Airfix Engine Shed

 Sunday morning down at the engine shed. 

Mumbling Malcolm, Peter Peckett and Deliberation Dave are trying to justify their weekend overtime they’ve wangled, by mooching about checking and double checking what they checked earlier on. There can never be enough checks when handing such potentially dangerous machinery. 

Terry Tuttle-Thomas-Smythe and Bob Geeza Cat are also mooching about, scouting for new spots to use for their illicit hooch production, but can’t work out why there is such a gap under the locomotive shed doors. Could it be a measuring error, or has the wood shrunk? Or maybe the building has grown, but not the doors? Or did they simply not have enough wood to do a proper job? We will probably never know, but apparently Airfix based their much loved plastic kit on the building here. 

And finally, yes the smoke extractor really is a boat propeller, it reputedly coming off a WW1 Royal Navy launch which went astray and ran aground just up from Brentford Dock on the Grand Union Canal next to the old Firestone rubber factory. Why this happened, much like the loco shed doors, we’ll probably never know, but being in the land of the inch high, booze will almost certainly have been involved. That and excessive snacking on pickled winkles. 

~~~👀~~~

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The Skidmark Monkeys

 Saturday morning down by the ‘water tower’. 

New to the area locomotive fireman Lonnie Doonican, who at weekends plays banjo and sings rather badly in his skiffle group The Skidmark Monkeys, calls over to Waving Wally (though it might be Waving Willy) for assistance with the water hose. 

Wally replies back saying that he must be new to the job, because whilst it looks like a water tower, it is in fact a dispensary and storage for locally produced hooch. 

“But if you want to fill up, beware your engine might take on a whole new character and will run at twice (‘two times’ for children and Americans) its normal speed. But seeing you’re in a skiffle band and play banjo, you’ll be used to such double speed jollity.”

And finally, what’s with the raised bricks on the wall to the right? That’s a secret braille type code for the partially sighted or blind and says ‘hooch’. Though only the very tallest can use it. 

~~~👀~~~

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Candy Crushers & Pot Noodlers

Thursday at Windmill Sidings - in a part of forgotten Norfolk which cannot be found on any maps. It’s first thing, and not a soul is yet to be seen next to the ancient disused windmill, which last saw traditional use 100 years before the railway came. 

However, the locals maintain it for pagan correction rituals; those with eyes too close together, witches, aggressive vegans, tee-totallers, Prius owners, those who wear spandex sports attire, Lambrini drinkers, shandy drinkers, young men who wear their jeans too low, latte drinkers, those who leave half a pint of beer undrunk, owners of metallic poo brown cars, couscous eaters, trainer wearers, politicians, despots, local government officers, those who order posh coffee in busy pubs, pot noodlers, double glazing salesman, virtue signallers, those who demand sprinkles on their ice cream, shouty people on mobile phones, Candy Crushers, banjolele players, and anyone from out of town. 

These often lost souls are attached to the windmill arms and spun around until they repent. Other than that, it’s a lovely spot to spend a sunny Thursday morning.

Clock Change

 Yep, it’s that time again! 

Deep in The Forest, twice a year, the ancient ironstone circle has to be moved to reflect the clock change here in Little England. Luckily these days it’s a little easier with cranes and other such fangled machines of the modern age. However, a little manual manoeuvring is still required to adjust for the minutes, the big machines taking care of the hour change. 

I rather wish that ‘Pickaxe’ Eddie wouldn’t use his pickaxe on the ancient stones, for I’m sure since he’s been involved twice a year, there are more stones than there used to be. I’m also sure some of the stones have changed shape too. 

Each time a stone is relocated, Double Denim Dando does a little shimmy, you can see him doing one right now. And of course Waving Wally is here to coordinate things, though to be honest he’s been waving ever since he arrived on site, so he’s mostly ignored by everyone apart from nearby dog walkers who think he’s being friendly waving at them.

So remember to change your clocks tonight. Also for those living under rock, we have a partial solar eclipse today between 10 and 12.

Annual Eye Test

 Annual Eye Test aka WTF Wednesday

Back in olden times, eye tests were performed randomly in often quite inappropriate locations, like here on the through running line next to the colliery. 

