Category Archives: railways

“Affordable and easy”?

Last weekend’s New York Times had a superbly self-contradicting travel article:

Luxury Trips for Less in Spain and Portugal

Despite that headline, the whole piece was about:

how to get maximum luxury for the lowest prices on a Spain or Portugal getaway

So far, so good. And some of the “tips” are valid — or self-evident, depending on your mood. For example:

Spain and Portugal have an abundance of small, family-run luxury hotels, which are often half the price of five-star chain properties… these locally owned properties, in some respects, could be more luxe than chains because their rooms tended to be comparatively more spacious and the service more personalized. If you mention during your stay, for example, that you are interested in the local architecture, don’t be surprised to find reading material about the area’s top architectural sites waiting for you in your room.

Well, stripe me pink and call me ham!

The one that really, really got me was this:

… AND THE TRAIN IN SPAIN The country’s reliable, clean, service-oriented high-speed train system, Alta Velocidad España, is an affordable and easy way to get around. A one-way ticket from Madrid to Málaga, in southern Spain, for example, costs as little as 50 euros.

I defer to nobody in my enthusiasm for travel by rail. And were I wanting to travel from Madrid to Malaga I’d certainly be tempted to do so by AVE. I would book ahead, on-line, and reckon on rather less than €50. Then, both at Seville and Malaga, the AVE arrival is a wee bit away from the centre. Still …

Bucket listing

My interest in this page-filler was, just a few weeks since, I ticked three items off my bucket list: Granada and the Alhambra, Cordoba and the Mesquita, Seville.

The joys of low-cost air travel meant we were in-and-out through Malaga. The commuter trains through Malaga Airport station go all the way in to Malaga-Centro Alameda: €1.80 — not AVE standards, but regular and efficient.

Now we could have made that Andalucian circuit by train, especially the bit from Seville back to Malaga. In fact we found that it was quicker, and cheaper to use the ALSA coach services. On top of which there would be no changes, and more frequent — at least hourly —  departures. Not to mention that the coach stations are, in at least two of those cities, more adjacent to the tourist centres.

Time and tide waits for the retired

The other dimension here is we didn’t racket around. We took a fortnight, which allowed several days in each city. That was just as well: the Alhambra for one allows only a ration of visits each day; and to do the whole site — the Nasrid palace, the palace of Charles V (no where near as spectacular, but worth the trip) and the Generalife — is going to take a full day.

Then, in Seville, you are not going to get into much of the cathedral, or climb the Giralda, on a Sunday …

And, doing it that way, meant it allowed us to rent an apartment in each location. It also gives access to a washing machine, so less baggage.

The bottom line is: luxury shouldn’t trump convenience.

Leave a comment

Filed under New York Times, railways, travel

Tiffy

Elsewhere, I found myself trying to maintain the difference between an “engineer” and a “mechanic”. To that end I rattled off this:

My Dear Old Dad completed his apprenticeship as a locomotive fitter for LMS. That “qualified” him to be a Chief Petty Officer running three Packard high-octane engines on an MTB (= PT boat) up the war-time Aegean. I never heard him claim to be an “engineer”, or more than a “tiffy” (= artificer). In all truth, I’d rather a time-served mechanic worked on my vehicle’s engine than a desk-bound engineer — and so would some engineers of my acquaintance.

I think I also had in my head an ear-worm of Cyril Tawney’s Lean and Unwashed Tiffy (there was once a Youtube of this, but it seems to have been lost at sea):

61iw6i0bbyl-_sx425_I’m a lean and unwashed tiffy
I come up from Plymouth Town
I can fix it in a jiffy
If you’ll hand that spanner down
If you’ll hand – that spanner down.

Cyril acquired that first line from … Bill Shagsper, no less:

Old men and beldams in the streets
Do prophesy upon it dangerously:
Young Arthur’s death is common in their mouths: […]
Another lean unwash’d artificer
Cuts off his tale and talks of Arthur’s death.

It also crosses my mind there’s a further dimension of English social history in the word.

The OED has its earliest citation from John Gower:

And so forth of the remenant
Of al the comun poeple aboute,
Withinne Burgh and ek withoute,
Of hem that ben Artificiers,
Whiche usen craftes and mestiers,
Whos Art is cleped Mechanique.

One’s mestier is one’s trade, by the way — which survives in modern French as métier. So artificier and métier: two English acquisitions from (Norman-)French at the end of the Fourteenth Century. And that, of course, was the time, the end of the process, when the Norman aristocracy merged their language with the Saxon peasants.

