by Geoff Body
The village cricket team, its supporters and the pavilion’s bar were most welcoming; so, too, was the Anglican vicar and his church members, particularly the organist and choir. The latter told me how much they would like to sing anthems, many packets of which were stacked away in the vestry. I volunteered to help and instantly became acting choirmaster. Because the organist, a good bass singer, wanted to sing in the choir, I also became piano accompanist and sub-organist. The choir’s enthusiasm and performance quality was wonderful, tackling, as they did so very competently, the choral music of Byrd, Bach, Handel, Stanford and Elgar.
I also enjoyed the choir’s habitual adjournment to the pub after choir practice and Sunday services. There, unsurprisingly, they led the singing of rather less religious songs, along with the other locals. As I played the piano, I had the benefit of free beer!
The availability of sacks for hire influenced many grain forwardings to rail, but getting the sacks back was another matter, despite the use of this form.
The choir members were a very friendly group, revealed in one way for which I was quite unprepared. After one practice a sturdy, well-proportioned and attractive soprano took hold of my hands, complimented me on my playing skills and forthwith propositioned me! How does a young relief stationmaster react to something like this? There was nothing about it in the railway rule book, nor in the advice my stationmaster father had given me. Completely overwhelmed, way beyond surprised, I spluttered out, ‘Sorry, but I have to go back to the station to do the sack returns.’ Perhaps the young lady had talents other than her singing ones – I would never know – but I did try to avoid eye contact during the remainder of my time conducting the choir and had learned something for my many subsequent years of musical activities. It was, at least, a rare occasion when sack returns had come in useful!
WHAT’S ON NEXT WEEK?
Jim Dorward describes the variety of content appearing in a typical British Rail Special Traffic Notice
British Rail’s (BR) ability to move different types of special-passenger train traffic over its extensive pre-Beeching network in the 1960s is well illustrated by the diversity of trains listed in almost any Weekly Traffic Notice of the time. For example, the Scottish Region’s SC2 Notice for Saturday 6 to Friday 12 June 1964 included the following:
Saturday 6 June
Llandovery to Glasgow (Central) and Edinburgh (Princes Street)
A military special. Such trains were easily recognised by the ratio of first- and second-class seats provided. This train had thirteen firsts for officers and 265 seconds for soldiers. The train split at Carstairs, the front portion continuing to Glasgow (Central) and the rear portion changing direction for the journey to the soon-to-be-closed Edinburgh (Princes Street).
London (St Pancras) (5 June) to Oban and Return
A ‘hotel on wheels’. This thirteen-coach special, including sleeping and restaurant cars, was carrying passengers for a boat trip to Staffa and Iona. The train was booked to arrive at Oban at 8 a.m. and depart for the journey back to London at 8.55 p.m. The route included the now-closed line between Dunblane and Crianlarich. The trip would involve some beautiful scenery, provided BR had arranged for there to be no rain in the notoriously wet area around Oban.
Irvine to Kilmarnock
This was a ‘Tote’ special comprising a single BG bogie brake and parcels vehicle for the conveyance of Tote betting equipment used at a nearby race meeting. The vehicle was subsequently to be attached at Kilmarnock to the regular 9.25 p.m. Glasgow (St Enoch) to London (St Pancras) service. The operators of the equipment would have been amazed at today’s Internet betting.
Scottish Region Special Traffic Notice, June 1964. (Jim Dorward)
Renfrew (Fulbar Street) to Stevenston and Return
Sunday school picnic. The interesting aspect of this train was the arrangement that BR had to make for the train to travel over the goods line between Paisley (Abercorn) and Paisley Goods. This needed the introduction of Absolute Block Signalling Regulations, a 10mph speed restriction and the clamping and scotching of facing points. One wonders if the revenue managed to cover the permanent-way men’s overtime!
Saturday 6 and Sunday 7 June
Bertam Mills Circus
Two special trains from Workington to Stranraer Harbour along the now-closed line between Dumfries and Stranraer. Bertram Mills Circus had used four special trains for many years to move the circus from town to town. By 1964, however, television had started to change the live entertainment world. Consequently, prior to closing down the tenting show, Bertram Mills had decided to have a tour of Ireland using only two BR trains for the journey from Workington to Stranraer Harbour and the return journey to Ascot (West) where they had their winter quarters. Two special trains were assembled by the Irish railways.
The 9 p.m. from Workington included two passenger coaches and eleven bogie bolster wagons loaded with circus trailers. Speed was restricted to 25mph. The 12.10 a.m. (Sunday) from Workington conveyed four passenger coaches, elephants and horses. Speed was restricted to 30mph. These trains, particularly the one with the circus trailers, brought to an end the close working relationship between BR and Bertram Mills, together with the possibility of free tickets for some of the BR staff involved.
Tuesday 9 June
Perth to Gourock and Return
Two specials for a sail on the River Clyde for the General Accident Insurance Company’s annual staff outing. Both trains included restaurant cars and the timings were designed to give passengers adequate time to enjoy the delights of a BR four-course lunch and high tea.
