Gaylord Grip & His Shunting Tractor

Here we are at Catcott again, where national treasure Uncle Bob, accompanied by the decidedly non-identical twins Fifi & Fiona, are about to board their train to Glastonbury.

It’s a regular weekend pilgrimage. They enjoy a spot of crystal appreciation, a hearty sniff of hemp, local cider and then a leisurely stagger up Glastonbury Tor, where they spend the afternoon detecting ley lines, cosmic vibrations and other things that mysteriously vanish the moment anyone asks for evidence.

Over on the left is Gaylord Grip, retired wrestler, part-time boxer and full-time shunting tractor enthusiast, leaning proudly against his trusty machine. Gaylord is gentle giant for the most part, but put him behind the wheel and he transforms into a man determined to prove Newton’s laws of motion the hard way.

Fortunately there isn’t much to shunt today. He’s already propelled the brake van enthusiastically into the buffer stop, and because the tractor can only push—having never been acquainted with something as extravagant as a coupling hook—his day’s work is gloriously complete.

Meanwhile, Bob Geeza Cat is giving Uncle Bob “the evils”. In Bob’s opinion there’s only room for one Bob in the Land of the Inch High, and he’s already claimed the title, the territory and, if asked, most of the credit for inventing the village name of nearby Catcott.

~~~😎~~~

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Watercress Line Diesel Gala Friday 10 July 2026

Friday 10 July was a bit of a hot one at 33c, nevertheless I popped down to the Watercress Line for day one of their annual diesel gala. 

These were all taken at Ropley, for the thought of travelling a hot sweaty non-air conditioned train didn’t appeal. 

It wasn’t that busy, though I put that down to most heritage diesel fans being still in the workforce, this being a Friday, unlike the steam lovers who are mostly retired. I imagine Saturday and Sunday will be different. 

I didn’t venture as far as I’d like to have done because of the heat, like most late middle aged beer loving blokes of my physique we’re not designed for anything more than 23.5c. 

Pics taken using a selection of heritage diesel era manual Nikon primes (35, 50, 85, 135mm) on a Nikon Z5

Click the link or image below for photos 

https://flickr.com/photos/22561588@N03/sets/72177720334621612

Summer on The Levels

It’s a lovely summer morning at Catcott level crossing and halt as the 9.05am Evercreech Junction to Highbridge service rumbles past

Swanky Syd is on gate duty today, covering for crossing keeper Dafne Dando, who’s off to Highbridge market to buy a few bits and bobs she absolutely doesn’t need but will insist were a bargain.

National treasure Uncle Bob has climbed out of his car to watch the little train trundle by. Today it’s graced with an ex-Southern Railway Maunsell brake composite in the formation, which makes a pleasant change from the usual pair of elderly LMS non-corridor coaches pensioned off from the Grim North.

And, of course, Bob Geezer Cat completes the scene while giving Uncle Bob ‘the evils’. In Bob’s eyes there’s only room for one Bob in the Land of the Inch High. 

~~~😎~~~

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Essential Public Works

Outside The Miners Arms they’re digging up the street again for ‘essential public works’. 

Last week they were installing piping for moonshine on tap, the month before cable radio so people could listen to the BBC Light Programme in areas with poor signal. 

Then they dug it all up again in to install cable TV, though that new fangled television has to to get to this forgotten part of The Forest of Dean, and likely never will. And anyway, nobody has a television around these parts. 

And finally this week they’re just finishing after digging everything up again to try to find Barry Bullhead’s expensive watch he got and lost as a backhander for some dodgy job he got a big fat brown envelope for. 

They didn’t find the watch btw. Some cat called Bob snagged it apparently. Such a clever cat 🐾 

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The barriers are painted cocktail sticks should anyone give a miniature fu…

The Heatwave Finally Breaks

Here we are again at Catcott, reputedly named after Bob Geeza Cat, though that might be wishful thinking on behalf of Bob, because he does have narcissistic tendencies - like most cats. 

The hot weather has finally broken with a sudden gust as the heavens open with a deluge of water from above, and sideways. 

