Birmingham in the nineteen eighties. As we walked along beside the train, we passed the dining car and a rather nice-looking woman gazed at us. Me in a set of denims, uncle in a very grubby uniform with a cap that would have been too greasy for Fred Dibnah. She looked a little disgusted. Walter noticed this, and went up to her window, smiling his gap-toothed smile, and shouted: ”Yes, missus, I’m the scruffy bugger who's taking you to Birmingham!”

Walter at speed in the early fifties: 46241 City of Edinburgh, Midday Scot, Oxenholme.

Polkemmet: Cathedral of Clag

2009-06-17T11:48:00.000-07:00

Andrew Barclay "Pugs" hard at work, pulling loaded wagons
from the washery at Polkemmet.
Photograph by kind permission of John Furnevel.

I made it out to East Lothian a couple of times in the seventies, fascinated by rumours of the railway at Whitburn Colliery. I'll never forget my very first sight of the place. Run-down mine buildings, with the famous twin spires of winding gear, a landmark for miles around. Then, the noise. A great eruption, and two fire-blackened locomotives emerged, waging a titanic battle with a string of loaded coal wagons. Smoke and cursing skirled in the air as the strange, mutilated engines worked arcane magic on the mean surroundings, transforming them into a volcanic arena of hot metal, fire and pollution.

The locos themselves had been kept going by the make-do-and-mend tactics of the fitters at the colliery, men who must have been possessed of heroic skills. Thus, there were discarded saddle tanks, funnels, cylinders and wheels lying about as if cast aside by the gods, trying their hand at a little railway modelling. The resultant hybrid engines were true survivors in every sense.

My camera never seemed to work properly at Polkemmet- something to do with the peculiar elemental forces at work, perhaps. I was forced to make rapid sketches of what I saw, which I translated into paint. Not that anything could substitute for having been there.

Some years later, I drove along the M8 between Glasgow and Edinburgh on business, and glimpsed the twin spires in the distance. It set me wondering about going back the next day to have a look at the remains. However, when I drove back, they were gone. Maybe it was my imagination, but where the colliery had stood, there was still a feint smell of smoke, hot oil and sulphur in the air.

Jack Steeple Episode 2

2009-06-17T01:38:00.000-07:00

Here's the latest installment of our Jack Steeple strip from Charlie Bedford. Click the image for a larger version...

Those Silly Thomas Faces...

2009-06-15T13:09:00.000-07:00

The lovely Sir Haydn in his proper guise.

The other afternoon, Mrs RM and I had a trip out to our favourite railway, the Talyllyn. We waited eagerly at Abergynolwyn for the train to arrive, munching the superb biscuits from the railway cafe and listening as the loco chugged steadily up the line. Neither of us were too impressed as the loco, Sir Haydn, hove into view wearing a hideous round mask on the smokebox and an equally horrible transfer on the saddle tank, proclaiming it to be "Sir Handel" .

Now, I know that the Awdry books are popular (I used to read 'em myself, y' know...ok, I still do occasionally...) and I am aware of the special significance of the reverend and the railway. I am even prepared to admit that some children might find the faces amusing...although this particular one is more frightening than anything else. My children were never impressed by them, although they are used to railway engines of all shapes and sizes. They were also brought up on a diet of Thomas and friends.

I'm trying to be reasonable here, and probably failing, but I wonder why the loco was rostered with the silly face on during a weekday afternoon working in the early season...I could understand if it was a special "Skarloey" themed event. We had only driven a relatively short distance to see the trains (from the vale of Ffestiniog)- and it was still a disappointment. I'm sure people who had travelled from further away would have been, as they say, gutted.

Don't get me wrong, I love the TR. It's a wonderful line, with the friendliest staff and some of the loveliest engines and rolling stock. Just leave out the silly faces, guys...stop it now.

Only here for the Gears...

2009-06-14T10:38:00.000-07:00

From Our Land Rover Correspondent, Big Sandy...

