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to find himself being interrogated by four hi-viz-clad jobsworths demanding to know why his uniform is three decades out of date and why he isn’t wearing any hi-viz.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. 

And finally, you can secure your spot in Nigel’s dance troupe next year www.buymeacoffee.com/Nevardmedi3

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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Crispin…. Really?

We’ve not seen the wasp striped fireless locomotive for a while, for it tends to hang around here at Brew Street which has suitable facilities to charge the high pressure locomotive reservoir so it can keep on ‘steaming’.&nb

Rumour has it that I runs off heated moonshine, which as we know is generally more plentiful than water in the land of the inch high. Another bonus being that limescale is also less of an issue.  

But I’m no authority on how railways and and locomotives work, being more of a railway romantic, so best not ask me about ‘gubbins’ and ‘thingamajigs’ or anything remotely technical. And never anything to do with DCC or slow action point motors. Ever. But I’m okay with paint, static grass and DAS modelling clay. 

However there will some here lurking next to mother’s computer while she sleeps who will be able to answer such technical requests with good authority. For you, I tip my virtual hat. Cheers, but please clear your cache and close down any dodgy websites you might have also looked at, for you know that such makes mother angry. 

Meanwhile the latest batch of oak aged ‘shine is being prepared for inspection and hopefully sale at a good profit. Today’s customer being Barry Bullhead and some pointless bureaucrat called Crispin from the Ministry of Mayhem. Who names their child Crispin? Really…. 

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Breaking News! Price of Coal Triples!

Monday shenanigans at the colliery weighbridge, and all passing trains have to pay a toll to pass through, for there is no other route out of the colliery. If not, Gary the Greaser will paint the locomotive crew and wheel treads with slippery grease, not something that’s ideal on the steeply graded colliery railway, and not pleasant for the locomotive crew on a hot sweaty footplate. 

Meanwhile, unconnected to the devious toll antics, Bob Geeza Cat is trying to shift jars of moonshine made from fermented milk. Sadly this particular rancid batch isn’t selling well, despite its high alcohol rating, so Bob is doing everything he can to try to shift it, even at the risk of making a loss. 

And finally, potential shortage of coal has caused the price to triple, and in some areas it’s even run out. The abandoned steam roller on the bridge being one of the first victims. 

You couldn’t made it up. 

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6 Hour Cross-legged Buttock Clenching Ordeal

Railway enthusiasts love a brakevan special. The lure of a long journey of discomfort without soft furnishings, a restaurant car and possibly more importantly lack of a toilet, attracts those young and old, and occasionally those in between who were victims of a stag night prank that went wrong. 

Organised by the SLS (Slow Locomotive Society), this short train of just 4 brakevans hauled by an Ivatt Class 2 tank engine has provided the power all the way from North Somerset to Fountain Colliery here in deep in The Forest of Dean. 

You might wonder why there are so few merry souls here, that’s because half of them are out of shot in the bushes relieving themselves after their 6 hour cross-legged buttock clenching ordeal regretting those pints they had before boarding the train. 

What happens in The Forest, stays in The Forest. 

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Day Trip to Frome

Saturday morning at Polbrook Gurney Colliery Halt and the 9.03am Chilcompton to Frome service slows to collect passengers. Today’s train consisting of a single former Midland Railway wooden panelled coach that smells of fungus, urine, stale beer and pipe smoke. And on the nose we have one of Highbridge Shed’s Johnson 1P 0-4-4 tanks which was modified during WW2 so it could also produce moonshine whilst performing railway duties. 

Working from left to right, Bob Geeza Cat has received some samples of the latest ‘shine, this batch starting life as milk, which is then fermented and distilled to produce 180% proof liquor. It’s rather an acquired taste, but will no doubt be popular with Horlicks and Ovaltine fanatics who want a depth charge of something a little less soporific and more invigorating. 

Next we have Smelly Suitcase Sandy, he likes to dress as a bellboy, even though he isn’t one. His tiny suitcase is thought to contains spam sandwiches, Tizer and a dried head which is believed to be that of his sister’s. His sister disappeared around 5 years ago and hasn’t been seen since. Sandy is a good friend of Nasal Nigel should anyone ask. 