The other Bob, Uncle Bob surrounded by non-identical twins Fifi & Fiona certainly aren’t prepared for the downpour as the train slows to take them on their way to Glastonbury to climb The Tor and sniff crystals. 

No ayeee eye was used in the creation of this photo, just a little Photoshop glitter which is so very last year and far more time consuming. 

~~~☔️~~~

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Triang Hornby Hymek

Yesterday’s post featured a Hymek diesel hydraulic loco. It’s a pretty ancient Triang Hornby model I picked up on eBay a good 25 or so years ago way before the far newer incarnation from Heljan. But at the time it was all that was available, with this one probably dating from the 1970s or even before. 

Originally in moulded blue plastic, amongst other detail upgrades I replaced the moulded hand rails and re-glazed it with ‘Gem Flush Glaze’, which were vacuum formed clear plastic more akin to packaging. I’ve yet to add windscreen wipers quarter of a century on, maybe one day. 

I replaced the knurled pizza cutter wheels with what I recall might have been Ultrascale, they taking months to arrive followed by the lowering of the body by several millimetres. Then of course a full repaint and weather. 

It’s runs really nicely on the original 3 pole motor, and has a wonderful reassuring growl with a hint of ozone. 

From around a yard or so it looks okay, but definitely wouldn’t be able to hold its own posed next to a modern Heljan offering. But it’s definitely a keeper. 

Demolition Train on The Branch

Not many photos exist of Catcott after the line closed on 6 March 1966 with the rest of the former S&DJR apart from a couple of stubs. But here we are at the end of June 1967 as a demolition train waits patiently at the crossing for the gates to be opened. 

Sadly, there’s no longer a crossing keeper employed to perform that little luxury. Instead, Waving Wally has taken charge. Progress may be slow, though, for as many will know he’s been waving continuously since birth and doesn’t appear to have mastered any other movement.

National treasure Uncle Bob is on the bridge with his trusty Land Rover, glancing down in to the viewfinder of his Rolleiflex quietly watching it all unfold whilst muttering that if he ever bumps into Dr Beeching, there’ll be ‘strong words’… or at least some very stern tutting.

And finally, Bob Geeza Cat has returned now the worst of the hot weather has passed. Even he knows tweed and a heatwave are a thoroughly irresponsible combination.

~~~🤫~~~

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🚢 The Freighter That Shouldn’t Be There

Polbrook Gurney Colliery skulks deep within an uncharted corner of the North Somerset Coalfield, in a mysterious region known locally as Titfield Thunderbolt Country—a place so elusive even the pigeons refuse to deliver mail there.

You won’t find it on any map, railway atlas, or even scribbled on the back of a suspiciously sticky beer mat. However, it did make a cameo in an Ealing Comedy film during the early 1950s, which is clearly irrefutable proof of its existence—far more reliable than anything produced by cartographers or sober witnesses.

Quite how a coastal steam freighter managed to chug its way up the Somerset Coal Canal remains a topic of heated debate among local historians, retired boatmen, and several gentlemen who insist they saw the whole thing while heroically guarding their pints in the snug of the Kettle Inn. 

Nevertheless, the photographic evidence before you suggests that, against all logic and possibly several laws of physics, it somehow did.

The eagle-eyed will spot the triumphant return of Bob Geeza Cat and his associate Rufus Hound, both apparently engaged in highly important supervisory duties, which mostly involve looking busy, occasionally pointing at things and of course adding compositional interest 🐾

You may also notice the discreet moonshine still tucked lurking on the deck, quietly bubbling away like a guilty secret. This is where experimental boozy concoctions are bravely tested—often by volunteers who may or may not remember volunteering—before, if deemed sufficiently drinkable (or at least survivable), being scaled up for full production at the vast and entirely legitimate (allegedly)  distillery on the island of Flat Holm, marooned in the middle of the Bristol Channel like a slightly tipsy fortress.

~~~🤫~~~

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Thirty Years Late for Work.

Here we are at Brew Street, sometime in the late 1980s.

What few people realise is that Deliberation Dave is a time traveller. Sadly, he has absolutely no control over when it happens, where he ends up, or indeed whether it’s remotely convenient.

When he staggered home from the Kettle Inn last night after the weekly Ladies’ Wasp Chewing Evening, it was definitely 1958.

However morning he woke up thirty-odd years in the future to find himself being interrogated by four hi-viz-clad jobsworths demanding to know why his uniform is three decades out of date and why he isn’t wearing any hi-viz. 

Dave, naturally, has no idea what hi-viz even is.

Meanwhile, over on the right, Rufus Hound Junior the 5th is standing in for Bob Geeza Cat, who is currently stranded somewhere in the 1950s and expected back just as soon as he works out which decade he’s in. Yes, the Land of the Inch High breaks many of the laws of time and physics. 

Finally, eagle-eyed observers may notice the rather impressive moonshine storage tank. “Impressive” perhaps being a polite way of saying “spectacularly over-engineered”. It appears capable of storing enough moonshine to survive several apocalypses and at least one visit from the taxman.

