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38: Countdown To The End On 17th July, after booking on for the 14.35 local tripper, I was invited into the conference room for a so-called counselling session. Intended to guide us through our redundancy notices and answer our queries, it was something we'd all have to go through in the coming weeks. I was introduced to some of the LDC (local district council-union), a sectional council rep, a personnel officer and a couple of smug managerial types. I tried to look unconcerned as they went through all the formal bulls**t., but I knew this was it. After half an hour I left the room, bewildered and washed-out. I now knew for sure: Coalville depot would close on October 1st 1990 and there was nothing we could do about it. Our A-depot status was apparently a clerical error - we were actually a C-depot and we might as well have been a Z-depot for all the good it would do us. 'Well, what happened?' people asked as I walked into the messroom. 'What did they say to you?' I repeated everything that had been said to me, but I saved the best till last: 'They've fetched me off my job tomorrow to go on a depot visit.' 'What - where to?' 'Bescot.' 'You're joking!' Leaving behind a cabin full of worried faces, I picked up my bag and lamp and got into the taxi that was waiting to take me to Lounge opencast colliery. Bescot made Coalville look like a garden railway. I couldn't believe how vast and busy it was. After locating the LDC office, I was introduced to some of the staff. They seemed friendly enough, and after making me a cuppa they took me on an exhausting tour around their depot. It didn't seem a bad place, but I was happy at Coalville. At the end of it I found a lift home with a Bescot man on 56070. It had been a long and eventful day and I couldn't help nodding off in the cab. Next day I was back in the swing of things. I put my worries at the back of my mind and tried to act as if nothing had happened. The days and weeks - and eventually the whole summer - seemed to pass by rapidly. Coalville's men put on a brave face but they couldn't ignore the black cloud that seemed to hang over our place. Our once happy depot had gone forever. On August 3rd I made visits to the depots at Derby and Saltley. By the first week of August the Toton men began to come up the branch. Some had already signed the branch, while others needed conductors. Most of them were decent chaps and told us how much they regretted our closure. But there were one or two who positively gloated at the prospect of new work at our expense. Over the years a group of us - drivers and guards - had regularly used a free pass and gone off together for a day's sightseeing and a few beers. Our latest, on the 18th August, was to Lincoln. With the sunshine beating down on us we scaled the steep streets of the market town. We found a nice pub and sat there chatting over a few beers the closure was hardly mentioned at all. No one wanted to spoil the day. The countdown to October 1st had begun. The leg-pulling and horseplay still went on but a genuine cameraderie existed. When the All-Line Vacancy list arrived on the Wednesday we saw that the five Bescot vacancies had been cancelled so it looked like I would be going to Saltley, my second choice. For the next month I was booked onto various Willington jobs. We were alright to go there as normal, but due to a missing diamond crossing at Stenson Junction (a new one was being built in Germany) I had to run round on the new bank at Toton. The clock kept ticking by. Then, on the 10th September, came the closure of the long-established P-way offices at the back of the goods shed. Although they were nothing to do with us, as such, we knew all the platelayers and their gaffers. It was one more nail in the coffin. My last working week at Coalville began on Monday 17th September. It was a gloomy week and it often seemed like I was the only train on the branch. On Monday I went light engine to Lounge with Brian Neal. After loading the train, I was relieved at Moira by old-hand Coalville driver Albert Pickering. He didn't seem his usual self - but which of us was just then? Tuesday was pretty much the same, but this time it was ex-guard Geoff Wardle who looked down in the mouth. On the Wednesday I had to endure a working to Lounge with Toton men on two Class 20s before relieving my train with 56019. Talk about rubbing salt into a wound! Friday I remember most clearly though. I rode up with Frank Bailey but felt like s**t. The blackest day loomed ever nearer and I couldn't rid myself of the sick anxiety in my stomach. The working life I'd settled into was about to change forever. I thought of all the people who'd gone through the same thing: the mining communities who'd had their pits closed, the miners who had given their best years only to lose their jobs, friends and security, facing a grim choice between early retirement or a new job in strange surroundings. At least I'd be able to continue on the railways. I relieved a driver on 20094 and 20053 and loaded the train again with Brian Neal. Albert Pickering relieved us at Moira and I then rode down to Burton with him. We never passed another train on the way down 'Just think how it used to be...' I remarked. 