It feels like I'm rarely at home on weekends these days...certainly, this summer has seen me disappearing off on numerous Friday afternoons, and not reappearing until sometime on Sunday with huge mileages under my ever expanding belt. This has all been at a cost - a financial one of course, but to some extent a personal one too. I've sort of lost touch with my local area - not entirely a bad thing given how frustrating it can be - and I've neglected friendships closer to home perhaps? In any case, today it was back to the usual pattern. Up early and out on the first train from Highbridge. My first thought was for how dark it was. Doing early starts on railtours meant I'd lost touch with how late the sun is rising as winter approaches. Made the switch onto the first London train at Weston, and settled in to listen to the week's podcasts and doze my way east into the rising sun. The buffet was inexplicably closed for much of the journey, so deferred breakfast until later. The sky was amazing as the day shaped up into a clear, cold one as I sped along. Sometimes, in the rush to do more exotic trips, these simpler pleasures are forgotten.
The pressure was off today too. I'd decided to re-enact a journey I'd taken many years back and to visit Southend using both routes to the seaside town. I calculated I'd done this sometime in 1998 or 1999, but couldn't remember for sure. My only hazy recollection was of a strange outdoor 'escalator to nowhere' near Southend Victoria station. I've visited since, the last time most memorably when on Pathfinder's overnight Buffer Puffer 7.0 when a quick turnaround and and 04:20 departure meant this wasn't an ideal photostop. The rapidly developing H1N1 virus I was about to suffer from probably made it a less than ideal time to call on the place too!
Firstly though, I had to negotiate London. With the Circle Line out, I resorted to the buses once more. However, the No.15 had disappeared - despite it's presence on the TfL website, the route has been divided up into two, far less useful parts. After a pointless walk around Paddington looking for a non-existent bus stop, I settled on a 23 which I'd abandon in The City. Enjoyed the unexpected spin through the West End, a trip which oddly I'd been talking about only yesterday in fact. The day had stayed cold and bright, and it was a pleasure to watch Oxford Street and Trafalgar Square waking up slowly. After a spin along The Strand, and up Ludgate Hill, I hopped off at the Bank. I decided to do the next bit instinctively on foot. My wanderings in the City have been sparse lately, but my feet seemed to remember the way unprompted, along King William Street and then a little diversion into Eastcheap and Rood Lane to reach Fenchurch Street. Rather wonderful to be tramping around the City again, and I thoroughly enjoyed walking to the station. Remarkably, despite dallying over my transfer, I arrived in good time to get the breakfast I'd missed, and catch the train I'd planned to take. So, onto the 10:00 to Southend Central, and a quiet and bright spin along the long stretches of viaduct, curving tightly through Limehouse and heading out of the city. It's hard to be pessimistic about the East End in weather like this, so I settled back to enjoy progress as we passed from urban sprawl to Essex countryside strangely suddenly, somewhere around Upminster.
Arrival at Southend Central sort of crept up on me, as I'd settled into watching the views and listening to the locals. Once off the train we were shepherded swiftly out of the station by a security guard, through an entrance on the Down side which I genuinely don't recall from previous visits. My first instinct was to head for the sea, and I noticed that the sun had started to warm things a little too. There were still crowds walking along the High Street to the seafront although it was in disarray, with some fairly heavy-duty roadworks in evidence. These must have blighted the tail end of the season too, to be this far advanced. Marvelling at this bad planning, I stepped out onto the deck around the lift down to beach level, and enjoyed a remarkable view over the Thames Estuary. Took some photographs before heading back into town for a much needed coffee. As I walked and during my time in the coffee shop, I noted that Essex was at war - with Essex itself no less. Everywhere I went there seemed to be conflict - couples disagreed loudly - about coffee, cars, where to stow pushchairs, the size of coffee cups - anything in fact. The keening esturine voices, raised in dismay, began to grate as they sliced through the chatter and background noise. The rudeness was remarkable, cold and strangely cruel. I can't say I liked this place or these people greatly. There were exceptions of course, but there seemed to be a strange local pride in assuming a blockheaded indifference to others. At the risk of hate mail here, I'll of course note that everywhere has it's strange characters - but these people were everywhere it seemed. I slunk away to Victoria Station with a brief, and I hope reassuring grin to the barista who had prepared my coffee - not local, and looking quietly terrified of the customers.
