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12: All Change My trainspotting days seemed numbered! Not many people could work on locos all day and then spend their spare time watching them! Other interests began to surface. A group of girls had begun to hang around Moor Street bridge and slowly began to pick us off one by one. Before long the mating game had claimed us all. Some of us had been to see Quadrophenia - a film about mods and rockers and their seaside riots during the Sixties - and we'd adopted the mod lifestyle, dressing smart and going to discos and clubs. At weekends we rode our Lambrettas and Vespas up and down the country, sometimes doing hundreds of miles in a day. We even formed our own club - the Burton Brewers Scooter Club. And it is still around today. My life was just like that of a Sixties mod - but without the riots and drugs! We just went round the scooter rallies, downed a few beers and generally had a good time. But I had a double life! Some months previously I'd also invested in a better motorbike for getting to work. The gang of greasers who hung about near where I lived were mightily puzzled. I'd arrive home on the noisy motorbike, clad in all my biker's gear - then after tea I'd emerge in my parka and potter off on my scooter! Still, once you have the railways in your blood it's there to stay. Other interests come and go, but you can never say a final goodbye to the roar of a Class 47 and the whiff of diesel exhaust. Some of Coalville's second men were still railway fans and they regularly talked me into going on one last trip - 'just for old times sake'. Our very last trip was a jaunt to York. Getting round depots was no longer a problem now that we had our official ID cards and HV vests and amongst the many different diesel classes on shed stood the impressive A3 pacific Flying Scotsman, in to have her footplate re-boarded. How could I imagine that before long I would be having a cab ride in her at one of the well-known Coalville Open Days? By now I was courting a girl from Ashby, so my routine was an exhausting one. Burton to Coalville in the morning, then back home, then over to Ashby at teatime to pick her up, then into Burton for a drink, then taking my girlfriend back to Ashby, before finally returning to Burton. Only to repeat the routine the next day and the next. The outcome of all this, apart from wearing out the A50, was that I got totally fed up with the travelling. One of the drivers who I talked to about it asked why I didn't go for a railway job nearer home. One of his relations was a relief signalman and reckoned that several vacant signalling posts were soon to be advertised. One was at Eggington Junction. After some thought I decided to put in for it. For the next few weeks though I wrestled with my conscience. Where did I actually belong? In the end, I decided that Coalville was my place and so I cancelled my application. Somehow I'd find a way coping with all the travelling. A couple of weeks afterward, while on shed, the TCS came up and told me that someone wanted to see me. 'Who is it?' I asked. 'It's Mr Mackintosh, one of the managers from Derby.' 'Manager from Derby?' I was puzzled. And a bit apprehensive. 'What does a he want to see me for? I haven't done anything wrong.' 'Don't ask me. He's waiting for you in the office.' After pulling myself together I ambled through our roster clerk's office towards the pay room. Through the glass I could see the manager. Our clerk - Roy Storer - was hard at work in some big ledgers. A proper railway clerk from the old school, Roy would never give you anything more than your due, so they said. But neither would he diddle you. Roy never missed a trick, and he always knew most of what was going on. I decided to ask him, so I could prepare myself for the worst. 'Roy, do you know what he wants me for?' 'It's about your new job, Tony. You've been accepted as a signalman at Egginton Junction.' 'Oh no! Well, thanks for letting me know.' He looked puzzled at my reaction. I walked to the pay room door and knocked. 'Come in,' bellowed a voice. I entered the smoke-filled room to see a large man drawing on a smouldering pipe. He wore a dark suit but wasn't so much like the average railway gaffer, more like an ordinary man in the street. 'Take a seat, er, Tony isn't it?' I acknowledged with a nod. 'Right, Tony. It's about your transfer in grades. You've put in for signalman at Egginton Junction. And I'm pleased to tell you that you've got the job. I'm here to discuss your salary and shift patterns.' Oh dear! I'd sent a cancellation well over a week ago, but with railway bureaucracy the way it was, the message obviously hadn't got through. After giving me a job description and a run down of the pay scales he asked me if I had any questions. So I had to come clean. 'Look, I'm really sorry for wasting your time, Mr Mackintosh, but I've been doing a lot of thinking and I've decided I'd rather stay here.' Time for the fireworks! Mr Mackintosh drew deeply on his pipe, looked at me over his spectacles. Then he took them off and fixed me with a stare. 'What, you mean you don't want the job?' 'No, not really.' Slowly and deliberately he screwed up my application form and tossed it into the litterbin. Just as I prepared myself for a right dressing-down his face broke into a smile. 'Well, that's that then.' 'I'm really sorry to mess you about,' I insisted. 'That's alright, Tony, it's got me out of the office. And I've got my expenses. Don't worry about it. But you can mash me a cup of tea before I go back.' He stood up and reached out to shake my hand. Following me into the mess room he sat and chatted to the other chaps while I mashed a big pot of tea for everyone. Not that I was under any illusions: if it had been another gaffer, not so friendly, they'd have made me go to Egginton anyway and everything would have been quite different. Mr Mackintosh though was a down-to-earth sort, someone who had come up through the grades, unlike the ones who were just put there because they were supposed to be clever and read up a lot about the railways. And so I went back to being just an ordinary second man. To hell with the travelling, I thought, I'll do this forever. I was happy to carry on. When it came to it, I felt like I was being paid for enjoying my hobby. So why should I complain? |