~~~🤫~~~

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Twist Left or Right?

Saturday morning by one of the many water towers in the Land of the Inch High.

Trouble is brewing. Rumours of a mouse infestation have reached Andrew, and he’s is absolutely terrified of mice. So terrified, in fact, that he refuses to climb down from the engine and operate the giant tap.

This presents a problem because turning the tap left dispenses moonshine, while turning it right produces water.

With Andrew frozen in fear, Barclay volunteers to do the job instead. Unfortunately, Barclay suffers from a chronic inability to tell left from right, making him perhaps the worst possible substitute.

Normally this would be the moment for Bob Geeza Cat to stride in, solve the crisis, and demand payment in sardines. But, as regular readers will know, Bob is currently tied up with his many appearances across the countless layouts and adventures of the Land of the Inch High.

As a result, nobody is entirely sure whether today’s locomotive will be running on water, moonshine, or a bold new mixture of both. The crew remain optimistic. The insurance company less so.

~~~🤫~~~

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Tanked Up Thursday

Fireless locomotives run on highly compressed superheated air and need topping up from time to time from a suitable reservoir.

Here we see such an operation in progress, the crew confidently connecting their engine to what they believe is the overhead compressed-air tank at the local distillery.

Unfortunately, neither of them actually read the memo.

Instead, they’ve coupled up to the distillery’s moonshine storage tank.

The mistake only became apparent when the locomotive immediately developed an extra 200 horsepower, a cheerful whistle in three different keys, and an overwhelming desire to overtake express trains.

Driver Bert reports that the regulator now has only two positions: “steady” and “good grief.”

Meanwhile, several sheep in a nearby field claim to have witnessed the engine briefly achieve flight.

Railway management insists everything is under control, although the locomotive was last seen disappearing towards Highbridge at alarming speed whilst whistling sea shanties

It could be a very interesting day indeed. 🍻🚂

~~~🤫~~~

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Terry’s Irritating Pole

With much wheezing, rattling and entirely unnecessary enthusiasm, Driver Andrew-Barclay powers his trainload of freshly liberated coal away from Whimsy Pit and Wharf.

National treasure Uncle Bob rubs his hands together in absolute delight, looking for all the world like a man who has just discovered an extra sausage at breakfast. Even the elderly steam freighter recently arrived from Flat Holm joins in the celebrations by producing a magnificent cloud of sooty black smoke, because unlike Uncle Bob it has no hands to rub together and must express joy through industrial emissions.

Meanwhile, part-time conspiracy theorist Tin Hat Terry, who is on shunting duties today despite several objections from reality, repeatedly stomps his pole into the boggy ground with excitement. Unfortunately, he is completely out of time with the rhythm of the engine, the local church bells, and indeed the known laws of music.

