The Thunder of Three-Thousand Three-Hundred Horses
I think it was Paul Theroux, who wrote about waking up to the sound of the railroad. At home in Cockfosters, I used to hear the sound of the steam trains travelling north towards the North and Scotland, as they ran through Oakleigh Park and New Barnet. From about eight I used to cycle to the line to collect train numbers. It was towards the end of the steam age, and I can still see and smell, Gresley‘s magnificent A4 Pacifics as they roared through Hadley Wood, where we used to put pennies on the line, so they were squashed flat. I also broke a front tooth at Oakleigh Park, when I fell off my bike. It has been capped twice, so hopefully it is a good omen for the rest of my body.
Everything started to change in 1955, when an interloper arrived on the scene, in the shape of English Electric’s Deltic prototype, which I could hear as it raced north once a day. It was called Deltic after its lightweight and very compact Napier diesel engine of the same name. At the time, the 3,300 bhp made them the most powerful railway engine in the world. The diesel engines had originally been developed during the Second World War to power ships like MTBs and mine hunters, but found their fame in the powerful railway engine. Some of the engines even ended up in fast patrol boats in the US Navy.
The Deltic signalled the end of an era and by the time I went to Liverpool University in 1965, all the formidable A4s had gone to be replaced by the production Deltics or Class 55s, as they are more correctly called.
When I worked for ICI at Welwyn Garden City in the very early seventies, I travelled north a few times to the manufacturing site at Wilton on Teesside behind the Class 55s.
One of the most memorable train journeys I have ever experienced, if not the most memorable, was on one of the return trips from Teesside.
I had finished my work at Wilton that day, when I was rung by the Transport Office, who asked if I ‘d mind being taken to Darlington early to catch the London train, as they had a VIP, who wanted to go early for the train to Bristol. I said yes, as that would mean a car journey in comfort instead of the local train from Eaglescliffe, through the hell-like landscape of the steelworks.
In the end, I arrived at Darlington with about an hour to wait for my train. After looking at Locomotion No. 1, which in those days was displayed on the platform, I retired to the bar for a pint. Just as I was settling in a chair, an announcement said that the train now arriving was the delayed Talisman for London. I asked if I should board the train and if I did would I get to London early. I got a double yes, left my pint and got on the train, which at that time was running forty-five minutes late, as a generator slung under a carriage had disintegrated and they’d had to stop to leave the offending carriage behind.
There is an interesting aside here about Locomotion No. 1, in that Hunter Davies saw the engine on the station and then went into W. H. Smith on the station to buy a book for the journey back to London. As he had just seen the engine, he looked for a biography of its creator, George Stephenson , only to be told that no-one had written one. Later he supposedly checked this with his agent, who then suggested that he write the book. So that is why an author of popular biographies of the such of the Beatles and Wayne Rooney, ended up writing the first biography of the only engineer, known to nearly everybody.
At the time of my return trip, the fastest Darlington to Kings Cross trains took three hours, whereas today a time of two hours forty-five minutes is about average, with the fastest ones taking about two hours twenty-five minutes. I should say that Darlington is 232 miles from Kings Cross.
My train that day had a clear run, as it had delayed everything behind it, so the driver was able to open up those Napier Deltic engines to try to regain the lost forty-five minutes.
And regain them he did!
Despite stops at probably York, Doncaster, Newark and Peterborough, he was able to keep the speed to such a level, that by the time we stopped in London, he was on time. So that means he probably took two hours fifteen minutes, which worked out as an average speed of just over 103 miles per hour including stops. Not bad for a train with a maximum speed of just 100. I actually timed the train at about this speed, just north of Peterborough.
Train journeys are not like that today. I remember eating dinner on the train and it was possibly the worst-served meal, I’ve ever had on a train, as the waiter had difficulty walking up and down, as the train bumped and lurched. The guard also kept passing through, announcing the latest estimate of our arrival time in Kings Cross.
I sometimes think that time has enlivened this story, but it was a wonderful thrill to find out what a properly-driven Deltic could do. Eurostars, TGVs and the other modern fast trains don’t give that same feeling! Certainly my trip to Middlesbrough behind a Class 91 for part of the way will not be so exciting.
Shirley Valentine
I have never seen Willy Russell‘s iconic play, Shirley Valentine about the Liverpool housewife, but I have seen the film starring Pauline Collins and Tom Conti. It is now being staged in London again, with Meera Syal as Shirley. It may seem stage that an actress of Indian origin should take this role, but this play has a history of good actresses of many races and nationalites having success with the part of Shirley.
I remember once many years ago, I drove from Chicago to Washington, leaving The Windy City just as it was getting dark. For the first two hours, I was listening to a chat show on the radio, where Ellen Burstyn spoke about her role as Shirley in the play, which was touring the United States and was at that time running in Chicago. Having heard that interview, I regretted that I had not known about the play, whilst in Chicago, as I would certainly gone and seen it. Ellen explained how she had been nervous to take on the play, as being set in Liverpool, she was worried about the accent. But then Willy Russell had reassured her and she decided to have a go. She said she couldn’t do the accent, but that she could do Irish, as she had that blood. Willy then explained that most Liverpudlians had Irish ancestry, so an Irish accent would do. In the end she made a great success of the part of Shirley.
