The Story of
St. Jacobs &
Aberfoyle Model Railway
by Lynda Wilson
Copyright © 2015 by Lynda Wilson
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
All image rights belong to St. Jacobs & Aberfoyle Model Railway. Please visit www.stjacobsmodelrailway.com with questions or requests.
Printed in Canada
ISBN 978-0-994-7982-1-3
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lynda Wilson is the author of Walking Home. She lives in
Kitchener, Ontario.
[email protected]
Cover Design: Tegan Wallace
In memory of Frank Dubery
INTRODUCTION
When twilight descends upon Aberfoyle Junction, the busyness of the day falls away and the silence of night settles over the escarpment like a sigh. In the rural communities of Westport and Kelso, lights come on one by one; the streetlights in the much larger city of Wellington appear like beacons. The shadows inside the houses and buildings melt and are replaced by the warmth of yellow light. The world compresses for a moment and you become aware how like moths we are — drawn to the light. Godlike, you can look inside the homes and the stores, see right through the boundaries of a room and into the lives of these miniature people to get a glimpse of what family means to them, what a young couple looks like when they are having dinner in a small café, a salesman stocking shelves in the local hardware store. You become a silent witness to a thousand stories.
The train whistle blows, haunting and otherworldly. You imagine the sound blanketing the hills beyond the town and finding its way into those homes and buildings and cafes — some of which are black and still now as the night deepens, the occupants sound asleep, the workday over; the streetlight in front of the café the only reminder a young couple had ever been there at all, the distant sound of the train rumbling along the tracks the only indication a world exists and chugs along without us.
When day breaks in Westport, you can see a woman sitting at a table in a donut shop with a cup of coffee frozen halfway to her lips. She is smiling, staring across a miniature table at a miniature man who is relaxing into his chair. People are going about their day. Cars are lined up outside the clothing store and some of the parallel parks are less than perfect — the creators have a sense of humour.
Even though this moment is forever frozen in time, the incongruity of trains moving through the silent landscape puzzles you only for a moment. Your brain solves this problem by imagining the coffee cup moving to the woman’s lips and then carefully back onto the saucer again. The man across from her stretches his legs and maybe even pulls out a pack of Export 'A' or Player's; this is a replica of a town in 1957, after all. You imagine the women parking those gigantic cars, silk scarves wrapped around their heads holding down backcombed hair or maybe curlers; pulling forward and backing up, pulling forward and backing up. You can even smell their perfume…. And yet, when you follow the CP train as it disappears into a tunnel and then look back to the donut shop, the woman’s cup is, of course, frozen halfway to her lips and the man is not smoking a cigarette at all. It would be disconcerting if there were not such a peace and stillness associated with it, a sense that everything is as it should be.
That is the beauty and the marvel of the St. Jacobs & Aberfoyle Model Railway, a fully functioning model railway in St. Jacobs, Ontario, built with painstaking attention to detail over a 40-year period. Based on a single moment in time in the late 1950s, the fictitious city of Wellington and the small towns of Kelso and Westport have been reproduced in miniature, 'O'-gauge, a scale of 1:48, right down to the finest detail — to the fire hydrants and the clothes drying on the line. More importantly, it is home to the CN and CP lines in the days just before the old steam engines were phased out and the diesel took over. Both lines converge at the busy Aberfoyle Junction.
PROLOGUE
The first model steam engines surfaced in the mid 1800s and were known as piddlers and dribblers because of the puddles of water they left behind on the floor. But it wasn't until early in the 20th century when companies like Ives, Lionel, and American Flyer came out with affordable, detailed train sets that the toy train market really exploded. There are few of us who didn't have a train layout, large or small, under the Christmas tree at some point in our childhood, and it is this fascination and seemingly universal love of trains and the miniature world of layouts that has led many to continue their hobby of model railroading well into adulthood. Rod Stewart has an awe-inspiring 1500-square-foot layout he has constructed based on Manhattan in years gone by. Neil Young, another enthusiast and avid collector of Lionel model trains, invested in the company and designed a switching system and an algorithm that synchronizes the sound and smoke in Lionel locomotives. The list, of course, is almost endless.
When I first experienced the Aberfoyle Junction Model Railway back in 2011 in an old Quonset building out on Brock Road in Aberfoyle, near Guelph, Ontario, the layout was so overwhelming in its detail, so unique in its eight-minute night scene, it was easy to understand why it had been delighting crowds for over 40 years. More fascinating still was the small group of seniors who were wandering around the layout happily answering questions about their railway or up in the control tower entertaining the crowd below with their carefully orchestrated running of the many trains on the layout. This intriguing group have spent the majority of their adult lives working to make Aberfoyle a reality — model railroading has never been just a hobby for these elite modellers, it has been a way of life.
