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31: Big Changes As 1986 went on I really got into the swing of branch work. I knew the branch from end to end, but on occasions our work took us further afield. One particular day I second-manned an 'Officers Special' which consisted of loco 31261 and a single officers saloon fitted with kitchen facilities. We took this small train and its complement of British Rail bigwigs from Burton station, stopping at various locations along the branch, before heading off for Derby via Leicester and Nottingham. This was just one of many interesting jobs that came our way in the mid-1980s. A few weeks later we went to Hayes stone yard to bring back a train of PGA stone empties. Our engine was 58018 and we went light via Manton and Corby for that trip. My mate that night was the all-England man Phil Davies, a railwayman who signed everywhere. The early part of 1987 proved to be run-of-the-mill work, moving coal mostly - which was what Coalville depot was all about. But our lives were destined to be anything but run-of-the-mill from now on. Big changes were afoot, and in the coming weeks and months we began to realise that life on the railway was changing for good. On Monday 19th January 1987 the grade of second man was eliminated. A driver would receive £2.50 for the loss of his mate. Luckily there were no redundancies and the second men would all be absorbed and eventually passed out as drivers. We were also beginning to lose our guards, though that was still at an early stage. On Monday 13th April Craig Taylor became a registered driver - which meant that I now became Senior Relief Driver. From then on the driving turns came thick and fast. I still used my little driving turn symbol and would continue to do so until I also became a registered driver. As most railwaymen and enthusiasts know, the 1960s brought the end of steam working in mainland Britain. And within a few short years many of the 'first generation' diesels that ousted the steam locos were also withdrawn and scrapped. Some classes didn't even survive the 1970s. Mass withdrawal of hydraulics was followed by the demise of many other familiar classes in the 1980s. While I enjoyed my life on the Leicester Line there was no ignoring the fact that our railways were being slowly run down. Many of the local collieries were being closed too - something that would have even more obvious effects for our depot. On Friday 17th July I had to take 56010 to Leicester loco and leave it there while it underwent an exam. The TCS told me there was nothing to go back, but as our Coalville tripper had brought various wagons to Humberstone Road I could ride back with him. Humby Road (as we all called it) was full of withdrawn locos. Class 20s and 45s waited in various stages of dereliction. Among the lines of 25s, 26s and 27s stood 40060. A class 08 shunted wagons in the yard. After a while the shunting ceased and I recognised the driver as Dennis Simpson, our instructor from our traction trainee days. 'Hello, Tony,' he said. 'Long time no see. How are you keeping?' I returned his greeting and we sat down to catch up on each other's gossip. 'What do you reckon to all these scrappers in the yard?' he asked. 'It's such a shame to see them all like this. There's nothing wrong with half of them!' How true! Many had been withdrawn just because of minor faults or because they'd reached their maximum engine hours, shut down once they came in off a job, never to be started up again. In fact, although their paint was faded and they'd stood for about two years some still contained fuel. The sidings were being used as a temporary storage space for engines due to move down to Vic Berry's scrap business at Braunston Gate. They were tripped down by an 08 shunter on a daily working, the same trip bringing out the previous day's locos - now reduced to handy sized pieces! 'Let's go and have a look at them,' said Dennis. 'If you've got time.' And so we took a walk amongst the silent hunks. Climbing up into one of the fusty-smelling cabs we found the controls covered in dust. Dennis dived into the engine room and put in the BIS. There was a 'ting!' and by the look of the fault lights it seemed that the loco's batteries were okay. He pressed the start button. The engine turned but refused to fire. 'I'll go and hang on the fuel rack,' said Dennis. 'When I shout, you press the button.' From the darkness of the engine room I heard his call. The body rocked from side to side. Everything seemed all seized-up when all at once - boom! - the engine came to life and chugged unevenly. Dirty exhaust - a mixture of soot, spiders and dead leaves - billowed into the air and rolled around the yards. The compressors kicked in and began to build the main air. We shut her down and went to try the same thing on another, one that had stood a long time by the look of it. Again the body shook as Dennis hung on the fuel rack. The engine turned but it didn't look as promising as the first one. Then she started. There was a loud clanking but she wouldn't tick over properly. 'Shut it down!' shouted Dennis, 'Before she catches fire or blows up.' Dennis disappeared again and I pressed the engine stop button. There was no response and it seemed as if the engine would shake itself to bits. I now used my T-key to push the button. Seconds later I heard a loud bang and smoke billowed out of the engine room. It filled the cab and drifted through the windows, attracting the notice of a shunter. A sooty-faced figure staggered out of the engine room. 'The bloody exhaust manifold blew!' 'Are you okay?' 'I think so,' said Dennis as he tried to clean off his face. My T-key had done the trick. The engine was silent again, apart from the ticking of cooling metal. ''I think we'd better call it a day,' said Dennis. He took out the BIS and we went for a cup of tea. The tripper arrived in the shape of a pair of Class 20s, a train of newly-repaired wagons from Marcrofts and a brake van. After a few shunts it was engine and brake back. The brake was leading over the branch, so I rode with the guard, standing chatting on the van's veranda. How wonderful it felt, as we looked out over the fields and trees and the warm sweet-smelling summer air wafted past our faces. Then terror struck! As we passed through Bagworth the brakevan boards hit some raised ballast. I held on for dear life, expecting us to derail. The guard just laughed. 'I wish I had a pound for every time that's happened!' Now I knew that we weren't about to hurtle down the embankment and end up in a pile of matchwood I just stood and watched the ballast fly in all directions. 'See, you don't realise what we guards have to put up with while you drivers are safely in your cabs!' |