As the very wise Aidan Moffat once sang "It was the first big weekend of the summer..." and as I made my way up to Crewe yesterday, via an uncharacteristic battle at the hotel, I couldn't help but feel that this was something of special event. It hadn't been a fantastic week for railtours, with stalwart operator Pathfinder publishing an entire season's list of trips with virtually no crank excursions and little info on their daytrips to help make a judgement about their value in track or loco terms. So, to arrive at a quiet Crewe station and watch 40145 manoeuvring ready for today's trip was a bit of a reminder that interesting stuff still happens. It's been interesting to watch this trip, ostensibly a joint effort with the DTG - but mainly organised by the CFPS via the irrepressible John Stephens, grow from a notion to a campaign to a reality over the past few months. It only really began to sink in that it was really happening when the stock drew slowly into Platform 5 at Crewe at an absurdly early hour behind 40145, closely followed by the Up Sleeper on the adjacent line!
I'd planned to do as much of the route as possible, to make up for bailing out at Bristol on the return tomorrow. So at 05:20 we set off northwards - exactly the wrong direction for Cornwall - to make pick-ups at Warrington and Manchester Victoria, before taking the line through Denton to gain the route south via Stoke-on-Trent and Stafford. Skirting Birmingham, we headed for a break at International where 40145 was to be joined by the Western. A quick dash upstairs for decent coffee and along to the buffet car for the excellent bacon rolls followed, whilst D1015 - wearing the identity of it's long lost sister "Western Firebrand" - dropped quietly onto the front of the train. Once we were off, any notion of quietness was forgotten as the pair of locos made an impressive racket. A pause on the through roads at Oxford, then around the west curve at Didcot and onto the Great Western Main Line. With the easy grades and straight alignment, the pair on the front really began to stretch their legs and with the sun shining and the bar open, the atmosphere on board became one of easy camaraderie between the unlikely coupling of 40 and Hydraulic followers!
A short wait at Bristol before heading off south once again, on very familiar territory for me! It always seems strange to pass this way on a railtour, but I make a point of occupying a window and watching my home county pass by. Noted some locals out on the platform at Highbridge as we sped past, then settled in to enjoy some of the local cider to celebrate our thunder through Somerset. Two things were now on the minds of most of the tour participants - the classic journey along the sea wall at Dawlish, and the assault on the South Devon banks. We were running consistently early now, and the locos were checked briefly at Exeter before pressing on and gaining speed before the sea wall - a brief concern we'd be held at Dawlish Warren was soon dispelled and we rocketed through the resorts with an amazing amount of people watching our progress it seemed. Next stop Plymouth, where the locos switched to top and tail the train in preparation for the branch lines we'd cover later in the trip. Fully intended to wander off the platform here, but instead enjoyed the atmosphere among the photo taking crowd and got some pictures of D1015 and 40145 in the sun. It had been a long day, and the progress down into Cornwall was a little slower and sleepier as we crossed the ever-impressive Royal Albert Bridge over the Tamar. Found myself dozing slightly in the warm afternoon, feeling for the first time in a while thoroughly relaxed.
And so we arrived at Penzance, pretty much on time after our epic journey from the North West. There was the customary gaggle of photographers at the end of the platforms admiring 40145 which had brought us into the station, so instead I headed off into town to find my hotel, along with a fair amount of the train's other passengers. More 'Fawlty Towers' style silliness followed as another guest was assigned the same room as me. After blustering around the place apparently telling us how it was our fault, the owner soon sorted the problem - not before the other guest - a fellow tour passenger - had submitted him to an impressively withering display of sarcasm however. When the owner said he wished everyone could be as patient as me I explained it had been a long journey. The owner replied, rather enigmatically "We've all had a long journey Sir....". Pondered this curious response as I headed back to the station, via the supermarket, for the evening's entertainment.
The plan was to use the long, light evening to head out to Falmouth Docks. A Western had been here before on the former London through service in the 1970s, but a 40 probably hadn't! Once again we departed on time, with D1015 leading out to Truro. Some curious characters sighted on the platform here, as we reversed with 40145 leading us across the tracks and onto the branch. My first use of the innovative loop at Penryn too, which allows two passing trains to occupying a single platform face. We past one of the frequent units here on this increasingly busy line as we headed down to the coast through pleasant, leafy countryside. At the end of the line, a scramble for pictures at the somewhat deserted terminus. A real sense of pride too, that this tour which we'd backed with our cash and cheques from the outset had made it here to the buffers - and consequently the return trip up the branch took on the atmosphere of a celebratory Beer-ex. As 40145 drew us back into Penzance and passengers scattered either to their digs or to local hostelries to continue celebrating, it was hard not to feel that we'd all been part of a very special day indeed.
