Riding Yorkshire's Final Steam Trains E-Book

Keith Widdowson

• Herausgeber: The History Press
• Kategorie: Lebensstil
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Seitenzahl: 227

Beschreibung

Keith Widdowson visited the North Eastern Region of British Railways on over forty occasions during the final eighteen months of steam powered passenger services. With the odd exceptions (usually for railtours) most of the locomotives were neglected, run down, filthy, prone to failure and often only kept their wheels turning courtesy of the skills of the crew coaxing them along with loving care. Far from the scenic delights so often justifiably portrayed of the Yorkshire countryside, the ever-dwindling numbers became corralled within the industrialized heartland of Bradford, Leeds, Wakefield and Normanton. Here, Widdowson recalls that bygone era, leading an almost nomadic nocturnal existence on his self-imposed "mission" of stalking the endangered "Iron Horses" in one of their final habitats. He was often far from alone in his quest. The "Haulage-bashing" fraternity comprised of like-minded enthusiasts from throughout Britain, often congregated, lemming like, on the one-coach early morning mail trains, the Summer Saturday holidaymaker trains or the Bradford portions; indeed any passenger service with a steam locomotive at its front From the many disappointments of thwarted possibilities to the euphoric joy of unexpected catches, together with over 130 contemporary images, Riding Yorkshire's Final Steam Trains is a compelling snapshot of the race against time at the end of the golden age of steam.

Leseprobe

This book is dedicated to my ever-understanding wife Joan. Prior to meeting me the steam locomotive was an unknown subject to her. Now, after trailing around the country over the years with her ‘chaser’ husband, her own red-lined catches must surely rival that of any other woman’s! She also had a hand in selecting the photographs for this book when decisions involving duplication were involved.

CONTENTS

Title

Dedication

Introduction

1 Chasing: An Addiction Explained

2 A Southerner Ventures ‘Abroad’

3 Planning the Attack

4 Here We Go

5 The Last Remaining Outposts

6 The Main Players

7 Disappointments Galore

8 The Alnwick Adventure

9 Where Are Those Elusive Jubilees?

10 Riding Yorkshire’s Nocturnal Mail Trains

11 All Aboard the Rail Tours

12 Brief Encounters

13 No More Wakefield Portions

14 The West Riding Finale

15 And Still They Come

An Afterthought

Glossary

Appendices

Appendix I

Appendix II

Appendix III

Appendix IV

Appendix V Two Sample Summer Forays (NER Extracts Only)

Appendix VI Railways Across the Pennines

Appendix VII Preserved Railways in the North East of England

Sources

About the Author

Copyright

INTRODUCTION

FIRSTLY DEAR READER I have a confession to make: I am a baby boomer! Upon returning from active service in the Second World War my dad, who had met my mum just prior to the commencement of hostilities, was one of the fortunate to return safely and set about making a fresh start in the country for which he had fought for freedom. Then I came along in 1947. Why am I relating this seemingly irrelevant information to you in a book about steam travels you may ask? Fast-forward to the mid 1960s and now being a teenager with disposable income and no financial responsibilities, i.e. wives/children/mortgages, the world was my oyster.

I had joined British Railways in 1962 and, although the clerical grading pay structure wasn’t the highest paid profession, if the related free and privilege ticket perks associated with the job were utilised to their fullest extent then the ability to travel and see not only Britain but Europe as well would have been foolish to ignore. We were a fortunate generation.

The swinging ’60s were a time of full employment and us teenagers had a pocketful of money to spend on whatever we wanted. Released from parental imposition of short back and sides, and obviously influenced by the pop groups of the day, collar length hair and sideboards were grown. Sure I could have spent my wages on girls or cars or other recreational pursuits – but they could, and indeed did, wait. As a 17-year-old in 1964 the world was there for a teenager full of wanderlust and youthful vigour to explore. There was, however, a more significant matter that necessitated my attention. The steam locomotive was fast disappearing and locating and travelling with them took priority over everything else. Had teenage ‘freedom’ and the death throes of the Iron Horse* not coincided during this period then it would be unlikely that books such as this would have been penned.