Finding Victoria wasn't so easy...I headed up to the Shopping Centre I knew surrounded it - and found it grown obscenely large in the last decade. After trying to work my way around the megalith and discovering odd and colourfully un-British buildings in the process, I gave in and walked through the centre finally detecting the torturous route to the station via a bridge over a dual carriageway. At the end of it, I took a staircase down, and realised that I was arriving at the foot of the very 'escalator to nowhere' which I remembered from my first visit! Resisted the urge to take a picture of it, now connected to the new centre and with a fine rain-shelter over it. Instead, headed into the station to find my seat on the train back to Liverpool Street, completing the circle.
The journey back was uneventful, but seemed much quicker than my run this way years back, which coloured my view of the Great Eastern lines for some time to come. In fact it all went pretty quickly, in part due to how much I've grown to enjoy a run into Liverpool Street these days. Once arrived though, I had to figure out what to do with the rest of my day. Over yet another coffee, but in the company of a far less aggressive bunch of fellow drinkers, I hatched a plan. I would head back out to Stratford and finally tackle the Jubilee Line Extension! This bit of the Tube network had now been open for around a decade, and for a number of reasons I hadn't done it - partly because it always seemed to be closed for engineering works, and also because it sort of fell into the three or four year gap where I travelled much less. I'd figured out that I could avoid escalators pretty easily - in fact it was the first deep-level line to be designed as fully accessible. So there really was no excuse for neglecting the newest bit of Tube railway we had. One I'd indeed watched the development of, but strangely had never used. Things started badly, with the train held in the platform for ages at Stratford, and the back carriage filling rapidly with people making a dash for an apparently "soon to depart" train. We were soon off, but were held at almost every station by the Controller. The new signalling system was in use today, and it wasn't coping well. Too many westbound trains meant sluggish running and attempts to reverse trains to rebalance capacity along the route. As we waited once again, this time to enter Waterloo, the driver who'd kept us informed all the way said "I can see the lights of the next train in the platform not more than half a train in front. I've been a train driver for a long time, and I've never seen anything like this!". I was unconcerned about time, so I sat back and let the line pass by slowly. Ironically we then sped up, and the driver was forced to apologise again - this time for the very short station dwell times, with platform-edge doors snapping shut after only six seconds!
With the line only running to West Hampsted today, decided to bail at Finchley Road where I knew I had a number of travel options. I elected to travel on a No.113 to Baker Street, then wander over in the pleasant evening sunshine to pick up a 205 to Paddington. Even this wasn't easy, as the bus stop was closed for works. Finally got on board a busy bus, stopped a domestic between a couple who weren't sure if the driver had stopped for a wheelchair used, and generally people-watched my way west into the sunset. London had been in pieces today, everything seemed impermanent, half-finished, dug up - from the Olympic Stadium to Marylebone Bus Stop people seemed to be remaking the place. I'm not sure I approve of all of it - but it's hard to go unscathed by a visit to London. Had a quiet, reflective trip home reading and listening to music while I watched the sun sink into a golden western sky.
I was surprised and impressed by Doncaster yesterday - once I'd negotiated the strange Frenchgate centre which now dominates one whole side of the town at least. The streets were laid out with an international market, and there was quite a buzz around. I realised later that this was St.Leger Festival week - a race meeting, cunningly turned into a bigger cultural event. Nonetheless, there were plenty of happy faces and well-turned out people wandering about which can't be bad for business. Doncaster at 04:30 however was a different proposition, and negotiating the same street was a complicated slalom around delivery vans and bored security guards who were determined to stop passage, with absolutely no authority at all. Not sorry to get to the station, which was still locked up on arrival. Watched the usual crowd of faces assemble, as ever feeling a little reassured that I'd ended up in the right place at the right time!