And finally, the ever-present Bob Geeza Cat watches proceedings with narrowed eyes and considerable disapproval. He secretly hopes Terry's pole becomes permanently embedded in the bog, mainly because Terry is extremely irritating and also because, despite carrying it everywhere, he has never once used the pole for anything remotely connected with shunting. Terry claims it detects government mind-control beams. So far it has only detected mud.

~~~🤫~~~

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Banjo Trouble at Combwich

Here we are at Combwich on the hottest afternoon of the summer of 1959, and the little tank engine unofficially borrowed from Shrewsbury shed refuses to move another inch until someone finds the station cat, which is just one of Bob Geeza Cat’s many roles.

“He were here this morning,” declares Driver Wilkins, wiping soot from his brow. “Sat on the coal bunker like Isambard Kingdom Brunel.”

Nobody questions this, for Bob Geeza effectively runs the railway.

The stationmaster searches the parcels van. The porter searches the waiting room. Old Ernie searches inside a milk churn for reasons nobody fully understands.

Meanwhile, the locomotive simmers impatiently beside the platform, puffing little sighs of smoke into the enormous cotton-wool clouds drifting above the Levels. A dachshund named Cecil barks furiously at a suspicious clump of grass near the rails, convinced it is either a hedgehog or the Archbishop of Canterbury.

Then comes the strange sound.

“Banjo music,” whispers the fireman.

Sure enough, faint banjo playing drifts across the yard from somewhere beyond the distant lorry.

The railwaymen follow the tune and discover Bob Geeza Cat balancing on top of a shiny rail while an elderly traveller plays banjo just out of shot to the right.

“Well,” sighs the stationmaster, “that explains the delay.”

Nobody asks how.

Bob is returned to the engine with full honours, the banjo player is given tea and two custard creams, and at precisely three twenty-seven the little train finally departs for Highbridge at the magnificent speed of almost eleven miles an hour.

Cecil continues barking at the grass for another forty minutes.

~~~🤫~~~

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A Hazy Summer Sunday at Catcott Crossing

Here we are back in the olden days on a hazy summer Sunday deep in the Somerset Levels at Catcott railway crossing.

Mavis the crossing keeper wandered off a short while ago to inspect a suspiciously enormous marrow, leaving the gates half-shut and the kettle boiling itself into a fury indoors.

Her husband, Arthritic Arthur, meanwhile, is convinced he’s seen a Highbridge-bound train made entirely of custard drift past earlier that morning, though this may well be connected to the moonshine-laced cider served at the church fête the evening before.

Bees zigzag lazily through the foxgloves, the telegraph wires hum like sleepy banjos in the heat, and somewhere beyond the trees a brass band plays a version of “Greensleeves” that sounds as if every musician has learned it from a different dream.

Nobody is in a hurry. Even the clouds seem to be loafing about.

And if you wait quietly by the gate long enough, the locals say you might just spot the legendary Catcott Bog Express — a secret Sunday train carrying picnickers, runaway elves, and at least three bewildered hippies from nearby Glastonbury all bound for the seaside.

~~~🤫~~~

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Manning Wardle L Class 0-6-0 Saddle Tank

Old Bernard Manning-Wardle the engine driver was having a terrible day.

First, his little green locomotive sneezed coal dust all over Bob Geeza Cat. Then the milk tank wagon started making mysterious spirit/ghost like noises every time the train stopped. Nobody could explain it.

“Haunted tank wagon,” whispered the shunter nervously.

But when they finally opened the hatch, they discovered that it had been filled full of moonshine instead of milk.

Within minutes, the locomotive was puffing along twice as fast, the driver was singing sea shanties, and three chickens had somehow boarded the parcels van for the trip back to Whimsy Pit.

To this day, locals still talk about the only train in history that ran late because the driver stopped to hug a scarecrow.

LSWR T3 Class 4-4-0 No. 563

Here we are at Catcott Burtle again, a remote halt with a single siding in the middle of a bog on the Highbridge line. 

Not a great deal happens here, other that the collection of cider, cheese and hooch. And of course bird spotters, or twitchers as they like to be known. 

But today, national treasure Uncle Bob is here to watch preserved T3 class 4-4-0 No. 563 power through with an SLS Special (Super Locomotive Society) rail tour which is travelling all over the place, as well as some lesser known places. 

It looks like the great Ivo is here too, that’s his Bentley parked up, and of course we have Bob Geeza Cat, who as always does his best to balance and add feline interest to many a photograph taken in a the Land Of The Inch High. 

And finally, Nasal Nigel is hiding in the concrete shelter getting extremely excited because the locomotive is a very similar colour to his very own TT gauge Flying Scotsman that he keeps warm in his special pocket. Though he really should book an appointment with a doctor about such a condition and get some suitable ointment to avoid further complications further down the line. 