I was proud to be a member of the haulage-chasing fraternity. We were a disparate collection of like-minded individuals from all parts of the country whose paths regularly crossed whilst in pursuit of our quarry – often during the increasingly frequent ‘last’ occasions. It was easy to sit by the lineside or visit steam sheds and either cop or photograph the steam locomotive. Haulage bashers, however, had the hardest job of all – catching their prey ‘on the move’. It was the pre-Internet, Twitter and mobile phone age (present-day teenagers’ jaws drop here!) and as such it was far more difficult and unpredictable to guarantee successful captures. The adrenalin rush and thrill of the chase cannot be replicated today. Knowing rather than hoping that a certain locomotive will put in an appearance somewhat defeats the sense of achievement when pre-planned junkets work out.

As the authorities gradually turned more and more services over to diesel we were obliged, because the remaining steam operated ones always only seemed to run during night hours, to lead a nomadic nocturnal existence – sometimes resulting in scenes of mayhem in the early hours whilst scrambling for the few seats available on mail/paper train services. The common denominator was haulage and whenever sighting each other information was exchanged. Did you know about such and such a train being steam operated? Had you heard about another being dieselised? There was without doubt much friendly rivalry amongst us. Often, when regaling (bragging even!) about our adventures, highlighting our own individual triumphs, there were always some participants silently cursing our good fortune – immediately making plans, usually to rectify their own shortfalls of red-lined entries (this referring to the locomotive listings being marked through within certain Ian Allan publications).

One by one the regions dispensed with steam. The WR in March 1966, the ER in May 1966, the ScR in May 1967, the SR in July 1967, the NER in November 1967 and finally the LMR in August 1968. What was on our side was the stamina of youth – a necessary requirement as, other than on my home patch of the SR, ALL journeys meant the minimum of at least one overnight spent on trains or in waiting rooms. As time progressed the itineraries became lengthier – my maximum British bash being of five nights without sleeping between clean sheets. Many lifelong friendships were formed. At the time we thought our hobby was heading for oblivion – little did we know that, courtesy of a dedicated band of enthusiasts and volunteers, hundreds of steam locomotives would be alive and well today. Indeed the railway preservation movement has become a burgeoning integral part of the tourism industry and is there for future generations to enjoy.

With the other regions of Britain having received my attention during the preceding two years, it wasn’t until the April of 1966 that I made my first serious attempt at catching runs with steam locomotives allocated within the North Eastern Region (NER) of British Railways. Although the authorities had dieselised the majority of passenger services, there remained, predominantly in the West Riding, a pocket of secondary passenger services still assigned to steam power. I had almost left it too late but, as always in a race against time, likening the challenge to a gauntlet being thrown down, I set about locating and travelling with whatever remained.

I had deliberated titling the book Tangerine Trails alluding to, as older readers might recall, the distinctive sausage-shaped nameplate signs with white lettering on a tangerine background that adorned all the stations. With the regional timetable from the period also being contained within tangerine-coloured covers, the reader might have expected travel yarns from throughout the whole of North East England to be included. I therefore surmised that with just a handful of steam runs elsewhere Riding Yorkshire’s Final Steam Trains was of greater linguistic correctness. Please join me as I detail the successes, disappointments, frustrations and joys of my self-appointed mission – which, while compiling, proved a therapeutic escape from today’s ‘must get there as fast as possible’ rat race!

1966 NER system map.

Note

* An ‘Iron Horse’ is an iconic literary term widely popularised and found frequently in use during the one and half centuries following the competition win by George Stephenson’s Rocket. In the 1860s railroads were built across North America – the Native Americans hating this intrusion. Because initially the train cars were pulled along the tracks by horse, upon their substitution by the steam locomotive they nicknamed it the ‘Iron Horse’.

