The Enginemen, Chapter 6

Glossary

Canton – the main locomotive shed at Cardiff

DMU – Diesel Multiple Unit

Cylinder cocks – drain pipes to clear steam from the cylinders when a loco has been standing for some time or reverses.

Prairie Tank – a tank engine with a 2-6-2 wheel arrangement.

Chapter 6: April 1961

George drove into the small car park by the Old Oak hostel, retrieved his bag from the boot and slung it over his shoulder. He walked down the slope, with the roof of the four roundhouses to his left, smoke curling from many of the vents polluting the fresh air of the early spring morning. As he reached the entrance to the depot, he saw Fred Cross climbing down from the cab of 4708 which he’d just parked on the ’47 Road’. Fred was in No.4 link and George realised this was a good chance to check his views on the impact of the new loco rostering and link arrangements as Fred would have been affected by the adjustment of turns between 3 and 4 links.

He walked to the cab of the huge freight locomotive towering above him and waited while Fred finished a conversation with his fireman who was also now descending from the primitive open footplate.

“Fred, can I have a quick word, I know you’re anxious to get some shut-eye, so I won’t keep you long.”

“That’s OK, Gee, we’re not so bad. This old girl gave us a good trip. What can I do you for?”

The new links, Fred. How are they affecting you? Is it making a difference to your pay?”

“Early days yet. Have to say that I haven’t noticed much difference so far. Thought I might get some overtime this morning, but we got a clear run all the way and were actually early into Paddington Goods. The bloody shunter was even waiting for us and unhooked us before we’d hardly stopped, so no joy today on the overtime front.”

“OK, Fred. Let me know if you find any problems and I’ll take it up with the boss.”

George turned back into the opening of the No.1 roundhouse and crossed the turntable which was full of simmering locomotives, most raising steam for the day’s turns. 5034 was among them, he saw, and noted with satisfaction that there was activity on the footplate, the fire-raiser was obviously hard at work and the blower was hard on. He picked his way watching where he placed his feet avoiding any oil spillages to the booking on window.

“Munday, for the 11.5 Gloucester, Joe.”

“I know, Gee, we all know who you are. You’ve got your engine. She’s on No.1.”

“Yes, I passed her as I came in. Has Wyn booked on yet?”

Wyn Griffiths was his regular fireman, a muscular young man in his early thirties, who’d left his native Rhondda Valley village and transferred from Treherbert depot to Old Oak as promotion in South Wales was so slow. Wyn had left his family there, for he intended to apply for a driving job back in South Wales when he had the necessary seniority. He lodged in the hostel at the depot and went home on his rest days. He was a very reliable partner and living on the spot, was never late on duty. Whilst he liked his pint, he did not get carried away like some of the younger fireman, and had never let his mate down yet by claiming a ‘sickie’.

“Yes, he’s already down at the Stores getting your lubricating oil.”

“Well, I’d better check the notices in the lobby and get going.”

“Before you do, Gee, the Governor wants to see you.”

Now what did he want? They’d had a couple of LDC meetings since the Shedmaster had told George about the new loco rostering arrangements and had come to a reasonable understanding. Although George had been suspicious at first and was wary of the new boss, after the easy going nature of the previous one, he had found general support from the men for the new arrangements. There was no doubt that it had put pressure on the fitters to deal with any defects reported, because they soon got it in the neck if one of the ‘selected’ locos had not been put right overnight. Not that the few number of defects reported were serious, for all the ‘Castles’ allocated for the ‘own engine’ policy were in good nick and not that long out of the Shops.

Nellie was ready for him. She handed him a cup of tea and said,

“You might as well go straight in. He’s got no-one there.”

“What’s this then, a social occasion?”

“Nothing untoward. Just wants to tell you something, I think. I believe you’ve got a passenger today.”

“Oh heck! Not some bigwig from HQ I hope.”

“Get on in there and find out.”

Nellie opened the door and nearly pushed him in, a wide smile on her face.

“Morning, George. Sit down a minute and finish your tea. How’s the new working going?”