Once onto the station, it was only a matter of minutes before 47760 arrived with the stock. The plan had been to squash all the passengers travelling down to London into the first three coaches - but since plenty of stewards had turned up for the start, we were able to head straight for our allocated seats for the day. The concept of running the positioning move to London as a passenger train was an enlightened one - more miles for the money, and a chance to sample an uninterrupted dash down the East Coast Main Line early in the morning. There was a fair turn out too, meaning this otherwise empty train made a little money for Spitfire too! We set off almost exactly on time, and headed out of Doncaster via the complex alternative routes around the station. The exact route is hard to pin down as it was dark, but I'm fairly certain the flyover didn't figure, sadly. From here, it was a fairly sleepy run down to London, with the sun rising somewhere around Peterborough. Caught up with the usual bunch and wondered if we'd managed to respect the 10:30 beer curfew imposed by the loco owning group? After a storming run down, there was a chance to get a picture of the 47 on the blocks and a decent coffee before getting back on board for the main event.
Now this is where it began to get really interesting. After a storming start, and a thunderous passage of the tunnels outside Kings Cross, we were soon speeding through the suburbs. The Deltic was doing what it was designed for - sustained periods of high-speed running on a fast route. With the countryside flashing past and the Napier engines singing at the front of the train, settled in to enjoying the day. The weather was mostly fine as we dashed north - with just one or two showers. Plenty of beer and a chance to catch up with friends also made for an excellent trip. Once again the veterans of Coach K managed to alienate another passenger seated with us - although I'm not quite sure how as he only lasted about ten minutes this time...seems my record is getting steadily worse! After pick-ups at Potters Bar and Peterborough, it was a none stop run to York where we deposited some day trippers and picked up some cranks for the journey to Newcastle. Again, some fine running along the flat, fairly featureless line here. Arrival over the Tyne was as ever quite an event, and there were plenty of photographers out to see us. So many in fact, that the platform end turned into a bit of a scrum. Abandoned hope of a picture at this point and wandered into town.
Only a short break, and with Newcastle City Centre full of home fans, as ever on these trips it seems, this made getting provisions for the way home a challenge. A series of text messages ensured beer supplies were sorted, so back to the station to get a shot of the stock arriving in the now very bright and sunny afternoon. Back on board for a prompt departure, and a run via the coast. This line struck me as a far more interesting route than the ECML when I last covered it and it didn't disappoint today with coastal views, tall ships and plenty of people out to see us pass. Back to York for a pick-up, where some fairly inattentive station staff seemed oblivious to a number of 'normals' boarding. Some of them had a very interesting trip back today no doubt! Another fantastic ride south, with a few periods of one-engine running which were, we were informed, for driver familiarisation purposes. It didn't affect the trip for me, and we stayed just a little late from some slow running around the coast. There were some moments of very high speed too, for balance! With lunch served in Premier Class we also got to sample the roast lamb, which was excellent and soaked up some of the beer. Got thinking as we sped south, what a civilised way to travel this is!
Arrival at the 'Cross was a little late, which meant a tight turnaround. Soon we were off with 47760 back in charge, for the return positioning working to Doncaster. We were chasing a possession here, with the lines due to close around 20 minutes after our booked arrival, and us running about 20 late! This seemed to spur the driver on, and after a few slacks south of Peterborough it was a decent run at high speed for the rest of the way. Arrived only a few minutes down, and stumbled onto the platform about sixteen hours after I'd left, having done well over 850 miles on the ECML today! Today's trip was a textbook railtour - interesting traction, varied routes, something for normals and cranks alike - and this was reflected in an almost entirely full train. A grand day out, andjust as a fancy dress party spilled noisily and colourfully out of a bar and onto the street.
Another leisurely start this morning, wandering across a bright and breezy Manchester and side-stepping the detritus of what looked like it had been a good night out. Time to get a decent coffee before boarding a local service out to Stockport where I was to pick up today's excursion. Ideally, I'd have boarded further back on it's journey from the East Lancs Railway - allowing a chance to traverse the connection at Castleton and the Brewery Curve, left out of a tour last summer due to stock clearance issues. However, the impossibility of finding anywhere reasonably priced to stay or fairly close to the railway, and the unreliability of an early tram to get me out to Bury meant I'd gone for the easy option. So, today presented a fairly gentle itinerary - a spin out to Cambridge with 40145, then some uncharted territory for the loco on a Stansted-bound minitour. Time for breakfast at Stockport as a few others gathered ready for the picture of the 40 crossing the viaduct and arriving in the station.
