If I'd been patient, I'd have waited until the Summer timetable which features a Sunday service on the Par-Newquay branch (as pitiful as the weekday service, but still a service!). But in my drive to get the last south west branches finished, after much trying to work around engineering works and Saturday-only trains, I decided to take Friday 4 May off, and thus give myself a four day weekend, the Monday being a bank holiday anyway. This would involve a breakneck trip on the Gunnislake branch, an overnight stay in Falmouth and a short trip to Newquay, as well as about ten hours on trains up and down the main line to the south west!
So come Friday 4 May, I left for New Beckenham at around 7 to get the train up to town, arriving at Paddington in plenty of time to have a nice breakfast before getting on the 9.05 125 to Plymouth. It's a really pleasant trip down. The run through the empty Somerset countryside is wonderful as everything is starting to bloom. Then there's the lovely skimming along the river Exe estuary and the seafront at Dawlish and Teignmouth that feels as if you're floating on the sea. It's an area that I really must do some walking around once the quest is over. At our destination I get my ticket for the rest of the day then try to find a way to kill an hour before the Gunnislake train. Plymouth is not a city I have happy memories of, I've tried to find something to see there without success in the past so decide to strike out in the opposite direction to the appallingly grim network of subways leading to the town - thank you 60s town planners - and find firstly a pub that is shut, then a student pub. This turns out to be a goldmine - Bombardier at £1 a pint - it's a nice atmosphere and an interesting mixture of customers. It's always handy to know of decent watering holes when waiting for trains, the majority of station places being rubbish, and I commit it to memory for future reference!
The Gunnislake train is a one coach Sprinter (gggrrr! a single coach is a BUS!) but sadly one coach is adequate for the number of passengers. Despite most of the stops being request stop, we stop for at least two people at all of them. All of the Plymouth stops are so close together and so close to the central station, that I can't see that they are of much use really! If the central station wasn't so unpleasantly sited, it would be easier to walk to most of them from the centre I suspect. It's ironic that the railway provides the best way across the Tamar to Saltash station on the other side but because this is on the main line it probably gets a poor service because the long distance trains have priority. The line twists and turns a couple of times before ducking under Brunel's Tamar bridge and heading northwards. The bridge seems to appear out of nowhere and we get a fantastic view of it as it head away once more. After breaking away from the city the line heads through some beautful countryside which manages to have that feel of the south west that I can't quite define. We head across some fantastic viaducts and one magnificent girder bridge over the Tamar once more, before passing a line joining us from the left. This is the remainder of the route to Gunnislake. At Bere Alston we will reverse to head up this line. At Bere Alston the line used to continue to Tavistock, Okehampton and Exeter. I still can't believe that this line could not pay its way, linking various largish towns and providing a diversion for the main line into Plymouth. This is dogged by storms and salt spray washing away the ballast and disabling signalling and the newer trains and Network Rail must curse their predecessors for removing it. It's refreshing to know that a developer is hoping to reinstate it as they build thousands of new houses in the area and hope that it comes to fruition. I can't see how the Gunnislake branch survived at all when it doesn't reach any towns any more! I'd love to get out and look up the line to see how much is left but the driver wastes no time in walking to the other cab and heading off in the opposite direction. At Gunnislake we turn around straight away, so we must be late. I wonder how this will affect my connections at Plymouth for the next trip. The train seems to be carrying a few enthusiasts, snapping station signs and, like myself, not getting off at Gunnislake but just staying on! The conductor is not at all surprised, just saying, "Hello again!" to me. Must be used to the likes of me.
At Plymouth I check the board and fine out that the fast train from London was supposed to be leaving one minute after I arrive from Gunnislake, but it is running over half an hour late. This will not affect my connection to Falmouth as it was the later, stopping train to Penzance that I was supposed to be getting, so this is an unexpected bonus. To distribute the build up of passengers the stopping patterns have been altered. The fast one is stopping only at Bodmin and Truro and the stopping one is covering EVERY stop. I get some lunch and wait for the fast train. This gives me a much better trip to Truro (apart from just about everyone ignoring the no-mobiles rule in the quiet coach - are people SO childish that they can't follow one rule for an hour or two?) and a more certain connection, now giving me twenty minutes grace.
Truro is chaotic, the schools have turned out, there are loads of cabs and cars that have built up because of the delay and it's difficult to get your bearings without getting in someone's way. Luckily the Falmouth train is a two coach 158 so there is room for everyone. It heads off on time, taking no time to head through the countryside to its coastal terminus. I didn't know it at the time, but Penmere is effectively the suburbs of Falmouth. When we slide into Falmouth Town it's much more rural than I think it's going to be, which is a good sign. Unlikely to be another Skegness! Most of the remaining passengers get off here, and I think about joining them as the B&B I'm in is close by. Then I decide to keep going, just in case events prevent me from getting to the Docks station tomorrow, best to do it now while I'm sure of the chance! After the Town station, the line is practically running through grass, the tracks looking almost disused, something I don't think I've seen before. Seemingly seconds later we halt at Falmouth Docks, a one platform station, unusually with a full canopy in place, though the booking office is a shabby closed portakabin. I wonder how it has survived. The sign promotes it as the stop for Pendennis Castle, but there's not much in it in terms of distance from the Town station. It fascinates me, forlorn but alive, designed presumably for goods but still useful to people. I later find that the Docks station was closed, unsurprisingly, in 1970, but re-opened for unknown reasons in 1975. Perhaps they worked on the basis that if it was there it might as well be used, or that as the town station was so small that it was safer to distribute the reasonable passenger traffic over two stations. Some run down stations are depressing places - like Wakefield Kirkgate - but some have a curious romance about them, Falmouth Docks being one of them. It has a Dungeness-like feel about it.
I find my way to the Red Post B&B. It's a really lovely place. Whilst the wallpaper, fitments etc are the standard guest house fare, the owners have skillfully updated it. As well as a clean lick of paint everywhere they have used new mirrors, light fittings, etc, good bedding and towels, and little extras like local toiletries, decent coffee, and dressing gowns in the wardrobe, to create a superior feel to the place. They are also incredibly welcoming, showing me the view of the harbour from the landing window, a raised area with a sofa and books for the guests. I would heartily recommend it to anyone going to Falmouth and you can contact them via their website: http://www.thered-house.com/.
After a coffee I head down to the town. It's a nice town. It has its chain shops, its chavs and its tatty side but aside fom these perennials it combines pleasant houses piled up on the cliffs, a classic Cornish view, splendid pubs and restaurants, and a new Maritime quarter that includes a museum and the inevitable shopping centre. All of this sits happily with the working docks and harbour, and the monument of Pendennis Castle perched up on the point. I go to a couple of pubs selling local beers, one by Skinners of Truro called Keel Over was particuarly pleasant, one of the caramel flavoured beers. The Quayside Arms is full of characters and it's nice to find pubs that have a mixture of ages of types, not threatening on a Friday night, and chav-free! I don't actually make it to the one that I'd found on the internet but since I've resolved to come back for a proper visit, hopefully this year, it can wait. Besides which I'm hungry now. There's a bright clean new chip shop in the high street, clearly knowing exactly how to sell itself, and I have a delicious Plaice and Chips before heading back to the guest house. I get a quiet comfortable night's sleep and look forward to the next day.
Breakfast is predictably pleasant, the dining room providing local honey, home made marmalade, and a Cornish speciality that the landlord suggests I try - Hog's Pudding, a sausagemeat and oatmeal White Pudding. It's old fashioned in that one shares tables with other guests, and I'm joined by someone who is down there for a diving holiday. In fact the whole place seems to be full of middle aged well heeled people dressing slightly too trendily for their age - not uncommon in this area I suspect. I don't think I fall into this category, except for being just about middle-aged!
I have a chat with the landlord before going then head down to the beach, on the south side of the point. I walk up and around the point but somehow manage not to see the castle once! Still, it's a beautiful promenade along a lane literally lined with flowers and am already looking forward to a proper visit. Aware that I am already half way though the hour that I have before the train, I keep a rapid pace, but needn't have worried. Before I know it, I am back at the docks. I realise that the giant P&O ferry that I'd seen peeping over the cranes the previous night is not going anywhere. It's in dry dock and is being worked on - repairs presumably. It's the Pride of Dover, which I have certainly seen at the other end of the south coast, possibly I have been on it, but it's a curious feeling, it's something binding me to home. I always feel a curious attachment to Kent and East Sussex that feels home-like; and being down in this extreme sout west corner of England feels like being in another country in some ways. So it's a bizarre reminder of another more familiar place. I have a chance to look around the Docks station as there is fifteen minutes to the train, but there's really little to see. There are some rusting tracks behind the platform that probably used to snake over to the docks, but I'm guessing they don't meet up with the embedded rails I'd seen evocatively snaking over to the dry dock. I decide to have a quick wander around the Maretime Museum area and then make my way to the Town station, which I assume will be bigger. Wrong! Like Docks, it's a tiny one platform affair elevated on an embankment, no displays, no ticket machine, though it does have a car park. As I look at the tracks curving away into what is practically a grassy lane leading to the terminus at the Docks, it strikes me that this line really sums up what I like about trains. Even though the train will eventually carry over 50 people into Truro, its impact will be minimal. Between the two Falmouth stations, the line slips unseen, passing over pleasant brick bridges that seem to grow into the lush embankments, passing unseen behind houses before sliding into the bay platform at Truro. With cars there are acres of grey concrete, constant noise and pollution, drivers frequently risking self and others on a routine basis. Not to mention the car parks, out of town industry and shopping etc etc. Even if the Falmouth line (a typical branch) had dual track and electrification, with half hourly four coach trains in both directions, its impact would still never be as unpleasant as the roads - and a damn sight more poeple would go to Truro by train!
Enough of my perennial wistful lecture. I get on a the single coach Sprinter to Truro, packed by the time we get there. At Truro I have just one minute to wait for the Par train, luckily it's late. At Par I have a quick look around, bearing in mind the hour that I have to wait there on the return trip. There is a pub, but I expected to see the sea a bit closer. There are no useful maps at the station and of course, I forgot to bring one. I decide to look at a map in Newquay. Meanwhile the two coach Sprinter for Newquay is sitting quietly in the bay platform. It appears to be timed to await the connection from Plymouth, so when this is late, so are we. The driver obviously expects the train to be late, because he doesn't even get in the cab and set the controls to forward until some time after it's due to leave! And then we're off. We pass VERY slowly through the greenery, over some extensive viaducts. I see evidence of track replacement, and presume that we're creeping to run it in. There's very little sign of habitation until we get in sight of Newquay. Someone asks the conductor when the return train at around 5pm is. It is EIGHT PM. That is, if you have gone to the coast for the day, you have to come back at 3pm, wait another 5 hours - not much good if you like your kids in bed by 7 - or do what I suspect most people do - drive or get the bus. The conductor is clearly embarrassed and makes a joke of the low quality of service. My own theory about the shocking service on this line - just 4 trains on Saturdays in each direction, and no Sunday service until Summer, providing nothing for Easter or May Day Sundays - is that no-one is really interested in providing a train service for local people on this line. Newquay has become an Ibiza-like resort and most of its trade will come from the rest of the UK and in summer. In summer, there are daily through trains to Newquay from London, Manchester and Edinburgh, something no other branch down there has. So most summer revellers get no inkling of the poor local trains. The remainder, the stag parties, the groups will either come by car or minibus. I'm sure that the line survives to service the through trains, so the local stoppers are non-existent. A great shame. The new looking dual carriage way that we hug for the last few miles while we have to slow to 20mph for unmanned level crossings is a testament to the service, as well as the UK transport policy generally!
Newquay is what I expected. Dodgy looking clubs and pubs, chavs and posers galore. The bay is spectacular but the beach is so full of "lads" that it's quite intimidating. I give up and start to look for the pubs I'd found on the internet. None of them appeal. This is a world away from the rest of Cornwall! I spot the bus station and see if there is an early way out - I'd been planning to get the 3.10pm back. The thought that if it is cancelled I'm here until 8pm and that I'd tried to get a hotel here feels me with horror. Just as I'm reading the timetables a Falmouth via Truro bus comes along. I get on and return to Truro. Luckily we don't hit any jams and the bus is only about a third full. I'm just glad to get away from there. I would really like to learn to surf one day but I think it won't be at Newquay - I just found it too much.
The bus dumps me in the town at Truro and there are no signs or maps pointing me to the station. I know that it's at the top of a hill though, so I strike out in roughly the right direction, climbing higher and higher until I see the viaduct. Eventually I emerge in the station road just above it. I've been stuck here before and never found a decent pub close to the station - wouldn't fancy walking up from the town after a drink - and today is no exception. I check the times and disocver that I can get the next train down to Penzance, where it will form the last up train to London, ie, the one I am booked on at Par. I buy the right combination of tickets to enable me just to stay on the train and gratefully climb aboard. At Penzance two ladies going to catch the Scilly Isles helicopter give me some unwanted cans of orange which is nice of them, and then I have a quick wander around the town, as the train is returning in just over half an hour.
Next to the station there's a pub that proclaims that it doesn't sell junk food, only locally sourced home made meals. On this basis the beer is bound to be good so in I go. Not a bit of it! They sell 5 lagers - all the usual suspects and certainly not local - and Guinness - yawn. They've already seen by the time I'm near the bar so I don't like to turn around and leave. When I sit at the table and look at the infamous menu, I notice the Wine List. Every wine is from the New World - not even Europe! And Cornwall has plenty of local brewers AND that rarest of things in England - a vineyward. They are obviously just jumping on a gimmicky bandwagon - a BIG disappointment.
It's been a disappointing day, I really should have just stayed on the Newquay train when it turned round, gone to Par, and found something useful to do there. Now it's cost me extra in tickets and wound me up. I'm pleased to get on the London train. One thing to be salvaged from starting at Penzance is that this will be the longest train journey I've ever done awake (the sleeper doesn't count for obvious reasons). So I will see the whole Great Western line from start to finish in one go - pointless but curiously satisfying. A pointless record for a pointless quest I guess. Through the stages we go - Cornwall, then the Tamar Bridge and Plymouth, then Teignmouth, Dawlish, the River Exe and Exeter, Somerset's greenery with Taunton nestling in the middle, overtake the cars on the M5 without trying, the White Horse of Westbury, then suddenly we're at Pewsey - commuter land once more, then it's a quick run back to Paddington. I make full use of my complimentary refreshments and allow myself a short snooze, but I do feel that I've been travelling for a day when I get off. I shall miss the HST when it goes - it'll be interesting to see how many get preserved. It's a bit big for the average rural steam railway. It's a trouble free trip back on the tube and train to home, and I'm certainly pleased to be back there.
New Lines covered:
Plymouth-Gunnislake
Truro - Falmouth Docks
Par - Newquay
Saturday, 5 May 2007
Saturday, 21 April 2007
Wales and the Marches Line 21 April 2007
I have been meaning to do the Marches Line for ages. This is the crucial line that links South Wales with North Wales, the Midlands and the North. It tiptoes along Offa's Dyke on the Welsh border and thus goes through some very scenic countryside (and towns come to that) before passing through Shrewbury and dividing into routes to Crewe and Chester.
This could all be done in a day - no hotels needed - so at 5.45am on Saturday 21 April 2007, I left the house for New Beckenham station. The train for Charing Cross left at 6.07am and seemed remarkably full compared to other times (of which there have been many) when I've caught this train. I'm in town by just gone half-six, with an hour and a quarter before the train. I decide to walk it, it's a pleasant morning and without the hordes it will be much quicker than it would be during the day. I feel my way to Paddington, it's only in Marylebone that I know the exact route. It takes 50 minutes, which gives me time to get all my tickets, buy a bacon roll, and find a nice seat on the train. We leave on time. My favourite train - the Inter City 125 - speeds us to Newport in under two hours. I marvel at the new refurbished locomotives - hardly any noise or exhaust - known as clag - nowadays. A great advert for the engineers and the railway's environmental credentials, though I can't help agree with others that there is something more exciting about a screaming smoky diesel train!
At Newport I watch the world go by while I wait for the Manchester train - due at 10.04. The contractors are rebuilding Platform 1 which has been of use for years - part of Network Rail's improvements package. There is also a gaggle of elderly trainspotters keenly noting 6 locomotives coupled together easing through the station. Unfortunately there is also a group of teenagers at the other end of the station, which I choose to keep away from as they're bound to annoy me. Right enough, they have to start kicking a bottle around getting in everyone's way, even going down on to the track to retrieve it at one point. I really want these kids to disappoint me one day and not live up to their modern image but they never do! Various trains come in and out, including a Holyhead train, which I contemplate getting on as it will take me as far as Shrewsbury, but as it's a short train I decide to stick with the original plan. A 3 coach 175 train comes in from Milford Haven to take me to Crewe. I find a decent seat, and despite being frozen by the air conditioning, enjoy the views. Some of it is familiar to me from last year's week on the west coast of Wales, but it was very early on that occasion! I'm in a better state to enjoy it this time. Ludlow is the picturesque town that I was expecting, though Leominster (pronounced Lemster) looked a dump. Shrewsbury was pleasingly free of manky concrete modern buildings, and boasted a signal box the size of a football terrace. We plough on through the Shropshire and Cheshire countryside, through several dubious urban-looking stations, then suddenly the overhead lines of the West Coast appear - we are at the famous railway centre of Crewe.
At this point my careful plans unravel slightly. The next train to Chester is a few minutes, but due to the size of Crewe and allowing for delays, I'd assumed I had no hope of getting it. In the event though, I make it walking. It's a one coach job, WHY do they throw away the train's ability to carry hundreds by wasting track space with a bus on rails? Anyway, this trip is one I've done a few times now, and seems quicker each time, nearly half an hour through pleasant but unremarkable countryside, a contrast to the mountains I've passed on the earlier journey. So I arrive at Chester about half an hour early. I like Chester station; it's a sprawling place, with lines heading in and out in all directions - including some 3rd rail electrics heading to Merseyside, something I usually only see in the south. The arches between the different areas of the station evoke the Roman heritage of the city and somehow the buddleia sprouting from the crumbling brickwork seems to be appropriate in these surroundings. I nip outside to find a pub and there are a couple of okay looking ones opposite. Sadly all the local brews are off and one of the perennials - John Smiths - has to suffice. I grab a sandwich at Smiths and head back to the waiting Shrewsbury train - a two coach 158 - but because I'm early it's actually a Birmingham train. The plans unravel - if I get this all the way to Birmingham, I'll be far too early for my train home, and I don't wish to be stranded there for hours. Also if I wait until I get there, I'm too far south, and it will cost me a fortune to get back to the north. I could maybe fit some of the Wirral lines in now? I grab available timetables and get on the train to think about it.
After seeing the famous APT in its final resting place, I work out that I can just about fit in the Wrexham to Bidston line, unfortunately I realise that I should have got off at Wrexham General just as we are pulling out! I don't know when the return train runs or how far apart the connections at Wrexham for Bidston are, so decide that I might as well stay on until Shrewsbury which at least is a vaguely known quantity. This line is another scenic one, passing an aqueduct at Chirk at a higher level, allowing you to see the boats passing from above. At Shrewsbury I have about 3 minutes to get my extra ticket and get to the Chester train going back to Wrexham. I also discover that to get to it I had to go through the barrier, outside the station entirely then up a staircase, which is a new one on me. I also have to explain that I am deliberately breaking my journey and I don't want the Birmingham train to the staff!
So back to Wrexham hoping that the connections will work out okay. Wrexham to Bidston is an awkward one from a line basher's point of view. The line from Bidston doesn't terminate at General, but splits off from the main line and terminates at Wrexham Central, two minutes along. I need to cover that extra stretch, but if the connection times between the two lines at General are short, I may not get the chance as I don't have time to hang around in case I miss the Bidston train. I need not have worried. There are 15 minutes to wait when I get back to General, time for me to leave the station and find Central station, to ensure that I have covered the "branch" section right at the start of the journey. It doesn't take long; just have to cross a couple of roads and down some steps. I can hardly believe that the branch has survived given that you can practically spit between the two stations. But as Central is now at the heart of a shopping centre, having two stations to serve two lines does balance the passenger volumes as well as help people carrying shopping back on the train – not used to experiencing such regard for rail travellers in the UK! Unfortunately Wrexham lives up to its reputation – a doyen of chavdom. I choose to wait outside as the platform is faintly threatening. A two coach Sprinter arrives – better than I expected – so I go right to the front, most of the local neds having got in the back coach.
