A Privileged Journey

by David Maidment

  My father was a keen walker, and one swelteringly hot day our family (four of us, including my eleven-year-old sister and me, newly a teenager) embarked on a full-day hike to find Fingle Bridge, somewhere on South Dartmoor, by the Bovey or Teign river. I don’t even know if this is its correct name (it might be Fingal’s Bridge, with a passing allusion to the Hebridean coast), but I’ve looked in vain at Ordnance Survey maps in my possession. We took the train from Newton Abbot to Lustleigh behind 5557, a loco which had already graced locals between Paignton and adjacent stations more than once on this holiday. Then we set off along deserted lanes, all scenery hidden by the towering hedgerows. We walked and walked, and I grumbled and grumbled. My father kept consulting the map — another two miles, then another … I’m sure this so-called beauty spot was a figment of either my father’s imagination or the cartographer’s.

  Eventually we sat by the roadside and ate our picnic, intended for a grassy slope beside the mythical bridge, and began to undermine my father’s confidence that he had read the map correctly. Another couple of miles’ trudge in the full August afternoon heat, and still no relevant signpost appeared, so my complaints and that of my put-upon younger sister paid off. My father reluctantly abandoned the goal, and we swung westwards (?) towards Moretonhampstead, which we, the map and roadsigns all recognised. It was pure chance what time we would arrive and whether we’d find a train waiting, but we were in luck. Under the simple dead-end canopy of a typical GW branch terminus stood the local back to Newton Abbot, and there, simmering at its head, was 4547, still emblazoned with ‘G W R’ across its tank sides. It was a great relief and joy — the sheer pleasure at arriving somewhere known and finding a waiting train, particularly one headed by one of the earlier Churchward tanks I’d previously only seen shunting the pick-up goods in Goodrington sidings. The rest of the family was weary and fed up with not having achieved our goal; I, however, now perked up and was to be found an hour later dashing up and down the long Newton Abbot platforms whilst waiting for the next Kingswear-branch train, all tiredness mysteriously gone.

  We started our journey home on a holiday relief for the West Midlands headed by a Didcot ‘Hall’, 4994, transferring at St Davids to a train from Ilfracombe headed by Light Pacific 34058 Sir Frederick Pile, banked up the 1 in 37 to Central by ‘E1/R’ 32124. To my disappointment 34058 ran through to Basingstoke, where we picked up a semi-fast to Surbiton headed by Urie ‘H15’ 30334.

  The following year — again to my disappointment, as I was keen for a run behind one of the exotically named Urie ‘Arthurs’ — we watched ‘N15’ 30744 Maid of Astolat depart from Surbiton, as we had to wait for the following service, on which we had reservations. My family was accompanying a party of girls to a Girls’ Life Brigade camp at Newton Abbot, run by my aunt, and blue 35015 Rotterdam Lloyd worked throughout to Exeter Central. I can’t remember what took us down the bank — I think it was a single ‘West Country’ — but the Western train we picked up was headed by ‘Castle’ 5069 Isambard Kingdom Brunel of Bristol Bath Road. The train was again packed, and my one effort to look out of the window around Starcross was met by a stinging smut in the eye, from which I suffered for the rest of the day. I am ashamed to admit that the fifteen-year-old boy was more interested in train-spotting at Exeter and Newton Abbot than taking the opportunity provided by the proximity of twenty girls aged between twelve and fifteen! The second week the girls went home, and my family moved on for a further week at the Paignton guesthouse.

  During the first week all the girls went on an outing to Teignmouth, and, despite my reservations at accompanying a load of females, another spell on the sea wall was too good to miss. The outward trip produced only a ‘45xx’ 2-6-2T, but I took several photos in that well-known location and awaited the return evening train with anticipation. This was the through Liverpool express (the balancing turn of the 8am Plymouth, as I’ve now realised), and it came under the bridge from the sea wall and along the curved platform. Hiding behind the numerals ‘247’ was a spotless ‘Castle’; as it approached I could see the 84G shedplate, and my mind whirled to the few Shrewsbury ‘Castles’, because these were rare beasts for a London boy. 5097 Sarum Castle duly came to a stand, and I was ecstatic.

