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8: Boffins and Loco Tales The traction at Coalville varied only slightly. It was mainly pairs of Class 20s and single Class 47s, plus a few of the new Class 56s. We were given the newest members of the class - probably because the locations we went to and the physical state of the branch with its mining subsidence would really put the locos through their paces. These brand-new freshly-painted locos were a pleasure to ride on. The cabs smelled clean and the main engine and smaller motors all had a nice precise sound to them. The only drawback was the boffins from the Railway Technical Centre in Derby who often accompanied them. Their meters and cases full of testing equipment were all over the cab and proved a real nuisance. But we had no choice but to grin and bear it! One morning, on an early 'Rugeley', one boffin rode with us to test the air-conditioning unit below the cab floor. An arrogant man, he jumped into my seat as soon as I got down at Overseal to extinguish the tail-lights. And there he sat all the way to Rugeley. I could tell that my mate was seething and he was quick to make his views known. 'May as well go and get your feet up with the guard, Tony. It doesn't look like he's going to shift himself.' The boffin gave us a quick look and carried on staring out of the window. I took my mate's advice and went down to the guard. My mate told me later that the man hadn't done anything except sit there. We'd heard on the grapevine that a Class 56 - 56036 - had been painted with an experimental livery. Two days later we were able to see for ourselves when it turned up on shed. Still in BR blue it now had extra large number and logo. Its roof had been decked out in silver and both cabs painted wrap-around yellow. 'That won't stop like that for long,' said one of the old hands as he gave it the once-over. Too right! The front was soon covered in dead flies and the roof and sides soiled with coal-dust and grime from the collieries and power stations we visited. It even had stains from its own exhaust fumes! One bright Saturday morning found me on the 06.00 ferry with driver Jack Sharpe. 'We've got to take that 56036 to Burton for fuel water and hydrostat,' he told me. 'It's on the dock road.' Once at Burton, fitter Jack Fern set about the maintenance work while we refreshed ourselves with sandwiches and a cup of tea. 'That's a bit of a celebrity engine, eh Tony?' said Jack, pointing with his sandwich. 'Shall we clean it when we've finished our grub?' We found two of the long-handled brushes usually used for windows and two buckets for some water. Jack asked the fitter if he had anything special that would help us get rid of the grime and deceased flies. The fitter disappeared into the stores and emerged a moment later with a plastic container. 'This is what we use in the screen washers. It's acid-based, mind, so don't get using too much of it!' With that he walked off to finish his jobs. Jack put a liberal amount of the stuff in each bucket and topped up with hot soapy water. 'Right Tony, you start this end and I'll start the other. Hopefully we'll meet up somewhere near the middle.' With gusto I set about scrubbing up the front end and was pleased to see all the dead flies running away in a torrent of suds. As I carried on I noticed that the water in my bucket was tinged with yellow, only pale at first, but gradually deepening, so that a stream of intense yellow was soon running down into the pit. Looking up I was horrified to see that a pink undercoat had replaced the once yellow cab front! 'Right, Tony, that's enough,' said Jack. The same thing had happened at his end too. 'Chuck the water away. The fitter's finished with us, so let's get going.' And so I drove the odd-looking engine back to Coalville. Neither of us actually mentioned the incident on the way. We berthed the loco on No.1 road and went home. Sunday evening saw 56036 leave with the ferry set, probably en route for Doncaster. It was back within a few weeks, restored to its original condition. The loco was a firm favourite with at least one of ours TCSs. He rewarded us for allowing him to accompany it when another driver and I took it to Nuneaton depot open day on a Friday evening, fetching it back the following Monday. (what reward?) Whilst on the subject of individual locos, a certain Class 47 - number 47281 - springs to mind. I had three incidents on her in two weeks... The first was in Mantle Lane Sidings. We were attached to our train awaiting our guard's return from doing a brake test. The driver told me to put on the hot-plate so we could have our first mash prior to departure. We'd filled our cans with boiling water in the mess room before leaving so the water needed just a few minutes to re-boil. I switched the hot-plate to maximum I expected the element to be glowing within minutes. To my surprise it was still cold. I tried the switch at all positions, holding my hand near to check for heat. 'Is there a problem?' asked my mate. 'Must be,' I said. 'I've tried it all ways but there's no heat at all.' 'You're a jinx, Tony!' he joked. 'I've a good idea what it is. Come on, I'll show you.' I followed him down to the rear cab and we entered the engine room No.2 end. This was the area that used to house the boiler, but it had been taken out and replaced by a large metal weight. Beyond this, just inside the engine room, were two cabinets of assorted switches, fuses and circuit-breakers. He got out his T-key to open the Perspex door. 'There's your problem,' he said. 'The fuse has gone. Now there's a proper way to do this - just watch. Shut the engine down first of all and I'll get the spare fuses.' I did as asked and a moment later he was back with the fuses. They were quite large - the size of pepperpots - and held in place by two large bolts with a square T-key head. But our culprit turned out to be just a 32-amp plug-in one, one of four, the others being two 60-amp heater fuses for 1 and 2 cabs and the redundant boiler fuse, also 60-amp. He unplugged the blown one and handed it to me before fitting the new one. It wasn't easy to do, as it was dark in there and we had to use hand-lamps to see by. Suddenly there was a loud bang and a white flash like a hundred camera flashes going off at once. A terrified yelp rang out - then silence. 'Are you alright?' I called anxiously. 'Yes, but I've just realised - we should have taken the battery isolating switch out too!' 'I don't know about these things,' I said. 'But I'm sure I saw your skeleton just then!' The four fuses had fused together in their housing, so that put paid to our heating too. Luckily the weather was mild, so it was bearable. But there'd be no hot drinks for us for the rest of our shift. Later that week we found ourselves on 47281 again. She'd been for repairs and was as good as new - or so we thought. We'd been to Drakelow and were passing through the long signal-less section between Moira and Coalville when she suddenly shut down. We were able to coast as far as the road bridge at the old Ashby station, but no amount of coaxing would get her started. We'd completely failed. Mabs sent me back to put down full detonator protection whilst the guard used a public phone box to arrange assistance. A week later I had her yet again, this time with my mate Charlie Farren. It was the 18.00 ferry, which left the holding sidings with five engines, the leading one being the jinxed 47281. Everything was fine until we reached Swadlincote Junction. Yet again the loco just shut down on us. Confident that the other engines in the set were maintaining the air brake, Charlie let it run on to Burton. 'Let's hope Derby box are on their toes and there's nothing about,' he said. A single yellow at Branston said the opposite and we had to slow. We were just preparing to stop at the exit signal off the branch when it came off with the indicator showing a 'G' for goods line. 'That's good,' said Charlie. 'They're having us. I'll drop you off behind the dolly on the bridge. Tell our riders to stop me when we're over and drag us back onto the shed.' Once on shed the fitters went over all five of the locos, the jinx one being last. Their verdict was that for some reason - probably an electrical fault - the fire extinguisher in the engine room had gone off on its own. And so 47281 was detached and would now be sent to Toton for repairs. The engine room would also have to be cleaned and all the bottles refilled. That was my last association with 47281 for many years and, ironically, I wrote some of these memoirs whilst on board her fifteen years later. 47281 and the branch didn't seem to mix. She was also involved in the derailment of three MGR wagons on the Birmingham Curve back in 1978. Around the same time I was to be on another jinxed 47, the better known 47299. This loco has a more sinister history, but during my shift on her I banged my knee on the desk, dropped and lost my desk key in the engine room, then slipped down the hand rail landing heavily. I was glad to get off it! |