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5: Traction Training The first weeks of 1979 brought severe frost and snow. On the 15th January, in order to get to Leicester on time, I had to get the 05.05 mail train from Burton to Derby - a service known by railwaymen as 'The Rabbits'. Once at Derby I found myself a seat in a warm DMU - but its departure was heavily delayed because of the weather. So on my very first morning, despite my early start, I arrived late. Walking down the path at Beal Street I could feel the nerves tensing in my stomach. I braced myself and knocked on the door of the small classroom that had been put aside for us. 'Come in!' I pushed the door open and was immediately aware of fifteen pairs of eyes looking at me. 'Is it Tony?' asked the man at the front of the class. 'Tony Gregory?' I nodded and mumbled something about a late train. 'Not to worry, Tony. Sit down over there. That's your place.' He continued with his short introduction. After a while I began to feel better and took time to look around at my classmates. I could see the tall lad I'd been at the interview with, but not the other one. I guessed he'd failed and it struck me as somewhat ironic as he was the only one of us who actually lived in Coalville! Our instructor turned out to be the popular Bernard Willis. In the years to come he would take us for several other courses and was the most competent instructor I've ever been taught by. His back-ups were Bill Soden and Dennis Simpson, the latter being one of the proper locomen of our era in my estimation.. Our first day turned out to be relaxed and light-hearted. Alongside us trainees for Coalville, were others destined for Leicester and Nottingham. As most of them were good lads it wasn't long before we were all chatting freely. We were also treated to an early hometime. Thus concluded a very reassuring start to our new careers. The next day was not so good. ASLEF, the train driver's union, were holding a series of one-day strikes on the Tuesday and Thursday of each week. It messed up our travel plans, but we had no bad feelings about it. These were the chaps whose ranks we'd be joining eventually. But my own journeys became a nightmare! I still had to be up at 4 a.m., but instead of a short cycle ride to Burton station I now faced a three-mile trek to Wetmore Bus Park. Once on the bus there was an expensive fare and a long boring journey through countless small villages. By the time we reached Markfield the bus was filling up with workers on their way to Leicester. Alighting at the station I made my way to Beal Street. We now had to get some work done, so by the time I'd finished it was teatime. The tall lad - who I now knew as Craig - lived locally and gave me directions back to the bus station. The bus was packed, but I was just glad to be heading home again. After half an hour the passengers thinned out so I relaxed in a nice warm seat and soon afterwards dropped into a welcome sleep. A rude awakening was inevitable at Wetmore Bus Park and I had to face a three mile walk back home again. By the time I sat down to a welcome tea it was well past six o'clock! Thursday was even worse and my morning trek was made all the more miserable by snow and a freezing wind. My shoes leaked and my feet quickly turned to ice! At the bus park I bought a newspaper to stave off the boredom - but it was still dark and so blustery that reading was impossible. I didn't start to read it until we were approaching the stop where the bus normally filled up. As we wound our way round the endless lanes again I began to feel dizzy. The more I tried to concentrate on my paper, the worse it got. The murmur of voices and the smells of cigarette smoke and perfume made me feel so sick that I wanted to get off. But we were only on the outskirts of Leicester: if I got off now I'd be lost in no time. I don't know how I managed to hang on, but I did. Even to this day I cannot read while I'm in a road vehicle - though I have no problems on a train! After another long day with more travel problems I eventually got back to Burton at 8 p.m. Luckily for me - and thousands of other passengers - the ASLEF strike was resolved that same week. The next week would be different again. Bernard had sussed out who were the true enthusiasts and who weren't. We would leave the classroom about 3 p.m. to catch the express to Derby. Three parts of our class used this train, including Bernard. While the Nottingham lads would scuttle off to the buffet, the rest would hang about in the corridor chatting. One afternoon, as we waited for the train, Bernard asked if anyone would like to gain some experience by riding in the loco cab. Surprisingly no one seemed that bothered, so I said I'd be happy to give it a go - especially as the train was usually headed by a Class 45 'Peak' loco. They were my favourite, a proper diesel locomotive of my generation. I'd classed them twice already - but a cab ride, now that really would be something else! Once the train came to a halt Bernard went over to the loco and opened the cab door. 'Hello Ray, I've got a traction trainee here going to Derby. Can he ride with you?' 'Sure, Bernard.' 'See you tomorrow, Tony,' said Bernard, and with that he pushed me inside and slammed the solid heavy door shut. 'Sit down, lad,' said the driver. 