Under the watchful eye of Barry Bullhead, time and motion man from The Ministry of Mayhem (who is actually doing his proper job rather than one of his dodgy side hustles), partially sighted optician ‘Pointy’ Pellegrino is performing a random eye test on Freddy the Flag. But fear not any precious neurotics, for Freddy is keeping look out for approaching trains whilst having the test, so all is good. 

Pointy Pellegrino always ensures that everyone passes with flying colours by only choosing large letters for testing purposes, “Okay Freddy, can you see the ‘D’ in Denaby?”, to which Freddy replies “yes”. He then asks Freddy to pick out all the other letters in order on this former private owner wagon, which of course he does successfully, even though he needs glasses. 

And finally, Pointy then shouts out, “Well done, you’ve passed! Shall we use the same wagon next year if it’s still here?”

~~~👀~~~

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Dirty Old Town

Spied through the heavy open gasworks gates, Freddy the Flag waves Peter Peckett past to collect an empty coal wagon or three. Peter doesn’t really need Freddy the Flag, but he’s been waving his flag since he was knee high to a grasshopper, Freddy being a twin half cousin to Waving Willy, Wally and Waymond. 

It’s a smelly choking place which has inspired many a miserable folk song as well as paintings depicting a smoky industrial Little England where children were given an old iron railing to chew on for a special weekend treat. Not that weekends were a thing, for in those days you were expected to work every day for 21 hours, but you were given the night off on Sundays. 

The gates were originally intended for a dry dock, but were found not to be deep enough, so ended up here at the entrance to the gasworks instead. They’re usually kept open, because being so heavy they require at least three burley blokes to operate them. Though if they oiled the hinges just one would be required, but that would require a union meeting. 

~~~👀~~~

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Fixing the Potholes!

 Monday morning and the local council have turned up to fix a reported teeny weeny pothole (of course this never happens in real life) right outside the entrance of The Miners Arms. It was reported by Nasal Nigel after he was thrown out the other night for dipping his TT gauge Flying Scotsman in to his shandy and upsetting the more sensitive regulars. 

But George the landlord of the pub knows that once set up, they could be here for weeks performing surveys, risk assessments and a plethora of other jobs to make the simple task as lengthy and expensive as possible. And then they’ll only do a half job and be required to come back again in 6 months. This will of course have an impact on his pub business, and as we know pubs are struggling enough as it is. 

So to make things as tricky as possible, Rufus Hound, Bob Geeza Cat and Beryl’s new pussy, Mystic Mog, are getting in the way and making all sorts of distractions and obstacles for Jimmy Jobsworth the steam roller driver. Any resemblance between Jimmy Jobsworth are Waving Willy is purely coincidental, but in the land of the inch high, the gene pool is quite small, so they’re probably related. 

Once they’ve given up gone for health and safety reasons, the pub cook, Mrs Muggins will fill the offending hole with her porridge which is famously thick and inedible, it being mostly lard and grains of unknown origin. 

~~~👀~~~

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Slow Locomotive Society

Click to zoom in and enlarge 

 Another Saturday, another rail tour operated by the Slow Locomotive Society aka SLS. 

Originally it was called the FLS, aka Fast Locomotive Society, but they’ve been struggling to hire fast express engines due to high rail tour demand and the inevitable rising hire fees. But old plodding goods engines like the S&DJR 7F 2-8-0 are easy to find, especially with the reduction of freight being carried by rail.  

Here we are at Catcott at the end of June, and because the Wimbledon Tennis event is also running, there is plenty of rain between the spells of sunshine. Wimbledon Tennis always attracts wet weather, nobody knows why, but I’ve often thought that the event could be moved to a part of the world that needs rain more than we do. 

I digress, for the day started with mist followed by clear blue skies, with the warm damp air off the Somerset Levels rising up over the nearby Mendips to produce the stormy sky and resulting blustery downpour captured in this shot. 

With the scheduled 20 minute stop at Catcott, several of the passengers, many who’ll be familiar to regular readers, have alighted to have a stretch and maybe capture a photo or two. But being in the middle of nowhere there is nothing to see apart from the simmering locomotive and its train, not even a pub to elope to for a swift one. 

Meanwhile the clever thinking local moonshiners have appeared with their new mobile moonshine production vehicle, so passengers can enjoy a few drams of super fresh hooch before being ushered back on to the train. And of course after a few shots, the rain really won’t matter at all, and possibly not the train either. 

