Month: December 2024

The Northern Salvo

Incorporating  Weekly Notices, Sectional Appendices, Lancashire Loominary and The Northern Weekly Salvo

Published at Station House, Kents Bank, Lancashire-North-of-the-Sands, LA11 7BB

email: paul.salveson@myphone.coop

Publications website: www.lancashireloominary.co.uk

No.     325     Christmas Extra 2024   

Salveson’s half-nakedly political digest of railways, tripe and secessionist nonsense from Up North, luxuriating in the tepid bath of managed decline into old age

Seasonal greetings

I’ve managed to fit in an extra ‘Christmas Salvo’ in between endless rounds of socialising, hanging around waiting for trains and circuitous bus journeys. The coming year promises to be eventful, with a full removal to Station House at Kents Bank, though retaining a sub-shed in Bolton which will house the garden railway and the Lancashire book collection. As well as chairing the Rocket 2030 Partnership and

managing the Station Library, the 200^th anniversary of the Bolton and Leigh Railway (2028) is likely to take up more time. On top of that there’s a couple of publications in the pipeline – a new edition of ‘With Walt Whitman in Bolton’, with an extra chapter, and a completely revised edition of ‘Northern Rail Heritage’ to link with the Railway 200 events in 2025.  In the meantime, have an enjoyable Christmas and New Year and thank you for taking the time to read this tepid offering.

Railpolitik

So, goodbye Louise, hello Heidi. The reign of Louise Haigh was all too short, sent packing as a result of a fairly minor error, summat o’nowt as we say up North. Her departure came a day after she launched the Government’s ‘Integrated Transport Strategy’ which says the sort of things that transport professionals have been saying for quite a while. Heidi Alexander ought to be a promising choice for the top transport job, with top-level experience in transport as deputy mayor of London and a Swindon MP. Will we start seeing trains with copper-capped exhausts? Perhaps not, but hopefully she will continue the work that Louise Haigh started and refrain from silly, ill-considered jabs at the railway enthusiast community. I refer to her comments when launching the strategy in which she referred to the dominance in transport policy of ‘men who like trains.’

Well so what? Should we fill the railways with petrol heads? Some of the best people in the railway industry over the last 30 years have been cranks – I refer to the late Adrian Shooter and many who are still around in leadership roles. And I hope the current Rail Minister, Lord Hendy, won’t mind being included. Fair enough, you need a balance but having people who are passionate about their industry ought to be seen as a good thing. Some of us are old enough to remember Kim Howells, when Rail Minister in a previous Labour Government, making daft remarks in a similar vein. Look what happened to him! ‘What happened to him?’ I hear you say. Exactly. Actually he was a decent guy and seems to be having a bit of a new life in Welsh cultural activities. Maybe he’s taken up train spotting as well, in an ironic sort of way. I suspect very often these daft asides are planted by malevolent ‘advisers’.

The process of taking the passenger franchises is going ahead and there seems to be an assumption that this is automatically going to be a good thing, promising reliable and punctual trains, cheaper fares and much more wonderful things (restaurant cars serving rag pudding on all Northern services?).

This is as big a mistake as the Tories ignorantly assuming that private was intrinsically better than public ownership. The reality is that some of the train companies in the first tranche of re-nationalisation have actually performed very well, such as Greater Anglia. Meanwhile, some train operators that have returned to public ownership are struggling. One positive example in the public sector is TransPennine Express which has really turned a corner and has introduced new services (Manchester to York via Wakefield Kirkgate, now hourly) and sorted out most of its performance problems. On top of that it has introduced new catering services which sound quite yummy, though I’ve yet to try them (will they include Rag Pudding on the menu for their TransPennine services? See below).

One of the interesting developments on the rail scene has been the re-emergence of open access operations. First-owned Lumo has got off to a good start with its East Coast Main Line services and is hoping to run direct trains from Rochdale to Euston via Warrington. Grand Central is pushing for more slots and extra station stops on its Sunderland/Bradford routes while Virgin is also hoping to enter the open access market. It will be interesting to see where the paths come from.

The most interesting potential entrant is Go-op – a community co-operative which has recently won rights to operate in the south-west, between Weston-super-Mare, Taunton, Westbury and Swindon. Initially the company plans to use class 153 trains which are not exactly the most attractive or powerful of trains – but going in at the bottom makes sense and hopefully passenger numbers will increase to justify more modern rolling stock. The Go-op project is a really interesting venture – they are not there yet, though at least some of the hurdles have been cleared. See www.go-op.coop, or via this link: https://www.crowdfunder.co.uk/p/go-op-som-wilts-rail.

Finally, the English Devolution White Paper offers some real opportunities (see also below), with the city-region mayors likely to get greater powers for local and regional passenger services and also stations. The examples of the Liverpool City Region and Greater London show that this can work – and part of the success of Merseyrail, in particular, is down to the right scale as well as having good leadership teams both within the train company and also within the Liverpool City Region transport team. Greater Manchester is keen to add some of the local rail network to its Bee Network and also take on station responsibility. Again, this should be a good thing and opens up opportunities in community rail, with potentially innovative approaches towards community involvement in bus as well as rail.

A view from the dark side…..

Stewart Arnold gives an intelligent view of the Government’s ‘English Devolution’ white paper from a Yorkshire perspective….

Those of us who were campaigning for devolution in England ten or more years ago (and to be fair it was pretty niche at the time) would never have imagined a Government White Paper on English devolution being published. No one in Government circles seemed remotely interested and there was little public ‘noise’ around the issue at the time. So, the publication of the Government’s English devolution white paper ‘Power and Partnership: Foundations for Growth’ which sets out, in 118 pages of detail, how it intends to deliver on its promised ‘devolution revolution’ over the course of this parliament, is very welcome. The comments of the Deputy Prime Minister in the Foreword to the White Paper are especially pertinent. In it, she says ‘England is one of the most centralised developed countries. Too many decisions affecting too many people are made by too few. The controlling hand of central government is stifling initiative and development throughout the country’. All of this will resonate with devolution campaigners and will be welcomed. Reading through the white paper it is clear the intention is to cement English devolution into the constitution (the phrase used in the paper is that devolution will be ‘embedded as default into our country’s constitution’). Devolution is thus here to stay; there is no going back.

There is a lot of good stuff to back up the Foreword in the White Paper. For example, there’s mention of the powers of Mayors deepening to take on infrastructure projects, rail services and housing policy. Local government, the paper says, will take back control so there will be no need to refer new cycle lanes and cattle grids to the Secretary of State for Transport. Despite this positive content, however, there is much that is wrong with the white paper in my opinion. Not least among this is the need to completely abolish smaller district councils and with that the apparent cancellation of local elections next spring. Increasing power in the hands of a single politician with no real accountability except for an election with an exceptionally low turnout every four years is not something any of us should be comfortable with. Also, there is still no fiscal devolution. The most Mayors can expect is a continuation of the bloc grant settlement and a lot of handholding and box ticking exercises if financing is required for any significant projects. There is a question too of how regional and local identity plays into these proposals – they don’t at all. So, as was expected, there is no room for a One Yorkshire deal.

