Life On The Leicester Line 029

29: Moods and Habits of the Train Driver

By the summer of 1985 I realised what great strides I’d made towards my boyhood ambition of being a train driver. In just over six years too. The old boys said that a man might take twenty or thirty years as a fireman before he got a chance to become a driver. There'd even been some who reached retirement age before they’d had a chance of being made up to drivers.

Now, as Coalville’s youngest relief driver, I seemed to have the best of both worlds: still second manning, but often getting a chance to do some real driving.

The depot’s old hands were a grand bunch, but they had some funny ways. Dennis Kendrick was an easy-going sort and let you get away with thing that others wouldn’t - like taking a nap or putting your feet up in the cab. He struggled from cab to cab with his bag, Bardic lamp, coat and smock (which I never saw him use). Not long after I started, whilst on a trip to Coalfields Farm, I’d commented to a driver about the amount of empty Woodbines packets strewn around under Forest Road bridge.

'Somebody's probably raided a machine,' he guessed, though he was as puzzled as I was. 'Emptied all the fags out then dumped the packets here.'

It seemed a likely explanation. A few days later I was passing under the same bridge again - this time with Dennis. As went through he opened the cab window, pulled a handful of Woodbine packets from his pocket and threw them out.

'So you're the culprit!' I exclaimed. 'Why do you do that, Dennis?'

'Dunno,' he chuckled. 'Just habit I suppose.'

In time perhaps we younger ones would develop funny habits of our own. I suppose I already had some - like messing about and generally being a nuisance. A prime example is the morning when Cyril Kendrick and I left Toton with a light engine 58. Cyril had been pulling my leg in front of everyone in the mess room and I'd decided to get revenge. As I drove back he put his feet up and was soon asleep, shaking the cab with his deep throaty snores. Seeing that his feet were just inches away from the hotplate, for devilment I switched on the heat. We were approaching Burton-on-Trent before I decided not to be so horrible and turn it off. Two yellow signals brought slowed us down for Leicester Junction, but then we suddenly got a green and the junction indicator for the branch. As I accelerated I forgot all about poor Cyril - until I smelled the burning. Cyril suddenly shot to his feet.

'What the bloody hell...'

As smoke from his melting shoes filled the cab I started to regret my joke. He was going to go mad at me!

'You daft bugger, look at my shoe! You could have set me alight.'

'Sorry,’ I said, trying not to snigger. ‘It was meant to be a joke.'

A half-inch rut had been burned into his heel. You should have seen his walk as he headed back to the messroom. He couldn't say a lot, though, as he was always messing about himself.

Another time a mate of mine silver-soldered a 10p coin to a nail and when the cabin was empty I hammered the coin tightly down onto the shedman's bench. After a while the cabin began to fill up and eventually Cyril sauntered in. Now Cyril's favourite things, in order, were probably his money, his beer and his cards, so when a card school was suggested he went to sit down

'That's mine,' he said when he saw the 10p.

I tried to keep a straight face as he tugged at the stubborn coin.

'Ouch!' he said, 'I've broken me bloody nail now.'

Cards, horse-racing and dogs were all favourite topics of conversation with drivers. Some, however, were more conscientious and liked nothing better than to sit discussing rules, regulations and engines. In the old days railwaymen had MIC (mutual improvement classes) which they would attend once a week to improve themselves. By this time such things were long gone, but unofficial MICs were still held in many a mess room up and down the country.

While the older men had had their enthusiasm dampened by years of hard work, some of the younger ones were still obsessed by the railways, as illustrated by the time when an old hand driver and his mate passed a scantily-clad lady on the platform at Leicester.

'Wow, that's nice isn't it?' said the driver, ogling the view.

'Yes, she's lovely,' agreed his mate, eyeing up a Class 47 that simultaneously crept onto Beal Street shed. 'Just out of Crewe works, you know.'

Other drivers were renowned for their mood swings, of which we younger men often bore the brunt. Autumn 1985 saw me involved with a real corker! All week I had second-manned the 12.50 Coalfields Farm - Landor Street, bound for Didcot. The week went by like clockwork and the driver, guard and I had an excellent rapport. Up until Thursday that is. The first thing to go wrong was that no engine or train of empties was available, so we would have to wait for a set arriving at Coalville. Another crew were in front of us, so it would have to be the second train for us.

'It would happen today,' I grumbled. 'Thursdays is my night out.'

‘I’ve got relatives staying over,’ the driver told me. ‘I want to get home as soon as I can.’