But I’m wondering if we can go a bit further. The Black Death was the lubrication that transformed feudal servitude into one of wage-labour. I’m looking here at Philip Ziegler’s monograph on The Black Death:

Another point to which Thorold Rogers attached particular importance was the ease with which the peasant could escape from his manor in the chaotic conditions of the English countryside in 1349 and 1350. This ever-present if unvoiced threat must have made the landlord far mor amenable to the peasants’ pleas for better conditions of work.

The Establishment attempted to push back with the (ineffectual) Statute of Labourers — one of the best examples in history of dead-letter legislation. Ziegler, again:

The object of the statutes was to pin wages and prices as closely as possible to a pre-plague figure and thus check the inflation that existed in England of 1349-51. The Government realised that this could never be achieved so long as labourers were free to move from one employer to another in search of higher wages and so long as employers were free to woo away labourers from their neighbours with advantageous offers.

The essential clue there to why the Statute of Labourers could not work is is use of the word “employer” rather than, perhaps, “lord”.

The working man, then, could aspire to this new status: craftsman, mestier, artificer.

But what about “engineer”?

The OED gives its first citation to c1380 — remarkably contemporary with Gower, but at this stage specifically as:

A constructor of military engines; a person who designs and constructs military works for attack and defence.

Consider: two World Wars facilitated the development of the modern aircraft. Out of the Cold War and the associated Space Race we got everything from non-stick saucepans to the internet. During the Fourteenth Century the spread and sophisticating of gunpowder meant warfare and defences had to change. Enter the “engineer”.

The American usage of “engineer” for — specifically — the driver of a locomotive or the manager of a ship’s steam-power is illustrative of something akin. In both cases (trains and steam-ships) in early applications the steam-boiler was a damnably dangerous appliance of science. One didn’t rise to such a level of expertise without a long and onerous apprenticeship, for which one could proudly congratulate oneself.

Somewhere around here I have an aged bit of early-’60s vinyl, and Joanie Baez telling of Georgie’s fate on Engine 143:

51utcgazigl-_sx425_Up the road he darted, into a rock he crashed:
Upside down the engine turned; and Georgie’s breast did smash.
His head was against the firebox door, the flames are rolling high:
I’m glad I was born for an engineer, on the C&O road to die.

Youtube seem to have that one blocked, so we’ll have to suck it up with The Man in Black (no great loss, then: and it was a Carter Family song before Joanie):

Leave a comment

Filed under folk music, History, Johnny Cash, Literature, Music, Oxford English Dictionary, railways, reading, United States

Where are the scuts of yesteryear?

That previous post, and the St Andrews fauna, brought to mind this:

King’s Lynn, North Wotton, Wolverton,
Dersingham! Dersingham!
Snettisham (or rather Snet’sham),
Change at Heacham …
Sedgeford, Docking,
Stanhoe, Burnham Market,
Holkham and
Wells-on-Sea!

As redolent to me as any verse of The Slow Train:

The Great Bean-counters of British Rail did for the first bit, the original Lynn & Hunstanton Railway from 1862, as late as the back-end of the 1960s. The eighteen-and-a-half miles of the West Norfolk Junction Railway had closed for passenger business in 1952, when it was still running Victorian gas-lit carriages wheezed along by antique steam locomotives. After the East Coast  Floods of 1953 there was deemed no possibility of it ever having an after-life.

There are so many “what-ifs” in that. Today, a “heritage railway” operating such rolling stock would be a national treasure. Had the original concept of a coastal loop, joining all the small resorts of the Norfolk coast, ever been realised we might today have something even better than Belgium’s Kusttram.

My memories — and I must be one of an diminishingly few who can recall, however dimly, that journey — are precise.

cover170x170Why was it necessary for the name of Dersingham to be bellowed twice? I still hear it in the fastnesses of a sleepless night, with the rising inflection on the middle syllable. Did that somehow echo down to Jon Hendricks’s pale imitation: New York, New York, a city so nice, they had to name it twice?

Snettisham is, if at all, known for the astounding hoard of gold torcs first ploughed up, then properly excavated, over a quarter of a century. Now starring at the British Museum and Norwich’s Castle Museum.

Then there were the bunnies.

