This was my earliest bashing trip of any note. I bought an Anglia Rover, Anglia being the company for the Norwich and Norfolk/Suffolk local trains before it was replaced by the daftly-named One Railway. The whole trip was achieved in a day, East Anglia not being that far away from London.
Step one was to reach the western limit of the Rover area at Peterborough. I took a GNER 225 non-stop from London King's Cross. There was just a few minutes before the first connecting train, a single coach Sprinter that would take me into the heart of East Anglia. The first stop of note was at March in Cambridgeshire. This used to be a fairly significant junction for trains coming and going from all over East Anglia and Lincolnshire, but these days it's just a through station. You can get an idea of the former scale of the place from the number and shape of platforms there though. After this we cross the New Bedford River, a major part of the Fens drainage that prevents East Anglia returning to the sea. It's quite an impressive sight in terms of its width and depth, and the same goes for the girder bridge that carries us over.
Next stop is Ely and its magnificent cathedral. Because of the flat landscape you can see it for miles as you apparoach and depart the city. We then bump across the line that crosses counties from Cambridgeshire to Suffolk, passing through Bury St Edmunds where disappointingly little of the city is visible from the railway. Back on to the main East of England line as the overhead lines loom into view and we're at Stowmarket. This train continues to Harwich I think, but I clamber off here. Looking back, what's changed is that in those days I didn't really plan these days in anything like as much detail as I do now. This is partly a reflection of me getting used to the idea that everywhere does not have a train every 30 minutes like London, which took some getting used to. So I was actually quite lucky that I could get another train going north that quickly at Stowmarket. Some of the lines in this part of the world have an irregular service, so the day could have been a disaster.
This is an express to Norwich, at that time, one of the last loco-hauled regular services, a class 73 pulling mk3 coaches, and now in 2007 the only one, until the new Wrexham and Shropshire Company starts work. The main event of note was going to the loo and getting a quick eyeful of a lady who has forgotten to lock the door and is firmly enthroned. By the time we have sped to the capital of Norfolk it's lunchtime. I have a long gap until the next leg and no new journeys are available, so I get the train to Great Yarmouth, a trip I did in 2002, grab a sandwich and return, in time to get the 2 car 170 to Cambridge.
I notice we cross a swing bridge on the way out of Norwich. Can you imagine them leaving a swing bridge just outside Leeds or Manchester? The trip to Cambridge is across rural flatlands, and I am surprised by the length of the journey, though when you look at the map it is a longish route. I pass through Ely again, one of the couple of loop backs I will do today. Then we're in Cambridge, a station I am very familiar with as I have friends in the area, though interestingly I have never approached it from the north, and of course such a daft thing pleases me.
At Cambridge I just miss the Ipswich train, an unfortunate side-effect of not doing much pre-planning. Ironically it leave a couple of minutes late too. I probably went in the drab buffet (now a Marks Simply Food - no booze at Cmabridge at all now!) to wait the hour. I spot a vending machine on the platform Eventually I'm on a single coach Sprinter that is incredibly noisy for two reasons. One, it's full of schoolgirls, thankfully all of whom have gone by Newmarket. Two, some bit of the engine is thumping in a way that sounds like it needs an overhaul, and this goes all the way to the other end! Never mind. We then join the line from March and travel for the second time across to to the East of England line through Bury St Edmunds. This time I stay on through Stowmarket as I am going all the way to Ipswich.
There I have a half hour wait for the Felixstowe train. I think it was another single coach Sprinter but possibly it is electrified, so possibly it was a non-descript EMU - a 321 or something. This is double track but only for the huge amount of container trains going to and from the port. We pass a couple such trains and a sea of containers piled up like lego bricks before arriving at the minimal station in Felixstowe. I can see that the same thing has happened here as at many terminals - the large impressive station has been turned into a retail park and the line now stops far short of the original end of the line and has hardly any facilties at all. I suppose if it helps to keep lines open at all by lowering maintenance costs it's okay, but it is a shame. I'm too tired to look around so I get back on the return train, something I then felt reticient to do, but I'm keen to get home now.
At Ipswich I get on a London Express. Somebody talks loudly on their phone all the way home despite me glaring at them. Looking back it's sobering to think that this was quite rare in those days as they were still pricey to use. Now of course, someone's always on a mobile, with no regard for the other passengers. Why didn't I upgrade to the relative peace of first class? We arrive in London at Liverpool Street, and the notion that I performed a huge loop from King's Cross appeals to my sense of symmetry.