'There'd be trains waiting at virtually every peg.' After a warm handshake I dropped off at Leicester Junction. To mark the occasion - or rather to drown my sorrows - I went for a pint in the Black Horse in Moor Street. My diary entry for Monday 24th September reads: 19.00 spare, no work, done at 22.00. By now the skip in the shed yard was full of papers, forms and traction bulletins emptied from the office cupboards. On Tuesday I was 18.00 ferry. It turned out I needn't have shook hands with Albert on Friday as he was acting rider with me, taking 56019, 56010 and 56026 to Leicester for fuel and water, finishing at 21.30. Why not? There was nothing else to do. Wednesday arrived and again I was on the ferry. Our pool table had gone, leaving just four circles pressed into the lino, a poignant reminder of all the fun and light-hearted sporting rivalries played around it. I took 56078 to Leicester and rode back on our additional ferry, consisting of 56019, 47190 and 58040. Done at 21.45. The next night I was handed a small brown envelope containing £42.10. We all got the same. The depot's Welfare Fund had been officially wound up that day and that was our share-out. After taking 56019 for fuel and water, I was done by 20.30. Friday finally came, our last official day as a railway depot. I donned my uniform with mixed feelings and, for once, decided to wear a tie as a mark of respect. Driving through the gate I was overcome by a really weird feeling: the shed was full of 56ers and looked just like it had on my first morning back in 1979. If it wasn't for the locos' drab grey livery it might have been that day all over again... And this time the yard was dotted with camera-toting railway enthusiasts who'd come to mark the occasion and say their farewells. 18.00 ferry again. I sat in the office with some of the lads, watching the engines leave the shed for Leicester and Toton. Finally there were just three left. The TCS swivelled round in his chair and looked straight at me. 'Well Tony, you have the honour, you're the last Coalville man to take engines off shed. These three are for Toton and you're back passenger. Oh, and John Healey is going with you.' I turned to face a forlorn-looking bunch of blokes and said jokingly: 'Did you hear that - I'm the last Coalville man to leave with a train.' 'Oh no,' said the TCS. 'I said you're the last driver taking the last engines away. There's still a train to go yet.' 'Who's on that then?' I asked. 'The honour's for Albert Pickering. He'll be the last to leave, with a Coalfields - Drakelow.' 'Oh well, it's still not bad,' I said. 'The last engines, it must mean something.' John Healey turned up just as I was leaving the office to prepare the engines. 'Anything doing Tony?' 'Yes - we're taking the last engines to Toton.' I made ready 56026, 56019 and 58040. As we left the shed the small crowd of enthusiasts set up their cameras to record the scene. On the down line fifty detonators had been laid for Albert to explode. It was a sight I'd dearly have loved to see. We arrived on the fuel line at Toton and walked across to the booking-on point. 'Coalville men just bought three on,' I announced. 'Ex-Coalville men don't you mean?' said the TCS. His cruel tease didn't go down very well with us at all. Seeing our faces he quickly tried to make amends. 'Sorry lads, but all good things must come to an end, as they say.' Our lift back to Leicester was on 31503 Sister Dora, ironically a Bescot engine. The Leicester crew were a bit more sympathetic. A taxi took us back to Coalville. By the time we got back the messroom was empty, just the TCS and a couple of blokes chatting. A red-eyed driver took down the final week's rosters and carefully rolled them up, intending to take them home for a souvenir. Albert had exploded his fifty detonators, a grand finale captured in scores of photographs. 'Everyone's up at the Red House,' the TCS told us. 'Are you going?' 