Wolferton was, and is, something of a railway oddity.  I speak not of the incongruity, Wolverton, that is the tight curve on the old LMS line through Milton Keynes. Instead I recall the elaborate mock-Tudor confection that the Lynn & Hunstanton Railway devised to serve Sandringham House. To us lesser-breeds, endured to standing on open platforms in the northeast winds that make Norfolk in winter and early spring a place of cold comfort, Wolverton was a place of mystery and wonder. The station was always immaculate, the canopies white with recent paint — why did a place so small, so remote, deserve or demand such an extended shelter? —, planters and flower beds in abundance. Was there — there surely had to be — a majestic royal privy, the bluest of bloods alone for the relief thereof?

wolferton_station_9

As the train huffed-and-puffed north out of this stately pleasure-dome, the embankments became sandy and rabbit-infested. And I mean dozens of the little buggers.

Since the Heacham-Wells link died in 1952, my memory must pre-date that. The rabbits were despatched between 1953 and 1955 by farmers wilfully introducing of Myxomatosis.

Leave a comment

Filed under History, Norfolk, railways, social class, travel

Still, just, on the rails

The problem with magazines (and I’m an addict) is the Chinese meal one: you have one, and an hour later you need another. I may take a newspaper (or two) on a train journey; but I know it/they won’t keep me going the full distance, two hours or so between King’s Cross and York.

Back TrackA bit back I splurged on the last-but-one Back Track, “Britain’s leading historical railway journal”. What prised the £4.20 out of my wallet was Michael H.C. Baker on Dublin to Belfast, half-a-dozen close-printed pages on the old Great Northern line. My experience of that route started in the days when the Ulster Transport Authority and Córas Iompair Éireann had taken the line over, but when steam locomotives were still in use. Soon after steam gave way to diesel. To this day, you find many, if not most still refer to the service by the 1950s name, “The Enterprise”.

In all honesty, the trick was to arrange for one of the CIE services: the catering was superior.

As Baker’s conclusion admits, the rail link between Belfast and Dublin is under a cloud, if not under direct threat:

Not so long ago there was serious talk of electrification and an hourly service but rail travel in the Republic has fallen by 25% of late. Ireland now has a motorway and road network which means that almost all journeys between Dublin, Belfast and the principal cities and towns are quicker by road than rail and long-distance coaches have made great inroads into railway revenues. The ‘201’ Class has not proved to be the most reliable of locomotives, chiefly on account of the fact that they have to provide all the heating, air conditioning and other auxiliary power for the carriages, although converted BR-built Mk 3 generator vans now do the job which should overcome the problem.

In March 2011 the Northern Irish Minister for Regional Development listed 32 permanent speed restrictions — the permitted maximum south of the border is 90mph — between Dublin and Belfast. £40 million of upgrading had been scheduled just for the section between Lisburn and Lurgan but this was “now deferred indefinitely due to budget constraints”. Worse, Northern Ireland Railways have said that £500 million is needed to bring the ‘Enterprise’ service up to “an acceptable standard” and it has “so frequently broken down that it is no longer fit for purpose”. Its average speed of 43mph (69km/h) is very nearly the slowest inter-city route in Western Emope. Oh dear, of dear! Some of these statements are a perhaps understandable plea for an ideal which can never be obtainable and an inter-city route of less than 120 miles with a number of stops is never going to rival, for instance, Paris to Marseilles or London to Edinburgh. I always enjoy my journeys between Dublin and Belfast and no doubt will in the future. One minor, not very expensive, outlay could be in the buffet car where a replacement for the seats which must be left over from the Spanish Inquisition would not come amiss!

 

That any kind of rail transport still exists across Northern Ireland is despite the ingrained prejudices of years of Unionist government. Let’s not pretend: the UTA closures of the 1950s and into the early 1960s were, in part, sectarian politics: too many of the old GNR railmen were Roman Catholic. When the Benson Report of 1963 proposed the closure of all links to Derry, it was the old Northern Counties Committee line, through largely Unionist country, that survived, and the “Derry Road”, from Portadown and on through Catholic country, which was axed.

There are, today, just four lines remaining: to the Border (and therefore on to Dublin), the NCC track to Derry, with a spur to Portrush, (most of which is spectacular, but single-track — and the station at Derry is inconveniently the wrong side of the Foyle), and the two commuter lines — the Bangor line along the Gold Coast of County Down (which ought to service George Best Airport, but contrives not to) and the Larne line (which once linked to the ferries to Stranraer).

The obvious missing link is the mothballed Ballinderry link from Lisburn and Knockmore, past the back of Aldergrove (Belfast International Airport) to join the Derry Line at Antrim. Reviving that is the ever-rumoured, oft-promised, never-delivered story, most recently just last month:

Northern Ireland could finally get a rail link to Belfast International Airport.