Although, in many ways, campaigners should be delighted that English devolution is firmly part of the nation’s future governance fabric, we do have very significant concerns and so the campaign goes on. The campaign, though, is no longer about the merits of devolution (that’s a given surely on the back of the publication of the White Paper) but rather what’s good about the Government’s proposals and what needs to happen to improve it. As a devolution campaigner, I would concentrate on the lack of accountability (why not a London model everywhere?); fiscal devolution (why no room for very local taxes such as tourist tax for example?); and the importance of a ‘bottom-up’ approach in terms of identity. The imposition of combined authorities from the centre cuts across the very essence of devolution so far better that communities carve out what is the best configuration for them. Devolution campaigners should be right behind the Cornish, for example, in their bid for their own assembly and support their resistance to inclusion with a proposed Devon-wide combined authority and mayor. And, of course, they should continue to make the case for a One Yorkshire deal which could really unleash the potential here.

Stewart Arnold is a long-standing campaigner for Yorkshire devolution and is a Green Party activist

Note: About time folk in Lancashire took a leaf out of Yorkshire’s book and started a serious campaign for ‘One Lancashire’.

Letter from Hong Kong

Many thanks to a good friend for this reflective seasonal piece

Just a few hotels in the world are known to almost everyone – Raffles in Singapore, Reid’s Palace in Madeira, The Dorchester in London, Waldorf Astoria in New York spring easily to mind. Add to this short list the Peninsula Hotel in Hong Kong, opened in 1928 to receive intercontinental rail travellers from the Kowloon and Canton Railway station then opposite.

The location remains magnificent, with upper floors overlooking Victoria Harbour to Hong Kong Island’s famous cityscape.

Visitors arrive to the greeting of a grand fountain, carried in some privileged cases by one of the hotel’s thirteen distinctive green Rolls Royces, to a door opened by white and gold braid uniformed bell boys and girls. The hotel lobby sets an immediate tone of calm in the middle of Hong Kong’s pace and noise. Grand, elegant and overtly colonial, it is simply a joy. Lofted ceilings carry gilt decoration and gently turning fans, furnishings are comfortable and spacious. And at Christmas…

….one is struck by the floor to ceiling tree, perhaps 18 feet high, simply decorated but with giftbags and giftbags and giftbags around the bottom. The giftbags represent the very high end retail concessions available in the hotel, of course. Simply, the best real Christmas tree in

Hong Kong. Going up two flights of the grand staircase brings one to the Swiss restaurant. Outside this, the regular Christmas tableau of an Alpine scene: snowy peaks with toy trains running through tunnels underneath, the lights of moving cable cars and the flashing of a big wheel rotating in the fairground. Animals in snowy fields are bordered by snow sprinkled fir trees with the shops and bars and chapel of the village lit and welcoming.

Some of the ‘buildings’ are made of gingerbread, straight from a Christmas story. Real gingerbread with that glorious smell. Children from 3 to 83 stop to look at this for a time. Or even a long time. It reminds me of the Santa’s grotto tableaux which I saw in department stores as a child. Here, though, there is no Father Christmas – but Father Christmas ‘helpers’ will take a letter for him and in return offer a gingerbread biscuit or a couple of home made sweets. There is no charge for this though charity boxes do encourage donations. It is all very understated, particularly for Hong Kong, and all very charming.

Descending the staircase back into the lobby, we take seats for light refreshments. Coffee or tea or chocolate is beautifully served (the hot chocolate almost a do it yourself kit of liquids and bits!) and predictably expensive. But of course, one pays for the ambience, the service, the occasion, the photographs which the tree almost begs you to take. And as midday arrives so does the quintet, to perform as luncheon commences. A curious quintet of violin, bass guitar, flute, drums and keyboard allows a wide range of music, a medley of carols followed by stalwarts such as ‘Chestnuts roasting by an open fire’ and ‘White Christmas’. And then another medley from ‘The Sound of Music’. No, I don’t know either.

I took my daughter to the Peninsula for the first time at the age of three or four. Seeing the toy train go into a tunnel she tried to run round fast enough to catch it coming out of the other end. Many years on, she still does. Descending the staircase on this first visit she asked for ‘a juice in this café’. Referring to the Lobby of one of the best

hotels in Asia as a café made me smile. Letters to Father Christmas finished a good few years ago now but the Peninsula outing – and the ‘juice’ – remain as part of the annual ritual. Good.

Sir John Betjeman’s famous poem ‘Christmas’ refers, as some may remember, to the Dorchester Hotel which was listed in our opening. The poem might now conjure up a vision of a lost time when society as a whole celebrated the nativity. But some things remain constant, despite what we are sometimes told. So, with apologies to Betjeman, allow your correspondent to wish you the blessings of Christmas and offer a Canto-update of part of his poem as follows.

And K-pop girls remember Dad,
And Minecraft boys remember Mum,
And sleepless children’s hearts are glad.
And Midnight service bells say ‘Come!’
Even to shining ones who dwell
Safe in the Peninsula Hotel

Happy Christmas to all: 圣诞快乐

Postscript: Chinese grammar means that the greeting is actually ‘Christmas Happy’. For the same reason, our household refers to ‘Christmas Father’. One of our household, of Chinese origin, was politely challenged on this many years ago. She defended the ‘Christmas Father’ translation. Why? ‘Well, in English it is Christmas tree and Christmas carol and Christmas pudding. Why is it not also Christmas Father?’ Debate over.

The Crossing Keeper’s Cat

A seasonal short story….mostly fictional

“You’ll have travelled through here if you were on your way north. Oxenholme is a little place on the West Coast Main Line between London to Glasgow, in the old Westmorland. These days a lot of the expresses stop here though back in the day most of the important trains, like ‘The Royal Scot’ and ‘Caledonian’ would hurtle through at a fair old whack. It’s a classic railway village though you don’t see much of it from the train. You can change trains here for Kendal and

Windermere, that’s partly why it became an important railway junction from as early as 1846. There was another reason: it was at the start of the long climb northwards over the fells – up to Grayrigg and on to Shap Summit.

Back in steam days, when I was a young fireman, many freights and some passenger trains required assistance up to Grayrigg – and some stayed coupled to the train over Shap Summit and through to Carlisle. That required a locomotive depot to service the ‘bankers’ as well as the branch to Windermere. In the old days, when a train required an extra loco from Oxenholme, the signalman would tell the driver of the train ‘you’re puttin’ a sock on’!

