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34: Vic Berry's and Other Stories On Friday 9th September, along with a railway mate, I visited Vic Berry's scrapyard at Braunston to see if I could acquire a Class 45 power handle/reverser and a start lever. The place contained an amazing variety of classes. As well as their own shunter (03069) I counted classes 08, 20, 24, 25, 26, 27, 31, 40, 45, 47 and 50, as well as a few DMUs and EMUs. Most were for scrapping, though some had come for asbestos removal. On Monday 14th November we saw the return of an 08 shunter to Coalville after an absence of four years. It was 08788 - nicknamed Henry The Wasp. Craig and I had already learned the 08s in October with instructor Dave Thomson. After swotting up the theory at Coalville, the practical stuff was done at Derby with 08511 and we were passed out on the 14th of the same month. As another year came to close the changes to our depot continued. We'd already lost a lot of good men and were still losing them. The branch link men had long gone, three quarters of the ex-Burton men had retired, plus our guards of course. It was hard to keep track: they were there one week and gone the next. Ronnie Harrison, our popular TCS and one of the old school, finished on November 17th. But there were still enough of the old characters left for it to be recognised as the Coalville we knew. Alongside my diary proper, I kept a log of all locos driven. On my birthday, December 1st, I drove my last class 58 - 58042. Second from last, I'd had Toton's pet loco 58050. My last shift of 1988 was to take 08788 from Coalville to Burton MGR repair shops where our locos were stabled over the Christmas period. On New Year's Eve I spent some of the day with an ex-Derby mate who'd transferred to Birmingham New Street. With him at my side I drove 86245 to Preston and returned with 85035. The booked motive power was a Class 90, but it didn't show. In January 1989, to mark our first ten years on the job, Craig and I received our 10-year ASLEF badge. Other than that it was business as usual. On the 8th March I was 18.00 ferry. At 22.00 when Craig Taylor booked on we were told to take 56058 to Toton and bring back our 08788. As the Stenson branch was closed we had to go via Derby. Now, an 08 shunter is uncomfortable at the best of times and with a maximum speed of 15 mph going any distance on one is a killer! After a gruelling trip from Toton to Derby we were told that all lines were blocked by engineers possession at Sunnyhill - giving us no choice but to go all the way back to Leicester! That torturous trip finally ended at 07.00 the next morning, putting me on duty for 13 hours. We had aches everywhere! Wednesday 6th June found me again on 07.00 ferry. Mabs Marlow and I went to Toton in a taxi to fetch 20094 and 20053. These engines had been part of a ferry set headed by 56064 that had set out for Toton the night before. Unfortunately they hit a car on the crossing at Castle Donington, killing the couple inside. This tragedy was brought home to us as we prepared the locos and were horrified to find bits of headlight and indicator glass on the bogies. One of the drivers involved in the smash refused to go across the Stenson branch ever again. On Sunday 17th September all the men of the depot learned Stud Farm, a gigantic new stone quarry and railhead. Access was via Bagworth Junction opposite the old Ellistown Colliery. We went in two groups. the first went by minibuses on Sunday morning. Our group booked on at 13.00 to road learn the new yard. A few days later, heading back to Coalville from the Ashby direction, I was accompanied by one of the new young trainmen. As the evening began to draw in and the light began to fade we passed Black Bridge and accelerated up the straight just before Coleorton cutting. Then I spotted the two lights of a warning board for a temporary speed restriction. As I eased down the power handle the young trainman jumped out of his seat. 'Oh my God - twenties!' It happened in a split second - the poor devil thought it was two Class 20s heading straight for us along the single line! I couldn't help laughing as the poor chap sat down again and tried to pretend that nothing had happened. Feeling a bit unfair, I reassured him by relating what happened to me when we had been on a return Didcot some years earlier. We'd been enjoying the last few moments of sunshine before it set in a watery grey sky when all of a sudden on the single line approaching Desford Pipes the driver zeroed the brakes. Horrified to see a Class 47 headcode approaching on our line, I jumped up and made for the door! But again it was just a warning board for a temporary speed restriction. It had only been put there that week and so we both fell for it. Anyone can make mistakes, but in our job the consequences can be much more serious. As well it might have been for a gang of platelayers at Coton Park one day. Except that it wasn't really a mistake at all. For supposedly experienced railwaymen it can only be described as criminal carelessness that could have ended with a charge of manslaughter... I had relieved a train at Moira for Willington Power Station. Passing through Gresley Tunnel I dropped towards the small coal stockyard at Coton Park and gave a warning whistle to a gang of platelayers. As they moved out of the way I was horrified to see that they'd been sorting out new sleepers on my line. Half a dozen lay across my path. I hit the emergency plunger in the cab and braced myself. With 35 wagonloads of coal behind me there was no hope of stopping. In my mind's eye I saw my engine derailing and crashing down the embankment onto the road below. I'll give them their due: they quickly set about upending the sleepers from off the line and down the bank. But the closer I got, of course, the more reluctant they were to risk it. With just two sleepers to go the last two men upended one between them and sent it flying down the bank. The older - and wiser! - of them gave up. I was just feet away, but the younger man stayed on and with seconds to spare he managed to push the last one clear. Brave certainly - but lucky to escape with his life! I came to a halt a hundred yards on and walked back towards them. I really turned the air blue before carrying on my way. Later that same week I was discharging a train at Willington and had been stopped by the creep lights when a platelayers' bus drew up on the other side of the fence. They were such a common sight that I thought nothing of it until a voice attracted my attention. Opening my cab window I saw that it was the same gang. 