Regional Development Minister Danny Kennedy has proposed a series of feasibility studies which could eventually mean the first major track extensions to the rail network since the wholesale closures of the Sixties.

In a new document outlining the future of rail investment for the next 20 years and beyond, the minister proposed looking at the potential to create a new route serving Belfast International Airport.

Add a spur to Dublin Airport (which was implicit in the original proposal for Dublin’s Metro North) and the two main runways of Ireland are directly connected, and as adjacent as Heathrow is to the West End. That, of course, involves a degree of finance, and a lot more imagination.

Leave a comment

Filed under Ireland, Irish Railways, Northern Ireland, Northern Irish politics, prejudice, railways, reading

… so you don’t have to buy it.

When the York Waterstones moved the length of Coney Street nearer to Redfellow Cottage, further attrition on my current account was inevitable.

9780571315789Yesterday’s raid was: two paperback histories, a hardback ‘techie and — I know I should have resisted — Sean O’Brien and Don Paterson’s anthology of Train Songs.

As always, the problem with such collections is you already have many of the selected verses in other books. That is inevitable with the obvious:

for starters.

In there, already, I’ve had a happy moment over Michael Flanders and Donald Swann putting the boot in on Beeching’s axing of The Slow Train:

My own ear worm has the remembered names on 43 miles of the defunct Wells-on-Sea to Norwich line: Kimberley Park, Thuxton, Yaxham, Nor’ Elm’n, Cowntee Schoo .., Fakenham! Fakenham! (always called twice), WalSINGham, Walsingham (ditto), Wighton Halt … All to the rhythm of a 4-4-0 Claud on jointed track.

A more taxing remembrance involves the names, and the eccentric East Norfolk pronunciations thereof, between Wells and Heacham, on the line closed after the 1953 floods: Holkham, Burnham Market, Stanhoe, Docking, Sedgeford, Heacham. Then on through Snettisham, Dersingham, Wolferton (and, pre-Myxy, its multitudinous rabbits), North Wootton, to Lynn.

The other stuff

I had forgotten that:

O fat white woman whom nobody loves
Why do you walk through the fields in gloves …

was Frances Cornford (page 19) and Seen from a Train. Note that, apart from the title, ano train is involved. Her Parting in Wartime is here, too (page 53), short, sharp and effective, even on a poster on the Central Line:

How long ago Hector took off his plume,
Not wanting that his little son should cry,
Then kissed his sad Andromache goodbye –
And now we three in Euston waiting-room.

There’s a surprising Irish (and Scots) element in this anthology: Heaney and MacNeice get three apiece, along with Michael Longley in an Italian Couchette (page 127), Paul Durcan, and Dennis O’Driscoll. A new one, to me, and wholly grabbing is Thomas McCarthy’s The Emigration Trains. Since McCarthy was born 1954, one wonders over:

We were heading for England and the world
At war. Neutrality we couldn’t afford.
I thought I would spend two years away,
But in the end the two became twenty.
Within hours we’d reach the junction at Crewe
And sample powdered eggs from the menu,
As well as doodlebugs falling nearby;
And that fatal traffic of an alien sky.

It doesn’t do to brood too much over that: would the best route from Waterford to work on the underground be through Holyhead and the Irish Mail? Surely no V1 flying bomb came anywhere near Crewe? Even so, McCarthy invites us to Pity the Poor Immigrant. No: there’s no Bobster represented here, not even his Slow Train. Copyright issues, perhaps? On the other hand, we do have Tom Waits’s Train Song (page 163) and a couple of obvious page-fillers (The Midnight Special, page 127, and Robert Johnson’s Love in Vain Blues (page 91, but worthy for other reasons):

If those, why not Steve Goodman’s City of New Orleans? Or Paul Simon’s Homeward Bound from Wigan, via Widnes, to Brentwood? Both of those are indisputably “train songs”.

Of course, once we’re that far down the line, we might also be looking for Percy French railing From Ennis/ as far as Kilkee on which, years since, I have already adequately touched.

But may well be about to do so again …

 

Leave a comment

Filed under Literature, Quotations, railways, reading, York

Wedgwood, smart and smashed

Is there a connection, apart from name, between the restaurant on the Royal Mile and the china firm? Who knows? Who cares? Both are at the top of their act.