1

CHASING: AN ADDICTION EXPLAINED

TRAVELLING BY STEAM train has to be one of the greatest pleasures of life. The steam locomotive, a vital cog of the nineteenth-century industrial revolution, was undoubtedly one of man’s finest achievements. Monopolising the movement of both passenger and freight traffic throughout the world for over a century it was only advancing technology in the form of electric- and diesel-powered alternatives that unseated it off from its throne. Unlike today’s modern traction, which switches off and closes down upon a minor component failing, it usually got you home – even if it was itself ailing! Above all she was a living, breathing machine, often having a will of her own, but if treated with tender loving care would perform all that was demanded of her.

When frequently visiting some of the preserved railways, all the associated memories of my travelling years come back to me. The deafening exhaust echoing off of the cuttings and trees, the atmosphere, the heady nectar of grit, smoke and steam emanating from a living machine tackling a stiff gradient can only be truly appreciated by ‘window hanging’ out of the leading coach. It is beyond my comprehension how anyone can fail to be moved by the sight and sound of a steam locomotive hard at work. Personally, since first viewing them at Waterloo in the early ’60s, I have had an ongoing love affair with them. It, or more universally referred to as she, has been a predominant mistress in my life for over half a century and, being the basis of this book, I defy the reader not to empathise as to the reason why I spent my formative years in pursuit of her.

Those of you who have read my previous tome on (steam) chasing, The GreatSteam Chase: The Last Days of Steam on BR’s Southern Region, can anticipate the brief of this explanatory chapter – slotted in here for the benefit of new readers. To set the scene as to when and where the seeds of my love of the Iron Horse were sown, I have to take the reader back to Waterloo – where I commenced my railway career. From my workplace, perched high up on the fourth floor, panoramic views of London were available if looking north, with just a massive expanse of the glass-covered roof if looking south. Although above the roof you could still hear all the station announcements and general noises from the activities below, the noisiest, emanating from the arrival (12–14) and departure (9–11) platforms, was of the steam-operated services.

Not initially an enthusiast when joining BR, it wasn’t until mid ’63 that any interest in disappearing steam and line closures finally fired sufficient interest to propel me out to places I had often directed prospective customers to in my job as telephone enquiry clerk. During my lunch break the 13 30 departure for Weymouth/Bournemouth West was often viewed from the end of platform 11 and perhaps it was the sheer majesty of the 8P Merchant Navy-class locomotive, with its safety valves lifting and the fireman fuelling the fire in readiness for the 143-mile journey ahead, that became the catalyst of a lifetime hobby. As I stood there, camera poised in readiness for the platform staff’s whistle and the guard’s ‘right away’ the potent power subsequently unleashed with the Pacific initially slipping (an inherent Bulleid weakness) on the greasy rail before finally finding her feet and powering the train into the distance must have sunk deep into the memory bank of an impressionable teenager.

At the rear of the train, ably assisting with an almighty shove, was the tank engine that had brought the stock in from Clapham Yard. Within the cavernous station train shed the ear-splitting cacophony of its thunderous exhaust sent the pigeons into orbit and made any conversation nigh on impossible. It all lasted for less than a minute before the tank engine driver slammed on the brakes to bring him to a stand alongside the ever-present gaggle of trainspotters always resident at the country end of platform 11. As I mentioned in my introduction, but I believe is worth restating, how anyone can fail to be impressed with the sight and sound of a steam locomotive in full flight is still beyond my comprehension. The intention of ‘setting the scene’ of my love of Iron Horse chasing has hopefully thus been achieved.

Having initially joined BR ‘because my parents noted my interest in local timetables’ (albeit bus!) I soon realised that the majority of the, certainly clerical, workforce not only saw their employment as a means to pay the mortgage but as an extension of their hobby – enhanced perhaps by the free and reduced rate travel facilities available! One particular friend, Bill, with whom I was to subsequently travel throughout Europe, often arrived in the office on a Monday morning with tales of his travels, photographs and timetables from all over the country. ‘Get out there – use your travel facilities. It’s all disappearing,’ he often said. He was referring to the seemingly relentless number of routes closing as a consequence of Dr Beeching’s axe (The Reshaping of British Railways, 1963) together with increasing dieselisation (Modernisation and Re-Equipment of the British Railways, 1955), the consequential outcome inevitably leading to the wholesale slaughter of the steam locomotive.