'Sorry about the other day, mate,' said the head ganger. 'We'd have asked for possession, but it was only a short job and we thought we'd have it done before anything came along.' 'Have you reported it?' another one of the gang asked anxiously. I told them again that it had been a bloody daft thing to do. But as no harm had come of it thanks to the two men have-a-go heroes I said I'd be letting the matter drop. I'd never been one to report everything willy-nilly. Hearing this the P-way men thanked me and went about their business. Freight crews have to rough it far more often than passenger drivers. 'Passo' men often have clean and friendly mess rooms, with clean toilets, washbasins, soap and other luxuries. Freight crews can find themselves stuck in the middle of nowhere for anything up to twelve hours or have an exceptionally long run with next to no prospect of a break for hours on end. The call of nature can come at any time and it takes little imagination to guess what freight crews have to do when caught short. Isn't it lucky that Great Britain has so many hedgerows and fields! Guards were slightly luckier in their vans and, when they'd done their business, would often cast off a 'Guard's Parcel' from their veranda. Strong blue blotting paper was standard-issue to all such railwaymen. On a sunny afternoon in 1989 I was joining the main line at Lichfield Trent Valley with loads for Rugeley Power Station. A class 47 stood at the signal on the up fast waiting to use the roads I'd just cleared. It was our Stanlow-Drakelow tank train. I knew who the driver would be, but he seemed to be missing from the cab. Up on the bank were two ladies absorbed in sketching the landscape. Looking back to the engine I caught sight of the driver - squatting down in front of the engine to relieve himself. Far from embarrassed, he stuck up a cheery thumb and carried on. As I recovered from the shock of seeing him I gesticulated towards the bank where the two ladies were already looking away in disgust. Seconds later I'd passed him by, so I never found out whether he saw them or not. But the poor girls surely never deserved to see such a sight on what should have been a pleasant day out in the country! One evening in March 1988 my girlfriend and I took her mother for a meal at the Navigation Inn in Moira. After the meal we were joined by the rest of her family, but they wanted us all to go to Woodville working men's club. Being happy enough at the Navigation I decided to stay put. The only problem was, my girlfriend needed the car. But I insisted she took it, since I could get a taxi home or a lift on a Leicester Line train down into Burton. After they'd gone I got talking to a couple of former platelayers who I remembered working on the branch. A few pints and many railway tales later I nipped across to Moira west signalbox to phone Coalville to ask if anything was going down the branch. The next train down was the late running night Toton tripper but he wasn't yet ready to leave, ''I'll tell the driver to look out for you, Tony,' the signalman told me. I went back to continue my chat with the ex-plate layers. Eleven o'clock struck but everyone was topping up and no one seemed in a hurry to go. Half an hour later, well past chucking-out time, I was getting anxious about my lift home. Everyone else was clamouring for another pint, so after token resistance the landlord off put most of the lights off and began to re-fill pint pots. The revellers cheered and carried on - and I went up to the bar to have our own glasses refilled. 'I don't know, you'll lose me my licence,' the landlord grumbled, to no one in particular. Ten minutes later a loud thump thump thump sounded at the side door. Everyone went quiet. 'Oh no,' groaned the landlord. 'I hope its not who I think it is...' He opened the door and a tall figure walked in. The first thing we saw was the dark uniform and silver buttons. The landlord looked sick with worry and everyone hurriedly pushed their pints away, as if trying to disown them. We awaited the reaction of the policeman. 'Is a Tony Gregory here?' It was the guard off the night Toton that had stopped to pick me up. I supped the last of my beer and bade everyone goodnight. The landlord looked as if he was waking up from a nightmare. The guard and I went on our way, leaving some very puzzled yet relieved faces. By the late 1980s the loss of our guards would be felt in more ways than one. The £9.00 a day 'reward' came at a heavy price, for it meant our shifts were long and lonely ones. Gone forever was the companionship of a train crew. There'd be no more communal mashings or fry-ups. Many chaps left their mash cans in their lockers and simply bought a can of pop instead. The guard's place on Drakelow turns was taken over by a shunter who themselves were in short supply and were required to work twelve hour shifts. The 06.00 men, booked to finish at 18.00, would disappear at about 16.30 to get washed and changed and ready for the off. So by the time the next men booked on, had a cup of tea and made their way down to you it would be about 19.00. So two and a half hours would elapse before you could leave C-station. Most chaps would uncouple and run round themselves but if you were the wrong side a set of spring points would be in the way. These are points are held in position by a strong spring - hence the name - so someone had to hold them over whilst you went through. Sometimes we would get the bunker men to do it for us but if they'd gone back into the complex you were snookered. Unless you did it for yourself. I'd heard tales of a rail clamp hidden in the bushes for just that reason but had never seen it myself. A tale was told of a certain driver faced with just that problem. He put his bag on the holdover button of a 58, set the slow speed to half a mile an hour and took the straight air brake off. Jumping down the steps he held the points over whilst the driver-less engine trundled over them. Then he ran after it and jumped back in, thankful for not falling over. |