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11: A Bank Fire at Desford By the end of my first year I was extremely happy with my lot. It was the job I'd always dreamed of. The only thing I'd have liked would have been more mixed traction work. For drivers and second men at depots like Derby and Saltley every day might be different. One day they'd be at the helm of a Class 45 or 50 speeding through beautiful countryside on an express; the next could bring the monotonous stop-start-stop business of a DMU; and the third day a heavy freight train that required different braking techniques. I'd put in for Derby, just to experience this kind of variety, but after some thought I took the move out. I was happy where I was. With hindsight it's probably just as well: I was to enjoy just as many interesting and happy years on that Leicestershire branch line. The variety of work may have been limited - carting coal, stone or ferry sets about - but the job, the men and the attitudes were the same at every depot. Everyone was doing their bit, each one a small but essential cog that made the whole machine work. But different types of traction did turn up from time to time, mostly on weekend engineering trains. Many's the time these would be headed by a Class 45, 25, 31 or 37, all normally strangers to Coalville crews. The drivers rostered on these jobs were men who had transferred from other depots and learnt these locos there. Our ex Burton men, for instance, who had brought with them huge traction experience and route knowledge. We also had former employees from Derby, Toton and Nottingham, so it meant that Coalville crews could be rostered on most forms of traction. So could we second men, because we weren't required to sign a road or traction. Even though our duties as second men were limited, we were the drivers of tomorrow - so we were told - and had to be nurtured in the ways of footplate life. This meant booking on and off at all hours, eating our snap on the loco amid diesel fumes, being out for twelve hours or more at a time, never having a nice clean loo nearby. Some men grumbled a bit, but their whinges fell on deaf ears. It was the job we had chosen and these were the condition that came with it. Most of us soon learned to take all these things in our stride. On the subject of unavoidable overtime, the worst case I heard of was a crew who'd put in a continuous 24 hours. A Rugeley train had failed in the plant and after a while a crew and loco were mustered to go out and drag it back. But once there, the assisting loco failed too and so a third loco and crew had to be found. They were more successful, but by the time they'd completed the job the first crew had been on duty a whole 24 hours! My longest time was 18 hours - still 'fresh on' according to one leg-pulling driver! As I said before, our regular locos were Classes 20s, 47s and 56s. But during my time I've also worked on 45s, 25s, 31s and 37s. Not that much variety, maybe, but they all have their own characteristics... Like once when driver Mick West and I came from Wellingborough with the West Drayton empties. I was thrilled by our engine for the day - a shiny ex-works Class 45 Peak. After a long trundle back, we entered the branch at Knighton. Dawn was breaking and, in the cramped second man's side of the loco, I fought hard to stay awake. Until Mick suddenly brought me back to earth with a jolt. 'Right, I've done my bit, Tony. Do you want to take it back across the branch?' I accepted eagerly. But the vacuum-braked train took some getting used to. Too little and the brake barely bit, too much and you would be almost at a standstill! For a while the wretched thing seemed to have a mind of its own, but after a while I mastered it. The best technique was to brake quite heavily, then take off the brake just as it began to bite. Mick chuckled at me. Blowing out smoke from his cigar he confided that most drivers had trouble learning vacuum braking. 'It's like a stubborn horse, you need to master it before you can control it properly.' I managed it in the end, but like many others I always felt more at ease with a gauge that read 72.5 p.s.i rather than 21 inches. Another event whilst on 'alien' traction was with two Class 25s and another ex Burton driver, Ray Bartram. We'd left Croft on a heavy ballast train bound for Mantle Lane, but the weight of the train combined with Desford Bank became too much for two little type 2s. Half way up they gave up on us. No matter what we did we couldn't move them another inch. Ray stopped the train whilst I went forward for assistance. The area's signal post telephones had failed, so I had a pleasant Sunday afternoon stroll to Bardon Hill box (Bagworth box having closed by then). The guard meanwhile had gone back to Desford to protect the line. So, as I said, it was usually a change to get on the footplate of other locos - but sometimes it wasn't. Desford was the location for the next story, which took place in the early hours. We'd left the colliery and worked a Didcot Power Station train as far as Landor Street, where we were to be relieved by a Saltley crew. Saltley mess room was always packed with train crews. The majority of them were Saltley men, but there were always crews from other depots awaiting trains for every direction. You'd be lucky to get a seat most days. In that case you'd have to rough it in Landor Street cabin. There you'd constantly be disturbed by other train crews ringing the