By the 1920s well over a hundred railway workers were employed in this railway village, mostly men but some women looking after the station buffet. The railway company – the London and North Western Railway – built dozens of houses for its workers: all are still there today: Natland Terrace and Helmside Cottages. There was the Railway Mission and a ‘Railway Reading Room’ was also provided. The pub – Station Inn – was some way up the hill, a fair old walk on a winter’s evening, but at least it was downhill when you were coming back after supping a few.

The story I want to tell you is about a railway family – and a cat. I was told the tale by an old driver, Harry Fothergill – long gone now – in the mess room when we were waiting for a job. I’m too young to have known Jack and his wife Madge but the story has been passed down, probably with a bit of embroidery along the way…..”

Now read on…….

http://lancashireloominary.co.uk/index.html/the-crossing-keepers-cat

Wanderings around the North-West

Apart from fairly frequent trips between Kents Bank and Bolton, the last few days have seen some pleasant excursions to such gradely places as Clitheroe and Macclesfield. Clitheroe is an old favourite and it was good to meet up with Colin Speakman for lunch in The Emporium followed by drinks in the splendid and truly old-fashioned New (sic) Inn. The chocolate stout is magnificent. We also paid a visit to Clitheroe Books which is sadly closing in March. Colin picked up a copy of his first-ever book Walks in the Yorkshire Dales, published by Dalesman in 1906. Or was it 1976? Anyroad, all was going

well and trains back showing ‘on time’ (hourly service to Bolton, Manchester and Rochdale) until a last minute check on the phone showed the 15.22 as ‘delayed’. Always a bad sign, and sure enough it then came up as ‘cancelled’. We wandered down to the station, hoping against hope that it would re-appear. We joined a sizeable crowd of schoolchildren and others waiting in hope, as the minutes ticked away after 15.22. The signs on the station indicators still showed it as ‘on time’ but it clearly wasn’t. Cutting a long story short, there’d been a points failure at Darwen so nothing was running, including the 16.22 and also the 17.22 back to the outside world. We were forced to seek solace, and wine, in the excellent Byrne’s, probably one of the best wine shops in the North. Our safe passage out of Clitheroe was via the Stagecoach 280 – Colin heading to Skipton, while I took the opposite direction to Preston. Despite a late arrival in Clitheroe due to heavy traffic, the driver put in a good performance and we picked up a bit of time to Preston, where I scurried across to the station to catch the (late running) 17.34 to Kents Bank.

The following day’s trip to Macclesfield was much more punctual with all trains and buses running spot on time – 09.18 off Kents Bank to Piccadilly then a quick hop to Stockport to call in at the Manchester Locomotive Society on Edgeley station. Many thanks to Paul Shackloth for his donation of a full set of his books to Kents Bank Library (they weighed a ton). Then on to Macclesfeld to meet Karen for a seasonal lunch at Chestergate Bistro. Macc was looking good and calls for a further visit that’s a bit less rushed. Some nice old pubs, shops and the Silk Museum to see. Coming back I had a smart run on a class 331 on the 15.02 off Piccadilly back to Bolton (ESW would have been impressed, see below). It’s always difficult keeping time through the Castlefield Corridor but we made it to Bolton an hour early, with a very fast run from Salford Crescent in just over seven minutes. That got me in Bolton in nice time for the 526 Barrow Bridge service which, as is invariably the case, ran to time. It’s good when we get it right.

The irresistible rise of the Rag Pudding (and downfall of tripe?)

The subject of ‘rag pudding’ came up in conversation with my Bolton ex-patriate lunch companion the other day. “Why,” she enquired, “has it suddenly become popular? We never heard of it when we were kids.” A good point. The first I’d heard of this ‘rag pudding’ was in a café in Mossley about 15 years ago. Very nice it was too, a sort of flattened steak and kidney pudding. Undertaking further research I can reveal that traditionally, it was very much an ‘east South east’ Lancashire dish. Yet now, many cafes across the whole of what I still insist on calling South-East Lancashire, offer ‘rag pudding’ on their menus. The wonderful Olympus in Bolton now has it, along the more traditional steak and kidney pudding. It’s no bad thing and is probably easier to cook than steak and kidney pudding, as it has less structure. That said, I think I prefer the traditional Bolton steak and kidney pud. Why ‘rag’ pudding? It was traditionally cooked in a muslin cloth. It seems to have originated in the Oldham area, many thousands of years ago. At least a few hundred years ago, anyway. Yet compare and contrast with tripe! Despite the best efforts of the Tripe Marketing Board, of whose board I sit on, from time to time, tripe’s long-term decline seems irreversible. Yet I think tripe will make a surprise comeback. Indeed, 2025 could well be The Year of Tripe. Something to look forward to, then.

Footplate Passenger: an introduction to E.S. Waterhouse

What I’ve learned about my grandfather, E.S.Waterhouse, by Bob Waterhouse

I thought I knew my Grandpa Eric. Then, nearly 60 years after his 1964 death, I was leafing through a small family archive kept by my brother David in Shrewsbury when I came across a large envelope of letters and another of steam engine photos.

It turned out that the letters were from readers of his column in Locomotive Journal, ASLEF’s monthly magazine for society members. Letters from engine drivers and firemen, but also from railway companies responding to requests for footplate passes or to his draft articles submitted for clearance before publication.

So I sought out the articles themselves in rare bound volumes of the magazine. Hundreds of articles, monthly contributions, starting in May 1935 and ending in February 1964, commissioned in turn by seven general secretaries of the society, de facto editors of the Journal.

Between the columns, written under the heading “As the Passenger sees it”, the letters, random press cuttings and a lead letter in the Daily Telegraph, I found out:

ESW (as I call him in the book) was offered an apprenticeship at the London & South Western Railway in the 1890s by no less a figure than Dugald Drummond, designer of the famous Drummond tank engine, only to turn it down because his mother, a devout widow, pushed him to become a Methodist minister.

He began timing and annotating train journeys around 1900.

He switched his vote from Liberal to Labour because of the Lib-Tory government’s performance in the First World War, when he served as chaplain at a London hospital for war wounded. We used to brag as kids that he drove engines during the 1926 general strike. Nothing of the sort, he approved of the strike and would never have broken it

He warned, in 1936, that railway transport was “fighting for its life against motor competition and faster passenger and freight traffic is the only way of competing with road vehicles”

He wrote in 1937 “workers, whether they work at clerical or mechanical tasks, are acting against their own interests in supporting Toryism.” In 1963, referring to the Beeching cuts, he quoted John Bright: “The Tories are always a stupid party.” He sympathised with railway workers at the German yards bombed by the RAF in autumn 1940. He supported a closed shop for ASLEF members but opposed the compulsory political levy

Early in 1941 he suggested that railways should be nationalised postwar, with management shared between the State, the passenger/business community, and the unions. He advocated maintaining steam services until railways became fully electric. He hated diesels. His favourite engine class was the general-purpose Stanier Black 5 (good choice – ed.)

