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18: Our Dated Railway Night trips to the power station were still second-manned. These were long trains of 'conventionals' - the old 24-ton wagons. I still recall the throaty hiss as the driver operated the temperamental vacuum brakes, taking care not to knock the guard about in his lonely van way down at the back of the train. After entering A/B sidings we would shackle off to save the guard a long walk. He would slip his brake and while waiting for us to come round to him he would pin down the wagon brakes. Giving one of its unmistakable whistles our class 20 would then attach to the brake van and shunt into the empty side to pick up a train of empties bound for Overseal. After the guard had uncoupled his van with a shunting pole we would flyshunt it down an empty road in order to put our empties on to it. All these procedures were guided with Bardic lamp signalling. The shunter would relay the guard's signals to us. White up and down = Forward White light across the body = Come Towards Green light across the body = Not Far Off, Slow Right Down Red = Stop. Red light up and down = Create Vacuum Or Air Pressure With the last wagon now buffered up to the brake van the guard nipped underneath, coupled the instanter coupling and vacuum pipe. Once 21" of vacuum had been created the guard would pull down the lever in his van, letting in the air and destroying the vacuum in the pipe. This was a brake continuity test, just in case the guard had to stop the train in an emergency. Once tested, the driver would recreate the vacuum and ensure that the brakes were fully off. Once the signal had cleared, a green light would be given by the chargeman and we'd be on our way to Overseal. The last job was mine. As we departed Drakelow by a right-hand curve I would watch for a green from the brake which meant that the guard was aboard and all was well. Once in Overseal our whole train would have to run down the Measham & Donisthorpe branch so as to back into one of the sidings roads. The second man's job was to relay signals from guard to driver. Many's the night I've scaled the rusty ladder of the old lighting gantry, our regular signal relay point, often in freezing temperatures and heavy rain. My slippery hands would be holding desperately onto both rungs and bardic lamp, looking northwards and awaiting a red light from the guard. Once seen I'd have to hang there by one arm as I adjusted my lamp to red, cursing as the cold rain dribbled down my face and the gantry shook scarily from side to side in the wind. Then came the signal. A white light up and down meant he'd chopped off the brake. Now he had to carry on down the branch to clear the points. Hanging on for dear life by the crook of my arm, I'd change my lamp to white. As I signal up and down as best I can a solitary crow somewhere down that dark branch acknowledges that the driver sees and understands my signal. Once over the points it's red again, then call him back, white across the body. How we managed all those manoeuvres I'll never know! Another crow call and the train begins to set back slowly. Wagon after wagon squeals, buffers clang together until the last wagon is clear. A red aspect from the guard ends the movement. Gratefully I climb down the ladder and rejoin the driver in the warm cab. The guard pins down the wagon brakes and detaches us from the train. We proceed towards the brake van, re-couple and propel it towards the departure signal. Once off, it's engine and brake to Coalville via a dolly on the down line. Workings such as this had been practised all over the country for years. At that time, though, the twilight of the conventionals was fast approaching, owing to the increasing numbers of MGR sets coming into service. Merry-go-round trains were faster and easier to unload. Turnarounds were quick, as long as they had a proper MGR circuit. At that time the only two in the area I knew of were Drakelow's A/B station and Ratcliffe. The rest were still time-consuming run rounds. The days leading up to Christmas were always fun, especially for us younger ones. Christmas Eve 1981 sticks in my mind as a good day. Yet again someone had played the old telephone trick on our TCS. He had five telephones on his desk now and some wag had swapped all the handsets around, so when he'd answer a phone it just kept ringing. Slamming it down he'd pick the next one up, slam that one down - and so on until he got the right one. But you can only play the same joke so many times and today was once too often. Getting his hair off the TCS threw the phone right across the room! I was looking forward to one of our discos at the Leander Rowing Club that evening. But first I had to book on for one of the many additional ferries taking and stabling locos at Burton loco. My booking-on time was 13.00, so whilst approaching Coalville I passed my booked mate, ex-Burton driver Gordon Sanders. He gestured with his finger, as if to say 'turn around, go back'. He'd probably arranged for us to take an engine off the loco and fetch a last rake of engines down. I finally arrived at the loco to find it was full of engines but deserted of people. Very odd! As Gordon lived just round the corner in Anglesey Road I decided to nip round to his house. 'What's happening, Gord?' I asked when he answered the door. 'We're not required, Tony. They're all on the loco shut down. The last ones went down at 12 o'clock.' With that we wished each other festive greetings and I went home to get myself ready for that night's disco. |