So now that Meera Syal is taking over the part in London, all she is doing is following a great tradition of playing one of the best parts ever written for an actress.
The Forsyth Saga
That sums up Who Do You Think You Are? tonight on Bruce Forsyth. The program was mostly about Bruce’s great-grandfather, Joseph Forsyth Johnson, who was a landscape gardener and bigamist. East Enders had nothing on him for relationships and drama. Incidentally, forsythia is named after Joseph’s father.
The Weekends Are The Worst!
After C died in December 2007, I found that the weekends were the worst times. That is apart from Christmas, where I volunteered to help in the Bury St. Edmunds Christmas Lunch for the elderly, who had no family or nowhere else to go. But I can’t even do that now, as I’m not allowed to drive.
So in early 2010, I made a pact with myself and made sure that I always had something to do at the weekend. Often that was football at Ipswich or on their travels and I think I hardly missed a match.
Before C died, wekends were full, but not particularly busy. Usually it would mean a meal out or a visit to the theatre or the cinema, or perhaps the shops in London or Bluewater. We also had four weekends away in 2009.
How times have changed!
This weekend from the time my carer/driver left on Friday night, I didn’t see anybody except the postman and the paper lady on Saturday and my stud groom on Sunday, when he delivered the Sunday Times.
It illustrates so well, our decision to think about retirement to somewhere like Hampstead in perhaps 2012 or 2013. Little did we know what would happen with C’s death from cancer of the heart and then my strokes.
Where I live may be beautiful and tranquil, but there is no shop or pub within walking distance, no bus worth talking about and as I can’t drive, the only transport option is a taxi at £25 a time to Newmarket or Haverhill. Taxis round here are more expensive than black cabs in London. I can afford them, but I object to being ripped-off!
And then this last weekend, the weather wasn’t good and the television with one or two exceptions was complete rubbish.
I suppose the solution is to plan them, so that I don’t get another one again!
Carravaggio
I ended up watching a program about who killed Caravaggio on BBC4. This is the sort of program I worry about, if the BBC decides to save money. Having been introduced to the works of Caravaggio by an artist friend, I feel that this is the program, I should watch, to make sure I am less of an ignorant Philistine.
According to Caravaggio‘s entry in Wikipedia, today is the four hundredth anniversary of his death.
Big Brother
I didn’t know that the odious Big Brother was still going, but whilst looking for something to see on my Sky+ box, I saw it listed on Channel 4.
I really think that my life has been improved by forgetting to watch it! In the past, I’ve often watched the first program to see what freaks they’ve dragged up this time. But I didn’t even do that this year!
Jill Bolte Taylor
Although, I was told about this remarkable woman a few weeks ago, I hadn’t followed her up until I read an interview with her on Caring.com. I have now found her web site and ordered her book, My Stroke of Insight.
She is a brain scientist, who suffered a much worse stroke than I did and her insight may well aid recovery for many and help to shape and improve healthcare.
Should We Ban The Burka?
Should we follow France and impose a ban or take the advice of Damian Green and not ban it, as that would be un-British?
To be fair, I do oscillate from one view to another. A lot depends on my personal expereience at the time.
I remember once I was walking through Mile End in East London and I was horrified to see a woman walking meekly fully vieled and very heavily loaded a couple of metres behind her husband, who was carrying nothing and was totally oblivious to his wife’s plight. Are some men like him, the Islamic equivalent of your stereotype white male loser? They don’t want a wife, but they do need a full time servant at all of their beck and call.
On the other hand, also in East London, I was in need of help in Staples. I was assisted by the manager, who was about twenty-five or so and obviously a Muslim lady, as she was fully vielled. By the use of her eyes, hands and obvious personality, we had a strong conversation and my small problems were solved. Incidentally, whilst seving me she instructed a young white kid to help another customer, who had accidentally knocked a display over. From his reaction, it was obvious that they got on well, as business colleagues should!
To add another example. I was brought up in London and my mother always told me to hold doors and assist people on the stairs in the Underground. As C and myself, used to travel extensively on public transport in London with three boys under three, I know how difficult it is to manage some parts of the Underground by yourself with children. So if someone is struggling, I will often take the front of a buggy and help the pusher, be they man or woman, up or down the steps. Sometimes it is declined, but most take the offer, as what is it to me? A gain probably, as I don’t get stuck behind the struggler. I have been questioned by some as to why I do it and usually reply about my past experiences and the fact that I think it is courteous. I must admit that sometimes, when I do something smaller, like hold a door say and I get no sign of thanks, such as a smile or a raised hand, I feel that is very sad!
So is it not what you wear but how you behave? Relate properly with your fellow human beings and it doesn’t matter what either of you are wearing.
I Hate Flies
Are they bad this year, but they seem to be infecting my house more than usual? They have already caused me to break a glass, because I knocked the fly spray over.
But they do seem to want to sit all over me. Perhaps I taste good at the moment!
Any idea why? Is there a fly psychiatrist out there?
The Anonymous Widower 