He liked speed but not at any price. More important were rail services on schedule, at reasonable cost and with adequate comfort. Toram Beg, Scottish mainline engine driver and author of The Lighted Flame, the history of ASLEF’s first 70 years, said of him “We consider E.S.Waterhouse, if not one of ourselves at least very near to that.”

He distinguished between mere drivers and enginemen who used all

their experience and craft to maintain schedules. He disapproved of the mechanical eyesight test which could disbar drivers and halve their wages without recourse. He introduced his first grandson, David, to the footplate of GWR ‘Beverston Castle’ early in 1941, during the Blitz. David, aged 3½, complained that his knee got dirty.

I instinctively loved trains and became an engine-spotter in 1950 at the age of nine, but ESW never particularly encouraged me. I think he felt I should find things out for myself. He kept as quiet about his politics as his faith, although vocal in hating Dr Beeching, In retirement one of his income sources was reviewing academic books, which he then sold to bookshops by weight. The heavier the better.

I felt I knew my grandpa well. Having digested his columns and associated papers, I know him better.

Some boys of The Old Brigade      

By E.S. Waterhouse, Locomotive Journal (ASLEF) May 1935

“My interest in engines and enginemen began when, as a schoolboy at the end of the last century, I went by the 7.55 each morning from Bangor to school at Colwyn Bay. I was always at the station early, and one of the little Jumbos, Sirius 424 or Centaur 773, driven by Harry Williams or Owen Jones, would back on, and I would get on the footplate, warm my toes, and hear the wisdom of these men who were my heroes, until time for starting.

Later I came to London and lived on the old North London line. A driver had his own engine in those days. If it was No 4 you expected to see Brown, No 35 would be driven by Tommy Wingrove, No 48 by Hancock, a particular chum of mine. Many a ride I had on the footplate of these old 4-4-0 tanks, now all scrapped.

The alternate trains were worked by LNW ‘eight-wheel choppers’, a class of engine none too good for their work, but drivers like Clarke,

who had 786, performed wonders with them. My longer trips were mostly to Sheffield. I was a great admirer of the Midland singles, and though in those days loads were small compared with modern loading, for the power the singles did remarkable work.

One amusing incident is worth mentioning as an example. The 2pm from St Pancras to Leicester stopped at Kettering, 72 miles away, from 3.22pm to 3.26pm. The 2.10pm to Nottingham passed through without stopping at 3.24pm, using the other line, by the points cross-over south of the station. On the former train was one of Johnson’s new 4-4-0 engines of the 2607 type, standing on Platform 3 at St Pancras, whilst the 2.10pm, by which I was travelling, was on the opposite platform, and headed by a single, 1860, driven by Richardson of Kentish Town. The two drivers engaged in argument upon the merits of the couples versus the single wheel engine, Richardson stoutly maintaining against his colleague the case for the latter.

When we pulled out it was evident that Richardson was up to something. On the rising grade to Luton we made fair progress with a biggish load, but once Luton was passed 1860 began to fly. Bedford was reached five minutes early, and with a long shriek of the whistle we passed Kettering eight minutes before schedule, whilst the coupled engine was standing at the platform!

On another occasion the up Scotch express was eight minutes late at Leicester. I was particularly anxious to be in London on time as I had a connection to catch, and asked the driver, Barlow of Kentish Town, if he could recover a bit. ‘Wait and see’ was the reply. The engine was also a single, No 130, and my hopes fell when at Wigston, a few miles from the start, signals brought us almost to a stop. This made us 11 minutes late past Market Harborough with 82¾ miles to go. Through the darkness and a snowstorm we raced and reached St Pancras dead on time, in 105 minutes net for the 99 miles. There are several trains today timed at that speed, but none even now are quicker, and for a single, with a load of nearly 250 tons, it represented great work.

Other trips were made on the old LNW. Many Crewe men recollect the name and fame of Peter Clow who drove Adriatic 1309 during the race

of 1895. His usual engine was a compound of the same class, Coptic 1307, and Peter was of the opinion that he could take any load, disdaining the help of a ‘hooker’. Sometimes the trip was too much even for his skill, for the compounds were bad starters and slipped a lot. On such occasions Peter would have furious arguments with the guard, demanding for signal checks and pwr delays more allowance than they deemed fit to cover time otherwise lost. One of the firemen, now a driver, told me that Clow would point to the firebox door and say ‘fire’, and after a few shovels had been put on would cry ‘stop’, and woe betide him if he dared to fire except under such instructions. But Clow was a tip-top driver and a great personality, and his little eccentricities were accepted as the accompaniment of genius.

Another ‘character’ was an Irishman, also of Crewe, who once came to the shed and found himself down for the compound Stork 1397, notoriously a bad starter. ‘Stork, is it?’ he snorted, ‘then it’s meself that’s stalking’ and away he went. On another occasion he was hauled up for losing time, and blamed the coal. ‘Nonsense’ was the reply, ‘the Company won’t buy bad coal.’ ‘Sure, thin,’ came the ready retort, ‘they must get the divvle of a lot given them.’ They were great days, and great boys too.

The modern pooling of engines has economical advantages, but no others. What these old drivers who had their own engines and loved them would have said beats my imagination. Why, on the old Brighton line the driver’s name was actually painted inside the cab. You may still see the name of William Love inside the cab of Gladstone in York museum. But what would they have said? Perhaps I had better not try to guess, or the Editor, who is careful about the language used by his correspondents, would censor me! ‘

Kents Bank Station Library and Gallery News

The gallery had a good December with sales quite buoyant. There’s some great work by local artists, much of which within the average person’s pocket. The joint Christmas Fair with the Library attracted over fifty visitors who enjoyed the mulled wine, mince pies and cake (thank you Jill and Debbie). The monthly ‘MIC’ talk in the library was on ‘Railway Poetry’ with an emphasis on poetry by working railwaymen. Examples included poems by Fred Skerrett, Patricroft driver, Joe Smythe, Victoria guard, Walter Sinkinson, signalman from Mirfield, as well as selections from Polmadie Depot published as ‘Steam Lines’. Several members of the audience read their favourites,

with special thanks to Pete Skellon and Rex Harrison for their own work. The next talk is on Wednesday January 8^th; Philip Tuer of the Cumbrian Railways Association will talk about the CRA’s work and the resources it can offer. Starts at 14.00, please book in advance.

