Life On The Leicester Line 010

10: Settling Down

As I approached the end of my first year on the job everything seemed settled. I thought of myself as a small but essential cog in a large well-oiled machine. From the longest-serving driver to the youngest shunter the men of the branch were close in those days. Comradeship prevailed and wherever you went the atmosphere was friendly. Animosity over pay was, as yet, unknown and we all had to work overtime to make a decent wage. Most of the men were professional and this conscientiousness tended to rub off on us younger men. Resourcefulness in a crisis was another common virtue amongst railwaymen and I prided myself on being the same.

There were always a few who didn't give a hoot about the job, but they were rare. On the other hand some seemed almost obsessed. One particular yard inspector springs to mind. He'd gone home at 6 a.m after a 12-hour shift, but couldn't sleep for the worrying about some wagons standing on 'A' road in Mantle Lane. It seemed they were in the way and needed to be shifted. And so at 8 o'clock, instead of being sound asleep, he was on the phone to the depot to see if they'd been moved.

I'd always lived near to the Leicester line. We'd moved house a few months after I started on the railway and so I was now even closer, just up the bank from the east arrival signal at Drakelow. I got into the habit of whistling my parents as I passed and gradually we evolved a recognised code to let them know what time I'd be back. On receiving my horn code Mum would give me two hours - one to get back to the depot and another one to get back to the house. It ensured that my dinner was always nice and hot when I got in! If I knew I would be longer then I wouldn't whistle at all. Our system worked well - until my mates started imitating my code as they passed by. One evening I got back to a very burnt meal. When I looked at it askance Mum told me she had heard my code four hours back and so had the dinner ready two hours after that.

'But I haven't been off the shed today,' I exclaimed.

'Well, someone whistled,' she insisted.

And so my code had to be regularly changed after that to stop similar tricks.

Night shifts have never been my favourite and I always seem to be running on only three cylinders. I once did six weeks of 12-hour nights. That was a real killer. They were all shed turns too. Yet some chaps actually prefer nights and will even swap shifts to get on them. They seem to function better and be more natural in the small hours.

22.00 shed wasn't a bad shift. Engines had to be got ready for various jobs: a set of engines for a tripper, the night ferry set of between one and five locos, a loco for the night Didcot, then the engines for the 01.25 Wellingborough. When those were done it would go quiet until the 03.30 Rugeley loco required preparation. After that had gone off it was time to sweep all the cabs out and check fuel and water levels. To me this time between 3 am and 4 am was the worst. I'd be totally whacked and just couldn't help my eyelids closing.

Of the three regular shed drivers, two of them - Alf Hough and Jack Manley - were ex Burton. The third, Harold Marlow, was a proper Coalville man. Unfortunately he had been dealt a cruel hand regarding deaths on the line and it affected him so much that he took premature retirement.

One night, whilst on shed with Alf, I went to prepare the Wellingborough class 20s. Alf was involved with his usual game of crash, so would ask his mate to do it. We didn't mind: it was all experience to us second men and we welcomed any chance to drive, especially on our own. A pair of Class 20s were booked for the job and were standing as usual at the stop block on the shedside road. They'd probably been there since the afternoon after shunting the Bardon Hill tanks. They were cold and the main air reservoir had leaked off. Had I known that, the situation that was about to happen may not have....

My plan was to take the parking brake off at the stop- block end, put the BIS (battery isolating switch) and lighting switch in, then start them up the opposite end. Once the main air reservoir was up the parking brake at the other end could be taken off.

But I never got that far...

As I took the first brake off the 20s began to roll down the gentle gradient. I was terrified. All I could imagine was them sailing off shed and gathering speed until they joined the main line at Burton and smashed into an oncoming train! Desperately I spun the wheel to put the brake on, but it made no difference. Without air in the system the controls were useless. In sheer desperation I jumped down and grabbed hold of the buffers, actually thinking I could stop 144 tons of locos. Not a chance! They pulled me along too.

And then, halfway between the block and the departure dolly, the 20s suddenly stopped and began to roll back. They stopped a second time, then continued to roll back. As fast as I could I slammed in the BISs and started the engines up. Only when the main air reservoir had built up did I relax.

Once I'd secured the locos I climbed down and headed for the cabin. If I expected sympathy I would have a long wait. Excitedly I told my story, but this was the railways and no one took much notice. Alf didn't even look up from his card game, but merely muttered.

'They won't go far, son. There's a kink in the rail so they'll stop there.'

And with that he carried on with his game.

Whilst on the subject of Wellingborough... One such job, on which I was second man, entailed a taxi to Leicester station to catch the last train down. Sometimes we came back with a train, other times just light engine. One night, as there was no train to work back, an old driver and I set out with two Class 20s. The Midland main line can be a dark featureless road at night and as the driver wasn't very chatty I began to nod off. No one on our job means to nod off, it just comes on you. One minute you're fine, then it's like lapsing into unconsciousness. Normally it's only for a few seconds and you're awake again.

I rubbed my eyes and looked across at the driver. His head nodded with the motion of the engine and I could see he was spark out too. I thought about waking him but then thought better of it. In those days we were all instilled with a certain respect for the old hand drivers. He probably knows what's going on I thought. The speedo read 60 mph, so that was OK. Then I checked the 'sunflower' or AWS indicator. If it showed yellow and black it would mean we had passed a restrictive aspect and I'd have to slam on the brakes. It was black, however, so we were running on greens. From then on I stayed awake and alert until he shook his head, looked at me, then went back to sleep.

A few weeks later I second-manned a driver who I didn't think of as very sociable. The driver's name was Jimmy Robinson, a tall big-boned chap and dedicated union man. He always looked me up and down with contempt - or so I thought. But as I later found out it was just his way and I was reading too much into it. Most second men kept a record of the drivers who let them drive and I was no exception. One second man, Roy Butcher, used to give them stars, but that was going too far in my book. My list had grown to twelve but I didn't think I'd be adding to it this night!

It was about midnight as we walked through the rain to our engine, climbed aboard and ambled off shed to fetch our Drakelow-bound train from the west end of Mantle Lane. I was preparing for a long night in dubious company, but suddenly Jimmy started chatting pleasantly. Some drivers were like that: silent and gloomy in the cabin, but quite different out on the main line. Mind you, some were the opposite.

As we unloaded the last few trucks, I began to think that it wouldn't be such a bad night after all. We drew up to the Stop board and the guard climbed down to uncouple. I gathered up my bag, coat and lamp and prepared to change ends. Jimmy sat back in his chair with his feet up. I couldn't help wondering what was going on. But Instead of asking him straight and jeopardising our new friendship, I decided to use tact.

'Do you want your bag and lamp passing down, Jim?'

'No, I'll stay here if it's alright with you, Tony. I've done my bit.'

'What, are you saying you want me to drive back, Jim?'

'Yes, if you like. You've driven before haven't you? I've got complete confidence in you, by what I've heard on the grapevine. See you later.'

With that he shut his eyes. Closing the door quietly so as not to disturb him I changed ends. Like a dog with two tails I climbed into the back cab. The guard climbed in through the other door. He stared at me as I keyed in and opened the brake valve.

'Where's Jim?' he asked.

'He's got his head down in the back cab. He's asked me to take us back.'

The guard shrugged. As long as someone was getting us back safely and into our beds he wasn't overly concerned. He gave me the tip to run round and I drove back as carefully as I could.

And so it had turned out to be a very different night to the one I'd expected - my first drive on the mainline unaccompanied by a driver. Not only that, but judging by his comment about the grapevine, I must have been making a good impression!