Settled in, finding myself sitting with a veteran from a previous tour. He proved equally as miserable as last time, so I resigned myself to a quiet day of travelling - wondering if it would be rude to don headphones and provide a soundtrack to the scenery as we entered the Hope Valley, with amazing views of Kinder Scout and Mam Tor or "The Shivering Mountain". As we headed into less dramatic scenery I began to zone out a little and for the first time in a few days, found myself feeling genuinely relaxed. Dozed my way along the Erewash Valley before realising we would pass Toton Depot. It was strange not to have any advance notice of the times or routing of the trip, but nonetheless a passing of the last major locomotive depot in the country is always welcome, especially as a few locos which are currently based in France were present for attention. From Toton we headed through Nottingham and pressed onwards towards the East Coast Mainline.
A little after leaving Gonerby Tunnel we slowed to a stand. Stopping here seemed fairly routine, given how busy the line is through Grantham. However a few minutes soon turned into a longer wait, with little evidence of activity in the deep cutting. A look back along the train confirmed the worst though - with the headlights of a following service evident in the tunnel, our assisting engine 67023 was being started. As we began the slow propelling movement into the Up and Down Goods Loop at Grantham, the situation became clearer. 40145 had suffered a flashover on the No.4 traction motor and couldn't continue. Considering the tricky location, the 67 was run around as soon as possible and we pressed on around 90 minutes late. The Stansted trip was now out of the question with just one engine, as the reversal at the airport and Bishops Stortford couldn't happen. So pressing on through Peterborough and across the Fens to Ely I consoled myself with a longer break in Cambridge and some mileage with 67023 which was, after all, a required engine.
Didn't stray far from the station at Cambridge, with the city a very long walk away. Rewarded with some interesting activity around the station, and rather surprisingly a flypast by a Lancaster Bomber - a plane I built endless models of as a child but never dreamed I see flying! Took some hurried pictures, hampered somewhat by the overhead lines here. Managed a spot of lunch too, before lining up for a shot of the strange and rather sad sight of 67023 hauling a dead 40145 into the station with the stock. The route back largely reversed the outward run, but in order to stay awake and to enjoy the tail end of the warm sunny day, I found myself near the window enjoying the views. In any case, my miserable seating companion was upset that he'd sustained a splinter by licking the wooden coffee stirrer he'd picked up in the buffet. I had to retreat to avoid laughing openly at what he obviously considered a grave misfortune. A pleasant, quick run back despite the change of traction.
At Stockport, a quick cross-platform connection into a late running Pendolino bound for Piccadilly. The evening was just beginning for the considerable crowd of pretty people waiting for the train into the city. For me though, sleep beckoned after a rather odd day out. I can only hope that the CFPS is able to get 40145 back on the mainline soon.
Bank Holiday weekends mean time to escape the West Country. The solid mass of traffic which pours into the area makes life tricky - but it's a necessity for the local economy I suppose. My strategy, as ever was to get away and to travel against the flow. When planning these last weekends in August a month or so back, I'd not even registered the holiday as such. I made all my usual checks - for football fixtures, for rugby matches and so on - and I was even vaguely aware of an important fixture in London. Still, you can't check everything, as I was to discover. My journey started on a bright, cold platform. There was a nip of autumn in the air, which instantly lifted my mood. It had been damp and dark all week, and the promise of a little sunshine was welcome. I noticed how dark it seemed, and with the days drawing in now the sun hadn't properly risen as I changed at Weston onto the first train to London. Familiar territory, especially in recent weeks. The journey up to the city in the amazing sunrise and cold, clear morning was just what I needed. A quiet, relaxing trip spent reading and windowgazing. Even managed not to think too much about work, or indeed anything - which lately is a rare miracle given a range of preoccupations. Even found something of a spring in my step at Paddington, which surprised me as I switched to the tube for the short trip to Kings Cross. The fact the Hammersmith & City Line was even operating this weekend seemed to add to the sense of a charmed existence - as for the last few weeks it's been a confusing half-service, always going where I don't want to be.