Then we have Rufus Hound, who has today adopted national treasure Uncle Bob as his custodian. Bob is researching for his forthcoming minority interest railway themed television series aimed at schoolboys with no friends and boring late middle-aged musty tweed-clad old duffers who still live with ‘mother’. 

And finally we have tiny Fifi, who is quite unusual in that her head can rotate a full 360 degrees at 78 rpm if she’s had too much sugar or is listening to that new fangled ‘skiffle’ music. Our favourite hell’s granny Beryl has bought Fifi along to teach her a few tricks like pick-pocketing and sneaking in to bars and pubs undetected by the landlord. 

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Why the Earth isn’t always flat

 It’s Tuesday morning at Fountain colliery sidings, and the overnight storms have cleared to reveal a magnificent sky. 

Tin Hat Toby, part time shunter and full time conspiracy theorist, is muttering to Bob Geeza Cat about lizard people, flying saucers, and the fact that the Earth is flat. 

That latter bit in the Land of the Inch High is largely true, for most toy train sets are flat, unless the baseboards are built from MDF and reside in a damp garage or shed. 

In which case sagging, swelling and curvature can often be to quite an extreme degree, with baseboard gaps that vary in size depending on the time of year and phase of the moon. 

But Bob is more interested in the tatty old wagons, trying to work out their origin, they being bought secondhand by some 12 inch to the foot giant at least 25 years ago ‘from some bloke down the club’ who was clearing out some old tat so he could move into a bungalow and collect garden gnomes. 

And finally, why does injection moulded plastic rust in the Land of the Inch High? 

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Misaligned Brake Shoes

Regulars will have noticed that Bob Geeza Cat has been absent. That’s because he’s been way out west at Whimsy Pit, which also doubles up as a small port for incoming steam freighters from the Bristol Channel Islands of Steep Holm and Flat Holm. 

The steam freighters are part of a ‘shadow fleet’ that transport moonshine and other illicit goods around the coast and sometimes beyond. And as for the mine, it’s just a folly, it being simply used for storage of said goods. 

As I mentioned a few days ago, Bob Geeza Cat is quite an authority on old wagons, and has noticed that the two wagons nearest the engine were built by The Mainline Wagon & Locomotive Company of Hong Kong probably around 40 years ago. 

They’re easy to spot, because the brake shoes don’t line up with the wheels, that’s because they were originally intended to run on the 5ft 3 inch (21mm) gauge Irish railway system transporting iron ore for use in Guinness Stout (other brands are available). I might have made that bit up. 

Because of this, they were bought cheaply, for in the land of the inch high, we don’t worry too much about minor details like working brakes. 

And finally, wagon fanciers will have noticed that the brake shoes actually line up with the wheels on the nearest wagon, this being a more recent incarnation of the wagon which shares much of the same tooling, but is now produced by The Bachmann Locomotive & Wagon Works of Barwell in Leicestershire. 

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Daylight Saving

Those living in Little Britain, remember to shift your clocks tonight by one hour. Here we have Deliberation Dave trying to work out which way to move the ancient stones.

Conspiracy Theory

Tin Hat Toby, part time shunter and full time conspiracy theorist, is mid-shunt with another tatty old wagon that’s ended up at Whimsy Pit. 

Toby’s yellow helmet is lined with lead and aluminium to help block Bluetooth radio waves from those ‘12 inch to the foot giants’ who supposedly control the Land of the Inch High. All complete nonsense of course, I mean, really?

Meanwhile Bob Geeza Cat is trying to work out who the wagon was made by, he being quite an expert on such matters, something that might surprise regular readers. 

Initial thoughts are that it was built by the Parkside Wagon Works Company, or maybe The Mainline Locomotive, Carriage & Wagon Co of Hong Kong. 

However, a quick look at the underside, something that is easy for Bob, he be being only around 1/4 of an inch high, has revealed that it was made by The Frank Hornby Toy Company of Margate at least 30 years ago. ‘Hornby’ being stamped onto the underside of the wagon, making identification simple. 

And finally, given its appalling state, which is odd seeing the wagon is nearly all made from injection moulded plastic, as to why it’s covered in rust is a mystery, or in Tin Hat Toby’s world, part of a wider conspiracy. 

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