And the best part? We get to do it all again tomorrow...
The most important thing today was getting up on time! After last week's unnerving catastrophe I was concerned only to be at the station in good time. Having had a fairly weird end to my week with an all-nighter watching Election results trickle in followed by a very strange day trying to rationalise the inconclusive result with colleagues, I was feeling disconnected and jaded. The alarm clock, however, functioned as planned and I made the customary move to Weston-super-Mare on the first train, in order to get 1A06 direct to Paddington. No buffet at first, and despite collecting a member of staff the service didn't begin until well after Bath Spa. Apparently there was some issue with a member of staff working the empty stock down to Weston, which seems odd as we've often found the buffet open and ready for service before departure. Decided to just add this to the whole sense that the world had become confusing lately, and ruminated on the situation over one of FGW's much improved bacon rolls. Things soon felt better.
The next issue was just what to do with the day. As the preview service on the East London Line had yet to extend to weekends (although this was still, apparently, imminent) the original aspiration of doing an all-currently-open-track tour of the new line was scuppered. Still, decided to start with a South London Line service via Crystal Palace to have a look at New Cross Gate. Arrived to find 378's manoeuvring from depot to down platform and back, with some passing through to shadow the route out to Crystal Palace. Spent a little while here before heading in to London Bridge for coffee and some veg-like platform-ending. I don't do this very often, but with London Bridge being fairly friendly to enthusiasts (or at least, completely uninterested in their activities provided they're not leaping on the juice rail!) it was pleasant to hang around, dodge the showers of rain and view the intensive service here.
Next it was in to Cannon Street - cold, dark and empty on a weekend morning. The entire station seems to have disappeared behind blue boards to facilitate rebuilding, and the sparse facilities available to passengers have completely gone. A colleague needed some of the North Kent Lines, so formed a plan to wander out to Charlton, and spent the gap before the next train viewing London Stone and resurrecting my tour guide career. The train out to Charlton were not producing 376's which I'd have preferred, but were quiet and provided an interesting journey into the suburbs. Misjudged a move back to Lewisham and then to Barnehurst where the service terminated rather than trundling around the curve to form a return working. My knowledge of the timetable here is pretty sparse, especially since much of it was recast in connection with the advent of High Speed services. Decided to head north for more required track for my companion on this trip, but did so via a tried and tested move to East Croydon, then onto one of their cross-London services via Balham, Clapham, the West London line and onto the WCML. This provided a fly-past of Willesden and Wembley, before a brief pause at Harrow and Wealdstone. The newsagent here was trying to report a minor crime at the same time as serving customers which provided quite a spectacle as he switched between barking shrilly at the Police switchboard and quietly intoning "that's 45 pence please sir". Not sorry to get the 350 back into Euston and make the short walk to Kings Cross.
The object here was to pick up a service from the Suburban platforms, which we did in the form of a 365 to Finsbury Park for a 313 onwards to Alexandra Palace. Short leaps, but a chance to wander - and perhaps the only reasonable opportunity to get the camera out all day. Spent a little time here providing a tutorial on shutter speeds and fast-moving objects. A little of the blind leading the blind perhaps, but an interesting interlude. Back to The Cross, for a 205 bus move to Paddington and a welcome pint, having covered a fair bit of ground and had a varied and interesting day wandering about the Capital.
Today didn't really work out as planned, but having made the best of it, I think it turned out to be far better than it promised. This provides an interesting analogy with the emerging political situation which seems to have dogged the weekend. There is a sense that we should just "get on with it and see what happens". If it's as diverting as the day I spent wandering today, then perhaps it's a sensible way to approach things and it'll all be fine...
Perhaps...
Another Bank Holiday, and another trip - albeit unplanned - to Paignton! Having heard that 67029 'Royal Diamond' was working the diagram today, I decided having little else to do, that I'd have another trip to the seaside. Down to the station in plenty of time to see the shiny, silver machine drawing in to the platform. A fair few fellow cranks on board too, as we set off southwards.