  A couple of days later I escaped the female entourage and went train-spotting at Newton Abbot and took a trip to Dawlish for more photography. At Newton Abbot I caught ROD 3038 on a freight and 4077 Chepstow Castle, obviously just ex works, going off shed as the Newton Abbot engine for the Shrewsbury double-home job. At Dawlish I took a photo of 70021 and eventually found that the Liverpool had 5097 again, so I waited for the following Exeter–Kingswear local, with 5997 Sparkford Hall.

  The girls finished their camp at the end of the week — I was even seduced into taking part in a midnight feast on the last night — and I helped my father pack their gear and get it to the station and see them off. Then I was allowed to spend the rest of the day watching the Western Summer Saturday procession while my parents and sister moved down to our Paignton guesthouse. I eventually took a Cardiff–Kingswear train, on which I’d travelled the previous year with 4968, and got another Canton ‘Hall’, 4963 Rignall Hall.

  We had spent most days on Goodrington Sands the previous week and a couple of times had travelled back to Newton Abbot on a local with the engine off the down ‘Torbay Express’, its headboard reversed, 5028 of Newton Abbot and 5047 of Worcester. (Apparently it was a triangular diagram involving Old Oak, Newton Abbot and Worcester ‘Castles’.) The second week — tired and beladen with beach paraphenalia though we were — we had to walk the mile or so back to our ‘bed & breakfast’ lodging house. One evening, as we walked along the little overgrown path beside the railway, I saw something unusual in the Goodrington carriage sidings. An excursion train was stabled there, and at the head was the last ‘Saint’, 2920 Saint David. Regretably I did not have my camera with me that day, and by the time I’d rushed back from the guesthouse it had gone. It was clean and shining in its coat of black paint and LNWR lining, although it was only another couple of months before its withdrawal. But what I picture most of all are the brass and scarlet name- and numberplates.

  5097 Sarum Castle brings the Shrewsbury double-home diagram on the 9.10am Liverpool into Newton Abbot, 17 August 1953.

  On the last day of our stay we had to return to Exeter by a specified service, as all returning holidaymakers were ‘regulated’. Our train was one of many hauled by a succession of ‘Halls’ — 5990 Dorford Hall was ours. From Exeter it was a Bulleid Light Pacific, 34032 Camelford, which once more to my disapointment did not change at Salisbury. We alighted at Basingstoke to pick up a semi-fast stopping at Surbiton behind another Urie ‘H15’, 30332.

  In 1954 we stayed at the Methodist Guild House in Sidmouth, and I spent a few glorious summer days scuttling behind the Sidmouth-branch ‘M7’, 30025, to the Junction and Tipton St John’s, connecting to the Exmouth branch, where I encountered more ‘M7s’, ex-LMR Class 2 2-6-2 tanks 41313 and 41314 and a few BR ‘Standard 3’ 2-6-2 tanks, 82011/3/7-9, which were beginning to replace the ‘M7s’. I managed one excursion to the Lyme Regis branch still in the hands of the venerable Adams 4-4-2 tanks — we had 30583 — and another to spend the mid-Saturday again at Exeter St Davids, where I captured 4703 on a Paignton–Nottingham train, among others. We had travelled down from Surbiton to Sidmouth Junction behind Salisbury’s 34052 Lord Dowding and returned with 30025 for the last time to the junction and then to Salisbury behind 34026 Yes Tor, which was replaced there by 73112 one of the brand-new (and as yet unnamed) ‘Standard 5s’ allocated to the Southern Region’s Western Section.

  2920 Saint David, in the condition in which the author saw it in August 1953.

  (Neville Stead)

  In 1956 we found accommodation in Ilfracombe. The 7.38am Waterloo–Ilfracombe was hauled by 34009 Lyme Regis, which should have worked through to Exeter but failed at Salisbury with injector trouble. After a short pause the watercart tender of one of Salisbury’s
‘Eastleigh Arthurs’ backed around the corner, and 30449 Sir Torre duly coupled up with the 11-coach, 385-ton-gross train. By this time an ‘Arthur’ on an express over the Salisbury–Exeter switchback was a rarity. Clearly Sir Torre had been commandeered at short notice, and the start out to Wilton was painfully slow, with clouds of sulphurous smoke as the fireman got the fire into some sort of shape. Once we got going, however, 30449 performed admirably, and this must have been the first journey I had logged (see Appendix, Table 1). From the slow start, clearing Semley at 53mph was a nice surprise, and 80 at Sherborne and a minimum of 26 on Honiton Bank, recovering to 28 in the tunnel, was good for an ‘Arthur’ with this crowded train. Sir Torre was replaced at Exeter Central by 34003 Plymouth for the run through to our destination at Ilfracombe, which ended with a descent of the steep (1-in-36) gradient from Mortehoe to the terminus poised over the town below.