During the latter part of ’63 curiosity began to get the better of me and I tentatively started to venture further afield, away from the mundane suburban commuter journeys undertaken so far, to routes (in the south of England) threatened with closure. During those early explorations I regrettably failed to document any facts and it was only by carrying a Brownie 127 camera and armed with an ever-deteriorating, flimsy paper network map on which I coloured in the relevant routes that any details survived the years. From the March of ’64, however, having had a birthday present from my parents of a Kodak Colorsnap 35 and now always travelling with a notebook, the addiction was taking hold of me. This camera was equipped with the latest technology! It had a lens you could change to whatever the weather was doing i.e. bright sunshine, black-lined cloud or rain – not quite up to present-day equipment but adequate enough for my needs. Over the years, having been dropped, mislaid and cursed at (when the film jammed), it has provided me with over 1,000 images, some of which have found their way into the railway press. I wish I had taken more, but funds were directed at travel costs and, as a junior clerk, weren’t always there.

As the months counted down towards the end of steam throughout Britain an ever-increasing number of enthusiasts could be witnessed on the scene. As mentioned in the introduction, rather than ‘copping’ a locomotive, we haulage bashers had to travel behind our quarry in order to redline the entry in our Ian Allan Locoshed books. The resulting satisfaction of seeing a page or column completed, perhaps even before our fellow conspirators, was without doubt what we all wanted to achieve. Being a haulage aficionado was undoubtedly a very self-appreciating variation of railway enthusiasm. No one else would benefit from our successes. Photographers can display their results for all to enjoy whereas what did I achieve – a book full of numbers! Memories, however, remain and whenever espying a photograph in a magazine or book of a train I might have travelled on, out come the notebooks and if indeed I was aboard the depicted train the relevant page gets extracted and stowed away in my ‘I was there’ folder.

Photography was always, as far as I was concerned, secondary to the pursuit of steam haulage – I would love to have been at the lineside as well, but being unable to be in both places at once a choice had to be made. It was a race against time. Success in tracking down steam-operated services came with experience, but it was always reassuring to see a wisp of smoke in the distance thus increasing the likelihood, but not always guaranteeing, the arrival of one. It was a mad, frenetic period – the camaraderie, the sense of urgency – knowing it would all end one day. Steam was disappearing at an extraordinarily fast rate, that fact alone providing the impetus to catch every potential movement. I sometimes wonder if had the steam locomotive not been dying so quickly whether such enthusiasm, such a fanatical chase, would have occurred.

Whilst appreciating the run-down conditions and constant failures, such a frequent occurrence towards the end, I still feel privileged to have witnessed the scenarios and participated in the pursuits with all their attendant emotional excitement and sadness. One of my friends from that period recently contacted me in connection with a previous book and, within the communication, highlighted how lucky we were to have enjoyed the scenarios, stating they were ‘the best days of my life’ – with which I concur. Whereas they were fun, providing excitement and joy for us enthusiasts to follow as a hobby, for the railway employees working with such run-down machines in depots surrounded by dereliction and filth it was no joke. Their own employment was in doubt as steam sheds were closed down and I take my hat off to them for the chivalrous attitude they had towards us ‘puffer nutters’.

My case and equipment. Everything I needed was crammed into this 16×10×4in attaché case.

Through all the travels contained within this tome my small attaché case (16×10×4in) went with me. All necessary equipment was contained within it: timetables, camera, Ian Allan books, notebooks, Lyons pies, Club biscuits, pens, flannel, handkerchief, stopwatch, cartons of orange drinks, sandwiches and, of course, a BR1 carriage key – a necessary piece of equipment to obtain a few hours sleep in vehicles stabled in the platforms/carriage sidings! Sturdy enough to sit on in crowded corridors of packed trains and doubling up as a pillow (albeit hard!) on overnight services it was in regular use through the final years of BR steam and even travelled with me throughout Europe in ’68–69. Having survived many domestic upheavals over the years it now enjoys a comfortable retirement at the bottom of my ‘railway cupboard’ at home – containing all the documented travel information without which I could never have contemplated writing a book such as this.