“Is that what you want to see me about? We’ve got another LDC meeting at the end of the month, I’ll tell you officially when I’ve had feedback from everyone affected.”

“George, I’m not trying to get you to pre-empt that discussion. I wondered how you liked the arrangements personally.”

“It’s okay. 5034 is a good engine, I’ve no complaints on that score. And I’ve got a good mate, so no grumbles as far as my own turns are concerned.”

“That’s good because I’ve got a passenger for you today. HQ has issued a footplate pass to a young student who is intending a railway career. I’d better warn you, he’s the son of one of the Board Members so watch your Ps and Qs. Be careful what you say in case you put your foot in it!”

“And I was looking forward to a nice relaxing day on the Gloucester turn and now you want me to be sociable to a boss’s offspring. It’s okay, I won’t let you down, unless the young man pulls rank because of his connections or thinks he knows it all.”

“You will be courteous to him even if you take a dislike to him. Chief Inspector Bill Puntiss will be with you, he’ll keep an eye on things and make sure you don’t say too many things to get me or the depot into hot water.”

“No problem there, boss. Bill and I know one another well, we’ve never had any issues we couldn’t soon sort out. He’s a good engineman, I respect his experience and opinions.”

“Well then, you’d better go to it or your fireman will think you’ve left all the prep work to him.”

“Knowing Wyn, he’s probably done it already. He was already in the Stores when I booked on. He’s a good lad, I hope a driving vacancy in his home depot doesn’t come up too quickly for my sake.”

“We’re lucky to have so many South Wales lads here. We’re in a much better staff position than many of the other London depots.”

George gulped down the last dregs of his tea and left the cup on the Shedmaster’s desk for Nellie to clear away later. He was not too worried about having a passenger and Bill was always good company even if he was the Chief. He strode briskly into the lobby to check any last minute notices and found nothing of relevance to his roster for the day. He was already aware of a 15 mph speed restriction for a quarter of a mile between Swindon and Kemble on the down run but that should not impede timekeeping as long as they got a clear road to Swindon, as there was another four minutes recovery time in the schedule between Stroud and Gloucester.

He found Wyn already in the cab passing his practiced eye over the state of the fire. He threw on a few more lumps of the best Markham Colliery coal that had been dropped into the tender the previous night when 5034 came on shed, and George checked the boiler water level in the clean gauge glass, an automatic response on the driver’s part but unnecessary in the case of having Wyn as mate. The boiler pressure gauge already indicated 180 psi, and Wyn would have to open the injector to take on more water to stop the loco blowing off steam before they left the shed.

“Hi! I’ll just oil her up.”

“I’ve done the inside motion already. You can check it if you like.”

George was grateful for that. Oiling the inside motion from the pit underneath the engine was not the best part of the day’s work. It was just like Wyn to tackle the hardest and most unpleasant job on his behalf.

“Thanks Wyn. I’ll owe you a pint for that.”

“All in good time. How’s the family? All okay?”

“All fit although I could do with a bit of advice on coping with a teenage daughter who stays up half the night.”

“Well don’t come to me for that. My Rhiannon is only three and we’ve only just got her sleeping through the night.”

“You’ve been spared a few sleepless nights by being up here then?”

“Don’t you tell my Sheilah that, she keeps asking when I’m going to get a job back at Treherbert or Canton.”

“Well, don’t you rush that one. I want you for a while yet. Perhaps there’ll be a bit of a shake out next year when the diesels come here.”

“They’ve already got the DMUs on the Valley services and I didn’t really fancy that for a job. A driving turn at Canton would suit, but I can’t see that coming for a while. A lot of fireman in their forties in the valleys were made redundant by the units and most are firing at Canton or East Dock and will slot into the drivers’ jobs that come up for a good while yet.”

George clambered down the cab steps with the oil can and a handful of cotton waste, and went methodically around the ‘Castle’s’ numerous oiling points. He did not bother to go down into the pit to check Wyn’s work - he was totally confident that his fireman would have been conscientious about that.