So, Muddlerfans…what’s new? It’s been a cracking couple of days here…lovely and sunny. Mind, you don’t see much sun when you are lying under a Landy! My ankles are tanned…. Here’s a nice photo for you gear heads. This is the first and second gear cluster out of my gearbox. It’s gone back in now….and it works a lot better than it did. I had to replace the 1st and 2nd gear synchro springs, the phosphor bronze rings and the little detent ball bearings. Okay…I admit, I didn’t really need to replace the wee ball bearings. Or I wouldn’t have. If only I hadn’t dropped them…

Lord Lucas, the Prince of Darkness, played some tricks on me this week… (Anybody with a British made car will know Lord Lucas…he’s the malevolent spirit who made your wiring.) He decided that the wiring loom for the headlights should sacrifice itself to save the fuse… So, now I have nice bright halogen headlamps, a front end rewire, and I have decided I don’t like spaghetti. I’m considering selling my old Lucas headlamps to the Japanese; I’ll market them as ‘Electric Dark Bulbs’ I think. I think Elton John had a Land Rover…his headlights must have been dodgy too..I’m sure that’s what inspired ‘Candle in the wind.’

Big Sandy
Landy Wave Monthly

The Perfect Pugs of Pennyvenie

2009-06-14T02:46:00.000-07:00

Back in the seventies, I lived in Ayrshire within a half-hours' drive of the Cumnock and Doom valley (local spelling) and the magical Waterside colliery system. This was an arcadian temple of steam, offering the sight of wee Andrew Barclay “Pugs” struggling up the grade to the colliery washery with heavy trains, or pushing spoil skywards to the tip from Pennyvenie colliery.

Down at the loco shed, near the long-abandoned steel furnaces of the Dalmellington Iron Co., there lived a couple of argumentative saddle tanks and their rather beautiful sister, a lovely side tank with funny geisl ejector chimney. All these local luminaries could be seen in action on a carefully picked day, going about their duties. The crews were a friendly bunch, vaguely bemused at the interest shown by us gricers, carrying out their work with studied indifference. I made a polite request once for a little black smoke for a photograph – I suspect the resulting pall obliterated south Ayrshire for days and probably hastened global warming.

I took these shots on Ilford HP4 using my trusty Canon ftb, hence the graininess. I printed them myself... hence the rather less than clean images. They give something of the atmosphere, though, I hope.

I’m not one of those enthusiasts that gets excited by numbers and data, so whilst I do know what happened to these locos I’m not much interested- they are not the same now as far as I’m concerned. All due respect to the people who restore them and lavish time and money to keep them for us all to see- I just like to remember them in their glory, work-stained and purposeful. For the record, steam ended on the system in 1978, and the colliery closed very soon afterwards.

I've always fancied building a model of the Waterside line. Trouble is, I like to immerse myself in atmosphere and colour, shapes and sounds. I'm not much interested in rivets. Other people can take care of the historical record side, and there’s certainly enough published material written. No, any model of the Waterside system that I build will have to include some magical mechanism for making clouds of black smoke, the sounds of curlews and skylarks singing high on the slopes of Carsphairn, and the unmistakeable bustling shapes of closely observed pugs.

Torbay Steam Railway in the Eighties.

2009-06-11T02:31:00.000-07:00

It's a shock to think that these pictures were taken over 25 years ago. They are of 7287 Lydham Manor, waiting to haul a train from Paignton. The mono shot is at Dartmouth- on arrival, I had changed to Tri-X pan, in the days before digital photography. Of course, there is much inward sucking of breath about this loco from the anoraks, she was never a GWR loco, being built in 1950- but I think she's very pretty in GWR livery, and the ordinary punters don't know any different. I remember that the driver was very friendly, and posed for his cab photo, allowing us onto the footplate for the obligatory worship of the boiler backhead. Lydham Manor is still on the railway today, operational as of 2009. Must get back there some day.