The gallery and library will be closed between December 22^nd and January 3^rd. Meanwhile we’re gearing up for a special ‘Gallery Roof Appeal’ in the new year. The gallery needs to find just under £3000 for roof repairs; we’ve had offers of over half the amount but still need to find £1400. Please get in touch if you could help with a donation.

We’ve been working with 3rd year design students from the University of Bolton on some ideas for artwork in the library. Results so far are very encouraging! Watch this space…

The library is hoping to celebrate Railway 200 with a new edition of ‘Northern Rail Heritage’ first published in 2008. It will be completely revised and updated and we hope to sell it at an attractive price. The booklet gives an overview of the social history of railways in the North of England.

Another new initiative is a short run of prints of Roy Wilson’s fine study of streamlined LMS pacific ‘Duchess of Hamilton’ (see left). We

have been working with Roy’s brother Brian to promote Roy’s superb work and this is the first stage of the process. Hopefully we will have a display of his paintings in the Earlestown area, where he was brought up. Roy served his time as an apprentice at Vulcan Foundry and many of his paintings reflect that.

The print is available from the gallery and library for £20 unframed or £60 framed.

His American Railroad Dreams

My good friend John Davies continues to produce fascinating books based on his lifetime experience with railways. His latest is My American Railroad Dream sub-titled ‘My impressions of 22 years, 2 countries, 54

states and 9 unique visits to the USA and Canada 1978 – 2000’. As he says on the cover, it’s ‘an odyssey in pictures and a little text’ but the text is very interesting. John covers a lot of the smaller railroads in the States including famous lines such as the Colorado narrow-gauge. However, the chapter on the ‘Short Line’ railroads is fascinating as well as some of the big commuter networks in Chicago and New Jersey. The Long Island Railroad, which I travelled on back in the 1980s, gets a chapter to itself. Well worth £14.99 of anyone’s brass, from Platform 5 Mail order: www.platform5.com

Lancastrians: Mills, Mines and Minarets

Thanks to historians Alan Fowler and Robert Poole for recent positive comments about the book. In the current North West Labour History Journal, Alan wrote: “The variety of topics is one of the appealing features of the book. It is some time since we had a history of the county, so this account is very welcome, and it reminds the reader of

the significance of the county in the UK, one often forgotten by London or Oxbridge-based historians….I hope many readers of the Journal will read it.”

I’m still getting invited to do talks on my ‘Lancastrians’ book. I’ve done several during the Autumn including Chorley Family History Society and Probus clubs in Preston and Leyland (actually on Walt Whitman’s Lancashire links, which feature in the book).

The book is hardback, price £25. Salvo readers can get it post free directly from me: http://lancashireloominary.co.uk/index.html/order-form Or from publisher Hurst.

Other books still in print (at gradely prices)

ALLEN CLARKE: Lancashire’s Romantic Radical £5.99 (normally £18.99): the only biography of Allen Clarke/Teddy Ashton (1863 – 1935): Lancashire dialect writer, socialist, cyclist, philosopher, poet, novelist…and more. Born in Bolton, mum and dad were millworkers; spent his later years in Blackpool. A remarkable chap who helped keep memories of the 1896 Winter Hill Trespass alive, friend of Tolstoy, admirer of Walt Whitman, etc. etc.

Moorlands, Memories and Reflections £15.00 (£21.00): based on Allen Clarke’s Lancashire classic Moorlands and Memories, bringing some of the story up to date and exploring the forgotten history of the Lancashire moors.

The Settle-Carlisle Railway A history of the famous route with an emphasis on the human story (including my own, as a guard in the 70s!). £14 including p and p.

Last Train from Blackstock Junction (published by Platform 5 Books). A collection of short stories about railway life in the North of England. Salvo readers can get the book at a specially discounted price, courtesy of Platform 5 Publishing. Go to https://www.platform5.com/Catalogue/New-Titles. Enter LAST22 in the promotional code box at the basket and this will reduce the unit price from £12.95 to £10.95. I’ve a few copies of my own to sell at £10.95 plus p and p.

With Walt Whitman in Bolton: This has been out of print for a few months but I’m doing a new edition, with at least one additional chapter. Likely to be out for next May.

The Winter Hill Mass Trespass of 1896: also out of print but I’m working on a new edition for 2025.

 

 

The Crossing Keeper’s Cat

Paul Salveson

You’ll have travelled through here if you were on your way north. Oxenholme is a little place on the West Coast Main Line between London to Glasgow, in the old Westmorland. These days a lot of the expresses stop here though back in the day most of the important trains, like ‘The Royal Scot’ and ‘Caledonian’ would hurtle through at a fair old whack. It’s a classic railway village though you don’t see much of it from the train. You can change trains here for Kendal and Windermere, that’s partly why it became an important railway junction from as early as 1846. There was another reason: it was at the start of the long climb northwards over the fells – up to Grayrigg and on to Shap Summit.

Back in steam days, when I was a young fireman, many freights and some passenger trains required assistance up to Grayrigg – and some stayed coupled to the train over Shap Summit and through to Carlisle. That required a locomotive depot to service the ‘bankers’ as well as the branch to Windermere. In the old days, when a train required an extra loco from Oxenholme, the signalman would tell the driver of the train ‘you’re puttin’ a sock on’!

By the 1920s well over a hundred railway workers were employed in this railway village, mostly men but some women looking after the station buffet. The railway company – the London and North Western Railway – built dozens of houses for its workers: all are still there today: Natland Terrace and Helmside Cottages. There was the Railway Mission and a ‘Railway Reading Room’ was also provided. The pub – Station Inn – was some way up the hill, a fair old walk on a winter’s evening, but at least it was downhill when you were coming back after supping a few.

The story I want to tell you is about a railway family – and a cat. I was told it by an old driver, Harry Fothergill – he’s long gone now – in the mess room when we were waiting for a job. I’m too young to have known Jack and his wife Madge but the story has been passed down, probably with a bit of embroidery along the way.

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Jack Thornburrow started at Oxenholme shed as an engine cleaner in 1910, at the age of 14. He gradually worked up the ranks to become a passed cleaner, fireman, passed fireman and finally a driver. That took 25 years, but it could take much longer at some sheds.  He lived with his parents on Natland Terrace – dad was a signalman and mum worked in the station buffet, so they were entitled to a railway house. No running water until well into the 1930s, but it was comfortable and cheap.

He was lucky to avoid the carnage of the First World War. He was in a ‘reserved occupation’ – by then a fireman – so wasn’t sent off to fight. He more than did his bit by working long, gruelling hours firing  locomotives on the ‘Jellicoe Specials’ taking coal to the fleet at Scapa Flow. They were named after Admiral Jellicoe, First Sea Lord and Commander of the Fleet, so I’m told.