power box or filling their mash cans. The cabin would just get warm - then another crew would arrive, swinging the door wide open so the cold wind whistled through. Or else, just as a game of crash reached a tense bit, the phone would ring and a Brummie signalman's voice would ask: 'Have you got Barrow Hill men in the cabin as we're just dropping him down.' So it was always better to squeeze into the Saltley mess room if you could. This particular day we were lucky and found a table alongside another Coalville crew awaiting a train of empties from Didcot. Their guard was the efficient but comical Dougie Elliot who was forever playing little tricks on people. The older drivers found it annoying - but to us young lads he was a star attraction. One of his favourite tricks was to hide somewhere and talk into his empty mash can so that it sounded uncannily like the Tannoy that the Saltley TCS used to summon crews to their trains. 'Coalville men for 6M50. Coalville men for 6M50,' he'd cry from behind a partition. The crew would stand up and gather up their stuff - then someone would notice a grinning face over by the door. 'Sit down again lads - it only Dougie again!' My driver that day was a young passed man or relief driver who sat filling in his driver's ticket. Once he'd finished eating, the guard went upstairs to see the TOPS clerk to see where our return working was. 'Two back in the plant.' That meant two or three hours to wait. It could have been worse. I once waited twelve hours in there. Sometimes we'd pass the time with a couple of pints at the Three As, the Olive Branch or the Queens), but on this occasion we just sat reading the paper and chatting. Eventually we were called out around midnight. Our train was just dropping down to Landor Street. We relieved another Saltley crew, who seemed glad to finish and get off home. Our outward journey had been via the South Leicester, but we were to return via Tamworth. The guard and I shared the second man's seat. Eventually we pulled up on the boards at Coalville, in the hope that someone would take the empties on to Desford where they were required for refilling in the morning. No such luck. Our shift was far from over... 'Desford, lads!' announced the TCI. 'Oh well,' said the driver. 'You can't win 'em all. It shouldn't take us long.' Twenty minutes later we dropped off the guard at the sidings so he could set the points for an empty road. We would then proceed a train length over the points and ground signal, change ends, and then propel the whole train back into the sidings. It was nearly 2 am and being out in the sticks meant that we changed ends in darkness. A bitterly cold wind blew and cut our faces. As we climbed into the back cab we noticed straight away there were no heaters on. 'Bloody hell,' said the driver. 'Get some heating on in here. It's freezing.' I felt around the switch panel until I came across the cab heaters and foot warmers. A quicker source of heat was the hotplate. The element could be glowing red in a few minutes so I switched that on too. But I hadn't noticed the rolled-up newspaper that someone had stuffed between the lower window surround and the back of the stove. As we began to set back into Desford Colliery sidings the paper burst into flames. I pushed back in my seat to keep the top of my body away from the flames. In the light of the flames I could see the driver's panicky look. 'What the hell's going on, Tony? Put it out quick!' I looked around the cab, but there was nothing available. Our traps were in the other end, ready for going on to Coalville holding sidings. In desperation I grabbed an unburned corner of the flaming paper and chucked it out of the window. A quick pain and the smell of burning meant that my hand was minus a few hairs now. But luckily there was no serious damage. 'Whew, that was close,' said Dave. 'Didn't you see that paper behind the stove?' 'No, it's too dark in here.' I looked back to see if the paper had gone out - but it hadn't. It had fallen into the undergrowth and set the bank alight. 'Oh no.' The driver had already guessed. 'It's set the bank alight, hasn't it? Get the portable fire extinguisher and put it out before it spreads and burns the box down.' I grabbed the heavy extinguisher, jumped down and hurried towards the scene. Across the fence, in the middle of the field, a number of whitish-grey blobs moved around the field. My heart began to beat faster - until I realised it was just a few sheep who'd been disturbed by a noisy train and some clot carrying something. Reaching the fire, I thumped the plunger (which hurt my hand) and squeezed the grips together. A white cloud gushed out but the flames just flared up. Oh dear, what was it I'd learned at the fire prevention course? Oh yes: point it at the base of the fire. My second blast put it straight out, leaving just a wisp of smoke rising lazily into the night air. After checking for flames and blasting twice more for luck I began to head back towards the sound of our loco in the pit yard. The bobby in the signalbox watched me with a puzzled face. Should I explain what had happened? No, in the early hours of that cold morning I had the devil in me. If he asks I'll tell him, I thought, otherwise I won't. The dolly clunked off to let our engine out. The two dim marker lights approached slowly and I climbed aboard. On the way back we had a laugh about it. 'What do you think that signalman made of it?' 'Don't know, he never asked.' |