An unusual survivor

2009-06-02T09:18:00.001-07:00

Considering that traction engines are one of my favourite forms of machinery, it's surprising that I haven't featured them here yet. Well, here's something to redress the balance. On a jaunt to the Anglesey steam gathering in 2008, Mrs R.M. and I encountered this rare beast.

It's a Robinson and Auden, built in 1900 (according to the makers plate) and looking remarkably chipper for it's years. The owner told me that while there are a couple of stationary engines in existence, as far as he knows, this is the only traction engine to survive from the makers, a Wantage, Oxfordshire firm. The first owner had been Hulcke Colliery in Lydney, Gloucestershire. Strangely, some research on the internet shows it's first registration document dated as 1898...DoT was obviously very much ahead of the game back then...

Only sleeping, 2

2009-06-01T02:49:00.000-07:00

More wistful images from my collection of the halt, lame and too far gone to care...the car was spotted back in 1997 in the sleepy countryside near Old Meldrum in Aberdeenshire. It shared it's resting place with several Case tractors of the 1940's...wonder what happened to them? The old Great North of Scotland railway coach used to sit among the dunes at Balmedie, Aberdeenshire. It, too has probably gone now. This photo from 1987...how time flies!

The Land Rover Musings of Big Sandy

2009-05-31T10:25:00.000-07:00

I'd like to introduce you to a guest contributor, a man for whom no engine or mechanical thing holds mystery...Big Sandy. Sandy is a moderator on the Land Rover UK Forum and is a walking mine of mechanical information, as well as being a very funny chap. He's owned various Land Rovers over the years and is a talented writer, artist and modeller to boot.
I'm hoping he can do us a regular column about the trials and joys of owning an elderly Land Rover. Latest missive received from his Highland fastness this evening:

Well, Hello Muddlerfans!

The Muddler has very kindly asked me to add a few random witterings to his blog..Very brave of him, I have to say.

So, me..who am I?? I ask myself this question a lot..never really got a satisfactory answer. ‘They’ call me Big Sandy, and that’s as good a rubric as any. I have a fascination with a different mode of transport though…Yes, I do like railways (who doesn’t? The loons that’s who…) but Land Rovers scratch my itch.

Not just any Land Rovers though…I don’t like them newfangled bouncy coily things…I’m a fan of cart horse technology! Leaf Sprung Land Rovers…!!! I’d rather bust my spleen than drive a coiler….

Currently I am working on my pride and joy, a 1982 Series 3 (that’s a SIII if ye didn’t know) which is a diesel burner. Slow, noisy and cumbersome (a bit like me in fact).

And here he is….looking smarrrrt after a repaint! (Aye..I should’ve painted the wheels too, eh? Soon, soon…) Watch out for more ramblings…I have my head under the bonnet…but my eye is on the world. I’m watching y’all!

Ffestiniog in the Seventies

2009-05-31T08:30:00.000-07:00

Linda at Tan y Bwylch.
What a wonderful loco, and how like a Cuneo this photo looks!

These pictures came to light when Mrs RM found an old album of photographs in the cupboard. They are not from her camera, obviously ( she was but a mere slip of a girl back then), but were taken by her father, who has now defected to standard gauge, wargaming and other burlesquerie. The photos are a testament to the changes time brings, especially on a forward-looking railway like the Ffestiniog. If you are very good, I will post some more of these treasures soon.

Oh, Merddin! Looking like something out of scrapheap challenge, or a steam, double-ended Wickham trolley, Merddin Emrys waits to plunge down the Vale of Ffestiniog at Dduallt. Oil firing much in evidence. I shouldn't carp, because I know many people gave a great deal of time and effort, not to mention money, to keep her on the road.

Mountaineer, in suitably, er, mountainous surroundings. This is Campbell's platform, coming off Tank Curve. The Alco is one of my favourites, and I look forward to seeing her come out of the works one of these days. Her mournful whistle can make the hairs on the back of your neck rise when heard echoing back off the Moelwyns.

The Alco's valve gear. Interesting to see the bar frames quite clearly, a world away from British loco design.