King's Cross-Peterborough
Peterborough-Ely-Stowmarket
Stowmarket-Norwich
Norwich-Cambridge
Cambridge-Ipswich
Ipswich-Felixstowe
Felixstowe-London Liverpool Street
Tuesday 30 September 2003
Sunday 10 August 2003
Devon Branches Summer 2003
It now being over years since this trip, I cannot remember much about it. I do remember that it was a brilliantly hot sunny day but nothing of the journey down to Exeter remains with me. At St Davids I changed on to a two coach Sprinter down to Exmouth. Much of this line serves suburban Exeter and is thus fairly well used. It also passes through a station serving Lympstone Commando, which I gather is only used by training marines. I notice a line of them being drilled behind the perimeter fence next to the station.
At Exmouth I walk for a couple of miles through the shallow clear blue water lapping at the shore. If only I was more inclined to sit about on this beautiful beach. But as ever, I like to keep on the move. I stop for a drink at a pub that's been recommended to me, The Snooty Fox, then walk back to the station. The tide is now turning and see the waters of the Channel pouring back into the Exe estuary - the speed shows the sometimes fearful power of nature. Periodically I hear a train on the other side of the estuary, heading along the line at Dawlish, the red cliffs of which can be seen in the distance.
Exmouth station is now a single line terminus integrated into a manky 70s bus station, with the inevitable upgraded road now taking up much of the space that other platforms once occupied. Thankfully it's not a long wait for the Sprinter that takes me away again. It's going through Exeter to Barnstaple, so I stay on for the ride. It gets very full at Exeter with returning shoppers. This is a much more rural line and I doze gently in the heat of the afternoon while enjoying the view. Until 1970 the line continued to Ilfracombe on the North Devon coast. It was truncated because the cost of maintaining a bridge between Barnstaple and Ilfracombe was deemed too high. Another sad loss. It's now impossible to believe that the route to Ilfracombe would not now been have remunerative, as it is a possible holiday destination and most coastal services are generally well patronised in my experience.
I'm sitting next to an elderly lady who remarks on the crowds on the train, and then says, "Let's hope that don't want to go to Ilfracome." I'm so surprised that she seems to have been reading my mind that I just nod and smile. The chances are hardly anyone on the train of my age would know what she was talking about, so it's an odd thing to say to me. Anyway, at the sadly curtailed terminus the rail traveller is now treated to a circular walk through and out of an out of town trading estate and across a river into the town. Before the end came there was a Barnstaple Town station but this was on the other side of the fateful bridge. Barnstaple is a standard sort of middle England town, reasonably clean and tidy but nothing earth-shattering.
And the trail ends here. I have absolutely no memory of the rest of the day! I suppose it was back to Exeter St Davids. I could have travelled back via any of the three routes to London - Bristol, Newbury, or Salisbury.
London Paddington-Exeter St Davids
Exeter St Davids-Exeter Exmouth
Exmouth-Barnstaple
At Exmouth I walk for a couple of miles through the shallow clear blue water lapping at the shore. If only I was more inclined to sit about on this beautiful beach. But as ever, I like to keep on the move. I stop for a drink at a pub that's been recommended to me, The Snooty Fox, then walk back to the station. The tide is now turning and see the waters of the Channel pouring back into the Exe estuary - the speed shows the sometimes fearful power of nature. Periodically I hear a train on the other side of the estuary, heading along the line at Dawlish, the red cliffs of which can be seen in the distance.
Exmouth station is now a single line terminus integrated into a manky 70s bus station, with the inevitable upgraded road now taking up much of the space that other platforms once occupied. Thankfully it's not a long wait for the Sprinter that takes me away again. It's going through Exeter to Barnstaple, so I stay on for the ride. It gets very full at Exeter with returning shoppers. This is a much more rural line and I doze gently in the heat of the afternoon while enjoying the view. Until 1970 the line continued to Ilfracombe on the North Devon coast. It was truncated because the cost of maintaining a bridge between Barnstaple and Ilfracombe was deemed too high. Another sad loss. It's now impossible to believe that the route to Ilfracombe would not now been have remunerative, as it is a possible holiday destination and most coastal services are generally well patronised in my experience.
I'm sitting next to an elderly lady who remarks on the crowds on the train, and then says, "Let's hope that don't want to go to Ilfracome." I'm so surprised that she seems to have been reading my mind that I just nod and smile. The chances are hardly anyone on the train of my age would know what she was talking about, so it's an odd thing to say to me. Anyway, at the sadly curtailed terminus the rail traveller is now treated to a circular walk through and out of an out of town trading estate and across a river into the town. Before the end came there was a Barnstaple Town station but this was on the other side of the fateful bridge. Barnstaple is a standard sort of middle England town, reasonably clean and tidy but nothing earth-shattering.
And the trail ends here. I have absolutely no memory of the rest of the day! I suppose it was back to Exeter St Davids. I could have travelled back via any of the three routes to London - Bristol, Newbury, or Salisbury.