When they were ready, Wyn dropped down to set the turntable and George eased ‘Corfe Castle’ onto it and waited until the table turned them ready to back down to one of the water columns at the exit to the shed, to top up the tender before running light engine up to Paddington station. Wyn jumped aboard as George opened the cylinder cocks to clear excess steam and any standing water from the cylinders and then the loco squealed its way over the curves outside the shed door and drew up to the water column, with Wyn already standing atop the tender with the filler hole cover already opened. George dropped down to the rough cinder surface and wound the metal lever round to let the water gush from the billowing sleeve until water suddenly overflowed and cascaded down the side of the tender while he tried to close the apparatus as quickly as he could before the ground was awash. A quick pull on the whistle chord to let the signalman know they were ready, the AWS was checked as they passed the ramp at the throat of the shed and they were off over the flyover at Kensal Green and en route to pick up their train which was standing ready for them in Paddington’s platform No.1 under the huge black and white station clock, the meeting place for many travellers.

They crept alongside the long parcels platform 1A and under the Bishop’s Bridge Road and buffered up to the waiting ten BR Mark 1 maroon coaches, filling rapidly with passengers for Reading and points west. Wyn was peering along the curved platform and calling to George as he was unsighted on the right hand of the cab, and he shouted that Bill Puntiss was already standing there in his black inspectorial mackintosh, alongside a slim young man who looked far too neat and trim for the footplate.

“George, good to see you. Everything okay?”

“Yes, Bill, no problems. Not yet anyhow. Who’s that you’ve got with you?”

“This is Malcolm Carpenter. He’s our passenger for the day. Here’s his pass.”

George took the card docket from the inspector’s hand and pretended to scrutinise it closely. He handed it back and turned to the young man.

“Well, Malcolm, you’d better come aboard. What’s the reason for this trip? My name’s George Munday, by the way and this is my fireman, Wyn Griffiths. Welsh in case you didn’t know! Are you with us all the way and back?”

Inspector Puntiss replied:

“Getting some experience, George. He’s the Board Member for Operations’ son, will be applying for the management training course when he finishes college.”

“Let the lad speak for himself, Bill. Well, Malcolm, what about it?”

“Thanks for letting me come with you. I’ve always wanted to do this, it’s been an ambition of mine for years. And if it’s okay, I’d like to go both ways with you.”

“It’s a privilege not many get to be up here. How did you get permission, did your father swing it for you?”

“Perhaps he did. I don’t really want to use my father’s influence though. I’m interested in a career on the railways and want to make my own way.”

“Perhaps you’d better change your name then, lad. Carpenter is a well known name throughout the railway. If people know whose son you are, you’ll find it harder, not easier.”

The student looked a little embarrassed, so George said:

“I’m only pulling your leg. You’re welcome enough here. Make yourself comfortable over in the corner in front of the fireman’s seat - he won’t be wanting it much once we get going. Have you brought a billy can?”

“A what?”

“Billy can. What we drink our tea from. You can’t join the railway and not drink tea.”

“Or beer”, Wyn added, “though not on duty of course”, giving the inspector a wink. If we give you a good day out, you can buy us a pint at the end of the day. Or don’t you students have any money?”

“I guess I could stretch to that.” Malcolm smiled and began to relax.

“You can count me in too”, said Bill. He rummaged in his bag and brought out two china cups, a bit chipped and worse for wear. “Here have one of these. Wyn, fill the lad’s cup up. Stick it on the shelf over the fire.”

Wyn promptly brought his hose round and doused the two cups with scalding spray until they were full. Bill Puntiss slipped a tea bag into one, stirred it round a bit then put it in the other cup and squeezed the last dregs out of it until the brew looked black.

“Want any milk?”

George produced a tin of condensed milk and spooned a bit into his own billy can, then held out the tin to Malcolm.

He looked at it a little askance and shook his head and began to sip the unsweetened scalding tea. Then he looked at it and saw rainbow colours reflected in what appeared to be a thin scum. George noticed and said:

“It’s only a bit of oil, lad. It won’t do you any harm. We’re used to it and we haven’t died yet. But wait a bit, don’t burn yourself. That water’s straight from the boiler.”