This is an interesting line. After passing the famous Wrexham football ground we pass through suburban stops, where most of the shoppers get off, and quickly emerge into scrubby countryside. Shotton is quite a large town and the interchange for the North Wales line. Shortly after that we pass over a grand iron bridge over the Dee, from which I can see two other such bridges, and thus back into England not long after. I notice that most of the passengers now have scouse accents, and I reflect this is one of the amazing things about my travels. I've gone from Cockney to Welsh to Midlands to Scouse in the course of the day and its one of the things that stands out as marking out that you have actually moved away from your own postcode, so to speak. This is to be cherished in a country increasingly full of clone high streets. We hug the coastline as we travel across the Wirral peninsula and join up with the 3rd rail Merseyside Electrics at Bidston – a curious reminder of home, the south having the only other such electrification in the UK. It's strange to think of Liverpool being so close. Now that I've practically travelled the old Great Western route to Liverpool – through Birmingham Snow Hill, Shrewsbury and Birkenhead – I can see that it was a perfectly reasonable alternative to the West Coast – maybe something we should have thought of while it was being refurbished?
The train turns round in two minutes and back we go. We get back to Wrexham General and I have a chance to look around. The station has been refurbished recently and is a pleasant place to be. The driver of the Bidston train goes off shift and gets out a big Suzuki bike on to the platform, preparing it for the off. I feel a pang of envy as he roars off. The Birmingham train arrives on time – a two coach 158. I get a seat but it fills to bursting by the time we get there. The I-Pod comes into its own at such times!
At New Street I sort some food for the journey home and stop for a drink in the bar. There is one moderate sized bar at New Street – astonishing considering the size of the place – and it has just been refurbished so it's not as unpleasant as I remember. There are bouncers on the door which I presume are because of the hordes of football fans milling around, a couple of whom are refused entry because they are swigging from cans. It amazes me that people don't just follow the rules under these circumstances when you are clearly not going to win! I leave earlier than I want because it gets pretty rowdy in there but the train comes in a few minutes earlier than its scheduled time anyway
.
It's a Pendolino, the coaches dimly lit for some reason though this gives it a pleasant feel. I grab a seat in the Quiet Coach and it is largely observed all the way back. For some reason it is timetabled to take two and a half hours – why I don't know as it seems to goes along at a fair tilt. I manage to get some sleep after Milton Keynes which gives me some energy to do the final schlep home – a rush across the hideous new Euston to the tube, Victoria line to Victoria, and a train to Penge East. So keen to get to my bed that I didn't even get past the stairs – forgot to feed cat – ooops – and don't remember anything else!
New lines covered this trip:
Newport-Shrewbury-Crewe
Chester-Shrewsbury
Wrexham Central-Bidston
Shrewsbury-Birmingham
This could all be done in a day - no hotels needed - so at 5.45am on Saturday 21 April 2007, I left the house for New Beckenham station. The train for Charing Cross left at 6.07am and seemed remarkably full compared to other times (of which there have been many) when I've caught this train. I'm in town by just gone half-six, with an hour and a quarter before the train. I decide to walk it, it's a pleasant morning and without the hordes it will be much quicker than it would be during the day. I feel my way to Paddington, it's only in Marylebone that I know the exact route. It takes 50 minutes, which gives me time to get all my tickets, buy a bacon roll, and find a nice seat on the train. We leave on time. My favourite train - the Inter City 125 - speeds us to Newport in under two hours. I marvel at the new refurbished locomotives - hardly any noise or exhaust - known as clag - nowadays. A great advert for the engineers and the railway's environmental credentials, though I can't help agree with others that there is something more exciting about a screaming smoky diesel train!
At Newport I watch the world go by while I wait for the Manchester train - due at 10.04. The contractors are rebuilding Platform 1 which has been of use for years - part of Network Rail's improvements package. There is also a gaggle of elderly trainspotters keenly noting 6 locomotives coupled together easing through the station. Unfortunately there is also a group of teenagers at the other end of the station, which I choose to keep away from as they're bound to annoy me. Right enough, they have to start kicking a bottle around getting in everyone's way, even going down on to the track to retrieve it at one point. I really want these kids to disappoint me one day and not live up to their modern image but they never do! Various trains come in and out, including a Holyhead train, which I contemplate getting on as it will take me as far as Shrewsbury, but as it's a short train I decide to stick with the original plan. A 3 coach 175 train comes in from Milford Haven to take me to Crewe. I find a decent seat, and despite being frozen by the air conditioning, enjoy the views. Some of it is familiar to me from last year's week on the west coast of Wales, but it was very early on that occasion! I'm in a better state to enjoy it this time. Ludlow is the picturesque town that I was expecting, though Leominster (pronounced Lemster) looked a dump. Shrewsbury was pleasingly free of manky concrete modern buildings, and boasted a signal box the size of a football terrace. We plough on through the Shropshire and Cheshire countryside, through several dubious urban-looking stations, then suddenly the overhead lines of the West Coast appear - we are at the famous railway centre of Crewe.
At this point my careful plans unravel slightly. The next train to Chester is a few minutes, but due to the size of Crewe and allowing for delays, I'd assumed I had no hope of getting it. In the event though, I make it walking. It's a one coach job, WHY do they throw away the train's ability to carry hundreds by wasting track space with a bus on rails? Anyway, this trip is one I've done a few times now, and seems quicker each time, nearly half an hour through pleasant but unremarkable countryside, a contrast to the mountains I've passed on the earlier journey. So I arrive at Chester about half an hour early. I like Chester station; it's a sprawling place, with lines heading in and out in all directions - including some 3rd rail electrics heading to Merseyside, something I usually only see in the south. The arches between the different areas of the station evoke the Roman heritage of the city and somehow the buddleia sprouting from the crumbling brickwork seems to be appropriate in these surroundings. I nip outside to find a pub and there are a couple of okay looking ones opposite. Sadly all the local brews are off and one of the perennials - John Smiths - has to suffice. I grab a sandwich at Smiths and head back to the waiting Shrewsbury train - a two coach 158 - but because I'm early it's actually a Birmingham train. The plans unravel - if I get this all the way to Birmingham, I'll be far too early for my train home, and I don't wish to be stranded there for hours. Also if I wait until I get there, I'm too far south, and it will cost me a fortune to get back to the north. I could maybe fit some of the Wirral lines in now? I grab available timetables and get on the train to think about it.
After seeing the famous APT in its final resting place, I work out that I can just about fit in the Wrexham to Bidston line, unfortunately I realise that I should have got off at Wrexham General just as we are pulling out! I don't know when the return train runs or how far apart the connections at Wrexham for Bidston are, so decide that I might as well stay on until Shrewsbury which at least is a vaguely known quantity. This line is another scenic one, passing an aqueduct at Chirk at a higher level, allowing you to see the boats passing from above. At Shrewsbury I have about 3 minutes to get my extra ticket and get to the Chester train going back to Wrexham. I also discover that to get to it I had to go through the barrier, outside the station entirely then up a staircase, which is a new one on me. I also have to explain that I am deliberately breaking my journey and I don't want the Birmingham train to the staff!
So back to Wrexham hoping that the connections will work out okay. Wrexham to Bidston is an awkward one from a line basher's point of view. The line from Bidston doesn't terminate at General, but splits off from the main line and terminates at Wrexham Central, two minutes along. I need to cover that extra stretch, but if the connection times between the two lines at General are short, I may not get the chance as I don't have time to hang around in case I miss the Bidston train. I need not have worried. There are 15 minutes to wait when I get back to General, time for me to leave the station and find Central station, to ensure that I have covered the "branch" section right at the start of the journey. It doesn't take long; just have to cross a couple of roads and down some steps. I can hardly believe that the branch has survived given that you can practically spit between the two stations. But as Central is now at the heart of a shopping centre, having two stations to serve two lines does balance the passenger volumes as well as help people carrying shopping back on the train – not used to experiencing such regard for rail travellers in the UK! Unfortunately Wrexham lives up to its reputation – a doyen of chavdom. I choose to wait outside as the platform is faintly threatening. A two coach Sprinter arrives – better than I expected – so I go right to the front, most of the local neds having got in the back coach.
This is an interesting line. After passing the famous Wrexham football ground we pass through suburban stops, where most of the shoppers get off, and quickly emerge into scrubby countryside. Shotton is quite a large town and the interchange for the North Wales line. Shortly after that we pass over a grand iron bridge over the Dee, from which I can see two other such bridges, and thus back into England not long after. I notice that most of the passengers now have scouse accents, and I reflect this is one of the amazing things about my travels. I've gone from Cockney to Welsh to Midlands to Scouse in the course of the day and its one of the things that stands out as marking out that you have actually moved away from your own postcode, so to speak. This is to be cherished in a country increasingly full of clone high streets. We hug the coastline as we travel across the Wirral peninsula and join up with the 3rd rail Merseyside Electrics at Bidston – a curious reminder of home, the south having the only other such electrification in the UK. It's strange to think of Liverpool being so close. Now that I've practically travelled the old Great Western route to Liverpool – through Birmingham Snow Hill, Shrewsbury and Birkenhead – I can see that it was a perfectly reasonable alternative to the West Coast – maybe something we should have thought of while it was being refurbished?
The train turns round in two minutes and back we go. We get back to Wrexham General and I have a chance to look around. The station has been refurbished recently and is a pleasant place to be. The driver of the Bidston train goes off shift and gets out a big Suzuki bike on to the platform, preparing it for the off. I feel a pang of envy as he roars off. The Birmingham train arrives on time – a two coach 158. I get a seat but it fills to bursting by the time we get there. The I-Pod comes into its own at such times!
At New Street I sort some food for the journey home and stop for a drink in the bar. There is one moderate sized bar at New Street – astonishing considering the size of the place – and it has just been refurbished so it's not as unpleasant as I remember. There are bouncers on the door which I presume are because of the hordes of football fans milling around, a couple of whom are refused entry because they are swigging from cans. It amazes me that people don't just follow the rules under these circumstances when you are clearly not going to win! I leave earlier than I want because it gets pretty rowdy in there but the train comes in a few minutes earlier than its scheduled time anyway
.
It's a Pendolino, the coaches dimly lit for some reason though this gives it a pleasant feel. I grab a seat in the Quiet Coach and it is largely observed all the way back. For some reason it is timetabled to take two and a half hours – why I don't know as it seems to goes along at a fair tilt. I manage to get some sleep after Milton Keynes which gives me some energy to do the final schlep home – a rush across the hideous new Euston to the tube, Victoria line to Victoria, and a train to Penge East. So keen to get to my bed that I didn't even get past the stairs – forgot to feed cat – ooops – and don't remember anything else!
New lines covered this trip:
Newport-Shrewbury-Crewe
Chester-Shrewsbury
Wrexham Central-Bidston
Shrewsbury-Birmingham
Saturday, 14 April 2007
Lincolnshire 13/14 April 2007
Lincolnshire was a really difficult one to complete. As well as one line that has trains only on Saturdays, most of the other lines in the county are served infrequently and irregularly - a deadly combination! Doing this on a Sunday was completely out as the service level drops to non-existent at times. I'd already worked out a way of covering all the lines bar one annoying bit between Grantham and Sleaford. And as I was on the earliest train up to Peterborough, I couldn't see any way of fitting it in, even if I stayed overnight in Peterborough (a place I was happy to spend as little time in as possible). Then I worked out that if I was already in Skegness on the Saturday morning, I could travel there via Grantham on the night before. And Skegness is one of those famous British resorts that I wanted to see - the poster promoting the place as "bracing" is one of the most striking advertisements of the last few decades. My chance came. I'd taken Friday 13 April off to wait in for British Gas, so I had the afternoon free. There were no engineering works, reasonable fares to and from the county were available, and I'd found a suitable hotel in Skegness. So off I went to Kings Cross on Friday afternoon.
I had an open ticket so could travel on any train but getting one to Grantham at 4.10pm meant I would reach the hotel by eight and have time for a wander, food and a couple of drinks. I managed to get a Thameslink train at London Bridge that got me to Kings Cross by four - just time to collect the tickets before clambering on a Leeds train. I'm very familiar with the East Coast journey but I always marvel at the speed at which you can cover it these days, flying along on the superb 225 trains - built by BR for electrification 20 years ago and still looking and feeling the business.
Grantham is reached in an hour. I have a twenty minute wait for the Skegness train. I've never been at Grantham in daylight before. It's quite a nice station, four platforms arranged in an odd way. The bay platform where my train was due to leave from looked very short, and I anticipated a one coach train, my heart sinking when seeing the number of people waiting to get on. To my surprise a three coach Central Trains train squeezed into the bay which allowed me to find a decent table seat in the right direction. The ride was rather slow - could not have been more than 50mph, even after we had cleared the main line by means of the new spur that means the local trains don't hold up the East Coast expresses. This was to be a theme for the weekend - there are a lot of slow lines in Lincolnshire! We cover the line to the coast in about 90 minutes, through beautifully desolate Fenlands. The landscape is covered in rape seed in vivid yellow now, and criss-crossed by dykes and drains. Then something weird happened - the light changed from the azure skies we'd had recently to a stark slate-like blue - as if someone has switched it on. A few minutes later it switched again - this time, an opaque mist had descended, hanging in the air like static smoke. Not quite what I was looking forward to on the coast! Still, it gave us a very atmospheric view of the famous Boston Stump church tower as we passed through this town. Beyond Sleaford and Boston there were no more towns until we arrived at Skegness at sevenish. In my desire to get to the hotel I didn't notice much other than there being an orderly queue of people behind a closed platform gate, not being allowed to get on the train until the ticket collector had seen all of us off the platform. This was a scene from the past - I hadn't seen people queuing for the train for years - London is a bit more of a scramble these days!
I checked the map and headed off towards the sea front. The mist didn't help, but the place had the usual miserable mix of chain shops, seaside tat and chavs. I decided I didn't want to go out in the town that night and walked the mile and a half or so to the North Shore Hotel. At the end of the road that the hotel was in was a proper chip shop, so I thought that would probably be as far as I would be going before morning. I decided not to follow the beach path as the mist made a strange place even more difficult to navigate! The hotel was very nice, a golf hotel. My room was clean and comfortable though it did look out on a fire escape. A collar and tie was needed for the restaurant but the bar was serving food. However it was the standard burgers and curry menu, so I decided to go to the chip shop at half the price. This time I do follow the beach path. Didn't see a soul which was nice, and it was mysterious walking in the enveloping fog. The beach looked beautiful - miles of dunes - but the amount of dumped rubbish was a bit depressing. Rubbish and graffiti are truly the scourge of the modern age. After a couple of pints of a local beer I enjoyed a good night's sleep, followed by Lincolnshire sausages at breakfast, then wandered down to the station.
The queue for the first train was building again - still amazing to me - so I bought the Lincolnshire Day Rover ticket that would cover me for most of the day's travels. A rather battered 158 two coach train took me back out of the mists - just like a switch being thrown again - to Sleaford. Another station that has seen better days, despite being manned, information was thin on the ground and it was difficult to know which train was which as the screens bore no resemblance to what was on the platforms! For an area of so few services, a surprising four trains came and went while I waited; I guess they concentrate them to make it easy to change.
Hardly anyone is on my train when it arrives - a two coach Sprinter. The line to Peterborough is rather better than the one to Skegness, it's dual track and has a much faster running speed, really don't understand why there are not more services. Loads of people get on at Spalding, and when we turn round at Peterborough, loads get on bound for Spalding in the other direction. I would have thought there would be demand for the commuter Peterborough trains from London to be extended to Spalding - or maybe even Lincoln. The conductor asks me if I am just travelling around when he checks my ticket again, usually they don't seem to notice when I just stay on like this.
At Lincoln I have a 50 minute wait, time for a pint of the local beer. On my way back to the station I end up on another ring road and marvel yet again at how cars have wrecked everywhere in some way. The beauty of the cathedral rising magnificently is ruined by a streaky concrete flyover packed with speeding cars, able to save a few minutes over driving through a town - and for what? This is as much of a scourge as the litter and graffiti that I also see in every town now.
I cheer up as the Grimsby train turns up almost as I set foot on the platform - another Sprinter. It's about half full and most people get off at Market Rasen, the only intermediate stop before Barnetby, a junction of three lines. The same conductor from Sleaford is on again, and makes a wry remark about me getting around. I feel better about the spartan map of Lincolnshire's railways - there are really very few settlements in this agricultural county - unlike the regular small towns I am more used to in Kent or Cambridgeshire - and I can see that in terms of routes, not many more are needed. Though of course for walkers, the railway is perfect for dropping you at appropriate spots - and your chances of finding a rural station are low out here. But that doesn't justify the appalling frequencies - surely Lincoln needs a proper London service at least? We need a Hull Trains-like company to offer this.
I wasn't prepared for how large Barnetby was, though it is managed by Trans Pennine Express which is an inter-city operator of sorts. Lines come in from Lincoln, Gainsborough and Doncaster, and go out to New Holland and Cleethorpes, as well as being passed by several freight lines. A man and his grandson watch three coal trains making their way past, debating the locomotives, signals etc. It's refreshing to know there are kids still interested in such things. I get one of the new shiny 185 trains to Doncaster. For a new train it is VERY noisy though the heavy air conditioning is welcome as it's hot today. Though it's nice being able to open the windows on an old train, aside from the nice breeze, it covers the noise of personal stereos and mobile 'phones.
It all goes wrong just before Doncaster. I presume due to emergency engineering (there are three orange jacketed blokes checking the line gauge a few feet at a time on the bridge just before Doncaster) our train is halted then crawls into the station. I miss the connection going back to Cleethorpes as a result. I should still be able to make the train that I must get there at 6pm by catching the next one, but it does reduce the margin for errors somewhat. It slides further from then. I decide to get an earlier stopping train going to Scunthorpe rather than hang around on the miserable Doncaster station. They announce a change of platform, so I get on to a train that says Scunthorpe on the front there. It doesn't move when the time comes. The display board doesn't change. Then loads of people move to another train which has parked itself in front of my one - apparently this is now the Scunthorpe train, I have been sitting on a Hull train. So I change trains, and it waits and waits and waits. It's getting fuller and hotter. A drunken psycho is patrolling the platform and testing my patience further! The train I was originally waiting for is now less than 20 minutes away, so I get off into the fresh air. They change its platform as well and with a sinking feeling I realise that my margin of error is slipping further and further. We leave nearly ten minutes late and I decide it's probably best to change at Grimsby, even though we gain a few minutes en route. One of those families who you imagine usually go by car take ages to sort themselves out, putting their bags everywhere and hogging the corridor, with no self-consciousness at all.
Grimsby looms and I change, against my wishes as I see a pack of chav teenagers on the platform messing around with a basketball. It really winds me up as I don't expect to see the sort of kids I try to avoid in London in this east coast outpost! They move off after a few minutes having not got off the train or are waiting for another one - WHY do they do it? They think they're the cool ones yet they hang around on stations for no reason! I have twenty minutes so have a quick wander. It's another clean TPE station in what I suspect is a tatty town and find a sparkling new Wetherspoons - just time for another local beer before getting the Gainsborough train.
The Gainsborough Central train - a manky Pacer - comes in late - not good because I will later have to cover the 1.3 miles between the Gainsborough stations in just 34 minutes! This line is only served on Saturdays, so in a sense the whole day has been leading to this journey(!). All goes well until we get delayed by a freight train occupying a single track section ahead. We limp into Kirton Lindsey ten minutes late and I fear that I will miss my connection at Gainsborough. The conductor thinks I should be able to make it if I walk fast. We get to the destination just four minutes late - apparently the UK's least-used station - and I start to make for the town centre. I pass some grubby kids playing with a ball who look like they've walked out of a scene from the past, past the inevitable flash new flats of the sort going up everywhere, before seeing a cab park up. I wait for the passengers to get out, and see if I can book the cab without calling, explaining that I have to get to the station within 15 minutes. Luckily the driver will take me, and I check the route as we go. Some of the roads I would have negotiated seem to be closed, and it's just as well I've found the cab. I was uneasy about navigating across a strange town that seems (again!) to be riddled with flyovers and junctions that are so anti-pedestrian.