Decided to wander further into town this time, so after arriving headed up to the gardens near the Palace Theatre to read in the sunshine for a while. Noticed that things in this part of town seemed worse than elsewhere, with many of the smaller shops closed or closing down soon. Also strange to note that very few of the smaller tea rooms and cafes were open here. Read for a while and munched the sandwiches I'd packed, just like the old days. As the clouds closed in and the rain started to speckle the pathways in the gardens, I headed back to the station.
Like many of the seaside towns I seem to end up visiting, Paignton feels like it needs a boost - something big to catapult it into the 21st century, but not so big it loses it's charm. The train back was full - a mixture of locals and trippers. There is a market to be had...but is anyone sticking around to chase it?
In a couple of weeks time, a whole string of planned events kick in which will, all being well, see me through until midsummer. So I decided that for the next couple of weekends, I'd get around the network on service trains - something which, though sometimes frustrating, was what first brought me to the railway. I've always loved the idea of being able to plan some convoluted itinerary which meanders across the country, avoiding engineering works and taking as many unusual twists and turns as possible. I was also prepared to let recent irritations with some of the inter-TOC policies be bygones and just see how things went. However the day started with it's own strange twist with an alarm clock failure. This has simply NEVER happened to me before as far as I can remember - and certainly, not in such a way that I've missed my planned train. I'd spent last evening celebrating or commiserating at the Royal Artillery Arms, closing down likely for good. But I'd been sensible, come home early and thought I'd set the clock correctly. However, as I woke to silence at around 05:45 I knew things were amiss. Found myself surprisingly mentally agile for such an early hour - and knowing that I'd miss the planned connection, set about getting ready to leave on the 06:20 with a fistful of Rail Travel Vouchers to rebook. If I could make the 08:00 from Bristol to Manchester I could get back on track with only the leisurely hour I intended to spend drinking coffee at Piccadilly lost. Scrambled down to the station in record time, and spent the journey to Bristol kicking myself and trying not to think how much more expensive this mistake could have been.
Rebooked at Bristol, and had time for a more leisurely breakfast than I'd planned. There was no advantage in getting the 07:30 to Birmingham, so instead reflected on the cruel irony that the vouchers just spent rebooking to Manchester were effectively the compensation for CrossCountry's recent cock-up. They were, quite literally, getting their own back. I also reflected that the 08:00 train left me exactly the 15 minutes or so on arrival which had been at issue last time I travelled this way. Soon on board the 08:00 though, and upgraded to a very quiet First Class, had a rather pleasant and peaceful ride up to Manchester. The weather varied from golden spring morning to brooding storm clouds, but that was all part of the fun. Listened to the PodcART on the way which never fails to entertain and surprise me too. The trip was beginning to feel like less of a disaster now, and more like the stately jaunt up country which I'd planned. At Piccadilly, I remembered the footbridge at the London end of the station, but couldn't recall if it connected to the remote platforms 13 and 14 from where the Barrow train would leave. These platforms, which were at least one fellow travellers first sight of Piccadilly are rather windswept, drab and inaccessible - sitting on the curved lines which pass through the city avoiding the grand terminus here. I recalled said travellers first remark being "What a dump" before sighting the refurbished glass roof and spacious concourse at the main station - possibly one of the most successful revivals of recent times. Having established that the footbridge did connect up, and using the time I'd saved, I managed some banter at the coffee shop on the small concourse before descending to the windy platform level to await the train.
Soon onboard the ever-packed Class 185, but happily quieter in my reserved first class seat. This train would take me all the way to Barrow, via a spin up a favourite section of the West Coast Main Line. We set out via Bolton and Chorley - a busy bit of line which has never felt very important despite providing a link between Manchester and the WCML. After calling at Preston, the journey speeded up - and with the sun now shining strongly, this was much more as I'd hoped. As Morecambe Bay crept into view at Hest Bank, noted the campsite had started to fill for the Bank Holiday weekend. At Carnforth we curved into the platform, stopping briefly before setting off onto the Cumbrian Coast line with stunning views on all sides of the train. A fair few people stayed on until the end of trip at Barrow - with it's much modernised station. As I headed for the exit I glanced up the line ahead - nothing. Nothing in fact for many, many miles. The line around the coast is a formidable trip - one I've learned to love, but which is a real test of dedication. I think I did it twice last year, in fine weather and with interesting traction - though I recall a bumpy Class 142 ride a few years back too. Like everything around here, it's a serious business - but rewarding if you put the effort in.