London Paddington-Exeter St Davids
Exeter St Davids-Exeter Exmouth
Exmouth-Barnstaple
Saturday 2 August 2003
Dawlish 2 August 2003
Dawlish. It's one of those places that is synonymous with railways, like Crewe, or Doncaster. The Great Western main line to Plymouth and Penzance runs along the sea wall for a few miles at this point, providing the enthusiast with an excellent location for photography and spotting. It's also part of the myth of old-fashioned seaside holidays by rail, where the train literally delivers you to the beach, and the children still wave at travellers as they speed past above the sandcastles. Inspired by Nicholas Whitaker's "Platform Souls," I decide that it's time I visited this toffee tin lid of a town.
I get myself booked on to a direct train from Paddington for the following Saturday. At this time not well versed in the routes and timetables outside London, I'm not surprised when it takes what I know now is the long way round, via Swindon and Bristol. It's actually a Summer special that is going to Paignton, hence picking up from as many places as possible. Later I discover that the direct route is via Newbury, and most London trains DON'T stop at Dawlish. I remember being pleased to re-discover that there are these two routes to the West Country after all.
I enjoy the trip on the 125 immensely, as I've hardly been anywhere at this point in the quest. Finally seeing the sudden urban burst of Bristol, the sad ruined goods depot at Taunton and the distant cathedral at Exeter means a lot to me. These have all been mere words on a map or timetable until now, and suddenly, here I am, they exist! But it is the trip along the River Exe estuary that really impresses me. The tide is in, and it seems as if we are travelling over the water's surface. Apparently the line was built on the bank itself, but the ground began to move and was built up to strengthen it.
Eventually we veer away from the estuary as it pours into the sea, past a large camp site at Dawlish Warren. Camp sites by stations are rare, and I make a note of it as a possible future place to stay. Then we're on the sea front itself. The famous red cliffs start to appear, I spot a palm tree, and we're there. The station is underwhelming, but then many are, and I feel as if I've missed something. It's only when I get on to the beach that I realise what. It's chiefly the line to the west of Dawlish that has the legendary status. I can see the red cliffs curving into the distance, the line hugging the curves and poking in and out of tunnels. The train does indeed practically run on the beach, and yes - the kids still wave as they go past! It does feel faintly exhilarating to walk along the sea wall and have a train racing past a couple of feet away. I spot plenty of spotters, and there is plenty to spot. A refreshingly large number of services run along here.
I have a wander around the town, having a brief look around the town. There's not much to see to be honest, but I do go in the local museum and learn something about this fascinating seaside railway line. I already knew that the line is in an extremely hazardous place, the lineside equipment, the trains and even the ballast all being adversely affected by bad weather as the sea spray batters it continually. But I didn't know why such an unlikely location was chosen. Apparently Brunel wanted to build it as a showcase to show how nature could be conquered. It was originally broad gauge, vacuum powered and single track. Another line to Plymouth was built inland, via Tavistock, but good old BR severed the line at both ends, so now when the sea does its worst, Cornwall is cut off.
Eventually I decide that I will go to Newton Abbot, a couple of stops down, so that I can see the full sea wall, then stop at Exeter on the way back to see the cathedral. It's worth the change of plan. I get to travel through all the sandstone tunnels, see the lovely old fashioned sign welcoming us to Teignmouth just outside the station there, then along the estuary of the River Teign. Not as breathtaking as the Exe, but probably wider. Newton Abbot itself is unremarkable but I'm not here for sightseeing. I get on a Voyager to Exeter (new then!) which has Dot Matrix displays for reservations and personal stereos built into the seat arms, which even in 2003 seems terribly futuristic!
Exeter is a pleasant city, with a nice mix of old and new buildings, smart shops and cafes and a waterfront redevelopment that seems more natural than many I've seen. I'm surprised to learn that it has been voted the most clone-like city in the UK since, as it certainly didn't seem like that to me. The cathedral is one of the most impressive I've seen, with a fascinating clock that takes a while to work out how to read.
Not realising at this time that there is a faster route back to London than I one I come down on, I enquire about returning via the West of England line to Waterloo instead. I know this will not be quicker, but the bashing mentality is already kicking in, and I just see the chance to tick off a line. Little do I realise that the route back would have been new anyway, but I'll cover it a fair few times in years to come! The booking clerk very kindly alters the validity of my ticket to allow me to use it on a different route back for no extra cash.
The West of England line is single track all the way to Salisbury, and non-electrified west of Baskingstoke, so it's a three coach class 158 that conveys me home. It's a pretty trip along the south coast of Devon but I look with most interest as we arrive at Yeovil Junction. This is as far as I've been before on this route when I visited a friend in 1986 who moved here from school. He was a trainspotter and that was my one go at spotting as I waited for my train home. In those days it was a "proper" train hauled by a locomotive. Little did we know they would pretty much all be replaced by "units." Chard is a particularly irritating stop. There is no station there any more, yet we halt for about ten minutes to allow trains to cross. Err, surely that ten minutes could be used for a station stop? Welcome to the 21st century transport policy!