I've been through Gainsborough Lea Road before, but I was not prepared for the spider's web of ramps for wheelchairs that greeted me by the boarded up station building. There are no platform signs to indicate which is which, and no screens to give running information. It amazes me how they can find money for the razor wire around a closed booking office and miles of ramps but not to actually open up the building or install some screens on the platforms. The view from the high level platform is of wastelands and rubbish dumps, with more unsavoury teenagers amongst them, and I remember that London had plenty of sites like this in the early 1980s - all built on now I suspect. The train is late - galling after my efforts - and it occurs to me that I will not know if it gets cancelled anyway! It eventually turns up - a single coach Sprinter - and I embark on the final new line of the day to Doncaster, enjoying the view of the sunset.
The train to London is of course late and its platform is changed. I have a cheap ticket which means I can't upgrade to first class and I instantly regret it. The train is packed and noisy and I could really do with some peace just now! Someone is feeding their child from a bowl and the child is standing on the seats blocking the corridor - the total lack of awareness of the difference between a public and private space that people have now never fails to amaze me. Matters are not helped by us being held at Peterborough for ages due to a train fault that thankfully, is rectified. I'd already been imagining the horror of the fleet of replacement coaches needed to get us all home.
When I get back, London plays its marvellous transport trick that it always does, ie, makes a short quick journey turn into an expedition. The tube platforms are hot and crowded and the trains are getting less and less frequent as midnight approaches. I watch the clock and see the chances of me getting my intended train first at Charing Cross, then at Victoria, fade away. I marvel inwardly at the day of contrasts, ie, I can travel hundreds of miles on infrequent trains across a whole county; but back home despite having to go less than a mile and a half using trains that go every few minutes, it's impossible to do it in half an hour! Struggling against the endless corridors and crowds is the problem I suppose. Eventually I have to wait half an hour at Victoria for the weird last train that doesn't stop everywhere, having bought a chicken burger I can't afford a newspaper, which is faintly irritating. At 12.50 on Sunday morning I arrive at home and look forward to bed, another part of the quest complete.
New lines:
Grantham-Skegness
Peterborough-Lincoln-Doncaster
Lincoln-Barnetby
Doncaster-Grimsby
Barnetby-Gainsborough Central
I had an open ticket so could travel on any train but getting one to Grantham at 4.10pm meant I would reach the hotel by eight and have time for a wander, food and a couple of drinks. I managed to get a Thameslink train at London Bridge that got me to Kings Cross by four - just time to collect the tickets before clambering on a Leeds train. I'm very familiar with the East Coast journey but I always marvel at the speed at which you can cover it these days, flying along on the superb 225 trains - built by BR for electrification 20 years ago and still looking and feeling the business.
Grantham is reached in an hour. I have a twenty minute wait for the Skegness train. I've never been at Grantham in daylight before. It's quite a nice station, four platforms arranged in an odd way. The bay platform where my train was due to leave from looked very short, and I anticipated a one coach train, my heart sinking when seeing the number of people waiting to get on. To my surprise a three coach Central Trains train squeezed into the bay which allowed me to find a decent table seat in the right direction. The ride was rather slow - could not have been more than 50mph, even after we had cleared the main line by means of the new spur that means the local trains don't hold up the East Coast expresses. This was to be a theme for the weekend - there are a lot of slow lines in Lincolnshire! We cover the line to the coast in about 90 minutes, through beautifully desolate Fenlands. The landscape is covered in rape seed in vivid yellow now, and criss-crossed by dykes and drains. Then something weird happened - the light changed from the azure skies we'd had recently to a stark slate-like blue - as if someone has switched it on. A few minutes later it switched again - this time, an opaque mist had descended, hanging in the air like static smoke. Not quite what I was looking forward to on the coast! Still, it gave us a very atmospheric view of the famous Boston Stump church tower as we passed through this town. Beyond Sleaford and Boston there were no more towns until we arrived at Skegness at sevenish. In my desire to get to the hotel I didn't notice much other than there being an orderly queue of people behind a closed platform gate, not being allowed to get on the train until the ticket collector had seen all of us off the platform. This was a scene from the past - I hadn't seen people queuing for the train for years - London is a bit more of a scramble these days!
I checked the map and headed off towards the sea front. The mist didn't help, but the place had the usual miserable mix of chain shops, seaside tat and chavs. I decided I didn't want to go out in the town that night and walked the mile and a half or so to the North Shore Hotel. At the end of the road that the hotel was in was a proper chip shop, so I thought that would probably be as far as I would be going before morning. I decided not to follow the beach path as the mist made a strange place even more difficult to navigate! The hotel was very nice, a golf hotel. My room was clean and comfortable though it did look out on a fire escape. A collar and tie was needed for the restaurant but the bar was serving food. However it was the standard burgers and curry menu, so I decided to go to the chip shop at half the price. This time I do follow the beach path. Didn't see a soul which was nice, and it was mysterious walking in the enveloping fog. The beach looked beautiful - miles of dunes - but the amount of dumped rubbish was a bit depressing. Rubbish and graffiti are truly the scourge of the modern age. After a couple of pints of a local beer I enjoyed a good night's sleep, followed by Lincolnshire sausages at breakfast, then wandered down to the station.
The queue for the first train was building again - still amazing to me - so I bought the Lincolnshire Day Rover ticket that would cover me for most of the day's travels. A rather battered 158 two coach train took me back out of the mists - just like a switch being thrown again - to Sleaford. Another station that has seen better days, despite being manned, information was thin on the ground and it was difficult to know which train was which as the screens bore no resemblance to what was on the platforms! For an area of so few services, a surprising four trains came and went while I waited; I guess they concentrate them to make it easy to change.
Hardly anyone is on my train when it arrives - a two coach Sprinter. The line to Peterborough is rather better than the one to Skegness, it's dual track and has a much faster running speed, really don't understand why there are not more services. Loads of people get on at Spalding, and when we turn round at Peterborough, loads get on bound for Spalding in the other direction. I would have thought there would be demand for the commuter Peterborough trains from London to be extended to Spalding - or maybe even Lincoln. The conductor asks me if I am just travelling around when he checks my ticket again, usually they don't seem to notice when I just stay on like this.
At Lincoln I have a 50 minute wait, time for a pint of the local beer. On my way back to the station I end up on another ring road and marvel yet again at how cars have wrecked everywhere in some way. The beauty of the cathedral rising magnificently is ruined by a streaky concrete flyover packed with speeding cars, able to save a few minutes over driving through a town - and for what? This is as much of a scourge as the litter and graffiti that I also see in every town now.
I cheer up as the Grimsby train turns up almost as I set foot on the platform - another Sprinter. It's about half full and most people get off at Market Rasen, the only intermediate stop before Barnetby, a junction of three lines. The same conductor from Sleaford is on again, and makes a wry remark about me getting around. I feel better about the spartan map of Lincolnshire's railways - there are really very few settlements in this agricultural county - unlike the regular small towns I am more used to in Kent or Cambridgeshire - and I can see that in terms of routes, not many more are needed. Though of course for walkers, the railway is perfect for dropping you at appropriate spots - and your chances of finding a rural station are low out here. But that doesn't justify the appalling frequencies - surely Lincoln needs a proper London service at least? We need a Hull Trains-like company to offer this.
I wasn't prepared for how large Barnetby was, though it is managed by Trans Pennine Express which is an inter-city operator of sorts. Lines come in from Lincoln, Gainsborough and Doncaster, and go out to New Holland and Cleethorpes, as well as being passed by several freight lines. A man and his grandson watch three coal trains making their way past, debating the locomotives, signals etc. It's refreshing to know there are kids still interested in such things. I get one of the new shiny 185 trains to Doncaster. For a new train it is VERY noisy though the heavy air conditioning is welcome as it's hot today. Though it's nice being able to open the windows on an old train, aside from the nice breeze, it covers the noise of personal stereos and mobile 'phones.
It all goes wrong just before Doncaster. I presume due to emergency engineering (there are three orange jacketed blokes checking the line gauge a few feet at a time on the bridge just before Doncaster) our train is halted then crawls into the station. I miss the connection going back to Cleethorpes as a result. I should still be able to make the train that I must get there at 6pm by catching the next one, but it does reduce the margin for errors somewhat. It slides further from then. I decide to get an earlier stopping train going to Scunthorpe rather than hang around on the miserable Doncaster station. They announce a change of platform, so I get on to a train that says Scunthorpe on the front there. It doesn't move when the time comes. The display board doesn't change. Then loads of people move to another train which has parked itself in front of my one - apparently this is now the Scunthorpe train, I have been sitting on a Hull train. So I change trains, and it waits and waits and waits. It's getting fuller and hotter. A drunken psycho is patrolling the platform and testing my patience further! The train I was originally waiting for is now less than 20 minutes away, so I get off into the fresh air. They change its platform as well and with a sinking feeling I realise that my margin of error is slipping further and further. We leave nearly ten minutes late and I decide it's probably best to change at Grimsby, even though we gain a few minutes en route. One of those families who you imagine usually go by car take ages to sort themselves out, putting their bags everywhere and hogging the corridor, with no self-consciousness at all.
Grimsby looms and I change, against my wishes as I see a pack of chav teenagers on the platform messing around with a basketball. It really winds me up as I don't expect to see the sort of kids I try to avoid in London in this east coast outpost! They move off after a few minutes having not got off the train or are waiting for another one - WHY do they do it? They think they're the cool ones yet they hang around on stations for no reason! I have twenty minutes so have a quick wander. It's another clean TPE station in what I suspect is a tatty town and find a sparkling new Wetherspoons - just time for another local beer before getting the Gainsborough train.
The Gainsborough Central train - a manky Pacer - comes in late - not good because I will later have to cover the 1.3 miles between the Gainsborough stations in just 34 minutes! This line is only served on Saturdays, so in a sense the whole day has been leading to this journey(!). All goes well until we get delayed by a freight train occupying a single track section ahead. We limp into Kirton Lindsey ten minutes late and I fear that I will miss my connection at Gainsborough. The conductor thinks I should be able to make it if I walk fast. We get to the destination just four minutes late - apparently the UK's least-used station - and I start to make for the town centre. I pass some grubby kids playing with a ball who look like they've walked out of a scene from the past, past the inevitable flash new flats of the sort going up everywhere, before seeing a cab park up. I wait for the passengers to get out, and see if I can book the cab without calling, explaining that I have to get to the station within 15 minutes. Luckily the driver will take me, and I check the route as we go. Some of the roads I would have negotiated seem to be closed, and it's just as well I've found the cab. I was uneasy about navigating across a strange town that seems (again!) to be riddled with flyovers and junctions that are so anti-pedestrian.
I've been through Gainsborough Lea Road before, but I was not prepared for the spider's web of ramps for wheelchairs that greeted me by the boarded up station building. There are no platform signs to indicate which is which, and no screens to give running information. It amazes me how they can find money for the razor wire around a closed booking office and miles of ramps but not to actually open up the building or install some screens on the platforms. The view from the high level platform is of wastelands and rubbish dumps, with more unsavoury teenagers amongst them, and I remember that London had plenty of sites like this in the early 1980s - all built on now I suspect. The train is late - galling after my efforts - and it occurs to me that I will not know if it gets cancelled anyway! It eventually turns up - a single coach Sprinter - and I embark on the final new line of the day to Doncaster, enjoying the view of the sunset.
The train to London is of course late and its platform is changed. I have a cheap ticket which means I can't upgrade to first class and I instantly regret it. The train is packed and noisy and I could really do with some peace just now! Someone is feeding their child from a bowl and the child is standing on the seats blocking the corridor - the total lack of awareness of the difference between a public and private space that people have now never fails to amaze me. Matters are not helped by us being held at Peterborough for ages due to a train fault that thankfully, is rectified. I'd already been imagining the horror of the fleet of replacement coaches needed to get us all home.
When I get back, London plays its marvellous transport trick that it always does, ie, makes a short quick journey turn into an expedition. The tube platforms are hot and crowded and the trains are getting less and less frequent as midnight approaches. I watch the clock and see the chances of me getting my intended train first at Charing Cross, then at Victoria, fade away. I marvel inwardly at the day of contrasts, ie, I can travel hundreds of miles on infrequent trains across a whole county; but back home despite having to go less than a mile and a half using trains that go every few minutes, it's impossible to do it in half an hour! Struggling against the endless corridors and crowds is the problem I suppose. Eventually I have to wait half an hour at Victoria for the weird last train that doesn't stop everywhere, having bought a chicken burger I can't afford a newspaper, which is faintly irritating. At 12.50 on Sunday morning I arrive at home and look forward to bed, another part of the quest complete.
New lines:
Grantham-Skegness
Peterborough-Lincoln-Doncaster
Lincoln-Barnetby
Doncaster-Grimsby
Barnetby-Gainsborough Central
Saturday, 7 April 2007
The North East and Derbyshire 6-7 April 2007
One of the more epic trips, covering two chunks of the map in one weekend. It's Easter so I can start on Friday and still have some time off at home before going to work. Derbyshire was worked out ages ago and I was awaiting the right moment; for some reason I thought that the North East was difficult to do but it transpired that it was chiefly comprised of Newcastle-Sunderland-Middlesbrough-Saltburn then Middlesbrough-Darlington-Bishops Auckland - relatively straightforward. I did the Whitby branch last year so I don't have to worry about that - and that is a LONG one to fit in. Trains were reasonably frequent on weekdays, though not Saturdays, so the North East fitted nicely on Good Friday. I'd already planned a day on Derbyshire railways for a Saturday, so this could be slotted in on Easter Saturday. I could go on Cross Country from Newcastle to Derby, arriving late, but then found a cheap (but hopefully not nasty) hotel very close to Derby station. I booked all the tickets and the hotel, but then a snag appeared. Alone of all the train operating companies in the UK, Southern and South Eastern trains were running Sunday services on the two bank holidays. This really winds me up. There seems to be a concerted effort by South Eastern to stop people enjoying Sundays. First trains at gone 7, last trains before midnight, and an HOURLY service in the evenings on the local line that I use most. They seem to have no recognition that people might be using their trains to connect into other services early in the morning, especially when there's a holiday, and this can make it tricky to use the full day. Then a colleague who has a Central London flat offered me its use as he was away on Thursday night anyway. Perfect. After work on Thursday 5 April I took a slow saunter westwards to his flat, via M&S and a couple of shops, and enjoyed the rare pleasure the next day of being within walking distance of a London terminus!
Next morning, walked to King's Cross and found my seat - carriage very busy and noisy so I moved to an emptier one. I missed the interesting sign that I was looking for at the trackside that reads "London-Edinburgh:Half-Way" which always amuses me. I think I managed to be in the loo when we passed the Angel Of The North too! Oh well. Noticed a load of men in desert camouflage gear getting on the train, and realised that these were genuine squaddies returning from Iraq. For most of my life soldiers have been banned from wearing uniform for fear that it made them easy targets for the IRA, but now the ban is lifted, it's still an unusual sight. As camo is popular for casual wear you tend to think people aren't soldiers generally! We get into Newcastle on time. The many bridges over the Tyne are an impressive sight, though the city still seems a gritty place, despite the inevitable overhaul of shops and penthouses that all the major cities are receiving nowadays.
I had half an hour to kill before the train to Middlesbrough came. Managed to lose £20 in a cash machine cock up as it debited my account but did not give me the money - that will be fun to rectify. Had a bottle of Newcastle Brown in the reasonable station bar which really did have a feel of "Get Carter" about it. It still amazes me that I've travelled to the other end of England so swiftly. I then get on the Pacer train to Middlesbrough, I suspect I'm going to ride on a lot of Pacers today. It's pretty scandalous that so many long distance routes in the North have to put up with these bone-shakers. They're not great on short trips either, come to that. However if they've helped save these rural routes we should be grateful I guess. It bounces us through rather grey countryside, following the Tyne and Wear Metro. Sunderland looks a wee bit grim, where the Metro heads north and we continue on to Middlesbrough. It's a very few minutes before the Saltburn train, though I have a chance to look around me a bit. The town seems nearer than I remembered last year during my Whitby trip, and I'd forgotten that the station itself was a fusion of old and modern - something I always like.
The ride out to Saltburn is a nicer trip. Saltburn is a lovely place, the original huge station now converted to various businesses - a la Whitby - and there are breathtaking views of the North Sea when I work my way down to the beach. Unfortunately there is a high chav-surfer element roaming the streets, it's inevitable that the sport will start to attract the tracksuits I guess. I get lunch from a baker - I love Northern bakers, they invariably seem better in terms of range and taste than the ones in the South - then hop back on the train - another Pacer.
This train takes me all the way through to Bishop's Auckland. I've done the Middlesbrough to Darlington section previously, but it's always interesting to go to Darlington. It does have that bit of railway heritage for a start - the first locomotive-hauled railway in the world - but also Darlington is a pleasant station, with a huge overall roof and a spacious airy feel. We career right across the East Coast line tracks (must be a bottleneck) then off towards the North West. The route is like a microcosm of railway lands - sweeping countryside, tatty post-industrial countryside, manky towns, graffiti-covered out of town estates, and finally a grotty chav-ridden terminus that has definitely seen better days. I'm a bit depressed by the experience though it's hardly new to me. One bright point is the National Railway Museum overspill site at Shildon, which I intend to visit properly one day - there is also another museum at Darlington that I must see. Anyway, back we go, through Darlington and back to Middlesbrough.
This time at Middlesbrough I have a half hour's wait. I decide to go and look at the famous transporter bridge. I remember seeing a picture of it as a child in my Ladybird Book of Bridges, and then on BBC2's Coast last year. It's one of just two left in the country - the other is in Newport which I have seen from the train a few times down there. The walk to the bridge is weird. It's through an industrial estate that looks derelict but seems to be mostly active, past a scary looking pub, then past some pleasant-looking playing fields and council houses, though some are boarded up despite being new and in good condition. It does look like the sort of place where you get beaten up by drug dealers, yet I don't feel too nervous. There are several people admiring or photographing the bridge, as well as a fair bit of traffic crossing. I'd like to have a go on the bridge but know that it's too slow for me to guarantee getting back over for the train. Another day! Just as I think I won't see it working, the cradle starts to inch over the Tees. It's a fantastic sight. After that I head back to the station and climb aboard a new 185 Trans Pennine train to York It takes no time as it speeds through the spectacular and empty North Yorkshire countryside. I get to see Northallerton and Thirsk properly too, having only sped through these on GNER previously.
Having deliberately allowed time for contingencies, I have lots of spare time at York. So I have a pleasant walk up to the Minster, then back along the Ouse, across the bridge that carries the York to Scarborough branch, around the city walls and back to the station. There I have dinner before the Virgin Voyager to Bristol arrives to take me to Derby.
I've got a cheap first class seat and I am the only person in the carriage - a very rare event these days. I relax and watch the sun setting as we pass from one Shire to the next. At Derby I look for the hotel and almost miss it because I'm not expecting it to be that close. It's right opposite the station. The room is very pleasant, accessed via a grand staircase or a quirky lift with a manual door. There are radio stations on the TV which is such a nice change. I'm not disturbed by noise from outside once the trains stop running and bringing people to the street outside; or from inside for a change, and I sleep very well. Breakfast is decent though the restaurant is stuffy and dim because it has no windows. Before my train to Matlock I wander into town but am discouraged when I realise it's the usual set of flyovers, roundabouts and shopping centres. I head back to the station. It's a relatively tasteful modern building, and I am delighted to see the words "Derby Midland" above the doors, harking back to the days when this was Derby's station on the Midland Railway, the other being Derby Central on the Great Central Railway. I wonder if the Central station was closer to town and lament the loss of the Great Central so relatively recently.