CVWYesterday’s post skimmed lightly over the dominance Dame Cicely Veronica Wedgwood (right) had over several generations of students and teachers. The book to which I referred there, The Thirty Years War, came out in 1938, and was very much a product of its time. The author herself concluded the war was the outstanding example in European history of meaningless conflict. In the Preface to the 1956 reprint, she went further, and put the work in the context of the 1930s depression: Preoccupation with contemporary distress made the plight of the hungry and homeless, the discouraged and desolate in the Thirty Years’ War exceptionally vivid to me.

This, let it be noted, from a daughter of privilege, privately-educated, touring Europe with her maternal grandfather, Albert Henry Pawson, multi-lingual, sensitive to art and culture,  A.L. Rowse’s “first outstanding pupil”, an Oxford First, literary adviser at the publisher Jonathan Cape, editor and columnist, reviewer for the Daily Telegraph, and committed to the mission of making history accessible to the average reader.

Not bad, eh?

Now let’s go back a generation, and get reciprocating.

Her father, Ralph, was the younger brother of Josiah Wedgwood. a Trinity College, Cambridge, man and a contemporary of the likes of the philosopher G.E.Moore, historian G.M.Trevelyan (the “M” for Macaulay, and grand-nephew of Thomas Babbington ditto) [Ouch! see comments below] and Ralph Vaughan Williams (who was also a cousin).

Ralph Wedgwood, from early days was a train-spotter. After Cambridge, he joined the North Eastern Railway, and worked his way through the docks operations and traffic management, until in 1914 he took charge of the whole of NER freight and passenger operations. His war-service was directing the rail transport to the Front Line, under his old NER boss, Eric Geddes, and he arrived at the rank of brigadier-general in charge of docks.

Back to civilian life, it was time for the reorganisation of the railways. The NER was a main constituent of the East Coast grouping, and on vesting day, 1st January 1923, Wedgwood became chief general manager of the new London and North Eastern Railway (LNER. The LNER employed over 200,000 staff, ran 6000 route miles oftrack, and was the world’s largest dock-owning railway company. For the record, Wedgwood’s chairman at the LNER was William Whitelaw, grandfather of Margaret Thatcher’s Home Secretary. It’s a smaller world than we think.

The Streaks

In 1935 Wedgwood gave the nod to the LNER’s chief mechanical engineer, Nigel Gresley to produce four streamlined steamers for the East Coast Main Line. This was George V’s silver anniversary, so these first four A4 locomotives all had “silver” in their namings: 2509 Silver Link, 2510 Quicksilver, 2511 Silver King and 2512 Silver Fox. To show how it should be done, on its inaugural press run Silver Link broke the British speed record twice, and averaged 100 mph over 43 miles.

Having proved the concept of high-speed steam traction, the LNER extended the production run — at first the namings were for birds (Gresley was an ornithologist), then five were built specifically for the Coronation express between Kings Cross and Edinburgh, and named for the Dominions, two were named with woollen connections (Golden Fleece and Golden Shuttle) for the West Riding route. The seventeenth of this second batch, originally and now again 4498, would be Gresley’s hundredth Pacific locomotive: the LNER named it after him to celebrate the occasion.

gresley_a4

Sir Ralph Wedgwood

By late 1938 the LNER was scraping the barrel for bird names: 4469 was going to be Gadwall, a species of pretty average ducks. Instead it became Sir Ralph Wedgwood, as the General Manager was coming up to retirement.

On 29th April 1942, 4469 Sir Ralph Wedgwood, had been shopped out after an overhaul and had been routinely running in between Gateshead and York. That night the York North Shed took a direct hit, and 4469 was damaged beyond repair. York North Shed is now the National Railway Museum Great Hall and a plaque marks the spot.

1997-7396_DON_42_56

Later, between 1944 and its scrapping in 1965, 4466 Herring Gull would take 4469’s former name plates.

plaque_a4_b16

3 Comments

Filed under Britain, History, railways, reading, World War 2, York

How did that happen?

Browsing, as one does, the on-line Railway Archive — after all, today is the 210th anniversary of Trevithick demonstrating “the first guided steam locomotive at the Pen-y-Darren ironworks near Merthyr Tydfil”.

In doing so I bumped into:Fakenham

The school run

Persons of a certain advanced age, including at least one reader of this blog, will have spent much time standing, late afternoon, on the platform at Fakenham East (Fakenham West was on the Muddle and Get Nowhere line — both are long deceased) for the train home from school. My own journeys were first hauled by one of Mr James Holden’s D16 “Clauds”, then on a Derby Lightweight.