The journey back to London takes most of four hours, but I enjoy it. Finally seeing all these places I've known of for years come to life is daftly satisfying. I intend to do more of these trips...
I get myself booked on to a direct train from Paddington for the following Saturday. At this time not well versed in the routes and timetables outside London, I'm not surprised when it takes what I know now is the long way round, via Swindon and Bristol. It's actually a Summer special that is going to Paignton, hence picking up from as many places as possible. Later I discover that the direct route is via Newbury, and most London trains DON'T stop at Dawlish. I remember being pleased to re-discover that there are these two routes to the West Country after all.
I enjoy the trip on the 125 immensely, as I've hardly been anywhere at this point in the quest. Finally seeing the sudden urban burst of Bristol, the sad ruined goods depot at Taunton and the distant cathedral at Exeter means a lot to me. These have all been mere words on a map or timetable until now, and suddenly, here I am, they exist! But it is the trip along the River Exe estuary that really impresses me. The tide is in, and it seems as if we are travelling over the water's surface. Apparently the line was built on the bank itself, but the ground began to move and was built up to strengthen it.
Eventually we veer away from the estuary as it pours into the sea, past a large camp site at Dawlish Warren. Camp sites by stations are rare, and I make a note of it as a possible future place to stay. Then we're on the sea front itself. The famous red cliffs start to appear, I spot a palm tree, and we're there. The station is underwhelming, but then many are, and I feel as if I've missed something. It's only when I get on to the beach that I realise what. It's chiefly the line to the west of Dawlish that has the legendary status. I can see the red cliffs curving into the distance, the line hugging the curves and poking in and out of tunnels. The train does indeed practically run on the beach, and yes - the kids still wave as they go past! It does feel faintly exhilarating to walk along the sea wall and have a train racing past a couple of feet away. I spot plenty of spotters, and there is plenty to spot. A refreshingly large number of services run along here.
I have a wander around the town, having a brief look around the town. There's not much to see to be honest, but I do go in the local museum and learn something about this fascinating seaside railway line. I already knew that the line is in an extremely hazardous place, the lineside equipment, the trains and even the ballast all being adversely affected by bad weather as the sea spray batters it continually. But I didn't know why such an unlikely location was chosen. Apparently Brunel wanted to build it as a showcase to show how nature could be conquered. It was originally broad gauge, vacuum powered and single track. Another line to Plymouth was built inland, via Tavistock, but good old BR severed the line at both ends, so now when the sea does its worst, Cornwall is cut off.
Eventually I decide that I will go to Newton Abbot, a couple of stops down, so that I can see the full sea wall, then stop at Exeter on the way back to see the cathedral. It's worth the change of plan. I get to travel through all the sandstone tunnels, see the lovely old fashioned sign welcoming us to Teignmouth just outside the station there, then along the estuary of the River Teign. Not as breathtaking as the Exe, but probably wider. Newton Abbot itself is unremarkable but I'm not here for sightseeing. I get on a Voyager to Exeter (new then!) which has Dot Matrix displays for reservations and personal stereos built into the seat arms, which even in 2003 seems terribly futuristic!
Exeter is a pleasant city, with a nice mix of old and new buildings, smart shops and cafes and a waterfront redevelopment that seems more natural than many I've seen. I'm surprised to learn that it has been voted the most clone-like city in the UK since, as it certainly didn't seem like that to me. The cathedral is one of the most impressive I've seen, with a fascinating clock that takes a while to work out how to read.
Not realising at this time that there is a faster route back to London than I one I come down on, I enquire about returning via the West of England line to Waterloo instead. I know this will not be quicker, but the bashing mentality is already kicking in, and I just see the chance to tick off a line. Little do I realise that the route back would have been new anyway, but I'll cover it a fair few times in years to come! The booking clerk very kindly alters the validity of my ticket to allow me to use it on a different route back for no extra cash.
The West of England line is single track all the way to Salisbury, and non-electrified west of Baskingstoke, so it's a three coach class 158 that conveys me home. It's a pretty trip along the south coast of Devon but I look with most interest as we arrive at Yeovil Junction. This is as far as I've been before on this route when I visited a friend in 1986 who moved here from school. He was a trainspotter and that was my one go at spotting as I waited for my train home. In those days it was a "proper" train hauled by a locomotive. Little did we know they would pretty much all be replaced by "units." Chard is a particularly irritating stop. There is no station there any more, yet we halt for about ten minutes to allow trains to cross. Err, surely that ten minutes could be used for a station stop? Welcome to the 21st century transport policy!
The journey back to London takes most of four hours, but I enjoy it. Finally seeing all these places I've known of for years come to life is daftly satisfying. I intend to do more of these trips...
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