Wednesday 10 June
Glasgow (St Enoch) to Greenock (Princes Pier)
This was a special train for Scots immigrating to Canada on Canadian Pacific Railway’s Empress of England. A special parcels train preceded the passenger train, conveying luggage and mails for the transatlantic crossing. No doubt many a tear was shed on the platform at St Enoch station.
There is little wonder that when the Special Traffic Notice arrived each week signalmen would say, ‘What’s on next week … and is there any overtime?’
Central Scotland lines. (Jim Dorward)
COURSE FARE
Geoff Body was privileged to attend several BR courses, acquiring a few unusual memories in the process
BR ran a great many instructive courses, chief among them a trio aimed at junior, middle and senior management. The aim of a good course is clearly to imbue knowledge that gets ingrained in life and work skills, but a good course will also create sufficient liveliness to result in a few extra curricular and memorable incidents. Or so I found it on these three particular courses.
The junior management event was so long ago that I recall only two things, both of which were linked to the catering. One is that the venue was a country house near London that was being used to train young chefs – and making an excellent job of it if our food was anything to go by. The other is the embarrassment of the first breakfast when my polite passing of the sugar basin and tongs resulted in dislodging the latter into a full jug of milk with a generous, impromptu baptism of the senior officer sitting nearby.
The middle management course was held at Derby and was largely devoted to practical skills, while the senior one involved a period in the British Transport (BT) Staff College at Woking for an intense instruction period lasting eight weeks. Derby was memorable for the end-of-course excursion around the Peak District when the rendering of rugby songs was quite as astonishing as the scenery was beautiful. At both of these events we had lectures on ‘Effective Speaking’, each memorable, but for different reasons.
A colleague from the hotels side of the business had a slight stammer, which the rather unprepossessing lecturer set out to remedy in what turned out to be the cruellest performance I have ever witnessed. It consisted of reducing the unfortunate subject to near-tears by barbed criticism and devastating pressure until he could barely talk at all. But it worked; a cure was achieved.
The other pre
senter on the art of effective speaking was an attractive woman in her late twenties or early thirties, very well groomed and confident. This was a challenge that one red-blooded member of the course could not resist. He had a slight hair lip, which tinged his speech, although not to any great degree. Referring to this, he stood and asked the lecturer if she could help with a remedy, clearly ready to delight in her failure to meet his challenge.
She was more than his match. ‘Mr X,’ she said, ‘if your question is a serious one I presume you will be willing to act upon any advice I give you.’
Already the challenger was snared. If he said no it made a mockery of posing the question. If he said yes she could impose pretty well whatever demeaning action she liked upon him, and duly did so when he had to indicate assent.
‘Thank you, Mr X. What I want you to do is stand in front of a mirror each morning and evening, put a finger on the damaged lip and splutter at least ten times. And I’d like you to do it for the whole of the remainder of the course, and in front of your colleagues as an earnest of your good faith.’
The lecturer’s would-be tormentor had been well bested and took it well. We warmed to our speaker and what she then had to pass on in her lecture.
The Woking course was no sinecure; the reading list alone would have occupied the rest of my days. But there were several consolations, not least a croquet court where I acquired a little skill and a lot of respect for an intriguing and sometimes vicious game. The principal beat me in the prestigious final, so, along with a mathematics wizard from the British Railways Board (BRB) headquarters, we turned to beating the odds on the fruit machine in the relaxation room. He was a random-numbers expert and we did manage to make a profit, but the grand total of 19d per 2 hours of effort was not generally adjudged overly impressive.
A feature of each Woking course was a short visit to some out-based activities, in our case to the Continent to marvel at the then-new Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam and the pioneer activities of a haulier specialising in the handling of garments on racks. From our visit to the former we had to use a tram to get back to our hotel and, for some obscure reason, were moved to collective song to lighten the journey. Getting rather carried away with the occasion, we were so encouraged by our fellow tram passengers’ applause that we went round the tram circuit again, still in full voice. What a contrast was our return journey early on the final morning of the trip when the temptations of duty-free Geneva on board the BR ferry had taken its toll. The stooping, ashen-faced gang that disembarked at Harwich looked as little like a group of potential high flyers as did the bollards to which our vessel was moored!
Croquet interval for British Transport Staff College course No. 16 with Louis Verberckt threatening to go home to Belgium following defeat!
The traditional course group photograph where we posed in front of the British Transport Staff College at Woking, with the principal and his staff in the front row.
We had recovered by the time of the end-of-course show that, by tradition, the members staged. In drag, with awful songs and rhymes, we produced our version of ‘The Woking Ladies Finishing School’ and a sketch in which we parodied the assessment process by a, hopefully, witty critique of the staff and tutors who had served us so well but with no light hand.
DRAMA AT CHESTER
From his time as area manager at Chester, Peter Whittaker recalls two serious accidents
Tattenhall Junction, 1971
It was a lovely summer evening early in July and I had been in my first real management job, as area manager at Chester, for just four months. I was mowing the lawn prior to taking the family – my wife and three very young boys – on holiday the next morning. Midway through my task my wife appeared to tell me that Chester Control was on the phone. This was unusual, as I was not on call, but they thought I might like to know there had been a serious derailment on the patch.