Finishing with another nice one, a glimpse inside Blanche's cab, with the late Keith Catchpole in charge of proceedings. Could almost be a timeless photo. Photographs by kind permission of Bill Brown.

The other side of the coin?

2009-05-31T03:28:00.000-07:00

"Russell", one of the original engines of the Welsh Highland Railway, at the WHHR terminus in Porthmadog.

As most narrow gauge nuts know, Porthmadog is the home of three superb narrow gauge railways- the Ffestiniog, The Welsh Highland Railway...and the Welsh Highland Heritage Railway. The latter is a sometimes misunderstood, yet wonderful little line with it's terminus at the other side of town to the mighty Ffestiniog. The WHHR runs along northwards, almost linking up with the Welsh Highland, yet shying away from joining rails with it's big sister at the last moment- as if it's fingers have been burnt. Some say they have. Now, I haven't the energy (or the interest) to detail the last five years of politicking, but from where I'm standing, as a fan of all three railways, it seems that the little line has conducted itself with a good deal of dignity. I'm also pleased to say, the signs are that everybody is getting on with each other again.

Now, the Ffestiniog and the Welsh Highland need to attend to their image with the local people, who are understandably upset at the proposed level crossings through Porthmadog and the habit both railways have of leaving fires behind them on the moorland and farmland of this beautiful area. I can see the local point of view, sometimes there is the feeling that the railway is an English toy, run for the benefit of outsiders and causing inconvenience to local folk...although many of these are incomers, of course (like your scribe).

So how timely is this piece from the little WHHR on the benefit of the railway to the local economy? They reckon, based on fairly rough estimates, that the WHHR and it's supporters pumped a quarter of a million pounds into the local economy last tourist season. The railway also sources civils and loco engineering work locally. In that case, how much more are the two big sisters contributing?

For the betterment of local relations, I think we should be told.

Only Sleeping...no.1

2009-05-30T07:01:00.000-07:00

A couple of rather wistful snapshots from my album. These once mighty relics have long since gone feral; seemingly beyond rescue, except possibly as templates. They make wonderfully evocative pictures, though, don't they? Both were snapped in Dorset back in the 1990's. The Clayton and Shuttleworth was works number 50004, and I have heard that it has since been restored...what a job! More dusty photos will be unearthed from my archives soon.

Industrial Revolution- the comic!

2009-05-29T06:01:00.000-07:00

Click the image for a larger version

In a worldwide exclusive deal, the Railway Muddler's old friend Charlie Bedford has agreed to post a monthly comic strip on this blog. For those of you who don't know, Charlie is a mightily talented cove known for his work in industrial and transport themes, and despite being a busy little chap, has promised to continue the story to some kind of conclusion. I've told him it has to involve steam, railways and trucks and no large ladies, but you never know with Charlie. Incidentally, that Jack Steeple reminds me of someone...

Update: for further episodes, click "Jack Steeple" in the index bar on the right.

From the sublime to the ...er...sublime!

2009-05-29T03:32:00.000-07:00

I know, trucks are supposed to be bad ju-ju to us rail types, right? I don't want to bore you with the "sustainable transport" mantra...this government hates road hauliers as much as rail companies, but let's not go there. I happen to like most forms of transport, and I cut my teeth on old AEC Mandators and Bedford TK's, whilst wandering around with a miserable mush, bemoaning the end of steam. For those not familiar with the marque, the photo above is of an AEC 8 wheeler, circa late sixties. The one I drove was a pesky beast, sporting a vague, slow gearbox and fluffy brakes, although she could pull the side off a house when in the mood, and had a lovely whine at top speed. This comely old girl was replaced in the early seventies by a new Mercedes tractor unit, with a splitter gearbox and comfortable seats...what next, we wondered?