I had plenty of time at Kings Cross before the train to Bradford. The aim was to try out another of our Open Access Operators - this time Grand Central. After a really positive experience on Wrexham & Shropshire, and memories of really good trips with Hull Trains before they became part of a larger empire, I've always liked the idea of an outfit coming to the railway because they want to run trains - not an addendum to a bus company, or a vehicle for creaming off subsidy - just a good old fashioned train operator. Settled in for coffee at the very establishment I frequented last weekend, before heading into the station. The green shirts of Leeds rugby fans were everywhere, and despite being a good-natured bunch I was relieved to be heading in the opposite direction, just to avoid the crowds. The Class 180, now in Grand Central livery was ticking over on Platform 1 - which meant I could watch the general confusion over Platform 0 as I waited to board. I suppose the concept of zero as a number in itself is a bit alien to all but computer geeks among us. People would wander over, looking resolute but unconfident, then peer under the arches to see if the platform was really there, before heading for the train. Amused myself in this bit of urban ethnography before boarding my own train.
The Class 180s didn't really get a fair chance here in the West. First Great Western seemed to use them sporadically and on the wrong services, and the reliability record was appalling. There wasn't much excuse for this, as their sister units in the North West improved immeasurably with a bit of dedicated work. When they finally found their way onto the experimental Exeter semi-fast service - one that suited them - they were already on the way elsewhere. Now they've scattered all over the place, and it's good to see some of them doing useful work. Settled into the comfortable First Class saloon, and was immediately attended to by a polite, chatty gent who offered me a better seat if I wanted. Soon off, and speeding out of Gasworks Tunnel into the sunshine, the morning getting warmer as we headed north.
One immediate difference in the experience on the Open Access services is the staff who, in the vast majority, actually want to be doing the job! They are keen to talk about the company - what they're trying to achieve, and why they're different. Passed a while listening to the chatter between staff and customers, but repeatedly picked up a message about how today was quiet because of "what was happening". Thought about looking up some news on the internet, but a quick leaf through the complimentary paper soon explained things...although the English Defence League had been denied a march through Bradford, they'd been allowed a static protest. The publicity had swelled the predicted crowds to thousands and thus a Union Against Fascism counter-protest was now happening too. Cursing my luck, and my lack of attention to the news in recent weeks, I wondered what to do. Grand Central were taking things seriously enough to taxi the staff away from the station and to their office. Reports were that several thousands were gathered and that things were already boiling over. This didn't look good at all.
On arrival at Bradford Interchange there were very few of us left on board. A Grand Central manager had joined the train at Wakefield and the staff were whisked away. I headed out of the station and onto the long ramp leading to the road. It was flanked by young, nervous-looking Police officers. They shuffled uncomfortably in their flak jackets, picking off the odd passenger to search. I managed to get chosen, and had a fairly heated discussion with a young PCSO who felt he ought to be deleting my pictures as they posed a "terrorism risk". A more experienced colleague told him "not to be so bloody stupid" and suggested I was "pretty weird but no way a terrorist". Finding a curious complement buried in that, I headed for coffee but found the shops mostly shut in the face of the possible trouble. Back to the station, noting that the rather oppressive heat and cloudy skies seemed to make the place feel even more tense. A huge collection of Police and private security officers barricaded the end of a road to a square where the UAF protest was in fine voice. Across town near the building site I'd surveyed from the Midland Hotel a couple of years back, the EDL were meting out their own brand of rather confused nationalism - which apparently had already included missiles being thrown. Time to go.
The train to Leeds couldn't come soon enough, and safely tucked into the station Starbucks and watching people passing along the fantastic art deco entrance hall, I reflected on my day. Somewhere in front of me, a resolute northern voice remarked on his drink to his wife: "Well it's not what I'd call coffee...". Not sure what he'd call it then, and didn't stay to find out. Struggled onto a busy Edinburgh-Plymouth service and after a brief altercation assumed my booked seat. After a couple of stations, I found myself alone, and managed to stretch out and relax with some music. I realised that, with my last odd travel experience already shaping into something of a short story, this too could find it's place. In the meantime, it had been a long and disjointed day out on the rails. I still can't think of a better way to spend them.
Lost::MikeGTN
I've had a home on the web for more years than I care to remember, and a few kind souls persuade me it's worth persisting with keeping it updated. This current incarnation of the site is centred around the blog posts which began back in 1999 as 'the daylog' and continued through my travels and tribulations during the following years.
I don't get out and about nearly as much these days, but I do try to record significant events and trips for posterity. You may also have arrived here by following the trail to my former music blog Songs Heard On Fast Trains. That content is preserved here too.