~~~🤫~~~

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Collieries Have Talent Competition

Terry Tuttle Thomas Smythe hosts the very first ‘Collieries Have Talent’ competition, that’s our favourite smarmy chap stood on the engine announcing the next act. Liz & Margo have also been invited as celebrity royal judges for this inaugural event. 

Kicking things off, we have the The Railway Guards’ Barbershop Sing & Dance Troupe from nearby Midsomer Norton about to perform their short set of coordinated dance to Lonnie Donegan’s Rock Island Line playing on the gramophone in the weighbridge office. 

Somehow or other Nasal Nigel has managed to get on to the ‘stage’, that’s him in the sticky green bus-spotter flasher-mac (it has special pockets with holes on the inside to allow him to adjust himself surreptitiously in public) on the right. 

Secretly he’s thinking of entering the competition next year with a bus-spotter flasher-mac dance troupe. The thought of that is pretty horrific to be honest, for Collieries Have Talent we all know is a family show. 

As always, click, swipe, tap, lick, wiggle or whatever you do to enlarge, the photo that is, not your Flying Scotsman. 

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New Level Crossing Barriers

Saturday morning and Barry Bullhead from the Ministry of Mayhem has come to inspect the new level crossings barriers that have been installed at this former open crossing. 

They’ve been put in place after several incidents involving those who’ve imbibed too much hooch laced cider in the pub, some of who were playing chicken with passing trains, of simply sleeping between the rails. 

It’s very much a work in progress, for the set up here could cause lengthy delays for road traffic as it’s opened and closed. However those who are completely inebriated can now be safely carted across the crossing in a wheelbarrow. 

~~~🤫~~~

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Fireless Crane Locomotive

National Treasure Uncle Bob, continues to do research for his forthcoming railway orientated television series aimed at schoolboys with no friends and equally lonely late Middle Aged men who still live at home with ‘mother’ who is propped up in an old rocking chair in the corner covered in cobwebs. 

Under the watchful eye of Bob Geeza Cat, our much loved Uncle Bob is fascinated by the fireless locomotive which appears to have a built-in crane. He thinks that it is truly a wonderful idea, but worries that it could be compromised by tunnels and bridges. 

Meanwhile, Bob Geeza Cat simply thinks that Uncle Bob should go back to calling himself Robert or disappear on to one of the other Inch High cameos. For there’s only room for one Bob. 

And finally Archibald, part time cinema usher and garden gnome fancier has randomly appeared out of the blue with cartons of moonshine laced fruit based drinks and popcorn. Still, nobody will complain I’m sure 😎

~~~🤫~~~

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Monochrome Monday on a Monday

Monochrome Monday on a Monday ‘cos it isn’t always on a Monday 

National treasure Uncle Bob standing next to a race of mine tubs, watches Harry and his Hunslet locomotive generate a good blast of clag whilst pottering around the sidings at Whimsy Pit. 

There’s also a wharf here which is popular with smugglers and other illicit traders, but it’s extremely difficult to find, not helped by the fact that it’s not even on any maps. Rumour has it that keen cartographers who didn’t read the memo are regularly bribed with ‘Mendip Dew’ to omit it. 

The blast of deep black clag, isn’t by accident, it’s so coastal freighters, many on their way from the Bristol Channel Islands of Steep Holm and Flat Holm (formerly known as High Holm before the huge moonshine explosion of 1883) can locate the tiny harbour. 

In contrast, the steam freighter just visible isn’t emitting any visible exhaust at all, that’s because the steam boilers are heated with moonshine, of which there is plenty in the Land of the Inch High. 

Meanwhile Bob Geeza Cat is trying to help Miserable Mervin find his glasses and shunting pole. For Bob is such a clever cat. 

