|
|
19: Bobbies, Railway Crime and A Close Call Police are a necessary force, as most people will agree. As long as they act fairly that is. Like most people I've had a love/hate relationship with them: you're glad they're there when you need them, but when it comes to a ticket or a caution they're not so high on your Christmas card list! One afternoon whilst driving through Coalville on my way to work I was pulled over by two nasty looking policemen. After twenty minutes of having my car checked and double-checked and being made to feel guilty over nothing they sent me on my way, but not before instructing me to take my documents into Burton police station within seven days. They'd obviously had a bad day and looking for someone to take it out on. It made me late for work and I got a blast of sarcasm from the TCS. A gang of grinning railwaymen watched as I retold my story. Aware that I was, for once, the centre of attention I decided to give them a story worth listening to! I wasn't the sort to get angry very often, but it was a chance to get it all off my chest... 'Well, these two big bloody coppers pulled me over...' I began The air turned blue as I voiced my opinions of the police force. Then suddenly the laughter seemed to dry up. A few carried on, but the others looked more serious. I was aware that someone had come in through the door behind me - probably another of the blokes wanting to hear my story. Or so I thought. Still voicing my disgust with the police I turned around to see. I went bright red. Standing right behind me were two more policemen. My mumbled apologies were drowned by a chorus of laughter. As I left the office I noticed that even the two policemen were grinning. As it happened they'd only come to warn us about security. A bomb threat had been received and they wanted us all to be on the lookout for anything suspicious. This humorous police tale took me back to an incident in my trainspotting years, when every Sunday afternoon we would take a stroll around Burton loco to see what was on. A week previously the only Class 46 'namer' 46026 Leicestershire And Derbyshire Yeomanry had been on shed and had its headcode indicator box smashed in by vandals. We were unaware of this at the time and - like other spotters before us - bumped headlong into two railway policemen. After taking our names and addresses they took us home to speak to our parents. Two weeks later we were summoned to appear before the chief inspector of BT Police at Derby. My mates, Andy Clarke and Rob Woodman, stood either side of me whilst the inspector tore a strip off us. Then he showed us a very gory film featuring the mutilated bodies of trespassers killed on the railway. It was intended to scare us off the railways for good. After that he calmed down a little. 'Right lads, I think we all understand each other. Any questions?' 'We were all hoping to join the railways when we leave school,' one of us piped up. 'Do you think this will affect our chances in any way?' 'It certainly will!' the inspector exploded. 'None of you will ever work for British Rail now, so you can forget about that here and now.' With that we all hung our heads and walked out. Five minutes later we were sneaking around Derby loco works to see what was on! Ironically, all three of us made it onto the job and are all drivers. Children have always been a problem on the railways, especially during the summer holidays. Most train crews have witnessed some hare-brained prank or another. The most horrific was a gang of kids on a bridge hanging a brick down on the end of a rope. Amazingly they were smarter than they looked and pulled up the brick at the last minute. It didn't do the driver's nerves any good, but at least it stopped them being up on a murder charge! In my time I've driven into a huge stone ball off a church wall and witnessed a shower of bottles come off a bridge over a cutting at Braunston. They sparkled in the air like raindrops in the evening sun then - crash! smash! - they exploded into our cab. Later on I was to have the side drop window of my Class 47 cab put in so violently that I was cut in several places and suffered such deep shock that I had to have several sessions of counselling at Crewe. But I won't condemn all kids. Some do still stand on fences and bridges and wave innocently to the passing trains. Old hand driver Ray Frearson and guard Kevin Roberts were working a train from Landor Street via the South Leicester. Both had endured a long shift and entering the branch at Knighton for the last leg of the journey must have been welcome. Ray began to brake for the 15 mph restriction at Saffron lane when suddenly all hell broke lose as they became violently derailed. Their loco, 56070, came to rest next to the parapet of the Saffron Lane road bridge. If it had carried on any further it could have demolished a black wooden cabin which, according to some Leicester men, could have put out half the TV sets