|
|
35: Road-learning the Railway Mecca On Monday 2nd October fellow driver Andy Haywood and myself began road-learning Crewe – known by many as Britain’s railway Mecca. The 07.56 from Tamworth that we rode on most days offered a variety of traction: a class 86 or 90 more often than not, but with an occasional HST too. The express drivers were both pleasant and helpful with our route learning. At Crewe some of our days were spent watching slide-shows in the road learning school; other days we would accompany an inspector around the vast railway yards as he showed us the many different moves and signal aspects we might expect to receive. Basford Hall Yard was losing its semaphores, so we found ourselves learning during a period of change. Many road learners referred to Friday as POETS day, a cheeky acronym which stood for P*** Off Early Tomorrow's Saturday. And, as long as you'd made an effort during the week, our superiors didn’t seem to mind too much. One Friday we had every intention of getting off a.s.a.p. As we ran into Crewe our plan was to dash up to the road learning school, get our ticket stamped, then get off home on the next express to Tamworth. Timing was crucial. Hurrying across the footbridge, we dashed down the platform towards the diesel depot. We had to cross the running lines so HV mini vests were essential. But Andy had forgotten his. That meant we’d have to share mine and make the crossing separately. Time was against us - but I had an idea. I quickly took the vest to him and told him to put it on. He did but looked puzzled. After a good look both ways to check that nothing was coming... 'Jump on my back,' I told him. 'What?' 'Come on, jump up, I'll give you a piggy back.' He seemed a bit unsure but did as he was told. I wouldn't normally have entertained such an idea, but the line speed onto the depot was only 5 mph. We got our tickets stamped and repeated the exercise on the way back, catching our Tamworth train comfortably with time to spare. One day, as we sat at the south end of Crewe station discussing moves round the station, a man walked by with a small dog on a lead. We didn’t take that much notice - until the creature meowed! His dog was actually a cat. We'd never seen a sight like that before - and certainly not on a mainline station. When the odd pairing was far enough away we looked at each other and fell about laughing. On certain nights we had to go on the actual job. My turn came on 7th November. I booked on at 18.53 and accompanied Ian Widdowson on the ex Bardon tanks bound for Ellesmere Port. Our engine that night was 58045. Leaving the empty tanks in Basford Hall, we ran light to the depot for fuel and water. We later headed back with a heavy train of loaded tanks. All was well until we reached Willersley dip where a combination of weight, gradient and the wet railhead defeated us. The 58s are renowned as bad slipping locos in wet conditions. We tried sanding the rails manually, then setting back and taking a run at it - but no amount of coaxing would move the train. So it was detonator protection time. Ian went back and I walked forward. The nearest phone to Moira West Signalbox was at Ashby Junction - quite a trek in the pitch black early hours. Imagination runs away with you at such times, especially when the silence is broken by the wings of a startled bird. Pheasants may look nice in daylight, but when they take off suddenly with their screech they're quite scary! Assistance was organised in the shape of two Class 20s and I was told to remain at the signal to await their arrival. After forty minutes of spooky noises I heard the clickety-clack of their engines approaching down the single line. The familiar whistle of the 20s was quite comforting and as soon as he had shunted between the signals we went ‘bang road’ (wrong direction on the up line). We coupled them together but still could not move them. A Class 56 had to be sent for before we were able to move the stubborn tanks. We eventually pulled up at Coalville eleven hours after booking on. They do say that things happen in threes. A week later we had finished at Crewe and had initialled our road card. I was unloading a train of coal in Drakelow A/B station with 56024. As I slowly passed the Daleks (hydraulic arms that closed the wagon doors after being emptied) all at once a jarring bang shook the engine. I stopped immediately and found that the arm had stuck out and ripped off both handrails. Whilst I waited an examination I was treated to a tour of A/B station by CEGB staff. But the run of bad luck didn't end there. Three days later I was on the same job and had got through alright - until the wheeltapper went back to examine the train. 'One to come out, Tony. Red card.' The chargeman set up the road for the west departure as usual, hooked off the offending wagon, then sent me forward by radio. Once over the points the road was reset for the cripple sidings. 'Right-o, Tony,' said a voice over the radio, 'the road's set, give 'em a shove.' I always enjoyed knocking cripples out at Drakelow. The shunter would hook off with a shunting pole and after a good shove back the wagon would roll into the cripple sidings and collide with the other wagons in there. Only on this occasion by mistake he left the rear portion foul. 'Oh no, they're foul!' cried a voice on the radio. 'Oh shit!' He went off air. I stopped. The wagon derailed and the second report of the week was filled in. |