And finally, this ‘mono’ photograph was taken on real 35mm black and white film (Ilford Delta 100) taken with my steam era Pentax Spotmatic and a 50/2.8 Carl Zeiss Jena Tessar. 1/2 sec, f22. 

~~~🤫~~~

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Andrew’s New Yellow Beanie

A few of you missed Bob Geeza Cat in yesterday’s post, so here he is chatting to Andrew and his Barclay locomotive at Polbrook Gurney Colliery. 

Bob being quite a vocal cat in his wise old age, is commenting on Andrew’s bright yellow home-knitted woolly hat saying how it contrasts nicely with the red locomotive nameplate and dark blue paint trying to break through the sticky sooty oily grime. He’s also asking him if he has any tinned pilchards on him like he did last weekend. 

But all Andrew can hear is “meow, meow, meow, meeeooowww, meow, mee-ooowww, meow, purrrrrr, meow, purrrrhhhhhhh, meow, me-ow, meow, meow, meow, mmeeeooowww, mmmmeeeeeoooooooowwwwwwww!”

~~~🤫~~~

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The Gulf of Glastonbury

It’s foggy down on the levels this morning as the 8.43am Highbridge to Evercreech Junction service slows for Catcott. 

Throughout the year, mist or fog and sometimes a combination of the two is quite commonplace, The Levels being reclaimed land on what used to be known as The Gulf of Glastonbury until the great silica gel explosion of 1567. Okay I might have made that bit up, I’m just checking that you’re still paying attention, though many only read the first sentence before giving up on my daily diatribe. 

As is often the case, there’s nobody waiting for the train, for any who might be travelling are quite likely still partying after an overnight lock-in at one of the illicit cider houses nearby. Though Nasal Nigel is probably out of sight in the rather austere concrete shelter playing with his TT gauge Flying Scotland he keeps in his special pocket. I’m not going to check though, for it’s never a pretty sight. But at least his mother loves him. 

Streetlight fanciers (yes, they are a thing) will be keen to point out that the concrete electric lamp standard doesn’t have a lantern attached to it, that’s because connection to the National Grid has yet to happen (and probably never will). But at least the railway is trying to modernise, and in the meantime it’s a good place to hang poached pheasants and such to mature out of reach from praying vermin and the light fingered. 

And finally, Bob Geeza Cat is away, hiding most likely on one of my other layouts, for he’s such a clever cat 🐾

~~~🤫~~~

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Gunpowder!

Here we are back at Fountain Colliery not far from The Miners Arms, and we have a delivery of gunpowder dropped off by our regular little fireless engine. 

The gunpowder isn’t for use at the colliery, but is in fact a vital ingredient in a strong stout ale brewed in what was the skittle alley of The Miners Arms. 

The 13% ABV stout, which is only available served as a half pint, but in a pint pot, is topped up to the rim with an equal amount of “Forest Dew’, a moonshine exclusive to The Forest of Dean. 

An evening out on this explosive ‘shandy’, not dissimilar that phrase from a well-known multinational lager producer ‘really can refresh parts other beers cannot reach’, but not necessarily in the way you’d expect. 

And finally, I’m sure you’ve spotted national treasure Uncle Bob who is doing further research for his forthcoming minority interest railway themed television series aimed at schoolboys with no friends and late middle-aged men who still live at home with ‘mother’. 

What happens in the forest, stays in The Forest. 

~~~🤫~~~

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Waving Wally, Waving Wayne, Waving Willy & Waving Wodger

Here we are again at Whimsy Pit, as Andrew and his Barclay locomotive potter about pushing wagons here and there, and occasionally there and here, and sometimes nowhere at all. 

Waving Wally waves at the engine, though Wally is always waving, he even does so in his sleep and has been doing so since before he was born. His brothers Waving Wayne, Waving Willy and Waving Wodger all have the same genetic affliction. 

Mavis, their poor mother not only having to put up with 4 uncomfortable pregnancies, also had to, and still does have to cope with messy mealtimes as food and beverages fly across the room. Big family gatherings at Easter and Christmas can be particularly hazardous with now 4 grown men waving their arms - with soup and stews being particularly problematic. 

Meanwhile, Bob Geeza Cat simply waves his tail gently as he does his best to get in the way of shunting activities, for he’s such a naughty cat 🐾

And finally, for the photo geeks, this image was taken on a steam era Pentax Spotmatic using Ilford Delta 100 B&W film. The back smoke was borrowed from a photo of taken at a spring steam gala last year, it also being taken on film. 

~~~🤫~~~

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