The hand of the clock edged towards five past the hour and whistles began to blow as the last passengers scurried to find an empty seat. The ‘RA’ sign lit up on the bridge and Wyn gave a long pull on the whistle chord as George opened the regulator and 5034 responded with a crisp exhaust beat. The front end was clear, no flurry of steam from leaking glands, and the train eased over the points at the end of the platform, then began to accelerate steadily down the slight gradient past Royal Oak and Subway Junction. Inspector Puntiss took up his stance behind the driver and Wyn began to fire steadily, opening and closing the plate covering the firehole door deftly between each shovelful of coal that he placed carefully round the depths of the firebox. A couple of long throws to the far end and then he sat down for the first time since leaving Old Oak Common and wiped his brow. He looked up at the steam pressure gauge and saw with satisfaction that the needle was just on the red mark at 225 psi, as it should be. He looked across at his mate, and George nodded back. It was going to be an easy run.

The engine accelerated steadily through his home town, Ealing and by Southall the train was doing a mile a minute, nothing spectacular, as George brought the cut-off down to 18% with the second valve of the regulator only just cracked. This was enough to run easily in the upper sixties. The engine rode steadily and there was little of the rattle of cab components that usually accompanied most footplate journeys. Bill Puntiss shouted above the noise of the exhaust and the clanging of the fireman’s shovel,

“Malcolm, you’re in luck. We’ve got a good engine and a good crew. Just as well for your first time. Some engines are a lot rougher than this, but this turn is one of the Old Oak prestige turns still for steam traction, they always put a good Castle on this one.”

They just reached 70 mph after Maidenhead and ran into Reading comfortably on time in exactly forty minutes from the capital. Wyn started spraying the footplate floor and then sweeping the cab, then spraying once more to keep the dust down, although the Welsh coal was good and not too crumbly. They had a couple of minutes to wait before the ‘right away’.

“George, you put any money on Spurs this year for the double?”

Bill was a Spurs supporter and his team was already through to the final and riding high at the top of the league. He knew he could rile George who was an Arsenal supporter and his team had already been knocked out of the cup.

“Pride before the fall, Bill. There’s still Leicester in your way. Trying to get cup and league is too much for them, you mark my words. A couple of injuries during this month and you could fall from both.”

“Nonsense. I’ve booking my cup final ticket already.”

“Who do you support, Malcolm? This guy here,“ indicating Wyn, “it’s out of his league, he’s Cardiff City, poor sod.”

“Chelsea.”

“I should keep that quiet if I were you, lad. Fashionable maybe, but when did they last win anything?”

Luckily Malcolm did not have to reply, because the guard’s whistle blew and Wyn gave the tip to George who immediately opened the regulator wide and 5034 strode off with its train without the slightest slip.

“They’re a surefooted class, the ‘Castles’,” exclaimed Bill, “and the ‘Kings’. All of the Swindon 4-6-0s keep their feet except in the worst weather conditions, not like some other Regions’ engines I know.”

Wyn began firing again, but by Pangbourne he was already hosing the cab and sat down for a few moments on his tip-up seat before another round of firing.

“She seems light on coal,” shouted Bill to George, “is she always as economical as this?”

George just grunted and if he said anything, it got torn away by the wind, for the Castle’s cab was very open and they were catching the strong South Westerly as they emerged from the cutting and crossed the Thames near Goring. Despite the head wind and the easy driving, they passed Didcot at a steady 72 mph according to the speedometer and an on time arrival in Swindon was achieved without further effort.

“Right, let’s see what sort of fist you make of it”, said Bill Puntiss beckoning to the student passenger. “Wyn, give Malcolm the shovel, and let him fire to Sapperton.”

“It’s the only bit of hard work on this trip.” The climb from Kemble to Sapperton Tunnel in the Cotswolds was steep and would require the maximum output from the engine and a full head of steam.

“Let him have a go. You can keep an eye on him and give a hand if necessary. You watch the water level, let the lad just concentrate on getting the coal through the firehole door.”

