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4: My First Trip To Coalville The Christmas break of 1978 arrived and, as usual, I enjoyed myself to the full. Just one thing weighed on my mind: in a few weeks time I would be starting a new job in a strange town with people I’d never met. To banish the butterflies I tried to tell myself that I’d be alright and I’d rise the occasion, just as I always did. Christmas Day came and went and ushered in that dreary interval between the end of festivities and the new year. I decided to make my visit to Coalville on New Year’s Eve, figuring that the roads would be quiet. That Sunday morning was frosty but sunny, and by early afternoon the streets were aired and the chill had gone. I looked forward to a pleasant ride. To pass the long 17-mile ride I began to think back to my early associations with the railways… Like one time in the mid-Sixties, on a train going on our holidays, when Dad lifted me up to the carriage window so I could look out. The entire length of the train seemed to stretch out in front of us as we banked into a tight curve. From the steam loco at the front grey smoke and white steam billowed into the blue sky and left little clouds hanging over the green fields. And I thought about the days, aged about ten, when my mates and I spent hours on the iron bridge at Stapenhill watching the heavy coal trains going into Drakelow Power Station. The trains seemed to be constant - coal and stone in one direction, echoing empties in another - all passing below us and filling our young nostrils with heady blue diesel fumes. Drakelow and the surrounding area were where we all grew up as tatty kids and where, in 1972, I had my very first cab ride. The crew were Coalville men and the loco was 47315. From then on, in all my trainspotting books, that number was proudly accompanied by the letters C.R for cab ride. A short one maybe - just from the sidings to the east departure signal - but for an 11-year-old it was an unforgettable thrill. Another haunt of ours was Cadley Hill Colliery, where small saddle tank steam locos still operated. We would spend hours watching them shunt their NCB and mainline trucks. The crews soon got to know us and one day we were invited up onto the footplate of one of the locos. We chatted pleasantly to both driver and fireman as they explained to us what each control did. ‘Well, we can’t stop nattering all day, lads – we’ve got work to do.’ Disappointed by our all-too-brief visit we prepared to dismount from the footplate. The driver burst into laughter. ‘Nah, lads, you can stop on if you like. Just stand still and keep out of the way and you’ll be fine.’ And so we spent the whole afternoon on that engine. They even let us fire it for a while. It would have been nice to have a go at driving. Alas they didn’t let us go that far, but it remains an unforgettable memory. Then came my trainspotting days proper. All the years spent at Moor Street Bridge, on the path used by the train crews between the railway sheds and Burton station. From 1971 this was our regular stomping ground and we must have spent hundreds of happy hours there. We also made day trips out, starting small at Derby and Tamworth, then gradually moving further to destinations like Birmingham and Sheffield. Before too long we were venturing as far afield as London or Scotland. We kept the truth of our jaunts from our parents: if they’d known our plans they’d soon have put a stop to our gallivanting! But we knew there was safety in numbers – between six and eight of us usually – and we stuck together like glue. My last cab ride before starting work on the railways was in 1976, on the footplate of a Class 45 ‘Peak’ between Birmingham New Street and Saltley depot. But those things were all in my past. ‘This is my future,’ I thought as I passed a large road sign announcing Coalville… The sun was beginning to set in a watery sky as I arrived at the depot. Not that it looked much like a depot to me – not like the ones at Derby or Toton with their huge maintenance sheds and fuelling points. Still, it had a local signal box and a train crew building and rows of silent engines. I walked around the deserted depot, peeped into the mess room and generally explored the place. As I sat on a buffer stop to take a rest I thought ‘yes, I think I could be happy here.’ Around me in neat rows were white paraffin tail-lights. Leant against the buffer stops were shunting poles and break sticks. The day was beginning to get chilly as I walked back to my bike. Bending down I picked up a copy of the ASLEF Rule Book from the ground and slipped it into my pocket. Looking back one more time I left to begin my lonely ride home. But it had put my mind at rest to see my new place of work. Would it be here where all my ambitions would be realised? It remained to be seen…
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