Jack found time to have a social life and started courting Madge Benson, daughter of Harry and Dora Benson. He was a Special Class Relief Signalman based at Oxenholme, and a near-neighbour in another railway house on Helmside Cottages. They’d known each other since childhood – they could hardly avoid it, going to the same school and chapel. Madge worked at Cropper’s factory in Burneside from when she was 13, getting the branch train every day to and from work.

The Bensons were strong Methodists, as well as socialists. Jack was chairman of the Kendal branch of the Independent Labour Party and branch secretary of the National Union of Railwaymen’s branch. Dora was in the ILP and vice-chairwoman of the Women’s Co-operative Guild in Kendal. Madge could hardly avoid being ‘political’ and used to push socialist literature into Jack’s pocket when they went on romantic strolls on summer evenings.

“Come on love, give us a kiss,” Jack would say, only to be countered with something like “Not until you’ve told me about your impressions of that Philip Snowden speech we heard in Kendal…” or  “only if you help me with those leaflets on Saturday…”

But he got his kiss; and, after a while, more. Soon they were married, in 1918.

Harry had put a word in to the stationmaster that Jack and Madge would be looking for a house of their own, and asked if the company could help. A two-bedroomed terrace came up on Helmside Cottages, with Harry winking to Dora that the young couple might be needing that extra room.

………………………………………………………………………………….

The footplatemen at Oxenholme were all members of ‘the Society’ – the Associated Society of Locomotive Engineers and Firemen (ASLEF). The branch had 75 members by 1920 – not as big as Carnforth or Carlisle, but big enough. The monthly meetings, held in the Station Inn, would attract a good 40 members, with others sending their apologies due to the demands of shift work.

Fred Armistead was branch chairman. He’d started as a cleaner, like Jack, back in 1900 but came from local farming stock. A gentle giant, many called him –  a tough negotiator with management but always considerate towards his firemen. Jack attended the society meetings when he was on earlies or rest days and was elected as a delegate to the union’s annual conference, the AAD, as one of the youngest ever attendees, in 1922.

……………………………………………………….

The early 1920s were relatively prosperous. The war became a distant memory, though many returning soldiers – mostly railwaymen – were badly disabled and never returned to their old jobs. ‘Green card men’ were offered what were regarded as soft jobs, giving them a wage to live on.

Yet there was trouble looming. Strikes flared up in 1921, only to be followed by a much bigger conflict in May 1926 – the General Strike. The nine day strike was in support of the miners who were facing wage reductions. The railwaymen and the miners were almost the same family – they stuck with their brothers in the coalfields. Oxenholme men didn’t have much contact with the miners but had work to Wigan, taking coal empties to the local pits and bringing back loaded coal to Kendal and Burneside for the factories. The strike was solid. There were no little rich boys around who wanted to play trains for a few days like in some of the cities and university towns. Nothing moved.

Some of the unionised ‘white collar’ workers – a minority of stationmasters and clerical workers – were loyal to their union, the RCA, and came out – many ended up getting sacked or ‘reduced in grade’.

…………………………………………………………..

The late 1920s and 30s saw a steady improvement on the railways – the old London and North Western Railway disappeared in 1923 with the formation of the ‘Big Four’ companies. The London, Midland and Scottish Railway came into being, the biggest joint stock company in the world. It was the era of the pre-war ‘Coronation Scot’ with handsome streamlined Pacifics hauling the London – Glasgow expresses. They came streaking through Oxenholme going all out to get momentum for the climb to Grayrigg.

…………………………………………………………..

Jack was booked as a driver in January 1932. It meant he was on a decent wage with a job for life. He’d become a well-respected union man, in no small part thanks to Madge’s encouragement. When Fred Armistead retired, Jack was the obvious successor.

They had two children – Walter and Marie. Walter was encouraged by his parents to further his education and went to Kendal Grammar; he got a junior clerk’s job at Cropper’s.  Marie left school and got a job on in the shoe factory in Kendal. Madge was a full-time housewife alongside her activities in the Co-op Women’s Guild, Labour Party and the local W.I.

………………………………………………………………………

When war was declared in 1939, Walter quickly volunteered. Madge had been a pacifist as a young girl in the First World War but was in no doubt that the Nazis had to be fought; she and Jack were intensely proud when they waved Walter off at Oxenholme station, on his way to Fulwood Barracks to join the Lancashire Fusiliers.

Jack got the most responsible jobs at the shed, including fast freights over Shap to Carlisle and occasional passenger jobs to Preston, Crewe and Carlisle.

That year, 1940, the usual lull around Christmas didn’t apply. The main line was operating at full capacity with troop movements as well as coal, coke, iron ore – and ammunition trains.

………………………………………………………………

Jack and his fireman George Wilson signed on at 2 a.m. on Christmas Eve to pilot a heavy goods train through to Carlisle where they’d be relieved by ‘Caley men’ to take it on to Scotland. It was booked to take water at Oxenholme at 2.30 and ‘put the sock on’ – one of the shed’s new LMS Stanier-designed tank engines, 2464.  They weren’t given details of the load but the guard told both footplate crews that it was highly explosive and hush-hush –  so asked them to keep the sparks down to the minimum going over Shap so they wouldn’t be spotted by enemy aircraft.

The train pulled in to the Down Loop at about 2.15. The Carnforth fireman, Dick Grainger, jumped out to ‘put the bag in’ and fill the LMS 8F’s tender, ready for the climb over Grayrigg and Shap. Carnforth and Oxenholme men knew each other well and got on, despite plenty of banter between the sheds.

“I hope you’re going to do your share tonight Jack, just for a change,” the Carnforth driver, Joe Fothergill shouted as they hooked on to the train engine.

“Aye, we’ll be pullin’ thee over Shap and tha can mek the brew when we get to Carlisle,” Jack responded.

The signalman at Oxenholme No. 2 box cleared his signals for the train to set off and re-join the main line. The two engines barked powerfully as they got their train moving through the station. It was an exceptionally heavy load, about 700 tons and it needed both locos to get the train moving. Two good crews, two well-maintained locos – they cleared Grayrigg summit at just over 35 mph and Jack eased off for the level stretch over Dillicar water troughs. No need to put down the scoop on either engine – both had been filled up at Oxenholme – but old habits die hard.

“Won’t do any harm just to get a bit more in, to see us through to Carlisle,” Jack told his fireman.

The train accelerated to 45 as they went through Tebay, with both drivers opening up the locos’ regulators for the long slog to Shap Summit.