But two hours passed before we relieved our train on the up line. From bitter experience we knew that if something went wrong early in the shift then things were bound to go wrong all day. So we weren't surprised when we arrived at Coalfields and the dolly stayed on. When they had coal it would be off ready for you to begin loading - but not that day. Our guard went to the control room and was told it would be another hour before they had enough coal for us. The driver's mood went rapidly downhill from then on - he was nothing like the same chap who'd been so jolly all week!

'We'll be too late to go soon, Bill,' I said, trying to test the water.

Instead of replying he just stared moodily through the windscreen. Time ticked by and I decided that if I was going to get my night out I'd have to ask for relief at Coalville. No longer a callow 17-year-old, I felt that I was almost a proper driver and quite capable of making such decisions for myself.

'I'm going to ask the TCS for relief. It's too late to go through with it now and he'll have plenty of men in the cabin this time of night.'

'Not for me you're not,' the driver said, downright angry now.

Despite his response I went off to phone the TCS from the lineside phone.

'Yes, stop on the boards,' he said 'and I'll send someone out for you.'

I'll never understand what followed. The driver had a chance to finish at a reasonable time and get home - yet he stubbornly insisted on going through with it. The dolly eventually came off and once loaded we ran round and the guard went back to do the brake test. The driver then broke the silence.

'So you've asked for relief have you?'

'Yes.'

'Not for me I hope.' He seemed to be spoiling for a confrontation.

'No.'

'Has he got someone then?'

'He's sending some relief when we get to Coalville.'

The driver was absolutely livid. With his next statement he forfeited and lost the argument.

'Right, I'll tell you now Tony - if there's a green 'un at the crossing you're going through whether you like it or not.'

I looked at him in disbelief: it had now gone beyond a joke. Again I attempted to reason with him.

'Come on, don't be silly. You know you can't take me through against my will. Anyway, I wouldn't let you.'

Not being the type to fall out with anyone unless I had to, I hoped he would now accept that I was dropping off at Mantle Lane. The guard stepped into the cab and must have noticed the atmosphere.

'Brake test OK,' he said.

A moody nod was all he got in reply, so he handed Bill the driver's slip and skedaddled into the back cab. We left the branch and approached the crossing. I was now calm and ready for whatever happened next. I put my coat on, picked up my bag and waited. The barriers dropped and all the signals went to green. As I expected he opened her up.

'Are you dropping me off?'

'I told you what I was going to do,' he said.

My stomach tensed. I had put a stop to this nonsense once and for all. Livid though I was, I spoke clearly and politely.

'Right, I will warn you once. If you don't shut off and apply the brake I will do it for you.'

I was trembling with anger as I stood waiting for his next move. He slammed the power handle shut and applied the brake. Without another word I climbed out and slammed the door shut. He gave her full power then. The 56's engine screamed defiantly and black smoke billowed into the air as the loco shot away. But at least I was off. A voice broke into my thoughts. It was Ian Farnfield, the driver who was waiting to relief me.

'What's going on, Tony? I you wanted me to take it through for you.'

'I did,' I replied. 'But it appears that he don't.'

I followed Ian back into the lobby and thanked heaven that the stressful episode was over.

Or I thought it was.

At work next day I found myself booked on the same job with the same driver. It was impossible! According to the rules, any clash of personalities had to be reported to the supervisor; the parties would then be kept apart so as to maintain train safety. I never thought that I would have to invoke this clause, but I had no choice. The TCS sent me to our clerk and a yellowed form was produced from the back of a cupboard.

'Fill that in,' he said, 'and I'll tell the TCS to find another second man.'

I did just that and then went to sit in the mess room, which was full of train crews chatting and drinking tea. A job was found for me to second man a ferry set to Toton. Sitting down with a group of other second men I quietly told them my story.

'The old bugger must be going potty,' said one.

'He won't let it rest at that,' I said. 'He's too proud. He'll have to have the last word - you just watch.'

'Mind, he's just come in,' said another.

Sure enough the driver made straight for me.

'I've come to tell you, Tony,' he said in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, 'that I've refused to have you on my engine. I've told them not to book us on together again.'

The words stung, but I wasn't going to let him have the last word.

'Oh, is that so? Well I've already refused to be booked on with you.'

For a few seconds the cabin was silent and everyone looked awkward. The driver scowled and walked out. Normality eventually returned. It was all very childish really, and it wasn't the way I liked to behave. But it wasn't my fault and I felt I had no choice but to stoop to his level.