'Wouldn't miss it for the world,' I said. The pub was packed with railwaymen. Not just those from this last shift but many of the day men who had gone home and got changed before coming back to the 'happy party.' Should we be acting like this? I wondered. Shouldn't we all be sitting round looking glum? But the blokes didn't want that - they just wanted to enjoy themselves. And deep down so did I. There was still had a big farewell do planned for the following night - during which many pints would be sunk and just as many tales told. I finished my diary entry for that day with the words 'The End'. That put paid to half the depot's complement. Drivers and trainmen who had opted to remain with East Midlands Freight would be reporting to Leicester and Toton depots on October 1st. Along with others I'd still be booking on at Coalville as normal, but without engines we were hardly likely to be doing much! Six men opted for retirement, while the remaining drivers and train men - now classed as redundant - would go on the All-Line Vacancy list and eventually get a move to either Derby, Saltley, Nottingham, Bescot or Shirebrook. The Saturday night do came and went with mixed emotions, but our final day at work was yet to come - on the 12th October. On Monday I was 08.00 on, not 08.00 shed or 08.00 ferry, just 08.00. They hadn't even the decency to book us off. Confirmation came through that I had a vacancy at Bescot. As the week went on we had to hand in our Bardic lamps and manuals. Our trains were now being worked by Toton men, who would glance sheepishly across at the depot as they passed. On one occasion my mate Craig Taylor - now a Toton man - came up and I nipped across the boards for a chat. The situation got increasingly bizarre. Coalfields Farm was playing up and waiting for coal. The Toton drivers began to bail out and go home by taxis - but they wouldn't allow any of us to work the trains. Our TCS was besieged by drivers demanding their PNB. Again he phoned Toton to suggest that some of the jobs be manned by Coalville men. But they wanted to make their point. 'No Coalville men will take any of our trains whatsoever.' That's what we felt like now - outcasts. But if they were to rob us of our dignity, at least they decided to let the retiring drivers leave at the end of the first week instead of having to kick their heels for the whole fortnight. And so we killed time by wandering around the town. We washed cars, played cricket, anything to pass the deadly hours. On a couple of days we all chipped in and cooked ourselves a great fry-up. For a while at least the old happy spirit returned to us. Thursday was the last time I would share a depot with ex-Burton men. They would be finishing the next day. But we had one or two scores to settle first. Gordon Sanders and his enamel mug for a start. Gord had a habit of swilling out his mug after a drink and always splashed the dregs of water over anyone who was in his way, especially if you'd been pulling his leg. He must have wet a thousand faces over the years. So while he was out of the cabin Tony Parker and I put the precious mug under a loaded ballast train that was being examined on Goods 2. The train began to move and with a loud crunch flattened the mug. Giggling like a couple of kids we watched as splinters of enamel flew everywhere. When the train had gone we picked up the flat piece of metal and solemnly presented it to him. So ended our first week. But we had another week to go. The last week I was 15.30. We had nothing to do but tinker with our cars, play cards - if you could find anyone to play with - or else we nipped up to Mantle Lane signalbox to talk to the bobby. Only spent 3 - 4 hours were spent actually working, the rest of the time we just tried to quell the boredom. The last day arrived, a relatively warm and sunny one for mid-October. Again I wore a tie as a mark of respect. Cameras were clicking all over the place. Some men stood talking while others tidied up. A crowd of us walked up to the chip shop via Goods 2 and nearly got run down by the Bescot ballast train. 'There's your new mates, Tony,' someone said. It didn't go down very well, especially on this night. Back at the depot more photos were taken against the background of an engine-less shed. Only wagons filled the holding sidings. Men began to shake hands and walk away through the gates. We had our photos taken against the nameboard of the Mantle Lane signalbox and outside the gate below the depot sign. At 19.00 a loud and angry Mick Geary had the honour of being the very last driver to book on at the depot. We had the very last farewell do up at the pub and this time it really was the end. After nearly thirteen years it was farewell to life on the Leicester line - as a Coalville driver anyway. I still worked the branch from Bescot for three years, then after eight years away I re-learned it in 2000 whilst at Toton depot. THE END
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