~~~👀~~~

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Dancing Guards & Pink Pandas

 

Friday morning outside The Miners Arms and it’s all kicking off.  

Railway dance trio, The Giggling Guards, are practicing their act for tonight’s talent competition at the pub which mostly revolves around juggling a locomotive lamp whilst blowing their whistles whilst dancing around a tray of moonshine. 

That’s not a euphemism by the way. But they sure are irritating, and are likely to win due to their only competition at time of writing being a 46 strong ukulele troupe with coordinated matching attire. 

They only know Folsom Prison Blues and Bad Moon Rising, both performed at double speed, which as everyone knows will way more irritating than our guard trio. Though we won’t be able to see them hiding behind their huge wall of giant songbooks which will outnumber the performers. Anyone here who is brave enough to play ukulele in public will be familiar with this of course. 

Meanwhile, reformed robber, now pretend policeman, PC Rob Banks is trying to work out who painted his car pink overnight, as loco driver Billy Banter shouts out something unrepeatable here. 

And finally, the dreaded cat is a likely suspect, but painting cars might be a little outside his skill set. But there again, he has his ways. Never trust a cat 🐾

~~~🐈~~~

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Spring Equinox

It’s the Spring Equinox today, which is one of 2 dates in the year when the day is as long as the night, and the night as long as the day, and occasionally sometime in between. 

Here we are a little while after 6am, and the sun is just coming over the horizon showering the inch high folk with its golden glow. And with it also being Titfield Thunderbolt Thursday, we have a little locomotive similar to that featured in the film to complete the scene. 

Waving Wally has many jobs, and today he’s boatman on a narrowboat which supplies those living on and around the canal with everything from canned heat, motorised kettles, tinned desiccated water, double handled broomsticks, left handed screwdrivers, fire proof paraffin, deep fried coal and of course everyone’s favourite - inside out chocolate bars. 

Meanwhile Milky Malcolm from the local dairy is negotiating a basket of bottled cream with Bob Geeza Cat, though communication tends to be hard work, and as they say, never work with animals and small children. But they will get there in the end I’m sure. 

~~~🐈~~~

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Meow meow meow meow meow meow

Harry Hunslet and Barry Bicycle are chatting away wondering what the burning wood smell is. Bob Geeza Cat replies back in meow speak saying that the wooden beer cask is starting to smoulder, it being so close to the firebox. 

Sadly neither Harry or Barry understand what Bob is saying. All they hear is ‘meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow’.

But luckily the cask is empty, its contents being finished off some time ago. 

📷

Nikkormat FT2, 55mm Micro Nikkor, Ilford HP5, 1/8 sec f22. Home dev.

St Paddy

 Like a repeat on TV here it comes around again….. with a few tweaks…

☘️St Patrick’s Day at the pub☘️

Unlikely friends, Tory hooray party girl Dizzy Lizzie and dowdy communist Rachel from accounts witness the arrival of casks and bottles illicit fake ‘Irish’ stout from Colin’s dodgy brewery in the corner of the lambing shed on his brother’s farm. On St Paddy’s they love a depth charge of creamy stout in their gin and tonics. 

Local bounder, cad and self elected middle man, Terry Tuttle-Thomas-Smythe negotiates the price, making sure he has a good cut for himself. Barry Bullhead, the time and motion man from the Ministry of Misery is here keeping an eye on the competition, one of his various side hustles which are mostly involved in illicit booze production. 

Feeble Colin really needs to get more business like if he wants to succeed and get rid of all these middle men, for these days in the pub and brewing trade things are already a struggle and are likely to get far worse after April fools day. 

Meanwhile Derek & Clive trundle past with a rogue wagon of malting barley, which has somehow or other has gone missing from a train destined for Burton on Trent. But that’s another story for maybe this time next year if the pub is still trading ☘️

The cat is strangely missing…..