How was it possible in a day and age where interests tend to wax and wane in the span of a heartbeat, that six individuals could find each other and quietly dedicate their lives to creating a living, breathing work of art? What kept their focus? What compelled them to create the remarkably detailed buildings, the locomotives, the stories on the layout? And how did the magic seep in?
I set out with the ambitious goal of answering those questions through interviews and time spent with the five remaining members. It didn't take long to realize I was not going to find any easy answers. In the beginning I wondered if it was something generational or particular to model railroaders, because the story I set out to tell clearly wasn't going to come from the artists themselves. Despite being helpful and accommodating in every conceivable way, it was obvious they didn't have the answers either. Any direct question about the passion or motivation behind the creation of Aberfoyle Junction almost invariably led to a bemused look, as though I was asking why they breathed in or out. Only by discovering each of them as individuals was I able to move forward. And so, I quietly followed where the tracks led.
THE ARTISTS
The Aberfoyle Junction Model Railway began as the dream layout of Frank Dubery, a life-long modeller who emigrated from England in 1946. When Frank died in 2005, he left a very large hole in the small group of six that, at the time of his death, had worked closely together on the model railway for 32 years. Aberfoyle Junction has become a legacy not just to Frank but to all the members of this close-knit group of friends. When you see them together, working, grumbling, joking, teasing each other endlessly, you realize this is a family and it all began with Frank Dubery and his almost pathological attention to detail.
There is a photograph of Frank Dubery taken i
n 1943 in Beckenham, England, when he was a young man of 25. He is sitting back comfortably on a thick leather car seat, a steering wheel lightly grasped in both hands, his long legs stretched out in front of him, one foot on the clutch, one on the gas, and it would all seem entirely natural except the body of the car is missing. The motor is there, the wires, the pumps and the radiator, but the body is missing, as though it had vaporized when no one was looking. Frank, meanwhile, has a huge grin on his handsome face. He seems comfortable in his three-piece woollen suit, happily in control of this strange contraption. He and a friend built the car from scratch and there is an elegance and a solidity about it that leaves you without any doubt that it ran beautifully and reliably. But then, this was Frank Dubery and so if it was worth doing, it was worth doing spectacularly well.
On a cold day in January 2013, Frank's daughter Ginny Craig held up a watercolour her father painted when he was only 8 years old. It is a peaceful scene of a small English cottage, the colours muted and carefully chosen. It is so accomplished it is difficult to believe it was done by a boy closer to his years in diapers than adulthood, but that was the wonder of Frank Dubery. Educated at the Beckenham County School and the City of London School, Frank was a gifted artist with a particular love for both pencil drawing and drafting. By the time he was 19 years old, he had already been working for three years as a master mechanical draftsman for a London-based company that designed specialized accessories for aircraft. He excelled in his field to such an extent that the company sent him to New York City as a technical advisor to set up the US-based arm of their corporation. After two years consulting in the US, he was sent back to Britain in 1939, at the age of 21, to head up the company's foray into the production of floor wax. With the outbreak of war, Frank was put in charge of the department for designing controls for aircraft until 1942 when he was accepted into the Royal Air Force and sent to Canada for his training. He was awarded commission as pilot officer. He graduated within the top 10 of his class and was selected to remain in Canada as an instructor where he was eventually given the title of Senior Navigation Instructor, achieving the rank of Flight Lieutenant.
"He came through Toronto and my grandmother got word of these two English boys who had nowhere to stay," Ginny said. "She offered them my Mom's bedroom without her knowing about it. So, Mom came home from work one day and these two strangers had literally taken over. One day my Dad let her budgie out of the cage and it flew out the window. She was not impressed! He was running around the neighbourhood with a ladder, in his shorts, trying to find the budgie!"
Frank married the spirited Mary-Grace (Gay) Birrell in May 1944 and brought her back to England with him in December of that year. "His mother was not pleased he married a colonial," Ginny said. "She was not the most popular person when she got off the boat in England!" Frank began training for glider towing and parachute dropping until he was demobilized for work of national importance to the drawing office of De Havilland Aircraft. In 1946, the couple returned to Canada where Frank obtained a position with Canadian-Brazilian Services in their engineering department in Toronto. They eventually moved to Chesley, Ontario in 1973 when Frank began his long career with Bruce Nuclear, eventually becoming project manager. "Dad was very modest, he never brought attention to himself,” Ginny said. “But his accomplishments brought attention. He was on a committee that delved into workman disputes and he was just so diplomatic and good at it, whereas my mom was his polar opposite!"
Gay Dubery celebrated her 91st birthday in early November 2012. She appeared remarkably fragile, her skin almost transparent. You had the sense that if you really concentrated, you could see right through her. And yet there was something permanent and solid about Gay, as though she had always been there and always would be. “To hell with the diabetes!” she said as she dove into her birthday cake.