  I had a couple of forays taking photographs of a succession of Bulleid Light Pacifics making a fuss of climbing out of the station, then on the middle Saturday boarded a train for the Midlands hauled to Exeter by WR Mogul 7311, which I took just as far as Mortehoe, the first stop. I spent the day walking from Mortehoe to Braunton, some seven miles, keeping close to the railway line, which for the last four and a half miles climbed to Mortehoe Summit at a steady 1 in 40. I met a series of trains climbing the bank from Waterloo and photographed 34062, 34034, 34003, 34051 and 34059, as well as a solitary ‘N’, 31837, and an ‘M7’, 30671, on a short freight. I ended my day somewhat weary — it had been a hot day — behind another WR Mogul, Exeter’s 6322, banked to Mortehoe Summit by ‘M7’ 30254. We also spent a day in Barnstaple, where I was able to take a few photos of trains crossing the bridge over the river between the Junction and Town stations, before our annual holiday was over, and it was back to Surbiton, via London this time, with No 34028 Eddystone as far as Salisbury and then, to my dismay, a filthy Maunsell ‘H15’, 30523, which coasted most of the way at 50mph, emitting a haze of brown smoke, arriving very late.

  Adams 4-4-2T 30583 being hand-coaled at Axminster before working the Lyme Regis branch train, photographed during a family holiday to Sidmouth, 3 September 1954.

  ‘Battle of Britain’ 34062 17 Squadron approaches Mortehoe Summit with a Waterloo–Ilfracombe express, 8 August 1956.

  34059 Sir Archibald Sinclair leaves Braunton with a very late-running express from Waterloo to Ilfracombe, 8 August 1956.

  Tableau 3

  Goodrington Sands, August 1952

  It’s a hot day and we — my father, mother, eleven-year-old sister Jill and I — have traipsed the mile from our Paignton lodgings to the beach at Goodrington Sands. We are struggling with all the things necessary for a day by the seaside — windbreak, buckets and spades, towels, costumes, picnic lunch. We’ll pay a shilling each for deck-chairs on the beach; three will be set up facing the surging water, tide now coming back in, while mine resolutely faces the other way. No, I’ve not quarrelled with the rest of the family yet, though carrying all that baggage in the heat was not really my idea of a holiday. It’s just because the railway line from Newton Abbot to Kingswear runs right at the back of the sands, on the embankment behind the bathing huts.

  In order to get here we’ve walked along the footpath by the railway track — nothing passed us — and the three carriage sidings on the upside between Goodrington and Paignton stations. They were empty of locomotives, although a couple of coach sets slumber there, roused only at the weekend. As we emerge onto the beach and choose our spot I’m alert for signs of activity on the railway behind me. Trains from the east announce themselves, whether they’re just starting from Goodrington Sands Halt or are getting a run at the bank from their Paignton stop. But trains coming down the bank from Churston off the single line are silent, free-wheeling, unless they whistle for the footpath crossing that we traversed half a mile away, or there is a screech of brakes if the train is stopping at the halt.

  My sister is stripping off her shoes and socks and is already dashing over the sand to paddle, then rushes back squealing, for the sea is cold, she says. It always is; I suppose I’ll have to go in sometime, but not now. Not until I’ve seen a couple of trains and perhaps got at least one ‘cop’ under my belt. It must be half past ten already. My father has been impatient for some time to get us out here; he dislikes the tardy preparations. We did not have breakfast until 9 o’clock — the time the landlady stipulates — so I’ve been at Paignton station since 8 o’clock this morning and already copped Chirk Castle on a local from Newton Abbot and watched No 6836 Estevarney Grange sizzling in the station with the 8.30 stopper to Exeter. But that’s a common one; I’ve seen it at least twice before already this holiday, and we’re still in the first week.