The Matlock train is a two coach 170, nearly completely full, unsurprising given the popularity of the Peak District. This makes the closure of the central section of the line in 1968 seem even stranger - one of those arbitrary closures that seems designed to reduce rail revenue rather than save money overall - because it's just the relatively short stretch between Matlock and Buxton that's gone. In a more enlightened age that may come someday I can imagine this will be one that is reinstated. In the meantime we pass through the incredible beauty of the north Peak District, just before it becomes the Peninnes, over rivers and valleys, before terminating at Matlock. I just have time to look around the Peak Rail bookshop only to hear an evident Londoner complaining about Ken Livingstone giving kids free travel on the buses - typical! One day I shall get to ride on the preserved Peak Railway but for today it's the quest. I hope back on the train and head back to Derby.
At Derby a three coach 158 waits to escort me to Crewe. This is a relatively pleasant journey through the Derbyshire and Cheshire countryside, though some of the towns near Crewe are a bit manky. There's a lot of football fans around but I can't identify them. I used to be much better at recognising the team strips, it's another of those aspects of travelling that reminds you that you're in another part of the country, but I am a bit out of touch at the moment. One of the saddest things is seeing hordes of Chelsea fans heading south or Liverpool fans heading north - the big teams are just franchises that people pick to support because they do well now.
At Crewe I encounter a new-fangled self-service coffee machine there - you place the cups etc yourself then take it to the counter in Smiths to pay for it - doesn't seem a very good idea! I hop on to an electric train to Manchester, it reminds me of the ones I go to work on, except that it picks up power from the overhead line. It's a reasonable jog through some of the famous Cheshire suburbs - Wilmlsow and Alderely Edge - before I get off at Stockport, one of the many towns I've changed trains at but never seen!
The Buxton train is a bit late but as I'm doing the round trip it's not a problem. It's a tatty two coach Sprinter. Another trip across the north of the Peak District on what would have been a through line to Matlock and Derby once, though this line looks as if it passes through some rather down at heel areas, Buxton is definitely more run down than I was expecting. There are junctions with various other lines along the way, mostly freight I think but we do meet the branch from Guide Bridge on the Woodhead line that eventually becomes the end of a tiny branch in Marple. I covered this one over New Year and am quite pleased about it - branches are a pain, especially short ones. You either have to do a round trip or hope that there is a junction or another line nearby.
To the north of the line to and from Manchester I can see another line snaking across viaducts etc. I guess this is the Hope Valley Line to Sheffield, another of the transpeninne routes. I'll be travelling on that next, though I have done a chunk of it before when Midland Mainline were offering London to Manchester services that ran along here (without stopping of course) and am looking forward to the scenery. At Manchester because the train from Buxton is actually going to Blackpool, we stop on the one of the through platforms which is MILES from the terminus - so far that a travelator is needed to move people around. I wonder whether to get the next Hope Valley train but then I see how many people are waiting - the next one will be much busier given that the shops will be closing by then. I hop on.
It's ANOTHER Pacer, totally unsuitable for a journey of this length, but the view makes up for it. This is easily one of the most scenic trips I've had - after Settle to Carlisle and Batersby to Whitby. The countryside of the Peak District is simply stunning. At Edale and Hope plenty of walkers get on, but it's surprising to me how many people have made the whole journey from Manchester. There are quicker fast trains that go via Hazel Grove instead. Maybe they like the view too.
I've arrived early at Sheffield so decide to go and look at the cathedral. I'm aware from a previous visit to the city that there's a horrific ring road just outside the station - sadly not unusual - so leave the station and go out to the tram station. It amazes me how few of these city's stations have barriers - the amount of fare dodging must be huge. There are conductors on the trains but if the train is busy there is no way they will reach everyone. I familiarise myself with the tram fares and map, and get on the next tram going to Halfway. It terminates at the Cathedral stop. It's nice finally seeing a bit of the city though as expected it's pretty much like all the other cities these days. The steel works are in dereliction and much of the place is still awaiting a Leeds or Manchester style regeneration. There are some horrible looking 60s flats high up on the hills that the city is built on, though I gather some of them have been demolished already. Unfortunately the cathedral is closed, so I get back on the train and go for a 15 minute ride towards Meadowhall, the giant shopping complex out of town, making sure I leave enough time to get back to the station for the London train.
The London train is a 125, I'm pleased to say, though I'm not happy that there is no quiet coach, so I'm treated to a presumably deaf woman's portable DVD all the way home. I moan with another passenger who agrees that she only bothers with a personal stereo to block out other such noise! I wish people could just read a bloody book! Anyway, it's fast from Leicester and I do enjoy the scenery - not sure I've ever done the midland mainline in daylight - so it's a comfortable enough trip back to London. After that it's the tedium of the trek on the Victoria line and SE Trains back to Penge. It gets harder to return to London every time I go away. This is partly the impact of speeding through the countryside one minute then being rammed on a hot tube surrounded by drunken tossers the next. I don't even remember getting home!
New lines covered this trip:
Newcastle-Hartlepool-Middlesbrough
Middlesbrough-Saltburn
Darlington-Bishop's Auckland
Middlesbrough-Northallerton
Derby-Matlock
Derby-Crewe
Crewe-Stockport
Stockport-Buxton
Chinley-Sheffield
Next morning, walked to King's Cross and found my seat - carriage very busy and noisy so I moved to an emptier one. I missed the interesting sign that I was looking for at the trackside that reads "London-Edinburgh:Half-Way" which always amuses me. I think I managed to be in the loo when we passed the Angel Of The North too! Oh well. Noticed a load of men in desert camouflage gear getting on the train, and realised that these were genuine squaddies returning from Iraq. For most of my life soldiers have been banned from wearing uniform for fear that it made them easy targets for the IRA, but now the ban is lifted, it's still an unusual sight. As camo is popular for casual wear you tend to think people aren't soldiers generally! We get into Newcastle on time. The many bridges over the Tyne are an impressive sight, though the city still seems a gritty place, despite the inevitable overhaul of shops and penthouses that all the major cities are receiving nowadays.
I had half an hour to kill before the train to Middlesbrough came. Managed to lose £20 in a cash machine cock up as it debited my account but did not give me the money - that will be fun to rectify. Had a bottle of Newcastle Brown in the reasonable station bar which really did have a feel of "Get Carter" about it. It still amazes me that I've travelled to the other end of England so swiftly. I then get on the Pacer train to Middlesbrough, I suspect I'm going to ride on a lot of Pacers today. It's pretty scandalous that so many long distance routes in the North have to put up with these bone-shakers. They're not great on short trips either, come to that. However if they've helped save these rural routes we should be grateful I guess. It bounces us through rather grey countryside, following the Tyne and Wear Metro. Sunderland looks a wee bit grim, where the Metro heads north and we continue on to Middlesbrough. It's a very few minutes before the Saltburn train, though I have a chance to look around me a bit. The town seems nearer than I remembered last year during my Whitby trip, and I'd forgotten that the station itself was a fusion of old and modern - something I always like.
The ride out to Saltburn is a nicer trip. Saltburn is a lovely place, the original huge station now converted to various businesses - a la Whitby - and there are breathtaking views of the North Sea when I work my way down to the beach. Unfortunately there is a high chav-surfer element roaming the streets, it's inevitable that the sport will start to attract the tracksuits I guess. I get lunch from a baker - I love Northern bakers, they invariably seem better in terms of range and taste than the ones in the South - then hop back on the train - another Pacer.
This train takes me all the way through to Bishop's Auckland. I've done the Middlesbrough to Darlington section previously, but it's always interesting to go to Darlington. It does have that bit of railway heritage for a start - the first locomotive-hauled railway in the world - but also Darlington is a pleasant station, with a huge overall roof and a spacious airy feel. We career right across the East Coast line tracks (must be a bottleneck) then off towards the North West. The route is like a microcosm of railway lands - sweeping countryside, tatty post-industrial countryside, manky towns, graffiti-covered out of town estates, and finally a grotty chav-ridden terminus that has definitely seen better days. I'm a bit depressed by the experience though it's hardly new to me. One bright point is the National Railway Museum overspill site at Shildon, which I intend to visit properly one day - there is also another museum at Darlington that I must see. Anyway, back we go, through Darlington and back to Middlesbrough.
This time at Middlesbrough I have a half hour's wait. I decide to go and look at the famous transporter bridge. I remember seeing a picture of it as a child in my Ladybird Book of Bridges, and then on BBC2's Coast last year. It's one of just two left in the country - the other is in Newport which I have seen from the train a few times down there. The walk to the bridge is weird. It's through an industrial estate that looks derelict but seems to be mostly active, past a scary looking pub, then past some pleasant-looking playing fields and council houses, though some are boarded up despite being new and in good condition. It does look like the sort of place where you get beaten up by drug dealers, yet I don't feel too nervous. There are several people admiring or photographing the bridge, as well as a fair bit of traffic crossing. I'd like to have a go on the bridge but know that it's too slow for me to guarantee getting back over for the train. Another day! Just as I think I won't see it working, the cradle starts to inch over the Tees. It's a fantastic sight. After that I head back to the station and climb aboard a new 185 Trans Pennine train to York It takes no time as it speeds through the spectacular and empty North Yorkshire countryside. I get to see Northallerton and Thirsk properly too, having only sped through these on GNER previously.
Having deliberately allowed time for contingencies, I have lots of spare time at York. So I have a pleasant walk up to the Minster, then back along the Ouse, across the bridge that carries the York to Scarborough branch, around the city walls and back to the station. There I have dinner before the Virgin Voyager to Bristol arrives to take me to Derby.
I've got a cheap first class seat and I am the only person in the carriage - a very rare event these days. I relax and watch the sun setting as we pass from one Shire to the next. At Derby I look for the hotel and almost miss it because I'm not expecting it to be that close. It's right opposite the station. The room is very pleasant, accessed via a grand staircase or a quirky lift with a manual door. There are radio stations on the TV which is such a nice change. I'm not disturbed by noise from outside once the trains stop running and bringing people to the street outside; or from inside for a change, and I sleep very well. Breakfast is decent though the restaurant is stuffy and dim because it has no windows. Before my train to Matlock I wander into town but am discouraged when I realise it's the usual set of flyovers, roundabouts and shopping centres. I head back to the station. It's a relatively tasteful modern building, and I am delighted to see the words "Derby Midland" above the doors, harking back to the days when this was Derby's station on the Midland Railway, the other being Derby Central on the Great Central Railway. I wonder if the Central station was closer to town and lament the loss of the Great Central so relatively recently.
The Matlock train is a two coach 170, nearly completely full, unsurprising given the popularity of the Peak District. This makes the closure of the central section of the line in 1968 seem even stranger - one of those arbitrary closures that seems designed to reduce rail revenue rather than save money overall - because it's just the relatively short stretch between Matlock and Buxton that's gone. In a more enlightened age that may come someday I can imagine this will be one that is reinstated. In the meantime we pass through the incredible beauty of the north Peak District, just before it becomes the Peninnes, over rivers and valleys, before terminating at Matlock. I just have time to look around the Peak Rail bookshop only to hear an evident Londoner complaining about Ken Livingstone giving kids free travel on the buses - typical! One day I shall get to ride on the preserved Peak Railway but for today it's the quest. I hope back on the train and head back to Derby.
At Derby a three coach 158 waits to escort me to Crewe. This is a relatively pleasant journey through the Derbyshire and Cheshire countryside, though some of the towns near Crewe are a bit manky. There's a lot of football fans around but I can't identify them. I used to be much better at recognising the team strips, it's another of those aspects of travelling that reminds you that you're in another part of the country, but I am a bit out of touch at the moment. One of the saddest things is seeing hordes of Chelsea fans heading south or Liverpool fans heading north - the big teams are just franchises that people pick to support because they do well now.
At Crewe I encounter a new-fangled self-service coffee machine there - you place the cups etc yourself then take it to the counter in Smiths to pay for it - doesn't seem a very good idea! I hop on to an electric train to Manchester, it reminds me of the ones I go to work on, except that it picks up power from the overhead line. It's a reasonable jog through some of the famous Cheshire suburbs - Wilmlsow and Alderely Edge - before I get off at Stockport, one of the many towns I've changed trains at but never seen!
The Buxton train is a bit late but as I'm doing the round trip it's not a problem. It's a tatty two coach Sprinter. Another trip across the north of the Peak District on what would have been a through line to Matlock and Derby once, though this line looks as if it passes through some rather down at heel areas, Buxton is definitely more run down than I was expecting. There are junctions with various other lines along the way, mostly freight I think but we do meet the branch from Guide Bridge on the Woodhead line that eventually becomes the end of a tiny branch in Marple. I covered this one over New Year and am quite pleased about it - branches are a pain, especially short ones. You either have to do a round trip or hope that there is a junction or another line nearby.
To the north of the line to and from Manchester I can see another line snaking across viaducts etc. I guess this is the Hope Valley Line to Sheffield, another of the transpeninne routes. I'll be travelling on that next, though I have done a chunk of it before when Midland Mainline were offering London to Manchester services that ran along here (without stopping of course) and am looking forward to the scenery. At Manchester because the train from Buxton is actually going to Blackpool, we stop on the one of the through platforms which is MILES from the terminus - so far that a travelator is needed to move people around. I wonder whether to get the next Hope Valley train but then I see how many people are waiting - the next one will be much busier given that the shops will be closing by then. I hop on.
It's ANOTHER Pacer, totally unsuitable for a journey of this length, but the view makes up for it. This is easily one of the most scenic trips I've had - after Settle to Carlisle and Batersby to Whitby. The countryside of the Peak District is simply stunning. At Edale and Hope plenty of walkers get on, but it's surprising to me how many people have made the whole journey from Manchester. There are quicker fast trains that go via Hazel Grove instead. Maybe they like the view too.
I've arrived early at Sheffield so decide to go and look at the cathedral. I'm aware from a previous visit to the city that there's a horrific ring road just outside the station - sadly not unusual - so leave the station and go out to the tram station. It amazes me how few of these city's stations have barriers - the amount of fare dodging must be huge. There are conductors on the trains but if the train is busy there is no way they will reach everyone. I familiarise myself with the tram fares and map, and get on the next tram going to Halfway. It terminates at the Cathedral stop. It's nice finally seeing a bit of the city though as expected it's pretty much like all the other cities these days. The steel works are in dereliction and much of the place is still awaiting a Leeds or Manchester style regeneration. There are some horrible looking 60s flats high up on the hills that the city is built on, though I gather some of them have been demolished already. Unfortunately the cathedral is closed, so I get back on the train and go for a 15 minute ride towards Meadowhall, the giant shopping complex out of town, making sure I leave enough time to get back to the station for the London train.
The London train is a 125, I'm pleased to say, though I'm not happy that there is no quiet coach, so I'm treated to a presumably deaf woman's portable DVD all the way home. I moan with another passenger who agrees that she only bothers with a personal stereo to block out other such noise! I wish people could just read a bloody book! Anyway, it's fast from Leicester and I do enjoy the scenery - not sure I've ever done the midland mainline in daylight - so it's a comfortable enough trip back to London. After that it's the tedium of the trek on the Victoria line and SE Trains back to Penge. It gets harder to return to London every time I go away. This is partly the impact of speeding through the countryside one minute then being rammed on a hot tube surrounded by drunken tossers the next. I don't even remember getting home!
New lines covered this trip:
Newcastle-Hartlepool-Middlesbrough
Middlesbrough-Saltburn
Darlington-Bishop's Auckland
Middlesbrough-Northallerton
Derby-Matlock
Derby-Crewe
Crewe-Stockport
Stockport-Buxton
Chinley-Sheffield
Saturday, 24 March 2007
Yorkshire 23-24 March 2007
This is a strange one. I thought it was going to be a difficult one to plan as I'm including a couple of lines with rare trains as well as coping with a wide area to cover, some of which have irregular services. But (aside from one miscalculation which I shall come to) it's a straightforward planning exercise. There are decent gaps between trains, meaning no horrendously long or impossibly short gaps. Some of East Yorkshire I can leave out - most of the line to Hull, the two lines to Scarborough and Doncaster to Goole - because I am undertaking a trip with a colleague to these lines on some future date.
It's a Friday when I set off as I need a weekday to cover some of the awkward days (Sunday services being almost non-existent in places as I discovered at New Year). Can't remember much about the first leg to York, except that I arrived at 10am, probably on a 225 going to Edinburgh as I invariably seem to get an Edinburgh train! A bit sick of coffee but quite thirsty I break a massive duck by giving in and having a beer in the station bar. Probably not a good idea.
At 11 a two coach Pacer takes me bumping to Sheffield via Pontefract - one of the two trains a week jobs. It's a slow way round but not a slow line. I wonder why it hardly has any trains and guage that it's probably due to the large number of coal trains I see. These are generally dedicated freight lines with the odd passenger train to prevent closure and to keep the drivers' knowledge alive. Pontefract is a miserable looking town and I can't see the castle, but as I'm due to pass through its two other stations this weekend I'm not too bereft. At Sheffield I have a short pause before the next leg so I have a look around. Right outside the station is a huge new fountain that heads down massive steps up to the main road. This road is practically a motorway and cuts rail travellers off from the city centre - nice! Later on I discover that the tram will take you past all this and I envisage that I will never try to find my way on foot now(!).
The next leg is to Wakefield Kirkgate. Such is the complexity of the Northern rail network that I've covered part of this leg on other occasions, but never the stretch between Barnsley and Kirkgate. I've come to the conclusion that the West Riding is a bit of a tatty place. There is rubbish dumped all along the railway. Carrier bags are hanging in every tree like strange alien leaves. Being a post-industrial landscape there are a lot of decaying buildings. It's a great shame because the countryside between the cities is beautiful, rather like the Valleys.
The next destination does not help this impression. Disembarking at Wakefield Kirkgate, you feel as if the train has stopped by mistake. I have never seen such a decaying station. Apparently Northern have tarted it up a bit, but which bit is not clear. The whole place is a mess, the once-impressive building dotted with broken windows, the platform walls and canopies like skeletons, and the yard to one side, amazingly still in use, is a hulk of rust. Trying to ignore the dodgy looking flats and seemingly closed pub as I exit, I walk into the town, this time managing to avoid the underpasses that I'm supposed to use. I have time to do a very rapid trip round the pleasant Cathedral then run for the next train to Westgate station. And here is the HUGE miscalculation. I noticed that there are through trains from Wakefield to Selby, that not only cover the link between the two stations, but then go via Huddersfield, Bradford and Leeds before covering the last stretch to Selby that I haven't done yet. I've actually done most of these lines already but am willing to do this epic voyage as it appears to fit in with the rest of the itineary without issue. But I've misread the timetable, the train gets to Selby a whole hour later than I thought and this obviously screws up all that comes afterwards. It doesn't dawn on me until I'm nearly at Leeds and realise it's a bit later in the day than I thought it would be. What's galling is that I ran for this bloody train too! No wonder the conductor gave me a funny look as well, who goes to Selby this way apart from me?! What's annoying is that the only new ground is the loop between the two Wakefield stations, and from Kirkgate it would have easy to get to Leeds then to Selby in half the time AND then kept to the day's plan. Oh well. It's nice seeing a new bit of line at Selby, it's a pleasant looking town with lots of stuff like signal boxes and bridges to see as we head over the river Ouse.
At Selby I have obviously missed the connection to Gilberdyke. I quickly study the timetables, trying to work out how I can salvage the situation, sadly not quickly enough to take advantage of the Hull train that comes in just after I reach Selby. It looks as if I can get to Brough, slightly further on and change for Goole there, and still make the rare service to Leeds via Pontefract. I have time for a quick walk around Selby up to the Abbey and back, no pubs near the station, which is unusual. The trip to Brough is pleasant, I've not seen East Yorkshire before, and the landscape has a beautifully desolate feel. I guess it's that east coast marshland again - it must be the Romney Marsh look that appeals to me again!
At Brough I want to go and look at the Humber, but my way is blocked by industrial buildings. Instead I have some chips and curry sauce, which somehow I've never sampled before, then head back to the station. I let a Sheffield train go because my one is a bit later. Big mistake. I've misread the timetable again! I will now miss the Goole to Leeds train, and there are no more. I resign myself to at least getting the Gilberdyke-Goole-Doncaster section completed, though it's a bit annoying that I will then have to pay for another ticket from Doncaster to Leeds. The train is pretty full, I sit next to some German-speaking youths who are as annoying as the home-grown ones, playing music at deafening volumes on their personal stereos. They go all the way to Doncaster and I assume they are heading to London.