Gay Dubery was a force to be reckoned with in her prime; now even talking was an effort, as if she had to push the air past some obstacle that was perpetually in the way. It was difficult not to feel tired for her, but she didn't slow down long enough to notice. Gay Dubery isn't accustomed to complaining about anything, except maybe the food in her retirement residence (“It’s nursing home food! It’s awful, it’s cold!”).
She had come to the model railway's brand new location in St. Jacobs for the first time that day, her birthday wish. She spoke about Frank. "He was a lovely man," she said. "Everybody loved him, and he was such a joy. I miss him so much." She smiled and her voice threatened to disappear entirely. "He would have been in heaven here. This would have been marvellous." She leaned forward on the edge of the walker she was using for a chair. "We had such wonderful times building. And Gwen (Bard) did so much, she did all the scenery and I helped with some of the trees. I was in the shop at the Aberfoyle Mill and I used to stay over at the Mill or with my friend who lived out on the highway. They had a big house which is now a rehabilitation place for alcoholics on County Road 39." Gay has a unique ability to lull you along with her stories and then snap you back to reality with a blunt comment.
In 1972, Frank began work on his dream layout, what would eventually become the Aberfoyle Junction, on the top floor of an old barn at the Aberfoyle Flea Market. Marion Owens and her husband Stanley owned the Mill and Flea Market and they were close friends of the Dubery’s. It was Marion who was instrumental in encouraging Frank to begin building his railway on the top floor at the flea market where everyone could enjoy it. She even had the entire floor sandblasted and refinished to make way for his trains. While Frank was putting the layout together, Gay worked in the gift store across the street at the Mill with Marion. According to Gay, Marion was quite a colourful character. She immigrated to Canada from England in 1947 and was one of ten women awarded the Order of the British Empire for bravery in the Battle of Britain. "She was a chauffeur for one of the higher-ups in the army,” Gay said. “She got a medal because she got out of the car, ran over and slammed the doors that were opened in a munitions plant that was on fire, and it really saved the whole thing from blowing up.” She threw her head back and laughed. Even though it was clear she was tiring, she leaned forward, eager to push every word out.
By the time of her birthday, the reconstruction of the model railway was well underway but still far from complete. Many of the crew of volunteers and visitors were sitting on plastic chairs out in what would be the lobby of the new facility. The floors were bare concrete, the walls untaped drywall over steel studs. There was dust and the smell of paint and the noise of construction, hammers, table saws. Volunteer workers wandered in and out, some picking up a piece of birthday cake on their way to their next task, wishing Gay all the best. She smiled and thanked each and every one of them.
Gay's daughter Ginny sat close by. She is petite, like her mother. She is open and friendly and warm. "I have a story about Dad," she said, smiling. "He had two girls, which he was thrilled about because we wouldn’t mess with his trains. We each had a train set of our own — this was in the ‘50s when no girls had train sets. Whenever we were especially good, our treat was a new car for our train. I remember one time going to get an immunization shot. Dad used to call it a ‘shot in the bot’ because back then they used to give kids the shots in their bottoms. Because I didn’t cry, I got a refrigerator car. I remember being thrilled about getting a refrigerator car!" Beside her, Gay chuckled and took another bite of her cake.
Almost a year later on a cold, grey Wednesday morning in early October, there was a flurry of activity at the St. Jacobs facility. Four operators sat above in the control room working out kinks. A few days before the group had discovered some minor operational glitches that needed to be ironed out before the grand opening that was only a week away. General Manager Mike Craig was walking slowly along the outside of the layout. Every so often his head would tilt slightly to the right and it was clear he was listening to something only he would ever be able to pick out of the background noise.
"What happened there, Peter?" he yell
ed, turning and looking up at the control room. "Did you set the next selector onto G?" After a short pause, Peter said no. "That's why you stopped then." Mike continued walking along the layout.
It was not clear what might have happened; there was nothing that looked like a selector or a stopped train or a G. Everything seemed exactly as it had been a moment before. But then, Mike has an almost innate sense of the model railway and its functioning; he knows it intimately. In fact, you could say he grew up at Aberfoyle Junction. "I thought I was the luckiest kid alive because I had this place I could come to," he said, looking around the enormous room that houses the layout.
Mike Craig is instantly likeable. He is easygoing and open, is most at home in t-shirts and blue jeans, and has a wicked sense of humour that surfaces when you least expect it. In his early thirties, he is a natural leader. He handles every issue that arises with a confidence visibly calming to each person he deals with. He speaks quickly and you can tell he is processing things at a different speed than the rest of us. Mike Craig is Frank Dubery's grandson and so has come by his love of model railways honestly. An IT specialist, he happily agreed to take on the position of general manager of the St. Jacobs & Aberfoyle Model Railway when it was offered to him. "I think my grandfather would be so happy," he said, pushing his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. And there is no doubt in anyone’s mind that Frank Dubery would be thrilled.
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