Tony Gregory's
Life On The Leicester Line
6: Getting Started
My first week at Coalville was spent with the 08.00 ferry set crew. This job involved taking locos to other depots for fuel and water, as Coalville didn't have a fuelling point of its own. Nor did it have any fitters, so locos had to be taken elsewhere for sandbox filling or light maintenance work, usually to Leicester, Toton or Burton. I was no stranger to any of these places, but my visit to Burton seemed especially significant: I was now just like the young chap I'd envied that day on Moor Street Bridge. Or was I? My grade was Relief Drivers' Assistant - not even a proper second man - so maybe I had some way to go before I got too confident!
The driver I accompanied on these trips was an ex-Burton man and my best friend's dad, so we got on well from the start. He also offered me a lift in his car the next day - a kindness that he extended for several years whenever we were booked on together.
By the end of my first week, with no other second man available, I was asked to begin in the role. My first drive took place straight away, dragging 56050 with 08623. All in all a very progressive week.
The next week I spent second manning the 'Rugeleys' - coal wagons for the power station, but due to the continuing bad weather the coal kept freezing up in the wagons. I also learned the ground frame so as to help the guard whilst running round.
The first negative thing happened a few weeks later. I'd had some trouble with my motorbike so I went down to Burton shed to have a ride up to Coalville with the ferry. To my dismay there were no locos on. I waited a couple of hours, but to no avail. I'd have to find some other way of getting to work. I needed to book on time at 21.32 for a trip working to Willington Power Station. Once there we'd also be required to shunt the sidings, which were very big. The only option was to get a taxi. It cost me six pounds - quite a sum in those days. The lady cabbie said that she felt awful about charging me so much - but she never left me off any! I had to put it down to experience, but at least I made it to work on time. The train crew supervisor pointed to two class 20s and a brake van which stood waiting on goods road 2.
'There's your nags, Tony. Go and get on board. The driver'll be out shortly.'
Nodding timidly I did just that. Seconds later the cab door swung open and an irate-looking driver glared at me.
'What are you doing here? What do you want?'
'I'm your mate,' I explained in a shaky voice.
'I don't want you with me,' he said. 'And what's more, I'll get rid of you.'
With that he slammed the door and made his way back to the foreman's office. I was shocked. Whatever had I done to offend him? Open-mouthed, I watched the driver and the TCS shouting at each other, jabbing their fingers towards me and at each other. Eventually the driver stormed out of the office and made his way back to me. As he climbed up into the cab I braced myself for round two of his abuse. But he seemed to have calmed down a little.
'I don't want a young lad like you,' he explained. 'I want a passed man. It's my first turn back on the mainline. I've been medically restricted for the past two years.'
But there was no one but me available. I sensed he was coming round to the idea of taking me, but he wasn't happy about it and continued to be rather gruff with me.
'I'll have to take you then, if there's no one else. Go and check the fuel and water.'
When I told him I didn't know where they were he had kittens! As you can imagine, we were in for a long night.
Over the next few weeks, as I got to know that driver a bit better, I discovered he wasn't the old fuddy-duddy I'd taken him for. In fact we were destined to have some really pleasant shifts together in the coming months.
Getting to know the other second men was much easier. They were a friendly bunch, but some had a habit of asking you to swap shifts. All well and good, if done fairly, but I soon found myself wondering why I seemed to be getting all the bad jobs. I made my mind up from then on, that I'd only swap if it suited me or someone was genuinely desperate. Otherwise, a polite refusal was my policy.
But the drivers turned out to be not so hard-going as I'd feared. The ones who had worked at Burton soon got to know that I was Charlie Buckley's nephew - which made it a lot easier for them to accept me. Charlie was a likeable rogue with a taste for ale - though this might be a description of most railwaymen! The decent drivers would acknowledge me in the mess room, and I gradually got to know them all by second manning them, or through cadging a lift to work as I sometimes did.
One of the most unusual jobs came one Saturday morning. Snow had been falling all of Friday night and strong winds were sweeping it up into high drifts. So we were instructed to go off shed with a Class 47 and run up and down several times between Coalville and Moira to try and stop the build-up of snow in Coleorton Cutting. On the first run we burst through a wall of snow 9 feet high - quite an experience!
For saying that Coalville was only a small depot we had a good variety of work. We took coal to Rugeley and Drakelow power stations, and sometimes Ratcliffe. Landor Street Junction with trains bound for Didcot, Another well-trodden route for us was Wellingborough. The trains we took there were for West Drayton and Hayes & Harlington, but quite often we'd ferry locos to this location. Crewe, Derby and Nottingham were also thrown in. Certain drivers had specialised routes on their cards, like Barrow Hill and Northampton.
By mid-summer I was beginning to realise what a mixed bag of men we had at Coalville. Most were good conscientious railwaymen, but that was about the only thing they did have in common. Some chose to go about their day in a responsible professional manner, while others were far more laid back. They didn't seem to worry about the job as much as the older chaps and took the job of train driving very much in their stride. These were the ones who were most fun to be with, for us younger men anyway.