🍻

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Hubert Horse Power

Over at Brew Street, one of these new fangled containers has arrived. And being an old fashioned kind of place they’ve not handled one of these ‘modern ribbed metal boxes’ before. 

But being resilient, they’ve found a couple of old flat wagons to place the container on, only to discover that a locomotive hasn’t been rostered, and even if they had one it would take hours to get up to working pressure. 

Putting their heads together, Arthritic Arthur with illusions of being the next Charles Atlas has a go at pulling the ‘consist’. Unsurprisingly this ends in failure, with Arthur further exacerbating his chronic age related condition. That’s him on the right, bless the silly old fool. 

Hubert the conversational Latin speaking horse has recently returned from the Cheltenham Festival Horse Races, having had a lovely time catching up with his many 4 legged equine pals, sipping ale, eating carrots and of course having the occasional flutter. 

And then, as if by magic he trots in whilst muttering something that sounds rude in Latin, wraps his tail around the wagon coupling and pulls the short train forward. A great result from such a clever horse. Meanwhile young Clive over to the left hasn’t looked up once from his notebook, damn youth of today and their wretched notebooks.

~~~🐎~~~

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Somerset Bog Brandy

From time to time, Taunton Fairwater Yard’s scruffy yellow Ruston PWM shunting loco is used instead of the more regular Class 08 on the twice weekly the trip working to Catcott. 

Sadly most of the line has been dismantled, but it survives as a goods only stump to Catcott to serve the peat excavations and now legal distillery producing Somerset Bog Brandy which is now enjoyed internationally for its mellow peaty character and high alcohol content.

To the extreme left, Polythene Pete and Nasal Nigel observe the arrival of the scruffy yellow engine, but they’re not allowed within 2 miles of the railway for 18 months by court order. 

This was due to them hanging around in overgrown railway cuttings and station toilets showing each other their TT scale Flying Scotsman and Coronation Scot model locomotives. The lewd sticky antics, often in full public view, were starting to upset passengers, public toilet fanatics, railway staff and photographers who frequently would get them in shot, but not in a good way. 

They’ve drawn the attention of former artisan ice lolly makers, now turned security guards Ben & Gerry who sold their business to a huge multinational conglomerate. The duo didn’t read the small print before signing the contract, which in the event paid them just enough for two ice lollies, and they weren’t even properly frozen. Muppets. 

And finally, Beryl, motoring brat-granny and hell raiser, can be seen standing on the platform, nobody knows her age, but she’s thought to be between 100 and 110. But even looking at photographs of her from back in the mid 1930s, she looks no different to now. Last week, she again lost her driving license for speeding, but knows how to charm the engine crew so she can cadge a cab ride to Highbridge where she has a hot date with a young man quarter of her age. Go girl!

~~~🧻~~~

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I Missed the lunar Eclipse!

Front End Friday and Waving Wally waves at Double Denim Dancing Dando looking out of the cab of the slowing engine pulling a short rake of hopper wagons. 

There’s supposedly engineering work scheduled this weekend at the colliery, but in reality nothing will happen of that ilk. But it’s a good way to smuggle potatoes and turnips in for a moonshine mash set up and ready in the corner of the colliery winding engine house. A different type of engineering work, but what happens in The Forest stays in The Forest. 

The reality, I had a 500mm mirror lens set up on my camera to record the lunar eclipse his morning, but I forgot until it was too late with the moon vanishing over the horizon. So instead pointed it at the Lilliputian scene here - hence the rather extreme telephoto effect. I actually quite like it for a change.

Old King Coal

The inch high wake up to find a lump of coal in the colliery sidings. Okay, coal and collieries tend to go together, but it’s a mystery as to how they got it up the mineshaft.

I found this lump of coal many years ago on the old Somerset & Dorset line near Shillingstone way before the preservationist starting doing their excellent restoration work. So I can pretty safely say that it probably fell off an engine when the line was still open. It’s not quite as big as it was, for occasionally bits get chipped away for putting in the coal bunkers of my miniature engines. Nothing replicates coal better than coal - whatever the scale. 