Taking several hundred tons over Shap was always a big challenge for a footplate crew, however experienced. An additional hazard in 1940 was the danger of being spotted by the Luftwaffe on the bleak moorland between Tebay and Shap, particularly with the fireman opening and closing the firehole door as he shovelled coal into the hungry firebox. The gleam from the fire would have been like a magnet to any marauding fighter jet.

What actually happened wasn’t as dramatic – but equally disastrous. They reached Shap Summit with speed down to 15 mph. Then, the train accelerated as they dropped down towards Penrith, with the heavy load pushing the train to a higher speed; they soon reached 45 – the limit for the train.

Footplate crews were trained to regularly look back down their train to check for a ‘hot box’ – an over-heated axlebox on one of the wagons. It was a common thing on those old four-wheeled wagons, made worse by the wear and tear of wartime use. Jack felt a pull on the engine which was a good indication of the guard at the back of the train putting his handbrake on and off to tell the men in front that ‘something was up’.

Jack, and his mate Joe on the rear engine, both looked out at the same time and saw a wagon towards the front of the train with the tell-tale flames coming up from the wheels.

“Fuckin’ hell. Hot box. We need to get that fire out, or we’ll all be goin’ to heaven for Christmas,” Jack shouted across to his mate.

They slowed to a stop at Thrimby Grange box and looked at the affected wagon. Jack shouted across to the signalman: “Hot box mate, we’ll stop at Clifton to detach…..and stop anything comin’ t’other road…” The signalman nodded back and immediately got onto his mate at Clifton, the next box.

“Harry, stop anything on the Up and get a few fire buckets ready for this goods on the Down – and get your tin hat on just in case.”

They approached Clifton’s outer home signal at a snail’s pace and the signalman, Harry Langton, pulled off his signals to move the train forward.

The plan was to get some water from the box and try and extinguish the fire, or uncouple the wagon and shunt it into a siding out of harm’s way. Not easy as the box didn’t have any running water and there was only a  couple of fire buckets.

They stopped beyond the signalbox and both drivers jumped down onto the ballast and ran back to assess the situation. By now, the wagon, the third one behind the locos, was well ablaze and the flames revealed the warning on the wagon sides: ‘Danger – High Explosive.”

The signalman came across with two buckets of water which might have done the job half an hour ago, but by now the flames had taken hold.

“Right Joe, I’ll get in between and hook off, draw down to the starter and get the signalman to put you in the old siding road,” Jack said.

“Bobby, can you do that for us and we’ll try and get it clear?”

The train moved forward with the road set into the siding, long out of use, but serviceable.

“George, you look after the engine. When we’re inside I’m going to get that burning wagon uncoupled and then move as far down as you can get so it’s isolated.”

“Jack, it’s my job to hook off as fireman – tha’s the driver!”

“I know that lad but you’ve got kids and that lovely young wife o’thine,” he responded. “I’ll tek the risk.”

………………………………………………………………………………………..

It was when Jack hooked the wagon off in the siding that the explosion happened.

He’d just waved the two locos to move forward when it went up. It was reckoned that the blast was heard in Carlisle and the flames could be seen from Penrith.

The men on the two locos – the Carnforth men and Jack’s fireman, George, were thrown out of their cabs by the force of the explosion but suffered nothing worse than a few bruises. Every window in the signalbox was shattered but Harry Langton managed to duck behind the frame and escape with nothing worse than a few cuts.

There was one casualty. When the wagon blew up Jack took the full force of the explosion. He didn’t didn’t stand a chance –  men from the Penrith P. Way depot had the heart-breaking job of picking up his remains, scattered across the tracks and surrounding fields, when it got light the following day.

I say there was one casualty, in fact there were two. The signalbox cat was killed by shards of glass from the shattered windows.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

The following morning a policeman, accompanied by Fred Pattison, the stationmaster at Oxenholme, went to see Madge.

“I’m terribly sorry Mrs Benson…Madge…it’s about your Jack…..”

…………………………………………………………………………………………………..

News quickly got round the village. The Westmorland Gazette ran a story, guarded in its details but announcing “Christmas Eve Tragedy: Loco Driver killed in serious accident near Penrith.”

The press was strictly controlled back then, during the wartime emergency, but as the full story of what had happened emerged Jack was feted as a hero whose bravery equalled anything that had been shown on the Front Line. He’d saved the lives of his three mates – but if the whole train had gone up, it would have taken a lot more with it. He was awarded the George Cross, posthumously.

His funeral was attended by everyone from the village, with representatives from the union from head office, as well as men from the surrounding loco sheds – not least Carnforth. Joe Fothergill broke down in tears at the graveside – not a man to normally display emotion. His tears were shared by many of his mates. The whole village was in mourning.

…………………………………………………………………………………….

Madge kept herself busy the following days. Walter and Marie stayed with her but after a few days she asked them to give her some time alone.

………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Jack’s  death presented a headache for the local management. The normal arrangement, going back to the early days when a ‘railway servant’ transferred, retired – or died – was for the railway house to be given up. There was a long waiting list for railway houses at the time and Madge knew that she’d have to move.

Sparing the stationmaster the embarrassment of asking her to leave, she walked down to the station on a Monday morning and knocked on his door.

“Madge, love, come in – I’ve been meaning to call in and see you since the funeral…”

“Aye, I know, I’m being evicted – don’t worry, I can go and stay at my sister’s in Kendal, I’ve already asked her…”

“Well, in fact I was going to offer you something else, if you’re interested…we’ve a vacancy for a class A signalman and crossing keeper at Hayrigg Fell. It’s a single shift and a nice little cottage goes with it. What do you think? You’d have to join the union, mind…”

“Oh, that’s a bit unexpected….can I have a think? And you know me, of course I’d join the bloody union!”

“Only joking…and of course. Don’t take too long though I want to get that box covered. You’ll get four week’s training and then you take over. It’ll free up a relief man for other vacant boxes that are busier. You’ll be doing an important job, though you’ll not be pushed for work!”

“Well I’m used to hard work Mr Pattison. I’ll take it. When do I start?”

Madge did her four weeks training at Carnforth, with the local inspector, Joe McGrath, explaining the basics of the railway signalling system, Rule Book, and a crossing keeper’s duties. The box wasn’t busy and only opened a single shift. If it hadn’t been for the war, the LMS would have closed it. It was just a block post to provide extra capacity on the climb up to Grayrigg, with an occupation crossing used when one of the local farmers needed to get across to his fields.

She passed with flying colours and received a letter from the District Superintendent at Carnforth telling her to present herself for duty on March 15^th, 1940. She’d be given two days ‘on the job’ training with Alan Protheroe, the relief signalman who’d been covering the vacancy, and then take charge on the Wednesday.