This advice arrived some 2 hours after the actual incident, so, rather than add my presence to the undoubtedly already overcrowded accident site, I went straight to Chester Control to brief myself, having told my long-suffering wife to continue the holiday packing, with no expectation of when I might return home. On arrival, the story I found was that a returning schools party special train from Rhyl to Smethwick had become derailed on buckled rails at Tattenhall Junction outside Chester, with serious casualties and at least one fatality.
I was able to establish that the emergency services had been on site very rapidly and were performing extremely well. I also contacted my deputy at the site to check that my presence there was not needed at that stage and then got in touch with Birmingham Control. The power of the network again – in charge at the Birmingham end was a friend and former colleague, Peter Barlow. He had managed to obtain from the school a list of the children, teachers and other adults who had been on the trip. I was gradually able to assemble, by contacts with the crash site, the police and the local hospitals, a list of the survivors who were returning to Birmingham, those awaiting collection by parents and others, and casualties who had been taken to hospitals at Chester or Wrexham.
For several hours it was hoped that there might be only one fatality but, sadly, as the last of the wrecked coaches was being examined, a second, unidentifiable body was discovered. By comparing my list with Peter’s we were able to establish that an 11-year-old boy was missing, later identified.
It is difficult to imagine the horror entailed in this situation of setting out from a deprived area of Birmingham for a sunny day at the seaside and then to find the party ended in such a way. The strength of feeling among the Chester staff was such that on my return from holiday I discovered they had raised a spontaneous cash collection for the school. The gesture and the amount raised were such that I felt I must deliver it personally to Benson Road school rather than just send a cheque by post. The walk from Smethwick Rolfe Street station through Winson Green to the school caused me to reflect again upon the responsibility we carry as transport operators.
Chester Station, 1972
On a Tuesday evening in early May, after a particularly stretching day as area manager, Chester Control came on the phone at 9 p.m. I was not on call and so only likely to be contacted about something fairly serious. A voice said, ‘Sir, there has been a serious accident at the station and the station roof is on fire.’
As I stopped at traffic lights approaching the outskirts of Chester, the whole sky seemed to be alight, reminding me of my earliest childhood memory of a wartime bombing raid on Liverpool. I thought, ‘This is not just the station roof – it must be the whole station on fire!’
On arrival at Chester station I was greeted by not only a raging fire but a scene of general destruction. A freight train from Ellesmere Port to Mold Junction had run away down the falling gradient approaching Chester and run through points set for the bay platform, colliding there with an empty diesel multiple unit (DMU) at about 20mph. The first coach of the DMU was completely destroyed and the second coach was torn from its bogies and thrown up on to the adjacent platform where it came to rest having demolished half of the refreshment room.
A major fire had started when the burst fuel tanks of both the DMU and the freight locomotive ignited – it had indeed set the station roof on fire. There were additional complications: the first five wagons of the freight train were tank wagons containing kerosene, petrol and gas oil. Petrol from two of these tanks had begun to boil and been forced out of the pressure-relief valves, adding to the conflagration.
Fortunately, the fire brigade was based locally and had arrived at the scene very quickly, but they were faced with a challenging situation. Mercifully and, in the circumstances, miraculously, there were no serious injuries. My duty manager had performed magnificently. Having established that all emergency precautions had been taken, he then very quickly – and at no small risk to himself – uncoupled the freight train between the third and fourth tank wagons, averting a further extension of the fire. Under my direction he then used the same shunti
ng locomotive to further remove some other tank wagons from an adjacent siding. These contained ethylene dibromide which, when heated, can discharge some highly toxic gases.
By using copious amounts of foam and continuously spraying the tank wagons to control the temperature inside, the fire brigade was able to contain the fire, although it was not finally extinguished for some 4 hours. The senior fire officer on site advised me that the fire was out and he was on his way home. I asked whether this meant that my staff could get into the area and start some sort of a clear up. He confirmed that this would be fine but, fortunately, some sixth sense sent me in search of his deputy, who was appalled at the idea. The tank wagons would need to be sprayed continuously for at least another 8 hours before the site could be declared free of further risk – an interesting lesson in seeking a second opinion, even in the case of experts! When I asked later what would have happened if they had been unable to cool the tanks sufficiently, the answer was that there would have been a fireball over the whole of Chester.
REPRIEVE
Philip Benham recalls the case of an unusual solution which had been applied to a pigeon problem at Scarborough
Like most businesses, BR had tight procedures to guard against fraud and financial impropriety. Wherever cash was involved everything had to be properly recorded with documented evidence to explain every item of expenditure. Thus, one of my jobs as area manager at York was to ‘sign off’ disbursements where petty cash had been used to pay for small items. These could range from the purchase of stamps for correspondence through to taxis provided for passengers who had missed train connections. One of the most fanciful explanations I recall for a particular payment was ‘wages for rodent operative’ – this was actually milk for the station cat.