At Doncaster the trains are running late, it being a bit of a bottleneck, and I take the chance to look around quickly. It's another 60s charmer, and the only way into town appears to be through a giant shopping complex attached directly to the station. Eventually one of the rare direct London to Bradford GNER 225s turns up and I clamber into a quiet coach that no-one is quiet in. Thankfully it's a short journey though I'm surprised by the number of stations between Doncaster and Leeds.
At Leeds I head for my hotel, a Travelodge in Vicarge Lane, getting lost in the process which always seems to happen to me in Leeds. It could be because the map I have seems to be missing half the road names and shows the major roads as far larger than they are which can be misleading in reality. I am on the look out for somewhere to eat in case the Travelodge cafe is not open. My room is huge, on the top floor and a bit cold because the heater isn't working. I can't be bothered to sort it out as it's not exactly freezing and there is an extra blanket. I go to the cafe to eat. There are some kids there that I am amazed they are serving, but then the bar staff look like nursery escapees anyway! I make the mistake of ordering a burger and onion rings. There is way too much of it and it is somewhat heavy on the fat. I decide that I have got to stop ordering these meals when I'm out and about. Having eaten the chips earlier I do not need to eat! It's just ritual and I have to resist it. It will save me money too! Also, I have to take more care choosing drinks if they don't the one I want - again, why make myself uncomfortable for the sake of ordering something? I do have a very comfortable night's sleep. Though the message about the food is rammed home when I order an (expensive) breakfast the next day, which is not brilliant and stays with me all day to say the least. All I wanted was coffee and toast, which I could have got anywhere on the way back to the station.
First leg of the day is York via Harrogate. This time it's a three coach Pacer. This is a pleasant trip, half of which I did in 2005 on my way to Fountains Abbey, and the other half is as pleasant as the first. North Yorkshire is a real breath of fresh air compared to the West Riding, the trackside debris disappearing almost as soon as we plunge out of the conurbation into the countryside. We pass through some gorgeous lush meadows over sweeping viaducts and one mammoth tunnel. I've never arrived into York from the north and it's nice to get a different view of the towering Minster. I notice the Scarborough line curving in from the east to join us under the wires, I didn't realise that it split from the main line so soon after York station.
At York I have the now inevitable early drink in the bar before catching the train to Selby. This is a curious shuttle like service, presumably there to make up for the fact that Selby lost some of its status when the main line was rebuilt away from it to avoid the "superpit" opened in the early 1980s. I'm sure that regular York-Hull services would make more sense though. There are some odd routes and timetables up here! At Selby I have time to actually visit the Abbey properly, it's fairly impressive and I'm pleased I made a point of doing so rather than stopping for the inevitable drink instead.
There are more people on the return York service than I expect, it being a somewhat long way round via Sherburn-in-Elmet and Church Fenton. I'm guessing this could be another coal line much of the time as Sherburn doesn't look like the busiest place in the world. Back at York I hop on to a Trans Pennine 185, crowded as ever, back to Leeds, a journey I am now very familiar with, but at least it's quick.
At Leeds I get on a train to Knottingley. Had I managed to do the Goole-Leeds stretch yesterday, this would already have been covered. This reverses at Castleford and takes me through the second of the three Pontefract stations. Knottingley is interesting only in that it seems to be the meeting point for a few freight lines, and I see a couple of coal trains shuffling around while I wait for the next leg. This is via the third Pontefract station to Wakefield Kirkgate and turns out to be on the same train that brought me to Knottingley, it has simply headed off in the Goole direction (the lines stretch away teasing me because I missed them yesterday!) and changed tracks before heading back. The countryside is a bit more rural on this route, though Wakefield spoils all that. I wait faintly nervously on the ruined Kirkgate for the return train to Leeds, it's not an environment that inspires confidence. The train back takes the non-stop route which is good. It's amazing how complex this little cluster of lines between Leeds, Wakefield and Knottingley is, with about four separate services running on them. Luckily I did the Castleford-Normation-Wakefield section in 2005 so no need to repeat it here. All three trains today are two coach Pacers.
Back at Leeds I check the timetables to find the best way to Sheffield where I'm picking up my home train from. The direct route is actually a stopping train; the indirect route is a Cross Country, so it's actually faster. Though there's no indication in the timetable because it only has one stop before Sheffield. Also I glean that the Cross Country service covers a tiny section of route between Fitzwilliamd and Moorthorpe that somehow I've missed until now. It's a Voyager train going to Bristol ultimately, though most of the passengers seem to be going to Sheffield like myself. Though the map suggested that there was only way from Wakefield to Sheffield, I only get conformation that we've covered the "missing" bit once we pass through the stations at either end of it. It's such a complicated network up here that you never know when a loop that doesn't appear on the map is going to appear!
As I'm writing this some weeks later, I remember little about the trip to London, except that it was my old favourite, a HST. I realise that I have managed to travel via every city in Yorkshire bar Hull during this bash, taking these as Leeds, Bradford, Huddersfield, Halifax, Wakefield, Sheffield, Barnsley, Doncaster, Harrogate and York. Though it's only of interest to myself, it feels like a sort of daft achievment!
New lines added this trip:
York-Pontefract-Sheffield
Sheffield-Darton-Wakefield Kirkgate
Wakefield Westgate-Wakefield Kirkgate
Micklefield-Selby-Brough
Brough-Goole-Doncaster
York-Selby
Selby-Sherburn-York
Leeds-Castleford-Knottingley
Knottingley-Wakefield Kirkgate
Wakefield Kirkgate-Woodlesford-Leeds
Leeds-Wakefield Kirkgate-Sheffield
It's a Friday when I set off as I need a weekday to cover some of the awkward days (Sunday services being almost non-existent in places as I discovered at New Year). Can't remember much about the first leg to York, except that I arrived at 10am, probably on a 225 going to Edinburgh as I invariably seem to get an Edinburgh train! A bit sick of coffee but quite thirsty I break a massive duck by giving in and having a beer in the station bar. Probably not a good idea.
At 11 a two coach Pacer takes me bumping to Sheffield via Pontefract - one of the two trains a week jobs. It's a slow way round but not a slow line. I wonder why it hardly has any trains and guage that it's probably due to the large number of coal trains I see. These are generally dedicated freight lines with the odd passenger train to prevent closure and to keep the drivers' knowledge alive. Pontefract is a miserable looking town and I can't see the castle, but as I'm due to pass through its two other stations this weekend I'm not too bereft. At Sheffield I have a short pause before the next leg so I have a look around. Right outside the station is a huge new fountain that heads down massive steps up to the main road. This road is practically a motorway and cuts rail travellers off from the city centre - nice! Later on I discover that the tram will take you past all this and I envisage that I will never try to find my way on foot now(!).
The next leg is to Wakefield Kirkgate. Such is the complexity of the Northern rail network that I've covered part of this leg on other occasions, but never the stretch between Barnsley and Kirkgate. I've come to the conclusion that the West Riding is a bit of a tatty place. There is rubbish dumped all along the railway. Carrier bags are hanging in every tree like strange alien leaves. Being a post-industrial landscape there are a lot of decaying buildings. It's a great shame because the countryside between the cities is beautiful, rather like the Valleys.
The next destination does not help this impression. Disembarking at Wakefield Kirkgate, you feel as if the train has stopped by mistake. I have never seen such a decaying station. Apparently Northern have tarted it up a bit, but which bit is not clear. The whole place is a mess, the once-impressive building dotted with broken windows, the platform walls and canopies like skeletons, and the yard to one side, amazingly still in use, is a hulk of rust. Trying to ignore the dodgy looking flats and seemingly closed pub as I exit, I walk into the town, this time managing to avoid the underpasses that I'm supposed to use. I have time to do a very rapid trip round the pleasant Cathedral then run for the next train to Westgate station. And here is the HUGE miscalculation. I noticed that there are through trains from Wakefield to Selby, that not only cover the link between the two stations, but then go via Huddersfield, Bradford and Leeds before covering the last stretch to Selby that I haven't done yet. I've actually done most of these lines already but am willing to do this epic voyage as it appears to fit in with the rest of the itineary without issue. But I've misread the timetable, the train gets to Selby a whole hour later than I thought and this obviously screws up all that comes afterwards. It doesn't dawn on me until I'm nearly at Leeds and realise it's a bit later in the day than I thought it would be. What's galling is that I ran for this bloody train too! No wonder the conductor gave me a funny look as well, who goes to Selby this way apart from me?! What's annoying is that the only new ground is the loop between the two Wakefield stations, and from Kirkgate it would have easy to get to Leeds then to Selby in half the time AND then kept to the day's plan. Oh well. It's nice seeing a new bit of line at Selby, it's a pleasant looking town with lots of stuff like signal boxes and bridges to see as we head over the river Ouse.
At Selby I have obviously missed the connection to Gilberdyke. I quickly study the timetables, trying to work out how I can salvage the situation, sadly not quickly enough to take advantage of the Hull train that comes in just after I reach Selby. It looks as if I can get to Brough, slightly further on and change for Goole there, and still make the rare service to Leeds via Pontefract. I have time for a quick walk around Selby up to the Abbey and back, no pubs near the station, which is unusual. The trip to Brough is pleasant, I've not seen East Yorkshire before, and the landscape has a beautifully desolate feel. I guess it's that east coast marshland again - it must be the Romney Marsh look that appeals to me again!
At Brough I want to go and look at the Humber, but my way is blocked by industrial buildings. Instead I have some chips and curry sauce, which somehow I've never sampled before, then head back to the station. I let a Sheffield train go because my one is a bit later. Big mistake. I've misread the timetable again! I will now miss the Goole to Leeds train, and there are no more. I resign myself to at least getting the Gilberdyke-Goole-Doncaster section completed, though it's a bit annoying that I will then have to pay for another ticket from Doncaster to Leeds. The train is pretty full, I sit next to some German-speaking youths who are as annoying as the home-grown ones, playing music at deafening volumes on their personal stereos. They go all the way to Doncaster and I assume they are heading to London.
At Doncaster the trains are running late, it being a bit of a bottleneck, and I take the chance to look around quickly. It's another 60s charmer, and the only way into town appears to be through a giant shopping complex attached directly to the station. Eventually one of the rare direct London to Bradford GNER 225s turns up and I clamber into a quiet coach that no-one is quiet in. Thankfully it's a short journey though I'm surprised by the number of stations between Doncaster and Leeds.
At Leeds I head for my hotel, a Travelodge in Vicarge Lane, getting lost in the process which always seems to happen to me in Leeds. It could be because the map I have seems to be missing half the road names and shows the major roads as far larger than they are which can be misleading in reality. I am on the look out for somewhere to eat in case the Travelodge cafe is not open. My room is huge, on the top floor and a bit cold because the heater isn't working. I can't be bothered to sort it out as it's not exactly freezing and there is an extra blanket. I go to the cafe to eat. There are some kids there that I am amazed they are serving, but then the bar staff look like nursery escapees anyway! I make the mistake of ordering a burger and onion rings. There is way too much of it and it is somewhat heavy on the fat. I decide that I have got to stop ordering these meals when I'm out and about. Having eaten the chips earlier I do not need to eat! It's just ritual and I have to resist it. It will save me money too! Also, I have to take more care choosing drinks if they don't the one I want - again, why make myself uncomfortable for the sake of ordering something? I do have a very comfortable night's sleep. Though the message about the food is rammed home when I order an (expensive) breakfast the next day, which is not brilliant and stays with me all day to say the least. All I wanted was coffee and toast, which I could have got anywhere on the way back to the station.
First leg of the day is York via Harrogate. This time it's a three coach Pacer. This is a pleasant trip, half of which I did in 2005 on my way to Fountains Abbey, and the other half is as pleasant as the first. North Yorkshire is a real breath of fresh air compared to the West Riding, the trackside debris disappearing almost as soon as we plunge out of the conurbation into the countryside. We pass through some gorgeous lush meadows over sweeping viaducts and one mammoth tunnel. I've never arrived into York from the north and it's nice to get a different view of the towering Minster. I notice the Scarborough line curving in from the east to join us under the wires, I didn't realise that it split from the main line so soon after York station.
At York I have the now inevitable early drink in the bar before catching the train to Selby. This is a curious shuttle like service, presumably there to make up for the fact that Selby lost some of its status when the main line was rebuilt away from it to avoid the "superpit" opened in the early 1980s. I'm sure that regular York-Hull services would make more sense though. There are some odd routes and timetables up here! At Selby I have time to actually visit the Abbey properly, it's fairly impressive and I'm pleased I made a point of doing so rather than stopping for the inevitable drink instead.
There are more people on the return York service than I expect, it being a somewhat long way round via Sherburn-in-Elmet and Church Fenton. I'm guessing this could be another coal line much of the time as Sherburn doesn't look like the busiest place in the world. Back at York I hop on to a Trans Pennine 185, crowded as ever, back to Leeds, a journey I am now very familiar with, but at least it's quick.
At Leeds I get on a train to Knottingley. Had I managed to do the Goole-Leeds stretch yesterday, this would already have been covered. This reverses at Castleford and takes me through the second of the three Pontefract stations. Knottingley is interesting only in that it seems to be the meeting point for a few freight lines, and I see a couple of coal trains shuffling around while I wait for the next leg. This is via the third Pontefract station to Wakefield Kirkgate and turns out to be on the same train that brought me to Knottingley, it has simply headed off in the Goole direction (the lines stretch away teasing me because I missed them yesterday!) and changed tracks before heading back. The countryside is a bit more rural on this route, though Wakefield spoils all that. I wait faintly nervously on the ruined Kirkgate for the return train to Leeds, it's not an environment that inspires confidence. The train back takes the non-stop route which is good. It's amazing how complex this little cluster of lines between Leeds, Wakefield and Knottingley is, with about four separate services running on them. Luckily I did the Castleford-Normation-Wakefield section in 2005 so no need to repeat it here. All three trains today are two coach Pacers.
Back at Leeds I check the timetables to find the best way to Sheffield where I'm picking up my home train from. The direct route is actually a stopping train; the indirect route is a Cross Country, so it's actually faster. Though there's no indication in the timetable because it only has one stop before Sheffield. Also I glean that the Cross Country service covers a tiny section of route between Fitzwilliamd and Moorthorpe that somehow I've missed until now. It's a Voyager train going to Bristol ultimately, though most of the passengers seem to be going to Sheffield like myself. Though the map suggested that there was only way from Wakefield to Sheffield, I only get conformation that we've covered the "missing" bit once we pass through the stations at either end of it. It's such a complicated network up here that you never know when a loop that doesn't appear on the map is going to appear!
As I'm writing this some weeks later, I remember little about the trip to London, except that it was my old favourite, a HST. I realise that I have managed to travel via every city in Yorkshire bar Hull during this bash, taking these as Leeds, Bradford, Huddersfield, Halifax, Wakefield, Sheffield, Barnsley, Doncaster, Harrogate and York. Though it's only of interest to myself, it feels like a sort of daft achievment!
New lines added this trip:
York-Pontefract-Sheffield
Sheffield-Darton-Wakefield Kirkgate
Wakefield Westgate-Wakefield Kirkgate
Micklefield-Selby-Brough
Brough-Goole-Doncaster
York-Selby
Selby-Sherburn-York
Leeds-Castleford-Knottingley
Knottingley-Wakefield Kirkgate
Wakefield Kirkgate-Woodlesford-Leeds
Leeds-Wakefield Kirkgate-Sheffield
Saturday, 3 February 2007
The Valleys Lines 3 February 2007
A relatively straightforward day in many ways. All the lines have relatively frequent services, though some are non-existent on Sundays, so it had to be a Saturday. And one ticket - the Valleys Explorer - covered the lot. As far as I could see I could get most of the lines in today. So I set off from Paddington earlyish on a cold but sunny day. I am so familiar with Paddington now but I never tire of departing from here. It's one of the last London stations to evoke that feeling of really departing for somewhere else. As you rise out of the tube, the cavernous cathedral like space opens around you. The smell of diesel exhaust evokes that feeling that you are about to go on a real journey. You look up at Brunel's great arched roof and see the clouds of smoke from roaring Cornwall expresses and you can really imagine it in the days of steam, with scampering crowds of excited children in shorts and raincoats heading off for two weeks in Bideford Bay.
My first stop is a bit different - Cardiff Central. The 125 arrives a bit late and there are long queues in the booking office, so I miss the next leg of the day's festivities. I do a quick mental re-jig then leap on to a 2 coach Pacer to the end of the short Coryton branch. This appears to be a suburb of Cardiff. I remain on the train as it makes its return. The re-jig means I get off at Cardiff Queen Street rather than Central; if I stay on I'll miss my next train as it passes us in the opposite direction.
This is a two coach Sprinter heading for the bleak post-mining community of Rhymney (pronounced Rum-ney). It actually has a junction with the Coryton line at Heath, where there are Low Level and High Level stations - a pleasingly old fashioned term largely removed elsewhere. But not knowing the territory it's safer to stick to Queen Street. At Rhynmney I have time to walk the steepish hill to the town for some water before returning to the waiting return train. I note Caerphilly Castle on the way back and mark it down for a return visit after all the nonsense of the quest.
True heads-down questing follows; there are three branches to plough through now. First up is Merthyr Tydfil. Once home to the mines and the ironworks, it is now home to Asda, and seemingly, a machine for duplicating chavs. I am pleased to bail out. I change trains at Abercynon. This has two stations - North and South - on different lines but within touching distance of each other, though you still have to walk up the road that connects them. I gather there are plans to rebuild the two stations as one interchange, which makes a lot of sense. Abercynon is a faintly grim town, though not exactly threatening. At the North station I take another Sprinter to Aberdare. I remember little of this trip now. However what strikes me is that the landscape in South Wales is beautiful, lush rivers and valleys in every direction, but tainted by graffiti and dumped cars in every stream.
I have to change at Pontypridd (Pontypreeth) which is at that point the most horrible place I have ever waited for a train. There are yobs EVERYWHERE, the presence of several police not putting them off but making me feel marginally safer. I will be pleased to get this one over with. A Sprinter takes me and the crowds up to Treherbert. This is rough. There are security guards on the return train. Kids throw stuff at the train. I've heard since that Arriva Trains are threatening to withdraw services because they cannot guarantee the safety of their staff. What a world. Despite having more sources of entertainment than any previous generation, the current bunch of kids are still using being bored as an excuse to be obnoxious. It's about time that someone taught them they don't have a right to be entertained. Grateful to be free of this painful area, I head back past the dreaded Pontypridd, where things are quiet now, and get off at Radyr.
This change is to enable me to return to Cardiff Central via the line that comes into the west of the city, having travelled east out of the city earlier. I have a moderate wait for this particular route, and have a wander round. It's dark now, so there isn't much to see. There are lots of new houses going up in addition to the many suburban streets already there. It's also a well-used Park and Ride facility, and it's gratifying to see that. A final two coach Pacer arrives from one of the three branches that I've just traversed, and heads along the river and into the Central station. Only a couple of other people are on board. I investigate the possibility of fitting in the Penarth or Bay branches, but neither can be easily accommodated; if there is a hitch I will miss the last train home, which is an early 7.30pm. Instead I decide to tackle these plus the Maestag branch on another day, and head back to the largest of the UK's capitals once more.
London-Cardiff
Cardiff-Coryton
Coryton-Queen Street
Queen Street-Rhymney
Rhymney-Queen Street
Queen Street-Merthyr Tydfil
Merthyr Tydfil-Abercyon South
Abercyon North-Aberdare
Aberdare-Pontypridd
Pontypridd-Treherbert
Treherbert-Pontypridd
Pontypridd-Radyr
Radyr-Fairwater-Cardiff Central
Cardiff-London
My first stop is a bit different - Cardiff Central. The 125 arrives a bit late and there are long queues in the booking office, so I miss the next leg of the day's festivities. I do a quick mental re-jig then leap on to a 2 coach Pacer to the end of the short Coryton branch. This appears to be a suburb of Cardiff. I remain on the train as it makes its return. The re-jig means I get off at Cardiff Queen Street rather than Central; if I stay on I'll miss my next train as it passes us in the opposite direction.
