The Enginemen - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: August 1959

She didn’t know it, but it was to be their last holiday together. Father and six year old son were excited. As they emerged from the Circle Line onto the ‘Lawn’, as the main concourse of Paddington station was known by generations of railwaymen, the echoing emphatic exhaust of steam engines mingled with the hubbub of the summer Saturday crowds, the muffled burr of the station announcer and the humdrum steady reverberation of the underfloor diesel engines of the local trains to Slough and Reading.

“Wait…” she cried above the heat and din, but they were off squeezing through the throng, her husband manhandling the heavy suitcase with ease; the boy grasping tightly his own tiny bag of picture books, favourite toys and a few essentials for the journey. She had intended to buy some drinks to supplement the sandwiches she had prepared at home, but they were impatient; they would have to purchase some from the trolley on the train, doubtless much more expensive. She caught them up at the barrier. They had already found their train, a relief to the main Plymouth and Penzance express which was standing next to theirs in platform 2.

“Why in such a hurry?” she asked breathlessly. “We’ve nearly twenty five minutes before our train is due to leave.”

“The boy doesn’t want to miss anything,” her husband replied. “He’s been looking forward to this moment for months.”

The woman knew this of course. A couple of years previously their holiday had been cancelled at short notice when she threatened to miscarry, and last year she was still recovering her health after the loss of her stillborn female child. They had made do with a few days’ outings to local beauty spots and suitable entertainments for the boy. He could hardly remember their previous seaside holiday when he was only three.

The crowds were already queuing to pass through the ticket barrier and when it was their turn, the inspector merely glanced at their tickets and waved them to the train on the right. They had reservations, so - thought the woman - the rush was unnecessary, but she said nothing as she did not wish to spoil both her boys’ anticipation. They found their allocated seats near the front of the long train and no sooner had the man heaved his heavy case and the woman’s smaller one onto the luggage rack, than the boy was already off into the corridor.

“All right, go with him, I’ll be okay here. Can you just open the window a little to let in some air? All this rush has made me hot.”

The man parted the toplight widow panes with a grunt and the noise of the station and its smells penetrated the compartment. The boy was jumping up and down impatiently in the corridor, calling “Come on, Dad, come on!” She watched them go and sank back onto her seat, surveying her surroundings. The other vacant seats each had a reserved label; the train was going to be full. She glanced at the sepia photographs above the upholstery, pictures of Newquay sands, Polperro Harbour, a castle on the River Dart. A real holiday at last, she thought to herself. I should try to relax, rest, while the men ‘do their thing’. Suddenly there was a banging on the window. The boy was flushed and pointing; it was clear he wanted his mother to come and see some great marvel. Well, she could humour them, she supposed. Their seats were reserved, she left her coat and the boy’s case on the seat and picked up her handbag, making her way onto the platform to see what the fuss was all about.

“Look,” the boy shouted shrilly, “that train has a new diesel engine!”

“Has it, dear?” She felt she ought to show some interest. She glanced at the train on the opposite platform, the main express for Penzance, and observed a green diesel locomotive, its engines ticking over.

“It’s called ‘Benbow’,” the boy informed her.

“So it is,” she answered wryly looking at the metal nameplate affixed to the side of the engine.

“It’s brand new,” the boy said in an awed voice.

“How do you know, dear?”

“It says so.” Her husband pointed to the oval plate indicating the building date: 1959.

“It’s the future,” shouted the boy, “soon all the trains will be pulled by diesel engines like that, won’t they, Dad?”

“Not for a while yet, son. I like the old steam engines, they’ve got character. I hope we’ll have a steam engine on our train, after all we’re only a relief.”

At that moment they looked under the great road bridge that crossed the platform just before the end slope and saw in the distance a wisp of steam, then a billowing of smoke as a dark green locomotive backed toward them.

“Oh,” said the boy in some disappointment, “it’s a steam engine after all.” The father’s face lit up, however, as he watched the locomotive slowly back onto their train, the wheel flanges squealing on the curved track at the end of the platform. The engine seemed a little shabby compared to the shiny new diesel opposite; the green paintwork was darkened by the constant rubbing with oily rags and a layer of grey ash and dust still clung to the cabside, where the brass numberplate was fixed. ‘5029’ it said, and the man pointed out the brass curved nameplate above the centre driving wheel to the small boy. “Nunney Castle.”

“Where’s that?” said the boy.

“I don’t know,” admitted his father.

They were interrupted by a series of whistles, a sudden explosive roar from the diesel opposite and a belch of dirty exhaust which soon cleared followed by a prolonged blast on the horn as the Penzance express slowly accelerated from the adjacent platform. The boy watched it go, enraptured. Once the last carriage had ricocheted round the end of the platform and the diminutive pannier tank engine had followed it out, the father attempted to get the boy to take a further interest in their own locomotive. He took him to the front, pointing out various features, and then explained that the little oval plate affixed to the smokebox door, saying ‘81A’, meant that the engine was stationed at the London depot just two or three miles away, called Old Oak Common.

The woman let them go and stood watching the driver as he eased the locomotive onto the train, while the fireman was down on the track ready to couple up. The driver suddenly looked straight at her and winked.

“He’ll be after my job in a few years’ time.”

He was interrupted by a shout from the fireman.

“George, ease her up a bit more.”

The driver opened the regulator enough for the buffers of the tender to engage with those of the train, then slammed it shut and the woman heard the hiss as he applied the steam brake.

“Hope you enjoy your holiday,” he said. “Perhaps I’ll see you again in a couple of weeks’ time.”

It would be three difficult years later when their eyes would meet again.