in Leicester, being as it was some sort of control room. The cause of the derailment was kids jamming some obstacle in the points. Due to Ray's derailment all trains heading south to Wellingborough and beyond had to go via Stenson and Leicester. For two nights we had to do make that long trudge whilst working the West Drayton. This was the first time I had qualified for mileage payments. As in any job you have the careful people, the opportunists and the hotheads. Hotheads do things for different reasons. They may be naturally brave; they may not have the imagination to foresee the consequences of their actions; or they may simply do things just to impress others. Whatever the reasons, it's not always comfortable to be with a hothead. One summer evening I arrived at work for the 18.00 ferry. I parked up and was just about to take the keys from the ignition when someone banged on the window. 'Come on, Tony. Are you ready? We've got to take a 47 to Wellingborough for the return of the Hayes empties. If we shoot off now we'll be back by nine and see the lads in the Snibby for a pint.' Thinking of the distance between Coalville and Wellingborough I thought it was somewhat unlikely we'd make it. But still, we were conditioned not to question a driver's judgement and so I got my lamp and billy can from my locker and joined him in the office. 'Light engine for Wellingborough, please Bobby,' he said, putting the phone down. 'Come on, Tony, let's get cracking.' Oh no, I thought, something tells me I'm not going to enjoy this! Before I start my tale proper I must say that apart from being a bit on the crazy side this driver was a good mate and popular with all the men at the depot. He is also, alas, no longer with us and I am the only remaining witness to the events of that warm summer evening... We shot off the shed at breakneck speed and came to a stand behind the dolly. Through the open windows we heard the clunk of it coming off and we were on our way. As we passed Mantle Lane box and the site of the old 17C steam shed the crossing gates dropped and the semaphore sprang into the air. Whack! Straight open went the power handle. The engine roared and black exhaust fumes billowed into the air. My fingers gripped the armrests for dear life as we reached speeds of nearly 75 mph. Whenever a well-known bad spot was reached my heartbeat increased and my stomach tightened. Then, as we rode through it, came a sense of relief. The one I dreaded most was at Kirby Muxloe, on the crossing near the golf course. Even at 45 mph we always got a good kick - but at this speed it was anyone's guess. As we approached I closed my eyes and waited, thinking about who would inherit my belongings when I'd gone. Then, after a bit of rocking, we were past it and a flicker of hope returned. The worst part was over: chances are that I might survive the trip after all. With the back 'un on for Knighton he began to slow down. As we negotiated the bend outside Saffron Lane stadium, up went the signal arm and off we went again. A light engine 47 doesn't take long to reach a high speed and by the time we approached Wigston North Junction we were up to 90 mph - 20 mph over the speed limit! The engine negotiated the sharp left bend and began to waddle like a duck. I think my soul must have left my body in order to watch over events from a safe distance! Suddenly two loud bangs sounded on the left-hand side of the engine. The left-hand wheels must have left the rails! But I was almost past caring by this time. All I knew is that they'd have to break my fingers to loosen my grip on the seat... Seconds later we were out of it and back on the straight. I turned to see the driver dabbing his brow with his hankie. 'Flippin' heck,' said the driver. 'That was a close call.' I couldn't speak. I just stared ahead. 'Oh well,' said the driver. 'Let's get back to the matter in hand.' Back on the straight, we were soon reaching speeds of up to 100 mph for the rest of our journey to Wellingborough. I don't know how, but we delivered the engine safely onto the depot, screwed down the parking brake and climbed down onto solid ground. 'Come on Tony, we've only got ten minutes before our train gets in.' It's a good walk from Wellingborough depot to the station and my legs wouldn't function properly - probably due to them being turned to jelly! Goodness knows how, but we made our train, running across the boards as it rolled into the station. After an uneventful trip by train and taxi we made it into the Snibston Inn at just about the time he'd predicted. The place was full of railwaymen and after my first pint I began to relax. 'Tony, tell them all what happened.' I jabbered out my story to the assembled railwaymen. Their reactions were mixed. 'It's a wonder you didn't shift the track.' 'Don't you know your speed limits?' The rest of the week was no less hair-raising. It seemed to me that some people just never learned from their experiences. |