Railway Kids

My early days at the Lift Bridge were something that stayed with me all my life.

Even though I was only a small child when we eventually left there to go to a bright new estate at Downham, even now I can still smell the Lift Bridge area.

It was always so warm and the summer times so long. The heat would shimmer off the railway lines alongside the tracks; the dust would whirl like miniature whirlwinds. That smell of creosote from the railway sleepers, the way the ballast between would be stained a ginger brown, the large lumps flecked with the oil from the creosote the colours of the rainbow, the sheen likened to the feathers on a wood pigeon's neck. The myriad of wildflowers growing on the embankments, encouraging the butterflies, and the hum of the busy bees. We were the original Railway Children. Our everyday playthings were points, trucks, Guards' breaks, fog signals, signal boxes, etc.

One of our popular pastimes was placing small objects such as stones or farthings onto the railway lines and lying down alongside the tracks waiting for a train to come thundering along with its line of coal trucks behind. After they had rumbled by and we could no longer hear the threats from the driver, we would race to the rails and find the stones reduced to fine dust just like talcum powder whilst the farthings would look the size of dinner plates.

My first recollection of playing in the sidings was when I was very small. Some old carriages stood by the tracks over by Dad's allotment. Evidently in the First World War soldiers, in case of sabotage, guarded the railways and they were housed in these carriages. They had guards on the same complex in the Second World War but in my days at Lift Bridge they were used by the gangers and plate-layers and, at the weekends when it was relatively quiet and all the plate-layers had gone for the weekend, Gladys Ayton and I would play over there.

We would find where they kept their tea, sugar and condensed milk and pretend to make tea on the old pot-bellied stove in the corner of the carriage. We would play with the contents of the lockers which contained a lot of the paraphernalia of a plate-layer's trade; rail shoes, fish-plates, nuts and bolts, tongs, ties and the wooden sleeve things that the sleeper, ties or nails were driven through. In later years Dad had one on his shed key ring like a giant tag. We could sit or kneel up on the locker top and look through the little quarter lights (windows) on the side of the guard's brake and see right up the allotment. These windows were for the guards to observe the length of the trucks. In the roof and corner would be the periscope to enable him to look right across the top of the train.

Amateur Shunting

Another pastime enjoyed by my elder brothers was uncoupling the freight trains. By joint effort they could just about summon up enough strength to manhandle the heavy couplings. The shunters would start work making a train up in the marshalling yard across from our house. Clanking and banging as the little engine moved the trucks around from one set of lines to another, back and forth, back and forth, shuffling the trucks as if they were a pack of cards. Always accompanied by the noise made each time a truck struck another as it joined the line. Clang. Then it (the first truck) and the one it had just hit would go forward and hit the one in front, and so on. Each new truck would strike, sending a shock wave, clang, clang, clang right to the end of the line, then the noise would rebound as the coupling took up the shock and vibrate back again.

The shunter would be waiting as each truck arrived. With his shunter's pole resting across the bumper he would use the bumper as a fulcrum and raise the coupling onto the hook of the preceding truck and with a couple of twists of the large ball on the coupling all would be secure. Then he would walk to the end of the truck and wait for the next one to come his way. This was always accompanied by ethereal voices as the guard and rriver called out advice and instructions to each other. It was all noise; human voices and the smell of steam intermingled. Our band would slip in behind the shunter and, with combined effort, lift the coupling off the hook again. How no one ever got their hands severely injured, or crushed fingers at the least, is beyond me. We were very "railway wise”.

When the train was all made up, the Shunter would nip up onto the footplate step and stand there holding on with one hand, his pole in the other like a spear at rest, leaning out surveying his handiwork. A man satisfied with a hard job done. He would shout out, "OK, Charlie”, or some such name, "take her away". The driver would open up the throttle and, with a burst of steam, move away. The look of total disbelief on the shunter's face as the train moved off with only the last couple of trucks attached made all the effort worthwhile, although we didn't always understand the adjectives he used to describe the Bloody Railway Kids.

Fog Signals

If we were lucky we may have found some fog signals in the Plate-layers' hut and we would lay these round, flat explosive devices at intervals along the track and await the next train.

Imagine a warm summer's day. The sun shining, the driver, trundling along at peace with the world, one elbow on the side of the steam engine the other arm stretched up on the throttle lever watching the motes and insects floating in the rays of the sun past the little porthole window, when off would go the fog signals. Bang, bang, bang. It usually took about 20 yards up the track before the fireman's head and raised fist would appear and by that time it was too late for us to hear the shouted terms of endearment.