  Mum is already reading, and Dad is hammering the windbreak in — not that there is much breeze today, but it’s a ritual. Then my ears prick up, for I can hear a shrill whistle in the distance and the steady bark of a Great Western engine as it’s leaving Paignton. For a moment the sound recedes, overcome by the surging tide, then I hear it as its driver opens the regulator further to attack the two and a half miles of 1 in 71/60 to Churston. 7929 Wyke Hall bursts out from behind the pine trees shrouding Goodrington Sands Halt and charges past, accelerating its six motley Collett and Hawksworth carmine-and-cream coaches up the gradient, which is clarly visible from my vantage-point. I can still hear its strident, labouring exhaust as it hits the steepest part of the bank; five minutes later I can still hear 7929 chirrupping in the distance. All is silent once again as it nears Churston station, and the waves, the seagulls and the ice-cream vendor take over once more. Then, ten minutes later, I almost miss 2-6-2T No 5544, which, having passed Wyke Hall at Churston station, comes rushing, bunker-first, its four Mk 1 coaches forming a Kingswear–Paddington train that will be amalgamated with the Plymouth portion at Newton Abbot.

  4704, a locomotive the author drove in 1962 during his management training at Old Oak Common, tackles the 1-in-71 climb away from Goodrington with the 1.20pm Paddington–Kingswear on 15 July 1961. (P. K. Bowles / R. Woodley collection)

  There is a lull during which I pester for an ice cream — I’m dissuaded, as it’s too early. ‘After lunch’, I’m told, so I watch my sister constructing a crumbling castle in the dry sand. There’s a long gap between trains, and I’m getting bored. I get into my swimming trunks, with much flapping of towels to protect my adolescent modesty, and wander down to the water’s edge and discover for myself what my sister said. It’s cold — too cold to think of immersing anything higher than my calves. While I’m in the sea there’s a flurry of steam above the trees and a sharp ‘peep’ on a whistle, and a ‘Small Prairie’, 4582, puffs up the bank with a stopper from Newton Abbot to Kingswear. I’ve seen it every day all week; it’s one of the local clutch of these engines — 4532, 4547, 4587, 5525, 5557 have all been underlined in my Western Region ‘ABC’ already, as well as the two I’ve seen this morning.

  We’re just getting ready for our picnic lunch when there’s a shrill whistle, and into sight bursts a gleaming ‘Castle’, 4098 Kidwelly Castle, with the ‘Torbay Express’ headboard and a long rake of the new BR standard carriages. And I’ve hardly noted that with satisfaction and bitten into a sausage roll when there’s a pounding from the opposite direction, and 5019 Treago Castle whistles briefly and rushes the bank, its fireman hanging out of the cab, waving at small children who have paused from their sandcastle-building next to us and are waving frantically at the train. I get my promised ice cream and then persuade my father and reluctant sister and mother to join a game of beach cricket. We go down to the firmer sand, and I keep one eye on the ball and another on the track, which means I miss a catch but spot 6845 Paviland Grange also going westwards with a stopper from Taunton and Exeter. Dad shouts at me, and I chase the ball into the waves; then it’s my turn to bat, and I hit the ball deliberately into the sea, where my sister has to wade to collect it. I hear another train whistle and stop my father in mid-stride to watch a t
rain from Kingswear descending the bank, but it’s only Wyke Hall coming back. The women take the opportunity of the pause to indicate that they think that the cricket match is finished, and we return to our deck-chairs to sunbathe — my parents to read, my sister to resume the digging of a moat around her elaborate sand construction to receive the water when the tide reaches this far (which I doubt it will).

  I watch a string of trains passing throughout the afternoon, hauled by 6934 Beachamwell Hall, 6817 Gwenddwr Grange, 4954 Plaish Hall, Mogul 6322 of Exeter, ‘4575’ tank No 5525 and finally another ‘Hall’, 6954. Soon it’ll be time to rub the salt from our skin and dress again to go back to our lodgings for the evening meal, to be set inflexibly before us at 6 o’clock exactly. But just before we do there’s one more train that barks firmly up the bank — a resplendent ‘Castle’, 5050 Earl of St Germans (a Shrewsbury engine, no less), hauling a string of coaches bearing Liverpool–Kingswear roofboards. This makes my day, and I watch it with awe as it thunders up the track, drowning the noise of the waves now lapping near our spot, and drawing admiring eyes from the crowds now packing up and making ready to return to their hotels and lodging houses, just like us. I sigh with satisfaction. I’m ready to go now.

  5021 Whittington Castle climbs past the beach huts at Goodrington Sands with an Exeter–Kingswear stopping train, 8 June 1954. (F. A. Blencowe)