So, out into Barrow-in-Furness. Reason for visiting? I'd passed through before but never stopped. Reason enough I think. I'd also seen a programme about the town on TV, and was struck by how difficult and desolate life seemed to be here, within a stone's throw of the much more prosperous tourist haven of the Lake District. These sort of places always attract me - not from a voyeuristic or even paternalistic position, but just because I need to try to understand places and how they tick. And of course it's always more interesting and revealing to think about places which aren't quite working right. Barrow was, in parts however, doing OK. Out of the station and the skyline is dominated by dockside buildings. Near a small, quiet garden across the street, a statue of veteran footballer Emlyn Hughes stands tall - with the addition of a Barrow AFC scarf just now, to celebrate their forthcoming trip to Wembley perhaps? Emlyn was a rather contested figure in my childhood - an entertaining, cheeky and squeaky voiced TV presence, but also the harbinger of endless pain as my Dad enforced silence during the grim half-hour of Question of Sport. Not the jolly banter-filled version that graces the BBC nowadays of course, this was serious and dull sports quizzing. Tried to take a snap of Emlyn before heading onwards, but a menacingly zealous-looking 'Elder' - but clearly well under 25 - wanted to share his message with me. Broke into a ridiculous waddling run to escape!
Walking into town, things began to deteriorate, with the majority of large shops given over to training agencies and support groups - Connexions, Rathbone and so on. Turning into the main street, there was laudable public realm work afoot. The street is being cobbled, new stylishly curved lamps line the street, benches and feature brickwork is springing up. It looks good, but it doesn't hide the fact that around 20% of the town appears to have closed down. The new benches already have some fairly regular visitors it seems, and amongst the usual Saturday afternoon gatherings of youngsters there was a more menacing presence of older, blank-eyed drunks too. However, I didn't dislike the place at all. Visiting today suited the mood of disquiet and irritation I'd picked up from my silly timing error. I made a thoughtful circuit of the town before returning to the station buffet to be ripped off by a charming young woman who I found it hard to be truly angry with despite the huge bill. Perhaps I should have called at the food shop in the Town Centre which was, rather directly and sensibly just called "Food". That's Barrow - simple, to-the-point and not messing about.
I relaxed in the sun for a while, noticing a couple of photographers who were really struggling to find anything of interest to snap at. Eventually our train appeared - a pair of Class 153s which were soon filled by the sizeable crowd which had grown while I lazed in the sunshine. This included a touring group led by a strangely annoying and intrusive supervisor who sat near me and munched swiftly through her lunch as we headed back to Lancaster, with rain suddenly beginning to fall and a mist rolling in across the bay. By Lancaster, the rain was hammering down and a chill had descended. I was stuck here for quite a time before my next train, as I'd allowed a fair bit of recovery time here. Read, watched the station going about it's business and had a welcome coffee - noting with alarm at my lack of change that unfortunately the same chain manages the Barrow and Lancaster buffets now! A long wait for the 16:38 London train which had started at Oxenholme today due to engineering. A fairly swift run to Preston where I crossed the platform for a Birmingham train - again starting here rather than coming in from Glasgow. A quiet journey south, via Crewe and into New Street almost exactly on time. Pelted upstairs and onto the platform for my connection rather quickly, and found myself feeling queasy and shaky. Not sure if I'd not eaten for a while, or just picked something up, but in any case I stumbled about the platform feeling faint and convinced I was about to make a huge scene by passing out. In the end, the train arrived and I made a dash for the quiet coach which had inconveniently arrived at the other end of the station, and was full of displays rather enigmatically stating "THIS SEAT MAYBE RESERVED". Collapsed sleepily into a seat all the way back to Bristol.
A familiar trek to platform 15 for the HST home - it's normally waiting for me as it stands for a while at Temple Meads, but engineering work sent trains via the Berks and Hants this weekend, so it crawled in bang on time. It'd had been a long day - a mixture of frustrations, relaxing travels and a perplexing visit to Barrow. These trips, however confounding they can sometimes be, are just why I started travelling around the UK by rail.
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.