Malcolm had no choice and made the best of it. If he had any qualms, he kept them to himself. Wyn instructed him on the placing of each throw and showed him the technique for reaching the front end of the fire so that no holes appeared in the firebed to draw cold air and reduce steaming capacity. It went fine at first, as they slowly drew away from Swindon station and rounded the curve to the Gloucester line, but, steadily though the locomotive ran, as they accelerated Malcolm’s shovel clanged against the firebox backplate as the engine swayed and he lost his balance, spilling the coal around the cab floor. After a couple of misses which Wyn quickly swept up, Malcolm got the rhythm and was kept hard at it, putting in a dozen shovelfuls of coal distributed carefully round the fire as instructed, before given a few moments’ rest on the fireman’s seat, then he was pressed into action again for another round of firing. As the train entered Sapperton Tunnel at a sustained 48 mph, Wyn gestured Malcolm to pull the whistle chain which he did, long and loud, as a mark of his satisfaction at not letting anyone down, the pressure gauge still showing 220 psi. In fact his firing had been too successful, as the engine began to blow off steam furiously on the descent the other side of the tunnel, and at the Stroud stop, the crew could hardly hear themselves speak above the din.

The train rolled into Gloucester station two minutes before schedule, passing the Prairie tank waiting to drop onto the rear to take a portion of the train to the Cheltenham terminus. Bill Puntiss stepped down from the cab onto the platform and gestured to his passenger to follow him.

“We’ll find a bite to eat in the town and I’ll show you round the cathedral. I take it that you’ve not been here before. George and Wyn‘ll have to drop their loco on shed for fire cleaning, recoaling and watering, so they’ll eat and rest in the canteen there. We’ll give them a break.”

“Not a bad lad,” said Wyn as the two disappeared through the ticket barrier, “he had a good go, although I think he was pretty exhausted by the time we topped Sapperton. You pushed him hard on the climb, giving the old girl full regulator and dropping the cut off as you did.”

“Well, it’s not often you get the chance to see what the posh boys are made of,“ replied George. “He didn’t do so badly, as you said. And he seemed quite modest with it. Could have been a lot worse.”

George and Wyn handed over 5034 on Gloucester shed to a couple of young local men to care for their engine and prepare it for the return journey while they made for the canteen.

George sipped his tea, then put another lump of sugar in and kept stirring absentmindedly.

“What do you think about the latest fiasco from the States? Bloody Americans, can’t leave others alone. I blame the CIA. I thought Kennedy would have known better, but he seems no different from his predecessors.”

“Why, what’s happened?” Wyn was not a great reader of newspapers apart from the sports pages.

“They’ve just tried to invade Cuba, that’s what, and overthrow Fidel Castro. They can’t stick anyone with Socialist principles who puts the poor first. They sent gunboats to the Bay of Pigs - a very apt place for them to go, I’ll admit, and they got a bloody nose. Serves them right.”

There was a silence. Wyn drank his tea while George still stirred his moodily. Wyn decided to change the subject to more familiar ground.

“How’s the family then. Paul’s boy doing well, is he?”

“Uh, huh. Florrie’s round there today, she says she’s babysitting, but I think that’s just an excuse to look after the baby for a bit.”

“And Derek? How’s his studies going?”

“I assume he’s okay. He doesn’t tell us much but he seems contented enough. He’s back to college this week, first year exams in May, so he did some revising during the holiday - as much as you can in our bedlam of a house anyway. Youngsters seem better than me at working through the din they call music. Eva has her record player going full blast every second of the day so that the house reverberates to her music, or ‘beat’ as she calls it. I thought Eva and I were close. They grow up quickly, more’s the pity. How’s your family then? Is your wife still nagging you to get back to Cardiff?”

“Yes. She says Rhiannon misses her dad, she’s getting to the age when she notices my absence. And Sheilah says there’s another one on the way, and she doesn’t know how she’ll cope with two on her own.”

“Well, you’re a dark one. How long have you been keeping that secret from me?”

“We only found out last weekend. Sheilah’s less than three months gone. It’s not due until early October.”

“Will you be putting in for a transfer then, even if it’s only for a firing job at Canton?”

“I don’t know. I like it here. The money’s good, and we need that. And you’re a good mate.”