As for apparel the anorak was not in existence then – to the best of my knowledge it was either a raincoat or a duffel coat with its attendant toggle fasteners. Usually, having commenced weekend travels directly after a day’s work at the office, the obligatory tie (modern and straight edged) was always worn, albeit at peculiar angles after an overnight trip. The followers were classless. They came from all walks of life and included vicars, MPs (such as Robert Adley of Winchester who became a leading opponent to privatisation) and persons from many a varied employment. I often wondered how those who did not obtain cheap travel as an employment perk could afford it all – but then again ticket checks on trains were infrequent and there were no automatic barriers back then!

Upon returning home after each escapade, or within a few days if very late back, all the necessary details collected were transferred into legibility within large A4-sized desk diaries. Separate small books kept individual locomotive mileages, shed visits and timed trains. I lost the pre-June-1965 notebooks from which I extracted the information but have retained all the rest. There was much to do. Each ‘capture’ was redlined in the Ian Allan Locoshed book – more often than not being surrounded by blacked-out entries indicating sister locomotives having been withdrawn! These books were reissued quite regularly and, with the continuous transferring around of locomotives (information updated courtesy of Railway World magazine) resulting from line/depot closures, much midnight oil was burnt in just attempting to keep it all current. Luckily the detailing of such minutiae came easy to me through my work as a BR train planner where precise and accurate documentation was a requirement. Then there was a surprising educational side benefit as regards the named locomotives. Reference to library books or encyclopedias were often made as to who was Sir Harry Hinchcliffe or Clive of India, where is Bihar and Orissa, what was Bellerophon. It was much more difficult back then, not having the ability to type in the search box on your handheld iPhone! So off we go …

Front cover of the Autumn ’64 Ian Allan Combined Volume. (Ian Allan)

Front cover of Part 2 of an Ian Allan ABC. (Ian Allan)

The Locoshed books issued by Ian Allan were an essential tool in keeping up to date with the whereabouts and numbers of steam locomotives. Here are the front covers of two issues: Autumn 1966 (left) and Autumn 1967 (right). (Ian Allan)

The twelve issues of the 1967 LCGB Bulletin. These small monthly publications provided both the information to alter the Locoshed Book entries plus reports from all the regions by members in respect of which trains were steam operated, shed closures and their own rail tours. (The Locomotive Club of Great Britain)

The twelve issues of the 1966 Railway World magazines. It was the reading of ‘the office copy’ in those early years of railway employment, with photographs and articles of railway routes about to be axed by the good doctor, that inspired me to travel over them before it was too late. (Ian Allan)

2

A SOUTHERNER VENTURES ‘ABROAD’

NORTH EAST ENGLAND was the cradle of the railways. The world’s first public railway to use steam locomotives was the 25-mile-long Stockton & Darlington Railway over which, in September 1825, George Stephenson’s Locomotion No. 1 worked the inaugural train. Primarily concerned with the faster movement of coal, the need for an alternative mode of transportation other than the horse-drawn method available until then had led to a myriad of railway lines being constructed throughout the coalfields of Durham and Northumberland. Always on the lookout for profiteering on behalf of their shareholders, passenger traffic, until then of secondary importance, became a valuable source of income to the railway companies of which the North Eastern Railway (NER) (1854–1922), resulting from numerous amalgamations over the preceding years, became the main player. Few railways achieved such regional domination and, given the level of rivalry that existed in much less fertile regions for railway operation, the NER was fortunate in not facing greater competition.