The cab of the new Actros. Photo by kind permission of Daimler Benz Trucks

Last week, on my frequent and extensive travels, I had the opportunity to climb aboard a new Mercedes Actros tractor. No, the memories of that first Merc didn't flow back- it was a world away. This was smooth, purposeful and really easy to drive, with all the information you could need displayed on the dash. Power was fairly limitless, or so it seemed, but then I had just got out of a Honda Civic... Now everything has been made as comfortable as possible for the trucker- it's just the other fools on the road we have to worry about !

Actros in action. Photo by kind permission of Daimler Benz Trucks

The Lovelies of Llangollen

2009-05-28T12:27:00.000-07:00

Foxcote Manor at Llangollen Station

Locomotives, I mean, of course. I guess there are many other lovely things about the Llangollen Railway and the places it meanders through, but my first introduction to the line a few years ago was the evocative sight of Foxcote Manor, quietly ruminating in the town's station. Mrs RM caught the moment perfectly with customary skill- see above.
We attended the "Steam, Steel and Stars" gala this year, which was another divine line up of locomotive beauty, including the irresistable sight of GWR "City of Truro", never before glimpsed by your scribe's bloodshot eyeballs.

Just time to grab some lunch- the crew of pannier 6430
and push-pull auto coach at Llangollen.

Now, I don't know whether it was the excitement of seeing so many locos all on one day, or the suspicion that I was becoming too handy with the camera, but as LNER B1 "Mayflower" drew into the station at Carrog, Mrs RM made an expansive hand gesture which knocked my trusty Fuji Finepix out of my shaking hands and down onto the track, in frightening proximity to said locomotive's firebox. Mesmerised by the allure of Mrs RM, the fireman gallantly leapt down into the cess between platform and raging firebox and retrieved the poor camera, now quite the worse for wear. So, for the moment at least, I have relinquished photographic duties to a superior photographer. The Dukedog will have to wait.

Steamy afternoons in the Summertime

2009-05-28T05:45:00.000-07:00

Photos by Mrs RM

Living in North Wales is pretty darned good, with several narrow gauge treasures within reach and lines like the Llangollen Railway within an hours determined travel.

Good, that is, until the summer months. OK, I know the weather can be a little damp, but being British, we ought to be used to that. You know what I'm going to say, don't you? Yes, it's the tourists. Now, I don't begrudge people having a good time, coming here to visit our railways, (that is why they come, isn't it?) and spending their hard-earned moolah on one or more of these excellent causes. As a spotty youth in the distant past, even I stayed here with my oldies, gazing in disbelief at a double-ended Taliesin. (Sad anoraks can work out my age from that clue- answers on a postcard to "Losing Track" Towers) . Yes, guilty as charged, m'lord.

It's impossible to shop at the local Tesco unless a dawn raid is organised- even then the shelves will be empty as our visitors will have had everything the day before...that is if you can get parked...anywhere. Venturing out is difficult because of slow moving convoys of caravans, fancifully named R.O.V's (Kon-Tiki Explorer...what were they thinking?) and ancient cap wearing people in Nissan Micras who brake for oncoming vans. The driving of the locals becomes even more desperate and suicidal as the summer wears inexorably on. Assuming that one survives the road rage, what solace is there?
We need the visitors, I know, especially in these straightened times. So they are contributing to the local money supply, even if they are pushing the infrastructure to the limit. But what really makes me cheerful as I'm sitting at 20mph behind some mobile tupperware palace is the thought of the Summer Steam specials on the beautiful Cambrian Coast Line. Plandampf at it's best, I reckon, and last year we were treated to the stirring sight of Ian Rileys' 4mt Mogul several times a week. Mrs RM and I caught it at Machynlleth last year and the scene was pure nostalgia, with the loco pleasantly work stained. I even put my black and white glasses on and was back there in the fifties, not that I remember those years, of course.

The pictures here show the loco servicing in Porthmadog, with the lovely little WHHR just across the road...and the vicious mayhem of Tescos car park but a memory, even if the screams and horn hooting could be heard in the background. Tourists? Ah, theyre OK.

I think those tolerances are tight for P4, don't you?

Pretty face. To think that I once considered these locos ugly...