“Well, thanks for that. You’re not so bad yourself, you know. I’d miss you if you went. But you must do what you think right. Family comes first, Wyn. Never forget that. Come on, let’s drink up and find if these country boys have kept our engine in decent order or whether you’ve got to rescue the fire from their efforts.”

In fact it was George who had to drain his cuppa. Wyn had been ready for some time. When they found 5034 in the yard, George went round refilling the oil boxes and feeling round to check nothing was running too hot, while Wyn threw a couple of rounds of coal on the fire and watched the smoke exiting the chimney until the exhaust was clear. He turned the blower on and pressure was soon near the magic 225 mark.

“Ready when you are,” Wyn shouted to his mate who was clambering back aboard, rubbing his hands on the cotton waste, “we’d better see if our passengers are waiting for us or whether they’re still praying at the church !”

“We’ll show the lad what we and old 5034 can do after Swindon, if you give me plenty of steam. It won’t hurt us to show the Chief what a good ‘Castle’ can do, although I’m sure he knows. No need to exert yourself too much to Sapperton, the schedule’s pretty easy this way as far as Swindon, ‘cos we’ve four minutes recovery after Kemble and we’ve no engineering slacks this way.”

Malcolm looked keen to rejoin the engine as they backed onto the London train already in the platform.

“Well, lad, get enough to eat? How was the cathedral?”

“Alright, I suppose.”

“Don’t looked too bored about it or you’ll not hit it off with the Chief Inspector. How many visitors have you taken round Britain’s cathedrals, Bill? You must have qualified as one of the church’s top guides by now!”

“Don’t you scoff, young George. Life’s not all about bread, politics and play, you know.”

“Only kidding, Bill. You know me. My dad was a lay preacher and our family keeps the local Methodist church going. But I don’t take to all that fancy stuff, statues, plaques and flags and so on, too high church for me.”

“You don’t have to love the ritual and incense, George. Just appreciate the architecture and marvel at the men who built it without our technology.”

Whistles blew and ‘right away’ sounded.

“Let’s get this bit of technology on the road then. Show Malcolm what we can do. Sit in Wyn’s seat, lad. I’m going to keep him busy, he won’t need to sit down and you’ll be out of the way there. You did your stint coming down, you gave me plenty of steam on the hardest bit, so sit down and enjoy.”

George, as he had said, took it easily to Swindon, and Malcolm had the time to appreciate the emerging spring colours in the wooded hills and listen to the crisp bark of an engine well on top of its task. Away from Swindon and George kept the throttle wide open but wound the cut off up to 15% which whisked the train into the upper 70s through the Vale of the White Horse and the Thames Valley. They stopped at Reading a couple of minutes early and Wyn got the pricker out to liven up the fire and break up any clinker that might be forming.

“Now let’s go for it. See what she’ll do.”

They thundered into Sonning Cutting and as the train accelerated above 60 mph, George wound the cut off up to 18% but left the regulator fully open. ‘Corfe Castle’ revelled in this treatment and was bowling along at 80 mph by Maidenhead and touched 84 as it roared through Slough, whistle howling, scattering pigeons, frightening small children and causing waiting passengers to step back from the platform edges in some haste.

“That’s enough, I think,” shouted George, as he closed the regulator and eased it back onto the first valve only and speed slowly slacked to the mid 70s through Southall and Ealing, with George alert to watch for any adverse signals as they were now running over five minutes early.

“A miracle,” exclaimed Bill as the train entered platform 8 at Paddington without having seen even a ‘double yellow’ aspect signal, and drew slowly up to the buffer stops. Bill examined the tender still three quarters full of coal and looked at the water gauge on the tender, making a few notes on his pad. “Economical too. These double blast pipes and 4-row superheaters make a significant difference to performance and not at the expense of economy. At least steam’s going out with a bang. We’ve got another eighteen months at least for these modifications to pay for themselves.”

A spare set of men from Old Oak were waiting to relieve them to take the engine back on shed and dispose of it, dropping the fire and taking on coal and water while the shed labourers cleaned ash from the smokebox.

“Now, lad,” said George, “what about that pint?”