One cold autumn morning found me booking on for the 03.30 Rugeley. Not the best of times, but still a job in the link that required a second man. Today that second man was me. Checking the roster, I already knew who my driver and guard would be. Both were decent, so I had no worries on that score. We left the holding sidings at around 04.00 and ran light engine to Overseal Sidings. The guard went back to couple us to our train, then walked back to inspect and brake test it. Once he got back, we whistled the 'bobby' (signalman) in Moira West Box to let him know we were ready. The semaphore protecting the branch jerked up and we departed. I was still puzzled at the mysterious box the guard had carried into the back cab, but once underway I quickly forgot about it.
We came to a stand just north of Rugeley Trent Valley and began to set back onto a run round road. Then, with the operation of two ground frames, we ran round and began our climb towards Brereton signal box on the outskirts of Cannock Chase. After going over the signals we set back into the power station complex which was quite a distance. (The banner repeater forewarned us that the signal to which it repeated stood at danger.)
The driver desperately needed the toilet and he told me to go on the phone and ask the control room to have us down to the next signal, opposite the coal bunker where all the facilities were. The signalman told us he would pull off all the way down for us now so we carried on. The next move required us to set back a good half mile beyond the bunker and to draw up into one of the two unloading roads.
'Will you be alright to back it down and draw back up, Tony?' asked the driver.
I had barely six months experience and had never yet driven a loaded train. But I'd watched other drivers many times and knew their techniques. We wouldn't be going fast anyway, so I told him I could do it. The guard promised to keep an eye on me, so with that the driver got down and rushed off at breakneck speed to the loo!
We crept down behind the dolly and began to draw towards the bunker. As we approached the signal a figure came out of the station building running as fast as he could.
'What's up with him?' said the guard.
'Must be something wrong,' I said.
Wrong? We had a 17-year old driving a loaded train. The guard's mystery box was full of racing pigeons. The coffee on the hotplate had been laced with rum to keep the chill at bay. A fry-up was sizzling away on the same hot plate. And pop songs were blasting from our radio.
We stopped at the bunker signal. The driver climbed in, gasping for breath.
'Quick, put the mash can and the pigeons in the engine room. Out of the seat, Tony, and switch that flippin' radio off. Bloody hell, I can't be doing with this at this hour.'
The guard moved the fry-up and coffee can out of sight as ordered but was reluctant to put his prize pigeons in the same noisy fume-filled environment.
'No, I ain't putting them in there, it's full of ruddy diesel fumes. What the heck's the matter anyway?'
'Look, just do it. There's a loco inspector from Bescot down here checking driver's slips.'
With a gulp the guard shoved his birds into the engine room and shut the door. The driver - who I shall call Mabs - told us what had happened. After visiting the toilet, he went upstairs to take the coal consist to the control room and passed a man in an orange safety vest. Mabs asked the controller who the man was and been told.
Barely had he got the story out when the said inspector was walking towards us and climbing up into the cab. After looking around and checking our documentation he seemed satisfied that all was well. We started to relax - apart from the guard that is, who kept looking anxiously towards the engine room. But the inspector was in no hurry to go and spent a good twenty minutes chatting to us before dismounting from the cab.
As soon as he'd gone we opened the engine-room door and rescued the poor birds. They seemed OK to me, and the guard seemed relived. But what would a pigeon look like if it wasn't OK? The basket lid was lifted up for them and they took to the air with a great flapping of wings. Yet as they flew higher we could see they were all over the place as if drunk.
'It's the fumes,' said the guard.
He watched them anxiously as they fluttered to and fro. But after two laps around the power station's cooling towers they straightened out and headed towards Cannock.
'It's that way you clots!' the guard yelled, pointing eastwards.
But as the dawn sky lightened the dots carried on ever westwards. We watched helplessly. The 'cats eye' signal came off, so we climbed back on board our train and began to discharge our coal.
The next day the guard told us that the pigeons had eventually all found their way home, none the worse for their drunken adventure.
That same week, on the very same job with the very same crew, we witnessed a phenomenon. After leaving Overseal we dropped down the branch through Gresley Tunnel and on towards Coton Park. The morning was pitch black with heavy rain and our tired eyes peered into the inky beyond, each of us absorbed in our own thoughts. All of a sudden the whole sky erupted into a blue mass. It lasted for about five seconds and it was as if we were looking at the sky of a summer's day.
'What the...??' was the only sound I heard, uttered from somewhere in the cab.
Then, just as suddenly, it was dark again. Just as we were getting over the initial shock and discuss what it might be it happened again. And a third time. The last time I looked across at my companions and saw how the light had lit up their faces. We waited for another one, but it never came.
'That wasn't lightning, it hung in the sky too long.'
'I don't like to say it,' said Mabs, 'it could be a train crash on the Trent Valley line.'
The Trent Valley line ran parallel to our direction, about 25 miles the other side of the Sinai hills on the west side of Burton. The guard was of the opinion that an aeroplane had come down. My own conclusion was more sinister: with the cold war still in full swing I thought we were witnessing the start of a nuclear war.
We stopped at Branston to let a parcels train by and I was told to ask the signalman in the Derby power box if anything untoward had happened. All was well, as far he knew. Again I asked the signalman in the Colwich box, but he'd not heard of anything.
Over the next few weeks many people attempted to explain what we'd seen, but to this day I have never found a convincing theory.