This is a two coach Sprinter heading for the bleak post-mining community of Rhymney (pronounced Rum-ney). It actually has a junction with the Coryton line at Heath, where there are Low Level and High Level stations - a pleasingly old fashioned term largely removed elsewhere. But not knowing the territory it's safer to stick to Queen Street. At Rhynmney I have time to walk the steepish hill to the town for some water before returning to the waiting return train. I note Caerphilly Castle on the way back and mark it down for a return visit after all the nonsense of the quest.
True heads-down questing follows; there are three branches to plough through now. First up is Merthyr Tydfil. Once home to the mines and the ironworks, it is now home to Asda, and seemingly, a machine for duplicating chavs. I am pleased to bail out. I change trains at Abercynon. This has two stations - North and South - on different lines but within touching distance of each other, though you still have to walk up the road that connects them. I gather there are plans to rebuild the two stations as one interchange, which makes a lot of sense. Abercynon is a faintly grim town, though not exactly threatening. At the North station I take another Sprinter to Aberdare. I remember little of this trip now. However what strikes me is that the landscape in South Wales is beautiful, lush rivers and valleys in every direction, but tainted by graffiti and dumped cars in every stream.
I have to change at Pontypridd (Pontypreeth) which is at that point the most horrible place I have ever waited for a train. There are yobs EVERYWHERE, the presence of several police not putting them off but making me feel marginally safer. I will be pleased to get this one over with. A Sprinter takes me and the crowds up to Treherbert. This is rough. There are security guards on the return train. Kids throw stuff at the train. I've heard since that Arriva Trains are threatening to withdraw services because they cannot guarantee the safety of their staff. What a world. Despite having more sources of entertainment than any previous generation, the current bunch of kids are still using being bored as an excuse to be obnoxious. It's about time that someone taught them they don't have a right to be entertained. Grateful to be free of this painful area, I head back past the dreaded Pontypridd, where things are quiet now, and get off at Radyr.
This change is to enable me to return to Cardiff Central via the line that comes into the west of the city, having travelled east out of the city earlier. I have a moderate wait for this particular route, and have a wander round. It's dark now, so there isn't much to see. There are lots of new houses going up in addition to the many suburban streets already there. It's also a well-used Park and Ride facility, and it's gratifying to see that. A final two coach Pacer arrives from one of the three branches that I've just traversed, and heads along the river and into the Central station. Only a couple of other people are on board. I investigate the possibility of fitting in the Penarth or Bay branches, but neither can be easily accommodated; if there is a hitch I will miss the last train home, which is an early 7.30pm. Instead I decide to tackle these plus the Maestag branch on another day, and head back to the largest of the UK's capitals once more.
London-Cardiff
Cardiff-Coryton
Coryton-Queen Street
Queen Street-Rhymney
Rhymney-Queen Street
Queen Street-Merthyr Tydfil
Merthyr Tydfil-Abercyon South
Abercyon North-Aberdare
Aberdare-Pontypridd
Pontypridd-Treherbert
Treherbert-Pontypridd
Pontypridd-Radyr
Radyr-Fairwater-Cardiff Central
Cardiff-London
Saturday, 13 January 2007
Nottinghamshire 13 January 2007
This day started out as a bashing trip to Lincolnshire but somehow ended up being a Nottinghamshire bash. Not sure why, possibly as my Lincolnshire trip was a complicated one to sort and I couldn't be bothered to spend the time on this occasion. Anyway, very early on the first Saturday of the year at its coldest darkest time I found myself heading for St Pancras. It took ages to reach the Midland Mainline platforms, I hope when it re-opens it won't be such a slog from the street. By now the trainshed roof was visible again and looking very impressive. It's going to be a fantastic space but I hope it doesn't become a glorified shopping centre like so much regeneration in the UK, they've already trumpeted such bollocks as the big champagne bar that's coming.
I watched the sun rise over the East Midlands from my seat on a Meridian train (too knackered to see if it was a four or nine car job), but was far too tired to appreciate it, my eyes were impossible to keep open. There was no mention of the buffet car either, though the conductor seemed to be able to get himself a coffee. I woke up in time to see a new bit of trackside scenery between Loughborough and Nottingham. Nottingham is a large impressive red brick station. I gather it used to be Nottingham Victoria to distinguish it from Nottingham Central on the GCR. I am grateful for a coffee on this cold morning while I wait for the train to Sheffield.
When it comes it's a three coach 170, there are a fair few of these running in the Midlands, they're pretty good though again three coaches just doesn't seem enough nowadays. By the time we reach Sheffield the train is heaving and it's nowhere near its destination - it's continuing to Liverpool! There are some enthusiasts on board - real ones with a list of locomotive movements, and they seem fairly typical of the ones I've encountered - ordinary thirty something blokes who have a bit of a laugh together bashing, spotting, filming or watching trains. There are the stereotypes but sadly these continue to dominate most people's perceptions. Amid the seething crowd there is a small dispute when an old man is turfed out of his seat by a group who have reserved it, which seems a bit petty but the conductor finds him another seat. I can't appreciate the scenery as it is so crowded but to be honest much of the area around Nottingham and Derby appeals to me as much as my journey to work - works mess, crumbling buildings and graffiti everywhere.
At Sheffield I have a stroke of luck. I've got three minutes to catch the connection to Lincoln and I did not expect to get it, I thought that the train from Nottingham would inevitably pick up a delay and Sheffield is a sprawling sort of station that I'm not that familiar with. It's one of those with loads of bay platforms all over the place and so doesn't seem to follow the normal numbering. However not only is our train on time and the Lincoln train late but we pull up almost next to to the correct platform. This will give me a much better chance of completing the day's itinerary. When it does arrive it's a two coach Pacer. It's reasonably well patronised this morning but I do get a decent seat all the way. It's a reasonably scenic route, helped by the bright blue sky that has prevailed today. We bounce across South Yorkshire and into Lincolnshire. We pass a coal power station of the type that is booming again now thanks to natural gas running low, another of the fantastic 80s economic policies coming back to bite us - appropriate given that we are in countryside devastated by the pit closures. At Retford we head under the main East Coast Line. It's a strange feeling. Not only do I get a mental picture of filling in the map - now I've done the "over and under" here but also the sight of the overhead wires are a link to home, leading ultimately to London as they do. We pass through Gainsborough Lea Road which I erroneously imagine is a graceful sort of town then towards Lincoln. Lincoln is one of those rare places I've already visited by car but not by train and again I enjoy the vista of the cathedral and castle overlooking the city.
There appear to be riot police in the cafe there. They assure me they're only expecting Lincoln City's rivals that day while I have lunch but they are kitted out in a hell of a lot of tough looking gear - I wonder who the visitors are that day?! Next I'm on the two car class 170 to Nottingham via Newark Castle. It's an interesting route. There are a LOT of stops, close together, not many passengers except at Newark itself, and yet apart from Newark it's all very rural - not sure how all those stations still exist - though I'm pleased that they do! At Newark there is what I gather is the last proper diamond crossing in the UK. It reminds me of the Hornby ones I used to see in the track plans book, but this is quite something in reality. We wait for a northbound GNER train to pass in front of us, slowing down for the crossing, then we pass across after it's gone. Seeing it retreat into the distance makes me feel faintly wobbly as I think about the speed it must be doing by now. I'm amazed that in today's health and safety hysteria such a crossing is still permitted. I guess the investment for a flyover would be considered too much for Network Rail.
At Nottingham I head out on to the new tram, connected directly to the platforms by a stairway - another guarantee of getting fare dodgers inside! I take this to Hucknall, which I would compare to a million grim and grimy out of town places in London. The tram is pretty impressive - with a conductor, always a good idea - and I'm pleased that they are getting more. I think if used carefully there is much scope for using light rail either to replace or compliment heavy rail - as well as open up entirely new routes. Maybe a more progressive administration will allow us to catch up with the continent and open a few more. It's ironic that the clutch of light rail schemes we have now were nearly all planned and approved by the Thatcher and Major governments.
I'm cheered by the sight of some kids photographing trams and trains at Hucknall, despite their baseball caps and tracksuits they're not following some stupid "cool" agenda. The train is on time - a scruffy two coach 158. It's a steady but largely uneventful run to Worksop, meeting up with the line I'd passed this morning. Though I'm doing the return trip I have to get off and cross platforms. I see the controls reversed as the tail lights become headlights before the train enters the platform. The conductor looks at me as if not sure if he's seen me before but says nothing! Back to Nottingham, where it's starting to get dark. That's the main problem with bashing in winter, there is always a point where you can no longer see the scenery and then it becomes a bit pointless, winter trips tend to have to be shorter by necessity. The only comfort is that on the final leg home I have usually trekked this way a few times so there is nothing new to see anyway. If I plan it carefully it's only darkness for the familiar stretches. Mansfield is a big impressive stone station. I know that the line from Worksop to Nottingham was part of the GCR and only reopened in about 1993 as The Robin Hood Line. So I'm guessing they left much of in situ in the interval, waiting for new trains. I reflect on how much evocative old evidence of disused railways has gone in my lifetime, most of the Beeching cuts being just before my birth and continuing into my early years. Where I live there are some tiny signs left and it's nice to think of Mansfield having been allowed to stay rather than mindlessly ripped down.
Thanks to the good luck this morning at Sheffield I have time to do the Nottingham-Derby service before the final leg. A sort of mistake as it turns out. Not only was it rammed with Derby fans (no pun intended) on the way back (why don't people live where their teams are any more!), but because it was dark I saw nothing, and finally the service was just a loop between two lines I'd already done to make an inter-city link - exactly the sort of links I said I wouldn't bust a gut over. Oh well, it's another line.
I have time for a couple of drinks before clambering on the three coach 170 to Norwich, fast to Grantham where I'm getting off. Nothing to see by now of course. At Grantham I have an hour's wait for my train to London, not something I relish as the station bar is full of drunken sounding blokes and I'm not inclined to wander about outside to find a pub. There is a GNER train simmering on the platform. My ticket is supposed to be tied to the later train - hence its cheapness - but I have a word with the conductor and he is happy for me to get on this service. It's no skin off his nose, after all, especially as the train is pretty empty by this time of night. I'm pleased to say that usually when I've spoken to railway staff because of stuff like this they've been almost universally friendly and accommodating. Except in London where everyone in any customer service job seems to be sliding into the same cynical indifferent attitude. Including me, probably! It's never a place I'm desperate to return to, though I'm pleased to get home anyway, especially after busy days such as today.
New lines added today:
Loughborough-Nottingham
Nottingham-Sheffield
Sheffield-Worksop-Gainsborough-Lincoln
Lincoln-Newark-Nottingham
Nottingham-Derby
Nottingham-Grantham
I watched the sun rise over the East Midlands from my seat on a Meridian train (too knackered to see if it was a four or nine car job), but was far too tired to appreciate it, my eyes were impossible to keep open. There was no mention of the buffet car either, though the conductor seemed to be able to get himself a coffee. I woke up in time to see a new bit of trackside scenery between Loughborough and Nottingham. Nottingham is a large impressive red brick station. I gather it used to be Nottingham Victoria to distinguish it from Nottingham Central on the GCR. I am grateful for a coffee on this cold morning while I wait for the train to Sheffield.
When it comes it's a three coach 170, there are a fair few of these running in the Midlands, they're pretty good though again three coaches just doesn't seem enough nowadays. By the time we reach Sheffield the train is heaving and it's nowhere near its destination - it's continuing to Liverpool! There are some enthusiasts on board - real ones with a list of locomotive movements, and they seem fairly typical of the ones I've encountered - ordinary thirty something blokes who have a bit of a laugh together bashing, spotting, filming or watching trains. There are the stereotypes but sadly these continue to dominate most people's perceptions. Amid the seething crowd there is a small dispute when an old man is turfed out of his seat by a group who have reserved it, which seems a bit petty but the conductor finds him another seat. I can't appreciate the scenery as it is so crowded but to be honest much of the area around Nottingham and Derby appeals to me as much as my journey to work - works mess, crumbling buildings and graffiti everywhere.
At Sheffield I have a stroke of luck. I've got three minutes to catch the connection to Lincoln and I did not expect to get it, I thought that the train from Nottingham would inevitably pick up a delay and Sheffield is a sprawling sort of station that I'm not that familiar with. It's one of those with loads of bay platforms all over the place and so doesn't seem to follow the normal numbering. However not only is our train on time and the Lincoln train late but we pull up almost next to to the correct platform. This will give me a much better chance of completing the day's itinerary. When it does arrive it's a two coach Pacer. It's reasonably well patronised this morning but I do get a decent seat all the way. It's a reasonably scenic route, helped by the bright blue sky that has prevailed today. We bounce across South Yorkshire and into Lincolnshire. We pass a coal power station of the type that is booming again now thanks to natural gas running low, another of the fantastic 80s economic policies coming back to bite us - appropriate given that we are in countryside devastated by the pit closures. At Retford we head under the main East Coast Line. It's a strange feeling. Not only do I get a mental picture of filling in the map - now I've done the "over and under" here but also the sight of the overhead wires are a link to home, leading ultimately to London as they do. We pass through Gainsborough Lea Road which I erroneously imagine is a graceful sort of town then towards Lincoln. Lincoln is one of those rare places I've already visited by car but not by train and again I enjoy the vista of the cathedral and castle overlooking the city.
There appear to be riot police in the cafe there. They assure me they're only expecting Lincoln City's rivals that day while I have lunch but they are kitted out in a hell of a lot of tough looking gear - I wonder who the visitors are that day?! Next I'm on the two car class 170 to Nottingham via Newark Castle. It's an interesting route. There are a LOT of stops, close together, not many passengers except at Newark itself, and yet apart from Newark it's all very rural - not sure how all those stations still exist - though I'm pleased that they do! At Newark there is what I gather is the last proper diamond crossing in the UK. It reminds me of the Hornby ones I used to see in the track plans book, but this is quite something in reality. We wait for a northbound GNER train to pass in front of us, slowing down for the crossing, then we pass across after it's gone. Seeing it retreat into the distance makes me feel faintly wobbly as I think about the speed it must be doing by now. I'm amazed that in today's health and safety hysteria such a crossing is still permitted. I guess the investment for a flyover would be considered too much for Network Rail.
At Nottingham I head out on to the new tram, connected directly to the platforms by a stairway - another guarantee of getting fare dodgers inside! I take this to Hucknall, which I would compare to a million grim and grimy out of town places in London. The tram is pretty impressive - with a conductor, always a good idea - and I'm pleased that they are getting more. I think if used carefully there is much scope for using light rail either to replace or compliment heavy rail - as well as open up entirely new routes. Maybe a more progressive administration will allow us to catch up with the continent and open a few more. It's ironic that the clutch of light rail schemes we have now were nearly all planned and approved by the Thatcher and Major governments.
I'm cheered by the sight of some kids photographing trams and trains at Hucknall, despite their baseball caps and tracksuits they're not following some stupid "cool" agenda. The train is on time - a scruffy two coach 158. It's a steady but largely uneventful run to Worksop, meeting up with the line I'd passed this morning. Though I'm doing the return trip I have to get off and cross platforms. I see the controls reversed as the tail lights become headlights before the train enters the platform. The conductor looks at me as if not sure if he's seen me before but says nothing! Back to Nottingham, where it's starting to get dark. That's the main problem with bashing in winter, there is always a point where you can no longer see the scenery and then it becomes a bit pointless, winter trips tend to have to be shorter by necessity. The only comfort is that on the final leg home I have usually trekked this way a few times so there is nothing new to see anyway. If I plan it carefully it's only darkness for the familiar stretches. Mansfield is a big impressive stone station. I know that the line from Worksop to Nottingham was part of the GCR and only reopened in about 1993 as The Robin Hood Line. So I'm guessing they left much of in situ in the interval, waiting for new trains. I reflect on how much evocative old evidence of disused railways has gone in my lifetime, most of the Beeching cuts being just before my birth and continuing into my early years. Where I live there are some tiny signs left and it's nice to think of Mansfield having been allowed to stay rather than mindlessly ripped down.
Thanks to the good luck this morning at Sheffield I have time to do the Nottingham-Derby service before the final leg. A sort of mistake as it turns out. Not only was it rammed with Derby fans (no pun intended) on the way back (why don't people live where their teams are any more!), but because it was dark I saw nothing, and finally the service was just a loop between two lines I'd already done to make an inter-city link - exactly the sort of links I said I wouldn't bust a gut over. Oh well, it's another line.
I have time for a couple of drinks before clambering on the three coach 170 to Norwich, fast to Grantham where I'm getting off. Nothing to see by now of course. At Grantham I have an hour's wait for my train to London, not something I relish as the station bar is full of drunken sounding blokes and I'm not inclined to wander about outside to find a pub. There is a GNER train simmering on the platform. My ticket is supposed to be tied to the later train - hence its cheapness - but I have a word with the conductor and he is happy for me to get on this service. It's no skin off his nose, after all, especially as the train is pretty empty by this time of night. I'm pleased to say that usually when I've spoken to railway staff because of stuff like this they've been almost universally friendly and accommodating. Except in London where everyone in any customer service job seems to be sliding into the same cynical indifferent attitude. Including me, probably! It's never a place I'm desperate to return to, though I'm pleased to get home anyway, especially after busy days such as today.
New lines added today:
Loughborough-Nottingham
Nottingham-Sheffield
Sheffield-Worksop-Gainsborough-Lincoln
Lincoln-Newark-Nottingham
Nottingham-Derby
Nottingham-Grantham
Sunday, 7 January 2007
Weston Super Mare and Weymouth branches
Yep, just a week into the New Year and I'm back at Bristol Temple Meads. It's marginally more cheerful than when I was here last, despite the dismal weather. It was never really a day for the seaside, fog and rain keeping the January standards high. A small number of lines today that ends up being quite complicated in the event.
From Bristol, where I have arrived on the ubiquitous 125, I can choose a stopping or a fast service to Weston Super Mare, which is tucked away on a single line branch off the main line between Bristol and Taunton. I reason that the fast train will be emptier and more comfortable. Not so! I have a moment's doubt as I see a decent 158 arrive for the stopping train. Then a mangy single coach 153 arrives for the fast service. And FGW wonder why they have a poor reputation. This has come all the way from Gloucester! My displeasure at the state of the train is tempered by a poor bloke who helps his daughter on with her luggage and ends up going with us because he is slow to get off again. Luckily for him there is another train in the other direction quite soon at the first stop.
On to the branch, and Weston is of course, empty, and probably not very nice when busy, it being another traffic trap. I don't hang around. When I get back to the station I find a proper station pub on the platform. In retrospect I wish I'd stayed longer to sample its array of local beers and ciders, as the day was about to nose-dive. But, down to Taunton on a Voyager, a trip I really enjoyed. The driver really gave it some squirt, and it was just a comfortable place to be, watching the Somerset winter flying past.
A long gap awaited me at Taunton so I found the nearest decent pub. Heading back, I discovered my connection to Castle Cary, where I was to pick up the Weymouth train, had been cancelled. The next service was now going to make an extra stop there, but it was over an hour away. And think I have missed the connection now anyway. I opted to get the next Voyager back to Bristol. I got on the carriage with the conductor in it, and explained the situation. He said that was fine and invited me to sit in first class for nothing. It's so nice when you get staff who just do a bit more than they need to.
Back at Bristol I now have to wait for the next Weymouth train, there not being too many of them, so I head to the Wetherspoons in the newly developed docks. I've been here a few times now, it's not bad. Finally the second line of the day looms into site as I clamber on to a two coach Sprinter. The bit from Bristol through Bath, Trowbridge and Westbury I've done, then we're on to the main Exeter line for a bit until Castle Cary. Westbury is interesting because it still has a glass overall roof, despite being a small station, though it is a junction. Lots of less than busy stations had such constructions. Castle Cary doesn't seem to have a castle nearby, though it is now best known as the station for the Glastonbury Festival. It has a couple of pubs that I was going to sample until things started to go wrong.