'There's no second man booked on this job.' Suddenly I heard the shrill note of a whistle and caught the flash of a green flag. We were off. As the driver slammed the power handle onto 'Full' the Peak surged forward with a loud roar. We were soon up to 90 mph. It was my first look into the day-to-day realities of working on the railways. Everything was in place: a powerful diesel running under semaphore signals, with one of the 'old school' at the controls. It turned out that our driver was an ex-Burton man, many of whom had gone to Derby in 1975 when 16F closed. As the weeks went on we undertook several courses, including a first aid course where we practised the kiss of life on 'Little Annie' - a rubber dummy which consisted of only head and shoulders! - and a fire prevention exercise involving the usual burning tin and fire extinguishers. Most of our time though was spent with a pile of books, learning the basic rules, regulations and practices of the railways, including sections K and M on train detection and detonator protection. We also had a basic training in the workings of a diesel locomotive. Our first hands-on experience came two weeks into the course, when we were shown around locos 47069 and 25038, both of which were standing on Leicester depot. We practised coupling, using locos 25038 and 25180, and were also taught preparation (getting a loco ready) and disposal (shutting down a loco with all its lights and switches off). Midway through our course we each had to go and book on at our respective depots. So at 8 a.m.on January 31st I arrived at Coalville to meet Craig and our instructor for the day. Our first trip was to Drakelow Power Station, just a stone's throw from my home. We rode to Coalfields Farm open-cast on two class 20s, which had been sent to bank a struggling 47343. Arriving back at Coalville depot I managed to get a ride back to Burton on another train. But that experience was just a taster. The next day we were back in the classroom. My cab rides home became more frequent, but the weather took a definite turn for the worse. The whole network was almost at a standstill. One Thursday, instead of the usual Peak, a class 47 stormed into Leicester station with my homeward bound train. Snow was falling thickly and drifting in the bitter winds as I joined the driver for my almost regular cab ride. Once we hit 90 mph it looked as if we were running on a flat white road. None of the tracks were visible! At Derby the problems continued. I boarded another class 47 for the last leg of my homeward journey. By now I had the confidence to introduce myself and invariably the crew would extend a warm welcome. Today's lot were Saltley men. Together we waited for the booked departure time - but it was two and a half hours later before we pulled out! Quite apart from the awful weather, I learned that four platelayers had lost their lives whilst clearing snow from points. There were other problems too: no class 56s were available due to an engineers' dispute. As part of their action they were refusing to undertake refuelling and watering work. An actual footplate activity at the time was a trip from Nottingham to Cotgrave Colliery where we'd load up with coal for a trip to Ratcliffe Power Station. We returned then, light engine, to Toton MPD. (This particular day we were accompanied by a Toton instructor, Don Tennant.). We also took several supervised trips to Luton or St Pancras. I greatly enjoyed these passenger turns, especially in the days of the signal box and semaphore. By now we'd reached the end of February. We split our time between Leicester and Coalville. One day we'd be racing up and down the Midland main line, the next on a more sober trip to Rugeley Power Station. I had two worries to contend with. First and foremost, would I pass the course? But if I did, what was I to do about my own transport? I'd thought about moving into lodgings nearer to the Coalville depot, but was talked out of it by my parents. Instead I decided to do what I'd said at my interview: get a motorbike. I visited a showroom to choose one, and after I'd signed the paperwork the shop owner told me I could pick up my new machine on Saturday 24th February. I'd never even ridden one before and with only two days to learn I was thrown in at the deep end. The man at the shop had promised to give me some lessons, but after only ten minutes he lost his patience with me and suggested I push it round to Anglesey Road 'rec for a practice. It seemed hopeless. How could I teach myself in such a short time? I'd end up killing myself or at the very least be hobbling around on crutches! Help came in the shape of an old mate - one of the guards at Derby - who agreed to give me some tuition. What patience the man had! After the lesson I finally headed for home on my new bike, but I didn't feel at all happy about a trip on main roads all the way to Coalville. Sensing my nervousness the guard offered to escort me. We set off just after 6 a.m on that cold and frosty Monday morning. I wasn't sure if the butterflies in my stomach were from being out on the open road, or first day nerves about my new job. After thanking him for his kindness and assuring him I'd be alright he left me to book on for my first day at Coalville. Our first day was spent with engine and brake, off the shed to Drakelow to pick up a train of 24-ton conventional wagons for Donisthorpe and Measham. Happily we trip-worked up and down all day before getting a lift back on a pair of class 20s. The second day was the next hurdle. Craig and I were in front of the inspector, a Derby man by the name of George Hibbert, affectionately known as Skippy from his habit of tutting. We answered all his questions on the different aspects of our job. Then he watched as we coupled and uncoupled two class 20s on shed side. Without so much as a smile he said: 'Well done, you're through. You're drivers assistants.' A quick handshake and that was it. We were thrilled, but one of our instructors, ex-Burton driver Ray Leer, soon brought us back to earth. 'Now you can start earning your wages,' he said.
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