She was told to vacate her house on Helmside Terrace by March 12^th and the keys for the crossing keeper’s cottage would be available when she surrendered her keys for Helmside. There was a hand-written note from the station master added to the type-written letter to say that he would arrange for one of the company’s vans to collect her belongings and move them to her new home.

………………………………………………………………………………………

She arranged her move for the previous Friday; she’ no shortage of help from her neighbours in getting loaded up. Several cakes had been baked as a farewell. Marie took a day off from work to help her unload.

The cottage was in good condition.  It dated back to the 1840s, when the Lancaster and Carlisle Railway was built, but had been kept well by its previous tenant Bill Lonsdale, who had died a year or so ago. Running water, and even gas. There was a small vegetable garden at the back which had become overgrown.

“Well, it’s clean enough,” Madge said to Marie, but it lacks a woman’s touch. Let’s get cracking. Old Bill hadn’t cleaned that cooker for years!”

Furniture was brought in and set down; pictures, including a wedding portrait of her and Jack, were displayed, and other homely touches added. Marie set to work getting the fire going; it drew well and was soon roaring away.

They sat down for a cup of tea, with a fine choice of neighbour’s cakes, when they heard a noise from behind the front door.

“What’s that?” said Marie. “Sounds like a cat in distress. I’ll go and look.”

She opened the door and – without so much as a by your leave – a large black cat bounded in and placed himself in front of the fire, which was going nicely by now.

“So where have you come from then?” Madge asked her visitor. “You look like you belong here…”

There was no collar to give any indication of its name or home.

“Well, you’ll be needing a bit of company mum, I’ll go and get it some milk…I think you’ve got a lodger! What are you going to call it?”

“Well I had a friend in our Labour Party branch who had two cats, called ‘em Lenin and Trotsky, daft sod. But I’m going to call him ‘George’, after George Lansbury – a great socialist and champion of the workers. And of course our Jack got his George Cross.”

Madge and George settled down to a comfortable life at Hayrigg Fell. Her main job was to open the gates two or three times a day to let the farmers through, seldom delaying any traffic on the line. She wasn’t short of visitors and she was able to cycle down to the village, or even Kendal, for union and Labour Party meetings, and the odd bit of shopping.

With her new found friend ‘George’ some of her friends joked that she was turning into a witch – ‘Madge, the Mad Witch of Hayrigg Fell’ – a name she quite liked.

“I might start making lotions and potions and sell them on Kendal Market on my day off,” she mused.

……………………………………………………………………………………

It was about six months after she had started when Harry, one of the local farmers, had a big load of hay to get across to the farm. He turned up at the crossing and Madge said she’d get him across in a minute, just had to check with the signalmen on each side that there was nothing important coming through.

Oxenholme No. 3 box told her there was only a light engine on its way from Carnforth to Tebay, it wouldn’t be a problem to stop him at the crossing while the farmer got across.

It turned out the driver, who called in the box to say hello and ‘sign the book’, was Joe Fothergill, the driver who’d been with Jack on ‘that night’.

“I heard you were here so I told my fireman I’d come up and sign the book for him while we were stopped here – and see you Madge. Well, you look very comfortable…”

“Aye, it’s nice. I like it. Have you seen my new friend?”

At which point George came slinking up the steps into the box, purring loudly.

“Well by the heck Madge, that’s the strangest thing. That cat is the spitting image of the mog at Clifton and Lowther box that was killed in the explosion.”

“Give over Joe, there are plenty of black cats around. Are you telling me he’s a ghost cat?”

“No, I don’t believe in any o’that sort o’ thing….. you’re probably right Madge, just sayin’….we often used to go inside at Clifton and have a brew with the bobby. A black cat was always there and the story is that he made a whining sound when summat was worrying him – like on that night….he’d been wailing and whining a few hours before our train arrived with that wagon afire and…well, you know what happened….”

“Get back on that engine you daft bugger, I’ll get you away to Tebay.”

Joe got back on his engine, Madge shut the gates and pulled off her signals for the engine and away he went, with a friendly toot on the whistle.

………………………………………………………………..

Madge looked at George a bit differently after that story. She’d always thought he was a bit odd and was occasionally given to making weird wailing sounds for no apparent reason. But he was a loving cat and kept the mouse population down.

Next time he starts his wailing, she thought, I’ll see if there’s been anything going on…

A pattern did begin to emerge. George would start wailing when a railway accident had happened, or was about to happen. News was still tightly controlled during the war but her regular paper, the Daily Herald, would report on some railway accidents, up and down the country.

He seemed to go completely crazy one day in June, 1944. Madge couldn’t find anything in the papers but it later emerged that an ammunition train blew up at Soham, in East Anglia, in circumstances very similar to what happened that Christmas Eve near Penrith. The driver and fireman were both killed as they tried to move a burning train out of the station and surrounding village. Like Jack, they died as heroes whose bravery had saved many lives.

George continued to act strangely around the time of major railway accidents. Madge didn’t mention this to anyone else in case they’d think she’d gone mad after the loss of her husband. And anyway, a good socialist like Madge didn’t go in for all this ‘supernatural nonsense.’

George continued to have ‘one of his do’s’ as Madge called them to herself, and she would usually find out there had been some railway accident involving fatalities.

………………………………………………………………………………………..

It was on the evening of October 7^th 1952 when he had his worst attack. From tea-time he spent hours whining and wailing, scratching the furniture and running round the house like a demented beast. This carried on throughout the night.

The following morning, about 8 a.m. she woke up to find George lying dead on the carpet.

Later that day the news started to come through about an horrific crash at Harrow and Wealdstone, in the north London suburbs. Three trains had collided. The morning Glasgow – London express had passed through red signals and ran into a local train stopped at the station. Another express, heading north, ploughed into the wreckage.

A total of 112 passengers lost their lives, including a retired signalman from Penrith, Harry Langton, on his way south to visit his daughter in London.

Madge buried George in a makeshift grave next to the line. The box – and Madge – are long gone but the grave is still there, looked after by the local farmers.

December 16^th 2024

Note:

This story is a work of fiction. Madge, Jack – and George – are fictional characters, as are all the other characters in the story. I’ve tried to use local names as far as possible. The story of the ammunition train blowing up near Penrith did not happen – though the serious accidents at Soham and Harrow and Wealdstone, are facts. There was no Harry Langton involved in the crash. Hay Fell signalbox closed in 1949 and nothing remains, including ‘George’s Grave’!

In March 1945 there was an all-too-real incident when a train conveying naval depth charges caught fire near Bootle, Cumberland. The driver, Harry Goodall, was killed in the explosion whilst trying to detach the burning wagon. I was not aware on the incident when I was writing the story, which is a bit strange in itself given the similarities.

Acknowledgments

A big ‘thank you’ to Bob Waterhouse, Ken Harper and Tony Parker for their very helpful comments.