In the sixty-eight years of the NER’s existence the railway expanded from a route mileage of 700 to 4,900. It bequeathed to the London & North Eastern Railway (LNER) (1923–1947) a significant portion of the East Coast Main Line (ECML), some of the finest stations in the country, e.g. York, Darlington, Hull and Newcastle, an electrified suburban system at Newcastle and massive freight traffic. Little changed upon the 1923 grouping or indeed after the 1948 nationalisation. The railways carried on as always, moving both freight and passenger traffic in abundance. They, together with their British Road Services arm, had the monopoly. There were no motorways and car ownership was only for the well off. Change, however, was on the horizon. Post-war affluence, allowing family car ownership to become the norm, together with continual increases in permitted weight limits for lorries, was to challenge the railways’ monopoly on all fronts. With the loss of many of the traditional heavy industries over the years, coupled with the 1955 British Railways (BR) Modernisation plan envisaging the elimination of steam traction by 1968, the steam locomotive, the main thrust of my hobby, was heading for oblivion. My interests therefore morphed from that of a line basher into the chasing of the Iron Horse itself. There was little time left!

The date was August 1964 and within a few weeks the Daily Herald would cease publication and be superseded by what has become Britain’s largest-circulation paper, The Sun. Musically it was a great period to live through with Top of the Pops and Radio Luxembourg belting out hits from groups such as the Beatles, the Rolling Stones and the Animals – Manfred Mann’s Do Wah Diddy Diddy sitting at the number-one spot during the last two weeks of that August.

Although having travelled on overnight services to the West of England during the previous month, the familiarity of destinations already known both from having holidayed there over the years with my parents and my Southern Region (SR) telephone enquiry job, voyaging north that August night it seemed I was venturing into the unknown. Sure I had studied maps, viewed photographs and read timetables as regards the cities and towns I was to visit, but nothing broadens the mind like actually travelling there in person. Strange dialects, unusual-sounding destinations – it all caused an adolescent 17-year-old some consternation determining if I was on the correct train/platform to ensure my plans were adhered to. The overnight service down the ECML, specifically advertised for Geordies working away during the week to visit home with cheap tickets, was chock-a-block. This service called at all main stations, and the consequential passage through the open-plan carriages of people looking for non-existent seats resulted in very little shut-eye being obtained en route.

Newcastle station was, and remains, an impressive testimonial to the Victorian engineer John Dobson. Opened in 1850 by Queen Victoria, it was a joint enterprise between the York, Newcastle and Berwick and the Newcastle and Carlisle railways. The station’s train shed has a distinctive barrel-vaulted roof with three curved arched spans – the first example of its kind – which set the ‘house style’ for the NER’s subsequent main-line stations. If approached from the south you cross over a high-level Robert Stephenson-designed bridge straddling the River Tyne while at the north end was once a complex diamond-crossing-equipped rail junction, which the succeeding NER claimed to be the largest in the world. As is so common these days, the operational part of the station has been significantly reduced and much of the superfluous space converted to provide additional car parking. Back in 1964, glad of the opportunity to stretch my legs, I positioned myself at the north end of the station viewing the aforementioned diamond crossing being much utilised by a plethora of steam locomotive classes only previously read about in The Observer’s Book of Railway Locomotives of Britain.

Front cover of The Observer’s Book of Railway Locomotives of Britain given to me as a Christmas present in 1963.

The next seven photographs were all taken from Newcastle station platforms between 6 a.m. and 8 a.m. on Saturday 22 August 1964. I had never witnessed any of these classes before – having only seen photographs of them in magazines and books such as The Observer’s Book of RailwayLocomotives of Britain. Entering the station at the north end is one of the 206 Stanier-designed LMS 4MT 2-6-4Ts, 42548, this 28-year-old example having been built by North British (Glasgow). She was a long way from her Newton Heath (Manchester) home and was withdrawn from Birkenhead in February 1967.

Easing her way past on the goods lines is one of the seventy-eight Gresley-designed 4-6-2 A3s – LNER 60080 Dick Turpin. Built in 1924 by North British, she had been displaced from the crack ECML expresses by diesels and was to be withdrawn from her Gateshead home two months later.

Sister A3, 60112 St Simon