True story: for odd things do happen, I found a tiny lump of coal in my mother’s garden the other week whilst visiting. She doesn’t have a coal fire, and with the garden being rather small, I’d have almost certainly spotted it before whilst doing Bertie hound ‘poo patrol’. So my only thought is that maybe some steam powered aeroplane or bird dropped it, or a coal fired moonshine still exploded nearby.

 

High Speed 2.5

 WTF Wednesday 

Trials are underway for the new (old by the time it opens) High Speed 2.5 aka HS2.5 rail route which will serve parts of The Grim North (previously known as The Northern Powerhouse). 

As a cost cutting measure, an old APT borrowed from a museum is going to be used, but lack of operational power cars and overhead electrification means that other options are being explored using an ancient Sentinel steam lorry. 

Resplendent in Lichfield, Macclesfield & Stockport Railway livery, the first test train arrives at a secret location in The Forest, having covered 4 miles in a breathtaking 4 hours, making it faster that the Knutsford section of the M6 on a Friday afternoon. Result. 

The steam lorry can run on ‘any old shif’ that burns and doesn’t need rails to guide it. And due to the success of the lorry, the steel wheels of the APT carriages are going to be replaced with rubber tyres which will allow the train to use the existed road network. This will save billions which can then be invested in nonsense and other hare-brained projects to make life more complicated, expensive and miserable for us the proletariat. 

And finally, apologies to any northerners who say that The Grim North is further north, to us southerners (me) it is anything north of Watford Gap Services on the M1. 

~~~🚽~~~

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The 11th of March 2005

34027 ‘Taw Valley’ masquerading as 34045 Ottery St. Mary hauls a circular ‘Venice-Simplon Orient Express’ dining special day trip from London away from Virginia Water. 11 March 2005. Nikon D70, Nikkor 28-70 f2.8 AFS

20 years ago to the day I was standing on a railway bridge near Virginia Water just southwest of London with a big camera looking like Jimmy No Mates. 

Dog walkers and other passers by were crossing on the far side of the bridge doing their best to avoid eye contact. Nothing has changed much in that respect, but I very rarely photograph the full sized railway these days, for so many locations suffer excessive tree growth making photography impossible and at best tricky. 

Being digital capture, the photos certainly don’t look like they were taken 20 years ago. I’m surprised they’ve lasted this long, for digits have a habit of going missing. But constantly baby-sitting them with replacement drives along with multiple cloud storage ensures longevity, but there will be a time when this ceases to happen.

66237 nears Virginia Water with the 6M44 Eastleigh to Wembley which was a mix of clay slurry tanks and departmental vehicles. 11 March 2005. Nikon D70, Nikkor 28-70 f2.8 AFS

450079 nears Virginia Water with the 1334 Weybridge to Waterloo service. These units were very new at the time and are still going strong to this day. 11 March 2005 Nikon D70, Nikkor 28-70 f2.8 AFS

Cheltenham Festival

Monday morning and Hubert the conversational Latin speaking horse, Herbert the conversational Mayan speaking horse, and Hartley the only horse that can chat in conversational Vectis, the native language of the Isle of Wight are starting their long journey to the Cheltenham Festival horse races. 

They do this every year so they can catch up with their old mates who are mostly retired shunting horses. 

The journey is rather convoluted, because whilst this rickety old train is fine on the private dockyard railway here at Brew Street, it’s definitely not allowed anywhere near the national rail network. So most of the journey happens after dark, helped with a little bribery to charm the various signalman on route. This takes months to organise, for not all of them are willing, but the promise of some moonshine usually wins them over. 

Tonight they’ll be stopping over at The Nag’s Head in Horsington not far from  Templecombe, always a popular stopover and a good start to the jollity of the next few days. 

And finally, it’s good to see officers Mouldy & Scullery helping to coordinate things rather than their usual fruitless determination to halt illicit booze production. Though Mouldy will be ticked off for not wearing his police jacket when in duty. 

~~~🏇~~~

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“I Need to get back to Mother”

The pub will be opening in 93 seconds. But first the little people enjoy watching the diverted 10.32 Bournemouth to Bath thunder through between the colliery and the pub before making a dash to the bar. 