We head through Yeovil (Pen Mill) then out of Somerset into Dorset. After a stop at one of the county town of Dorchester's two stations, we join up with the 3rd rail line from Waterloo before terminating at Weymouth. Even though it's now dark, I decide to follow the tracks to the ferry port. This is a single track line that continues on from the main station, actually through the streets, like a tram, down to to the docks. Because a live 3rd live would have been a bit dangerous in the streets, the boat train was coupled to a diesel loco at the terminus and hauled through the streets to the quayside, with two blokes in hi-viz jackets waving red flags leading it. I always meant to go and see it. but by the time I was in a position to do so, the practice had ended. There is hardly any interchange between rail and sea in the south now. The tracks are still usable, stuck in the tarmac, but the dock station is now a carpark. The platforms are still there, and I walk up the ramp and stand there imagining the scene that used to be.
Then, one last treat. (Doesn't take much to please me!). The 442 EMUs that run from Weymouth to Waterloo are the last coaches in the UK to have first class compartments, 3 seats each side with a corridor to one side. I upgrade for a fiver, and enjoy this luxury for one last time - this stock is being withdrawn next week. In this brave new privatised world, companies choose their own trains. South West has just bought a load of German trains to replace its slam-door stock and would prefer to replace the BR 442s with this and thus have just one set of maintenance, driver knowledge, etc for its long distance trains. Which is fair enough I suppose, though it would have been even better for to choose the SAME stock as Southern and South Eastern as in the BR days. Ggggrrr! The 442s were only built 20 years ago, but in classic BR style they recycled many parts from trains they were 20 years old then. Good use of resources, you and I think, not them. So they're out. Too good to waste, Southern are to use them on Gatwick and Brighton services - some common sense at last. As I go through the barrier at Waterloo, I sneak a quick photo with my 'phone, as I think these are really good vehicles and am sorry to see them being wound down. Oooh, dangerously like a spotter. Another day, two more lines.
London-Bristol
Bristol-Weston Super Mare
Weston Super Mare-TAunton
Taunton-Bristol
Bristol-Weymouth
Weymouth-London
From Bristol, where I have arrived on the ubiquitous 125, I can choose a stopping or a fast service to Weston Super Mare, which is tucked away on a single line branch off the main line between Bristol and Taunton. I reason that the fast train will be emptier and more comfortable. Not so! I have a moment's doubt as I see a decent 158 arrive for the stopping train. Then a mangy single coach 153 arrives for the fast service. And FGW wonder why they have a poor reputation. This has come all the way from Gloucester! My displeasure at the state of the train is tempered by a poor bloke who helps his daughter on with her luggage and ends up going with us because he is slow to get off again. Luckily for him there is another train in the other direction quite soon at the first stop.
On to the branch, and Weston is of course, empty, and probably not very nice when busy, it being another traffic trap. I don't hang around. When I get back to the station I find a proper station pub on the platform. In retrospect I wish I'd stayed longer to sample its array of local beers and ciders, as the day was about to nose-dive. But, down to Taunton on a Voyager, a trip I really enjoyed. The driver really gave it some squirt, and it was just a comfortable place to be, watching the Somerset winter flying past.
A long gap awaited me at Taunton so I found the nearest decent pub. Heading back, I discovered my connection to Castle Cary, where I was to pick up the Weymouth train, had been cancelled. The next service was now going to make an extra stop there, but it was over an hour away. And think I have missed the connection now anyway. I opted to get the next Voyager back to Bristol. I got on the carriage with the conductor in it, and explained the situation. He said that was fine and invited me to sit in first class for nothing. It's so nice when you get staff who just do a bit more than they need to.
Back at Bristol I now have to wait for the next Weymouth train, there not being too many of them, so I head to the Wetherspoons in the newly developed docks. I've been here a few times now, it's not bad. Finally the second line of the day looms into site as I clamber on to a two coach Sprinter. The bit from Bristol through Bath, Trowbridge and Westbury I've done, then we're on to the main Exeter line for a bit until Castle Cary. Westbury is interesting because it still has a glass overall roof, despite being a small station, though it is a junction. Lots of less than busy stations had such constructions. Castle Cary doesn't seem to have a castle nearby, though it is now best known as the station for the Glastonbury Festival. It has a couple of pubs that I was going to sample until things started to go wrong.
We head through Yeovil (Pen Mill) then out of Somerset into Dorset. After a stop at one of the county town of Dorchester's two stations, we join up with the 3rd rail line from Waterloo before terminating at Weymouth. Even though it's now dark, I decide to follow the tracks to the ferry port. This is a single track line that continues on from the main station, actually through the streets, like a tram, down to to the docks. Because a live 3rd live would have been a bit dangerous in the streets, the boat train was coupled to a diesel loco at the terminus and hauled through the streets to the quayside, with two blokes in hi-viz jackets waving red flags leading it. I always meant to go and see it. but by the time I was in a position to do so, the practice had ended. There is hardly any interchange between rail and sea in the south now. The tracks are still usable, stuck in the tarmac, but the dock station is now a carpark. The platforms are still there, and I walk up the ramp and stand there imagining the scene that used to be.
Then, one last treat. (Doesn't take much to please me!). The 442 EMUs that run from Weymouth to Waterloo are the last coaches in the UK to have first class compartments, 3 seats each side with a corridor to one side. I upgrade for a fiver, and enjoy this luxury for one last time - this stock is being withdrawn next week. In this brave new privatised world, companies choose their own trains. South West has just bought a load of German trains to replace its slam-door stock and would prefer to replace the BR 442s with this and thus have just one set of maintenance, driver knowledge, etc for its long distance trains. Which is fair enough I suppose, though it would have been even better for to choose the SAME stock as Southern and South Eastern as in the BR days. Ggggrrr! The 442s were only built 20 years ago, but in classic BR style they recycled many parts from trains they were 20 years old then. Good use of resources, you and I think, not them. So they're out. Too good to waste, Southern are to use them on Gatwick and Brighton services - some common sense at last. As I go through the barrier at Waterloo, I sneak a quick photo with my 'phone, as I think these are really good vehicles and am sorry to see them being wound down. Oooh, dangerously like a spotter. Another day, two more lines.
London-Bristol
Bristol-Weston Super Mare
Weston Super Mare-TAunton
Taunton-Bristol
Bristol-Weymouth
Weymouth-London
Sunday, 31 December 2006
Greater Manchester and Yorkshire December 2006
A recent tradition of mine in recent years has been to get as far away from London and all the New Year nonsense as I possibly can. This year I thought I would make it part of the quest rather than go sightseeing. I thought I would do a trip to the North, covering Greater Manchester and its environs on the first day, then head to York, ready to cover some more of Yorkshire on the following day, which was New Year's Eve itself. A roundabout route home would then be taken to try to scoop up another line or two.
So 'twas on Saturday 30 December I was heading to Manchester on a Pendolino, quite early in the morning and quite tired. I could have done with a more restful day at home to be honest, but I'm underway now. I've done little planning too, the majority of the routes today being at least an hourly frequency, so there should be little waiting around. At Piccadilly I buy a day ticket for the trains and trams - a bargain at £3.50 - and make my second journey of the day, on the remains of the infamous Woodhead line, by means of a three coach class 323 EMU.
The Woodhead was an early bit of mainline electrification linking Manchester and Sheffield. Using overhead wiring at a different voltage to that we use today, the line was refurbished in the early 1960s. The Woodhead tunnel under the Pennines was rebuilt to allow for the new height that wiring needed. Then...Beeching. The line was closed to passengers in 1966. So a programme of rationalisation, designed to save money, abandons infrastructre that was not just refrubsihed, but REBUILT, just five years earlier. The same stupid economics that saw the last steam locomotive coming off the line in 1960 and being finished with within 10 years. Can't help but smell conspiracy here. The line was kept open for freight until 1981, when the wires were taken down and the locomotive fleet sold to the Netherlands. Passengers ended up having to change at Huddersfield or use slower lines via Edale and Hazel Grove. None of these are true alternatives. Now the tunnels carry cables under the Pennines. Which makes it just that bit more expensive to open when periodically, someone suggests it to increase rail capacity in the North of England.
The wires were put back using the current voltage system in the early 1990s, but the line only goes to Glossop now, after reversing into Hadfield then out again, this being at the end of a stub of another line that was largely closed. Both these places were used as locations for the comedy, "The League of Gentlemen," and I spot the job centre where Pauline did her stuff before we return to Manchester. There are a couple of camp gents on the train mocking the Cheshire set pretensions that someone of their acquaintance is claiming. Aside from this I notice that you can still see the old style electricification masts in place. Modern masts tend to span one track only. These ones are much wider than the existing two tracks, suggesting that there were four tracks here once.
I get off at Guide Bridge, a junction of various lines. This is not a nice place. Outside there is a rather stark church and slightly down at heel shopping street. The station has been burnt out and is being refurbished. There is a Network Rail depot just beyond the station. Rows of broken and rusting tracks and sad remanents of better times in the form of old signalling cable brackets occupoy a huge amount of space behind the up platform. There is a sense of loss about this place that leaves me almost aching with nostalgia for a time and place I never knew. The fact that I am the only one person waiting for a connection makes me feel faintly uneasy.
Nevertheless it's not long before a two coach Pacer grates round the corner from Manchester. This conveys me past Romiley where another line from the city joins us, past an aqueduct which is part of a new park, then we spur off the line on to a short branch terminating in Rose Hill Marple. This appears to be a small Cheshire town. In an unusual move, I walk to the other station - plain old "Marple," which easily allows me to cover the next line without having to wait for a train back from Rose Hill. This is where the line that I branched off from earlier continues to. It then joins up with the Trans Pennine line from Manchester that heads through Edale to Sheffield. Aside from the stretch between Marple and Chinley, I've completed the rest of the line and will finish that section at on a later date.
So another Pacer takes me back to Manchester, this time via Reddish, a much busier route than the one via Guide Bridge, which cheers me slightly. The light is already fading on this most late of days as I embark on the next stage. At Piccadilly I go down into the Metrolink and take an Old Trafford-bound tram across the city to Victoria station. It is absolutely rammed with Man U fans off to the ground.
Then it's off up the Rochdale line on a two coach Sprinter to Hebden Bridge, my first foray into Yorkshire today. I've been here before, during the Settle-Carlisle trip. It was dark on that occasion, so it's nice to be able to appreciate this well preserved station, carefully painted in old BR London Midland colours. A couple of years ago, Hebden Bridge was voted the best place to live in the UK. Sadly I don't have a chance to investigate properly, as the town is some distance away. I have to return back down the line. This time it's a two coach 158 and runs fast to Rochdale, which is handy. Then I climb on a three coach Pacer which takes me round the Oldham loop back to Manchester Victoria. This is due to be converted to light rail and become part of the Metrolink, evidence of which can be seen in some new stations and electrical plant already appearing. I notice the latter is surrounded by feet of razor wire to keep the vandals out. I have a small doze on the return train. There's nothing to see as it's now dark, so I'm not missing anything. It's a strange feeling that it's the penultimate day of the year. It just feels like any other weekend.
It may be dark, but there's more to do yet. Next leg is Victoria to Stalybridge. This is another line due to be added to the Metro, though not converted, it being part of one of the trans-Pennine routes. It's crammed with shoppers leaving the city, and the train terminates at Stalybridge, where I make a wonderful discovery. On the down platform is a real ale pub, that's been in the station buildings for over a century. It's full of railway memrobilia, has several different beers on, and the epitome of the welcoming buxom Northern barmaid, straight out of a personal fantasy! I enjoy a couple of drinks before heading back on a class 185 to Piccadilly, taking in the other route back to the city. There I get on a 323 EMU to the Aiport.
I have a quick look around, then get on a Trans-Pennine 185 to York. Annoyingly I have to retrace my steps past Piccailly and Stalybridge. Not long after we're over the border into Yorkshire and make stops at Huddersfield, Dewsbury and Leeds before I reach my resting place for the night, York. I practically walk a circuit of the city to find my hotel. There's no food on there but luckily there is a Wetherspoons next door with plenty of room and still serving. Can't remember anything other than waking up to find I have a view of the gently flooded Ouse under overcast skies.
Today is the last day of the year and it's a Sunday. I have a heavy heart on both counts; I loathe the New Year hysteria and the trains are always so poor on Sundays. I know that despite my best efforts I will get little covered today. I am chiefly looking forward to the daft Cross Country trip that will end the day. So I head to the castle-like city station, and head down to Huddersfield on a 185, packed as ever, even on this day.
Huddersfield is another grand station, four tracks running through the centre and several bay platforms under a magnificent arched overall roof. Each end of the station building houses a real ale bar - both in the CAMRA guide! - though today neither are open sadly. Never mind. My carriage is gently chugging on the far bay platform, a two coach Pacer to take me along the Penistone line to Sheffield. This is another fairly scenic line, and is regarded as the replacement for the Woodhead Line, even though it requires something of a detour. I spy a narrow guage railway at a stop called Shelley that will merit further investigation at some future time. The train sadly fills up with some of the more obnoxious youths on offer, most of them getting off at Meadowhall, the new giant shopping centre.
Another trip to Sheffield without seeing the city! I begin my return to York. I take it slowly because I've got ages until my train down south. It's a four coach Voyager to Doncaster, then an HST to York. The Voyager was actually going from Doncaster to Wakefield and Leeds before going to York, an astonishly long way round - presumably it doesn't always take this route! At Doncaster I overhear, with a mixture of amusement and despair, a teenage boy telling his girlfriend that he is going to drink an entire bottle of "Tabu" tonight. I want to ask him WHY?
I have ages until my train at York, so I head to the National Railway Museum, via the new direct link from the platforms. After the obligatory feeling of awe and smallness standing next to the Deltic, I have a look round the basement store and then spend 20 minute trying to work out how the signalling display works. It replicates a section of the panel at York, but due to the museum being on the west side of the line, the direction of the panel indicators runs in the opposite direction to the trains, which is much more confusing than it sounds!
The day is winding down fast as I get on board the Voyager that will take me to Bristol. I've wanted to do this route for ages though maybe a daytime trip would make rather more sense! We head through Doncaster, Sheffield, Derby and Tamworth and the about the same number of counties before we halt at Birmingham for 25 minutes. This gives me a chance to get something to eat at a grim grocer's, that part of Birmingham being less than comprehensive for facilities. We wish each other a happy new year and I continue my journey through Cheltenham, skipping Worcester on the avoiding line (how come it got missed off this route?) before the lights of Bristol loom in the distance. We make stops at Parkway and Temple Meads, where I have one last drink and wish the barman a happy new year before clambering on to the buffet-less HST home.
We're into Paddington at about 11.40pm and the journey home makes me vow that I will not do this again. I will be at home before the madness gets going. Everything is now doomed to annoy or alarm me. There is a POOL of blood at the end of a trail of it on the underground station, a surprisingly shocking scene. The Bakerloo line is full of w*****s smoking dope and being generally anti-social. The train is full of the scum of Bromley. I travel on London's suburban and central trains all the time and I don't think I've ever seen this volume of scum out at any time of the day. To top it all there is a white boy arguing with his girlfriend in a stupid fake Caribbean accent near the house when I get back. I give them a dirty look and hope they clear off soon. A partially sucessful trip. The Saturday ticked off several new routes but the Sunday was just a bit of a wash out. Happy New Year!
London-Manchester
Manchester-Hadfield-Guide Bridge
Guide Bridge-Rose Hill Marple
Marple-Reddish-Manchester
Manchester-Rochdale-Hebden Bridge
Hebden Bridge-Rochdale-Oldham-Manchester
Manchester-Stalybridge
Stalybridge-Manchester Aiport
Manchester Aiport-Stalybridge-Huddersfield-York
York-Leeds
Leeds-Huddersfield
Huddersfield-Sheffield
Sheffield-Doncaster-York
York-Doncaster-Sheffield-Derby-Birmingham-Cheltenham-Bristol
Bristol-London
So 'twas on Saturday 30 December I was heading to Manchester on a Pendolino, quite early in the morning and quite tired. I could have done with a more restful day at home to be honest, but I'm underway now. I've done little planning too, the majority of the routes today being at least an hourly frequency, so there should be little waiting around. At Piccadilly I buy a day ticket for the trains and trams - a bargain at £3.50 - and make my second journey of the day, on the remains of the infamous Woodhead line, by means of a three coach class 323 EMU.
The Woodhead was an early bit of mainline electrification linking Manchester and Sheffield. Using overhead wiring at a different voltage to that we use today, the line was refurbished in the early 1960s. The Woodhead tunnel under the Pennines was rebuilt to allow for the new height that wiring needed. Then...Beeching. The line was closed to passengers in 1966. So a programme of rationalisation, designed to save money, abandons infrastructre that was not just refrubsihed, but REBUILT, just five years earlier. The same stupid economics that saw the last steam locomotive coming off the line in 1960 and being finished with within 10 years. Can't help but smell conspiracy here. The line was kept open for freight until 1981, when the wires were taken down and the locomotive fleet sold to the Netherlands. Passengers ended up having to change at Huddersfield or use slower lines via Edale and Hazel Grove. None of these are true alternatives. Now the tunnels carry cables under the Pennines. Which makes it just that bit more expensive to open when periodically, someone suggests it to increase rail capacity in the North of England.
The wires were put back using the current voltage system in the early 1990s, but the line only goes to Glossop now, after reversing into Hadfield then out again, this being at the end of a stub of another line that was largely closed. Both these places were used as locations for the comedy, "The League of Gentlemen," and I spot the job centre where Pauline did her stuff before we return to Manchester. There are a couple of camp gents on the train mocking the Cheshire set pretensions that someone of their acquaintance is claiming. Aside from this I notice that you can still see the old style electricification masts in place. Modern masts tend to span one track only. These ones are much wider than the existing two tracks, suggesting that there were four tracks here once.
I get off at Guide Bridge, a junction of various lines. This is not a nice place. Outside there is a rather stark church and slightly down at heel shopping street. The station has been burnt out and is being refurbished. There is a Network Rail depot just beyond the station. Rows of broken and rusting tracks and sad remanents of better times in the form of old signalling cable brackets occupoy a huge amount of space behind the up platform. There is a sense of loss about this place that leaves me almost aching with nostalgia for a time and place I never knew. The fact that I am the only one person waiting for a connection makes me feel faintly uneasy.
Nevertheless it's not long before a two coach Pacer grates round the corner from Manchester. This conveys me past Romiley where another line from the city joins us, past an aqueduct which is part of a new park, then we spur off the line on to a short branch terminating in Rose Hill Marple. This appears to be a small Cheshire town. In an unusual move, I walk to the other station - plain old "Marple," which easily allows me to cover the next line without having to wait for a train back from Rose Hill. This is where the line that I branched off from earlier continues to. It then joins up with the Trans Pennine line from Manchester that heads through Edale to Sheffield. Aside from the stretch between Marple and Chinley, I've completed the rest of the line and will finish that section at on a later date.
So another Pacer takes me back to Manchester, this time via Reddish, a much busier route than the one via Guide Bridge, which cheers me slightly. The light is already fading on this most late of days as I embark on the next stage. At Piccadilly I go down into the Metrolink and take an Old Trafford-bound tram across the city to Victoria station. It is absolutely rammed with Man U fans off to the ground.
Then it's off up the Rochdale line on a two coach Sprinter to Hebden Bridge, my first foray into Yorkshire today. I've been here before, during the Settle-Carlisle trip. It was dark on that occasion, so it's nice to be able to appreciate this well preserved station, carefully painted in old BR London Midland colours. A couple of years ago, Hebden Bridge was voted the best place to live in the UK. Sadly I don't have a chance to investigate properly, as the town is some distance away. I have to return back down the line. This time it's a two coach 158 and runs fast to Rochdale, which is handy. Then I climb on a three coach Pacer which takes me round the Oldham loop back to Manchester Victoria. This is due to be converted to light rail and become part of the Metrolink, evidence of which can be seen in some new stations and electrical plant already appearing. I notice the latter is surrounded by feet of razor wire to keep the vandals out. I have a small doze on the return train. There's nothing to see as it's now dark, so I'm not missing anything. It's a strange feeling that it's the penultimate day of the year. It just feels like any other weekend.