None of the “Claud”s survived the breakers’ yards. One of the older E4s (another of Mr Holden’s creations) did, and is now at Bressingham. Or, rather, it appears under its original  designation: number 490 of:

Great Eastern Railway Class T26 2-4-0. Built in 1895 and retired from mainline service in 1959. Designed for cross-country excursions and slow main-line duties. Renovated at Stratford works in its original livery. Operated in the Cambridge area before being withdrawn.

This, ladeez an’ gennelmen, is what a real, live steam locomotive looks and sounds like:
Rain, rain, go away 
How did two E4s, LNER numbers 7457 and 7486, come to collide? The simple answer is (1) driver error and (2) inadequate maintenance. To which we might add poor quality rolling stock.
Fakenham crash
Inevitably, the driver of the north-bound train, A.E. Borritt took the worst of the Inspector’s stick:

Driver Borrett’s statement that the down main line home signaI was lowered for his train is not supported by any other witness. Even his own fireman, Wigley, was unable to confirm it, because he said that he was occupied at the time with an injector which was giving trouble. It is, however, to be noted that subsequent to the collision no diffculty was found by fireman Smith in making the same injector work.

I cannot disregard the weight of evidence that both home signals were actually at danger when Borrett passed them…

I cannot therefore accept Borrett’s evidence, and conclude that the accident was due to his failure to obey the danger signal indications in question. 

And yet, was it that simple:

There may also have been a fault in the signalling: —

Mr. H. A. McEllroy, Stationmaster of Fakenham, … said that there had been five or six cases of electrical failure during May. Occasionally “B” track circuit went out of order; after a train had actually cleared it the indicator showed the track circuit as still occupied; but after another train had passed in the reverse direction the indicator showed it correctly as clear. In one case he thought this change of indication took place during the night, after the signalman had left duty.

Just possibly, was there some “human intervention”:

Lineman H. L. W. Smith said that Fakenham was in his charge. He had received complaints as to ” B ” track circuit failing to show ” clear” owing to low ballast resistance on May 5th (two failures), which he rectified by adjusting the resistance in series with the battery; on May 22nd, when the fault had righted itself before he arrived; and on May 24th when he again adjusted the resistance. There had also been a failure of the points No. 32 on May 22nd due to disconnection of the battery. He reported the failures on May 5th and 24th to Inspector Robinson, but had no complete record of them. He entered them all up at the same time on the card in the relay cupboard. He had to look after 5 track circuits, the electrical and telegraph instruments in a district of roughly 90 miles; also about 28 signal boxes, the instruments in station offices, and the line wires. Maintenance therefore of the track circuit was only a relativeIy small part of his work. 

And what caused any intermittent fault? —

The nearest rainfall recording station is at Mitchell Dunham, near Swaffham, some 15 miles or so away, and information received from the Meteorological Office indicates that rain fell there on 18 days during May, and that on six of these days the amount was considerable… While there is no complete coincidence between these dates of rainfall and track circuit failures, there is at any rate a strong probability of some connection between them. 
Yet, when we look at the rainfall numbers quoted, the days immediately before the accident were quite dry. The heavy rain had been a week earlier.
Added to which …
The death and injuries were at least partly caused by the inadequacy of old rolling stock.
The three passenger carriages where the casualties occurred were old six-wheel coaches, numbers 61028 and 60959. The damage they incurred was substantial, and precisely detailed:

Third Class Carriage No. 61028.
4 Buffers bent, 2 Headstocks broken, Westinghouse and Steam Heat Pipes broken, Brakegear damaged, Stepboards damaged, Step Irons damaged, 2 Ends broken, 2 Quarters and Pillars broken, 2 Doors broken, 1 Bottom Side broken, 8 Side and Door Lights broken, 1 Inside Partition broken, 2 Seats broken, 1 Compartment and Fittings completely wrecked, 1 photo glass broken, Westinghouse Alarm gear broken.

Third Class Carriage No. 60969.
1 Headstock broken, Diagonals broken, Longitudinals broken, Bottom Sides broken, Drawgear broken, Brakegear broken, Stepboards broken, Step Irons broken, Springs displaced, Axleguards bent, Floor damaged, Roof damaged, 2 Buffer castings broken, 2 Buffers bent, 2 Quarters broken, 1 End broken, 2 Partitions broken, 2 Compartments with Fittings completely wrecked, Steam Heat and Westinghouse Pipes damaged, 11 Side end Door Lights broken, Westinghouse Alarm Gear broken. 

All of this post was made possible because the original accident enquiry was so thorough, and the report has been preserved.

Leave a comment

Filed under History, Norfolk, railways, reading, Wells-next-the-Sea