The trick is not to be first, or you might end up having to buy a round. Stingy late middle-aged single model railway club members who have still to fly the nest will know this clever ploy. 

They’ll also know the the trick of “I need to get back to mother and give her lunch, she’s stuck in the cellar and has difficulty climbing the staircase” conveniently just before it’s their round. BTW, they often have bigger locomotive collections than other club members.

Five a Day

Back in olden times with all the hype of the Titfield Thunderbolt film about country bumpkins saving their local railway, it would appear that the inch high have got in on the act and created a small train very similar to that in the film.

Unlike in the film, the brake van contains a micro brewery and distillery with pipes running straight through to the passenger carriage. Most civilised, though the beer will almost certainly be warm and rather cloudy, it coming straight from the fermentation vessel. But in olden times we didn’t worry about such minor details, especially if imbibing from an earthenware or pewter jug, and anyway, brewing yeast is one of the ‘five a day’ quoting that modern day supermarket sales invention created to boost sales. 

Equine fanciers will have spotted that Hubert the conversational Latin speaking horse is back, it would appear that I got it wrong with my post a few days ago suggesting that he, Herbert and Hartley were heading for the pet food factory. They were in fact off to the races, something they do from time to time when they fancy a little flutter on their more athletic cousins. 

Hubert loves a beer, but he might struggle to get into the colourful carriage, though he’ll almost certainly be very welcome on the veranda of the brakevan once the little train moves forward allowing him to board. In the land of the inch high, a horse on the veranda of a brake van creates far less suspicion than a uniform clad railway guard should officers Mouldy & Scullery by snooping about. 

~~~🏇~~~

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59 Years Ago

59 years ago to the day on Sunday the 6th March 1966, the former Somerset & Dorset Railway network, apart from a couple of sections which lasted a few years longer for goods traffic closed for good. 

For several months prior to closure, many enthusiasts’ rail tours traversed the line, and here we are at Catcott on a blustery Saturday the 25th of September 1965 with the SLS aka ‘Slow Locomotive Society’ 'Slow & Dirty' rail tour during a photo stop. 

Many of our regulars travelled on the train, mostly due to the restaurant car which had been turned in to a moonshine, beer and cider pub for the trip and have reluctantly alighted to watch a staged ‘photography run past’. The ‘restaurant car’ is out of shot further down the train should any nasal types say “I can’t see the restaurant car” in their adenoidal tones.

However on the third run past, the almost empty train kept on going and the crew didn’t realise until they got Glastonbury, having been alerted by the restaurant car crew that booze sales had dropped by 90% that they’d left all the passengers at Catcott. 

~~~🐾~~~

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One Way Trip

Once a year usually around this time, the old engine from the museum is fired up and taken on a spin of the dockland lines.

Today’s lucky passengers are Hubert the conversational Latin speaking horse, Herbert the conversational Mayan speaking horse, and Hartley the only horse that can chat in conversational Vectis, the native Isle of Wight language that vanished midway through the last ice age. 

Barry Bullhead is a thoughtful man, and has arranged for each lucky horse to have a small wagon, just the right size in fact. This is to prepare them for the canning process at the local pet food factory. Bob Geeza Cat and Rufus Hound look on in awe, much like posh types eye up lobsters awaiting their untimely demise in a seafood restaurant. 

~~~~~🐾~~~~~

Designated Driver

Back in olden times, most pubs near a railway line would have their own siding. This was so that beer could be dropped off and empty casks returned. Engine crews between turns would frequently use such sidings when a refreshment was required, or they needed a ‘number two’ loo break. 

Here we have such an occurrence with an engine parked conveniently right next to the public bar of ‘The Kettle Inn’, with the crew discussing (usually decided by spinning a coin) who would be the designated driver. In olden times, the ‘designated driver’ would generally stick to beer and cider under 6%. But back in the day, booze strength wasn’t declared in any great detail, it not being a legal requirement like in modern times. 

I’ve had a couple of comments from more serious types as to the validity of some of my tales, well I can confirm that I heard this particular one from a retired driver during a particularly heavy session down the Wheeltappers & Shunters Club in Harlow New Town a few years ago.

~~~🐾~~~

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