It may be dark, but there's more to do yet. Next leg is Victoria to Stalybridge. This is another line due to be added to the Metro, though not converted, it being part of one of the trans-Pennine routes. It's crammed with shoppers leaving the city, and the train terminates at Stalybridge, where I make a wonderful discovery. On the down platform is a real ale pub, that's been in the station buildings for over a century. It's full of railway memrobilia, has several different beers on, and the epitome of the welcoming buxom Northern barmaid, straight out of a personal fantasy! I enjoy a couple of drinks before heading back on a class 185 to Piccadilly, taking in the other route back to the city. There I get on a 323 EMU to the Aiport.
I have a quick look around, then get on a Trans-Pennine 185 to York. Annoyingly I have to retrace my steps past Piccailly and Stalybridge. Not long after we're over the border into Yorkshire and make stops at Huddersfield, Dewsbury and Leeds before I reach my resting place for the night, York. I practically walk a circuit of the city to find my hotel. There's no food on there but luckily there is a Wetherspoons next door with plenty of room and still serving. Can't remember anything other than waking up to find I have a view of the gently flooded Ouse under overcast skies.
Today is the last day of the year and it's a Sunday. I have a heavy heart on both counts; I loathe the New Year hysteria and the trains are always so poor on Sundays. I know that despite my best efforts I will get little covered today. I am chiefly looking forward to the daft Cross Country trip that will end the day. So I head to the castle-like city station, and head down to Huddersfield on a 185, packed as ever, even on this day.
Huddersfield is another grand station, four tracks running through the centre and several bay platforms under a magnificent arched overall roof. Each end of the station building houses a real ale bar - both in the CAMRA guide! - though today neither are open sadly. Never mind. My carriage is gently chugging on the far bay platform, a two coach Pacer to take me along the Penistone line to Sheffield. This is another fairly scenic line, and is regarded as the replacement for the Woodhead Line, even though it requires something of a detour. I spy a narrow guage railway at a stop called Shelley that will merit further investigation at some future time. The train sadly fills up with some of the more obnoxious youths on offer, most of them getting off at Meadowhall, the new giant shopping centre.
Another trip to Sheffield without seeing the city! I begin my return to York. I take it slowly because I've got ages until my train down south. It's a four coach Voyager to Doncaster, then an HST to York. The Voyager was actually going from Doncaster to Wakefield and Leeds before going to York, an astonishly long way round - presumably it doesn't always take this route! At Doncaster I overhear, with a mixture of amusement and despair, a teenage boy telling his girlfriend that he is going to drink an entire bottle of "Tabu" tonight. I want to ask him WHY?
I have ages until my train at York, so I head to the National Railway Museum, via the new direct link from the platforms. After the obligatory feeling of awe and smallness standing next to the Deltic, I have a look round the basement store and then spend 20 minute trying to work out how the signalling display works. It replicates a section of the panel at York, but due to the museum being on the west side of the line, the direction of the panel indicators runs in the opposite direction to the trains, which is much more confusing than it sounds!
The day is winding down fast as I get on board the Voyager that will take me to Bristol. I've wanted to do this route for ages though maybe a daytime trip would make rather more sense! We head through Doncaster, Sheffield, Derby and Tamworth and the about the same number of counties before we halt at Birmingham for 25 minutes. This gives me a chance to get something to eat at a grim grocer's, that part of Birmingham being less than comprehensive for facilities. We wish each other a happy new year and I continue my journey through Cheltenham, skipping Worcester on the avoiding line (how come it got missed off this route?) before the lights of Bristol loom in the distance. We make stops at Parkway and Temple Meads, where I have one last drink and wish the barman a happy new year before clambering on to the buffet-less HST home.
We're into Paddington at about 11.40pm and the journey home makes me vow that I will not do this again. I will be at home before the madness gets going. Everything is now doomed to annoy or alarm me. There is a POOL of blood at the end of a trail of it on the underground station, a surprisingly shocking scene. The Bakerloo line is full of w*****s smoking dope and being generally anti-social. The train is full of the scum of Bromley. I travel on London's suburban and central trains all the time and I don't think I've ever seen this volume of scum out at any time of the day. To top it all there is a white boy arguing with his girlfriend in a stupid fake Caribbean accent near the house when I get back. I give them a dirty look and hope they clear off soon. A partially sucessful trip. The Saturday ticked off several new routes but the Sunday was just a bit of a wash out. Happy New Year!
London-Manchester
Manchester-Hadfield-Guide Bridge
Guide Bridge-Rose Hill Marple
Marple-Reddish-Manchester
Manchester-Rochdale-Hebden Bridge
Hebden Bridge-Rochdale-Oldham-Manchester
Manchester-Stalybridge
Stalybridge-Manchester Aiport
Manchester Aiport-Stalybridge-Huddersfield-York
York-Leeds
Leeds-Huddersfield
Huddersfield-Sheffield
Sheffield-Doncaster-York
York-Doncaster-Sheffield-Derby-Birmingham-Cheltenham-Bristol
Bristol-London
Saturday, 7 October 2006
West Midlands 5-7 October 2006
I think it was at around this time I decided to go all out to finish the quest rather than just pick routes off as part of sightseeing trips. I took a long weekend as it was my birthday, and as there was something in particular that I wanted to visit in Birmingham, this struck me as an ideal opportunity to clock up some mileage in the Midlands. The easiest way to cross off the remaining route between Worcester and Birmingham was to start my journey there. So on Thursday 5 October after work I got the HST from Paddington to Worcester Foregate Street. I do find the place a bit threatening at night but know of a decent pub to go to. Sadly it gets worse from here on in as there are yobs messing around in the corridor outside my room until 3am. I complain to the night staff and this nets me a refund of breakfast from the manager in the morning, but it can't make up for the loss of sleep.
So it's gratefully that I head back to Foregate Street the next morning. This is one of the oddest stations I've seen. It has two platforms and both lines are run as single tracks, so that trains can arrive in either direction on both sides. A two car 170 carries me and plenty of others to Birmingham New Street via Bromsgrove. At BNS I head to a National Trust building. This is the last of the city's back to back houses, in fact three of them in a terrace, that have been preserved and fitted out in the style of three different eras. It's one of the best museums I've seen, helped by the very good guide. The area around them is being re-invented with the usual bars and bowling alleys. The gloominess of the place is deepened by the rain which is bucketing down by now. Drenched, I get some lunch at M&S at New Street then head off on the next leg.
This is the stopping train to Stafford, going via Aston, Walsall, Rugeley, on to the Trent Valley Line and up to Stafford. I think it was a four coach Sprinter and it is a surprisingly long trip, but then we have left the conurbation and crossed into Staffordshire. It's a short wait for the train back to Wolverhampton, and this is a Desiro EMU, being the stopping electric train from Liverpool to Birmingham, and almost new at the time. It's an uneventful smooth run back.
At Wolverhampton it's a wee wait for the Walsall shuttle. This is a single coach Sprinter that calls only at Walsall. It's paid for by the local council, and is always being threatened with the chop. Hardly anyone is on it so it is going to be difficult to stave off death for ever. I'm sure it also travels under the wires too so it's wasting a diesel unit. At Walsall I notice that the BNS train back is fast, but it actually takes a different route back, spurring off to the right after Hamstead rather than going back through Aston. This is handy as fast is always better, and it does follow another new line I suppose, though without stations.
The evening rush hour is starting now, and the two coach 170 to Nuneaton that is next is standing room only. Still it's not a long journey. I can hardly see anything out of the window and am grateful to bail out. It's another busy one coach Sprinter down to Coventry. I like Coventry station. It's a particular 50s/60s design that integrates all the station buildings into one glass-panelled structure, footbridge, buffet, the lot. Chichester and Banbury are similar and they remind me of the swimming pool and town hall in Lewisham. It's annoying that trains don't run directly from Nuneaton to Leamington rather than stopping at Coventry - surely another disincentive for people who might otherwise travel by train. Especially as the train from Coventry to Leamington is a Voyager Cross Country train, which is unbelievably overcrowded.
Not looking forward to Leamington as despite being a Spa town it is also known as a chav town. They're not wrong and I keep away from the platform and go into the very pleasant buffet for a coffee. A few trains pass before my 171 to Stratford Upon Avon arrives. In Shakespeare's home town I have time to go to a couple of real ale pubs before going back for the Birmingham line via Henley in Arden. Irritatingly the train is late, which meant I could have relaxed a bit more in the pub, but it's not such a big deal as this is the last leg of the day.
As the train nears the city people going out for the evening start to get in. Taking over the train seems to be a new trend for teens and 20-somethings. It never seems to occur to these groups that taking a couple of bays of seats even if there are just four of you, then playing loud music and cracking open cans (then leaving them) as a pre-cursor for your night out is anti-social. The old notion of the quiet public space seems to be dead now. This doesn't leave me in the best mood when I have to find my hotel in Broad Street. I have no map and there are a fair few undesirables and drunken youths already about. Eventually I find it. The room is HUGE, way too big for a double. Then just to make sure I don't get another good night's sleep, the fire alarm goes off at midnight. Being 8 floors up, I'm not keen to dawdle and reach the car park without a coat. I freeze while we wait for the all clear, nearly an hour later. At least I'm not in pyjamas like some of the others. It's a non-smoking hotel so a smoker is suspected. I suspect the gaggle of gigglers nearby, the only guests who are taking this opportunity for a cigarette break, and am not in the mood for laughter myself.
I keep my clothes close by in case it goes off again, but next thing I know it's morning. The alarm actually goes off while I'm dressing but stops quickly. I grab breakfast on the way to Birmingham New Street then get the 323 EMU to Lichfield Trent Valley. I hop off just to have a look at the main Trent Valley Line that runs at a right angle and at a lower level to the line I've just travelled on, then travel back one stop to Lichfield Town. I take a tour of the beautiful cathedral with its distinctive triple spires, then get the return train to Birmingham. The line actually heads right through the city and south west to Longfield and Redditch, the latter being my planned destination. However to my annoyance there are engineering works all day between King's Norton and Redditch. I won't get this branch done this time and I resign myself to having to head back another day just to do this. Since I have a specific train to catch home I head to the limit of the service today - King's Norton - just because I have nothing else planned. Never before has this felt so pointless! I covered so much yesterday that today just feels like a damp squib and I look forward to going home. But there's a bit to be done yet.
Back at BNS I get lunch then walk to Moor Street, through the packed throng of the shoppers. Moor Street was a terminus for services from the South East Midlands until 1987, when the through lines to Snow Hill and beyond were re-laid. More recently the terminus has been renovated in 30s Great Western Railway style and some trains are planned to terminate some trains there once more, freeing up capacity at BNS. I get on a two coach Sprinter going to Worcester via Kidderminster, though I am getting off at Stourbridge Junction. There I get on to the single coach Sprinter to Stourbridge Town and back again. I swear the journey is over before the train has revved up once, such is the short length of the branch. A vehicle called a Parry People Mover has actually been tested on the branch recently, a lightweight tram-like beast that runs on a flywheel system and uses much less energy. I was hoping to get a go on this but it wasn't running today. However more recently as part of the new franchise (West Midlands), it was announced that some of these had indeed been commissioned for the branch, so I will get my wish. Imagination of this sort is vital to keep our branch lines alive.
And that's it really, I've done all I can today. But I still have lots of time to kill. So instead of heading back into the city I get off at Smethwick Galton Bridge, an interchange between the high level local line and low level main line. It's very smart but seems to be next to a motorway, like much of the Midlands, and is quite isolated and uncomfortable. The first train through on the main line is the slow train to Wolverhampton, so I get on this. My ticket, a West Midlands Rover, is actually valid all the way out to Gobowen, Crewe and Stoke. But the trains are not frequent enough for me to get out to any of these and back again unfortunately. It would have been good to do the Stafford to Stoke line, but this has been permanently replaced by a bus. You can only travel this line on a fast train to Manchester. That will have to be another day. The day feels like a downer as I head back to BNS to get a Pendolino home.
Lines covered:
Thursday 5 October 2007
Paddington-Worcester Foregate Street
Friday 6 October 2007
Worcester Foregate Street - Birmingham New Street
Birmingham New Street-Rugeley Trent Valley-Stafford
Stafford-Wolverhampton
Wolverhampton-Walsall
Walsall-Birmingham New Street (Aston avoiding line)
Birmingham New Street-Nuneaton
Nuneaton-Coventry
Coventry-Leamington Spa
Leamington Spa-Stratford-upon-Avon
Stratford-upon-Avon-Birmingham Snow Hill
Saturday 7 October 2007
Birmingham New Street-Lichfield Trent Valley
Lichfield Trent Valley-Lichfield Town
Lichfield Town-King's Norton
King's Norton-Birmingham New Street
Birmingham Moor Street-Stourbridge Junction
Stourbridge Junction-Stourbridge Town-Stourbridge Junction
Stourbridge Junction-Smethwick Galton Bridge
Smethwick Galton Bridge-Wolverhampton
Wolverhampton-Birmingham New Street-London Euston
So it's gratefully that I head back to Foregate Street the next morning. This is one of the oddest stations I've seen. It has two platforms and both lines are run as single tracks, so that trains can arrive in either direction on both sides. A two car 170 carries me and plenty of others to Birmingham New Street via Bromsgrove. At BNS I head to a National Trust building. This is the last of the city's back to back houses, in fact three of them in a terrace, that have been preserved and fitted out in the style of three different eras. It's one of the best museums I've seen, helped by the very good guide. The area around them is being re-invented with the usual bars and bowling alleys. The gloominess of the place is deepened by the rain which is bucketing down by now. Drenched, I get some lunch at M&S at New Street then head off on the next leg.
This is the stopping train to Stafford, going via Aston, Walsall, Rugeley, on to the Trent Valley Line and up to Stafford. I think it was a four coach Sprinter and it is a surprisingly long trip, but then we have left the conurbation and crossed into Staffordshire. It's a short wait for the train back to Wolverhampton, and this is a Desiro EMU, being the stopping electric train from Liverpool to Birmingham, and almost new at the time. It's an uneventful smooth run back.
At Wolverhampton it's a wee wait for the Walsall shuttle. This is a single coach Sprinter that calls only at Walsall. It's paid for by the local council, and is always being threatened with the chop. Hardly anyone is on it so it is going to be difficult to stave off death for ever. I'm sure it also travels under the wires too so it's wasting a diesel unit. At Walsall I notice that the BNS train back is fast, but it actually takes a different route back, spurring off to the right after Hamstead rather than going back through Aston. This is handy as fast is always better, and it does follow another new line I suppose, though without stations.
The evening rush hour is starting now, and the two coach 170 to Nuneaton that is next is standing room only. Still it's not a long journey. I can hardly see anything out of the window and am grateful to bail out. It's another busy one coach Sprinter down to Coventry. I like Coventry station. It's a particular 50s/60s design that integrates all the station buildings into one glass-panelled structure, footbridge, buffet, the lot. Chichester and Banbury are similar and they remind me of the swimming pool and town hall in Lewisham. It's annoying that trains don't run directly from Nuneaton to Leamington rather than stopping at Coventry - surely another disincentive for people who might otherwise travel by train. Especially as the train from Coventry to Leamington is a Voyager Cross Country train, which is unbelievably overcrowded.
Not looking forward to Leamington as despite being a Spa town it is also known as a chav town. They're not wrong and I keep away from the platform and go into the very pleasant buffet for a coffee. A few trains pass before my 171 to Stratford Upon Avon arrives. In Shakespeare's home town I have time to go to a couple of real ale pubs before going back for the Birmingham line via Henley in Arden. Irritatingly the train is late, which meant I could have relaxed a bit more in the pub, but it's not such a big deal as this is the last leg of the day.
As the train nears the city people going out for the evening start to get in. Taking over the train seems to be a new trend for teens and 20-somethings. It never seems to occur to these groups that taking a couple of bays of seats even if there are just four of you, then playing loud music and cracking open cans (then leaving them) as a pre-cursor for your night out is anti-social. The old notion of the quiet public space seems to be dead now. This doesn't leave me in the best mood when I have to find my hotel in Broad Street. I have no map and there are a fair few undesirables and drunken youths already about. Eventually I find it. The room is HUGE, way too big for a double. Then just to make sure I don't get another good night's sleep, the fire alarm goes off at midnight. Being 8 floors up, I'm not keen to dawdle and reach the car park without a coat. I freeze while we wait for the all clear, nearly an hour later. At least I'm not in pyjamas like some of the others. It's a non-smoking hotel so a smoker is suspected. I suspect the gaggle of gigglers nearby, the only guests who are taking this opportunity for a cigarette break, and am not in the mood for laughter myself.
I keep my clothes close by in case it goes off again, but next thing I know it's morning. The alarm actually goes off while I'm dressing but stops quickly. I grab breakfast on the way to Birmingham New Street then get the 323 EMU to Lichfield Trent Valley. I hop off just to have a look at the main Trent Valley Line that runs at a right angle and at a lower level to the line I've just travelled on, then travel back one stop to Lichfield Town. I take a tour of the beautiful cathedral with its distinctive triple spires, then get the return train to Birmingham. The line actually heads right through the city and south west to Longfield and Redditch, the latter being my planned destination. However to my annoyance there are engineering works all day between King's Norton and Redditch. I won't get this branch done this time and I resign myself to having to head back another day just to do this. Since I have a specific train to catch home I head to the limit of the service today - King's Norton - just because I have nothing else planned. Never before has this felt so pointless! I covered so much yesterday that today just feels like a damp squib and I look forward to going home. But there's a bit to be done yet.
Back at BNS I get lunch then walk to Moor Street, through the packed throng of the shoppers. Moor Street was a terminus for services from the South East Midlands until 1987, when the through lines to Snow Hill and beyond were re-laid. More recently the terminus has been renovated in 30s Great Western Railway style and some trains are planned to terminate some trains there once more, freeing up capacity at BNS. I get on a two coach Sprinter going to Worcester via Kidderminster, though I am getting off at Stourbridge Junction. There I get on to the single coach Sprinter to Stourbridge Town and back again. I swear the journey is over before the train has revved up once, such is the short length of the branch. A vehicle called a Parry People Mover has actually been tested on the branch recently, a lightweight tram-like beast that runs on a flywheel system and uses much less energy. I was hoping to get a go on this but it wasn't running today. However more recently as part of the new franchise (West Midlands), it was announced that some of these had indeed been commissioned for the branch, so I will get my wish. Imagination of this sort is vital to keep our branch lines alive.
And that's it really, I've done all I can today. But I still have lots of time to kill. So instead of heading back into the city I get off at Smethwick Galton Bridge, an interchange between the high level local line and low level main line. It's very smart but seems to be next to a motorway, like much of the Midlands, and is quite isolated and uncomfortable. The first train through on the main line is the slow train to Wolverhampton, so I get on this. My ticket, a West Midlands Rover, is actually valid all the way out to Gobowen, Crewe and Stoke. But the trains are not frequent enough for me to get out to any of these and back again unfortunately. It would have been good to do the Stafford to Stoke line, but this has been permanently replaced by a bus. You can only travel this line on a fast train to Manchester. That will have to be another day. The day feels like a downer as I head back to BNS to get a Pendolino home.
Lines covered:
Thursday 5 October 2007
Paddington-Worcester Foregate Street
Friday 6 October 2007
Worcester Foregate Street - Birmingham New Street
Birmingham New Street-Rugeley Trent Valley-Stafford
Stafford-Wolverhampton
Wolverhampton-Walsall
Walsall-Birmingham New Street (Aston avoiding line)
Birmingham New Street-Nuneaton
Nuneaton-Coventry
Coventry-Leamington Spa
Leamington Spa-Stratford-upon-Avon
Stratford-upon-Avon-Birmingham Snow Hill
Saturday 7 October 2007
Birmingham New Street-Lichfield Trent Valley
Lichfield Trent Valley-Lichfield Town
Lichfield Town-King's Norton
King's Norton-Birmingham New Street
Birmingham Moor Street-Stourbridge Junction
Stourbridge Junction-Stourbridge Town-Stourbridge Junction
Stourbridge Junction-Smethwick Galton Bridge
Smethwick Galton Bridge-Wolverhampton
Wolverhampton-Birmingham New Street-London Euston
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