|A Brush 4 and a Deltic, if I'm not mistaken|
I used to be a trainspotter. There, I've said it.
Let me explain. Between 1971 and 1973 I was a young (very young) version of those sad and lonely individuals you see standing at the end of deserted platforms armed with nothing more than a note pad and pen. But I was neither sad nor lonely. There was a group of us who, no matter the weather, would meet up at Grantham station, pay the princely sum of 2p for a platform ticket and loiter around the premises all day. Long before digital arrival and departure boards we knew the times of every arrival and departure, every express, every freight train and every milk train stopping at or passing through the station - day or night. And if it got too cold outside we would seek sanctuary in the waiting room complete with a real open fire and the company of fellow spotters. I was still a pre-teen but there was always older lads around who ensured I didn't get up to mischief or stand too close to the platform edge; when the Deltics rattled through the station at speeds touching 100 mph the danger of being sucked under was very real.
But I haven't told you the best bit yet. When I cycled home, often late and often without lights, the transferring of the raw data from my notepad to the Bible would begin: Ian Allen's Book of Diesel locomotives was a pocket sized tome which had the numbers of every diesel train in the land and the only way to do the copying over was with a pen that didn't smudge, invariably my dad's Parker, and a ruler. The numbers we'd seen that day would then be underlined and a permanent record of all the trains we'd spotted would emerge. Some I'd see every day, others remained permanently elusive. This is where, I guess, for some people it turns hardcore and they just keep doing it. Trying to fill the gaps. I stopped probably six months shy of my thirteenth birthday. At about the same time I discovered rock and roll. And girls.
Judging by those I saw standing on deserted platforms yesterday they'd not had that fork in the road moment which lead them to wine, women and song. I think I got out just in time.
I thought Class 47's were Brush 4's?ReplyDelete
I'll get me coat...
You're right, of course. I've changed the caption accordingly. Now I know what I've always suspected: my blog is read by trainspotters.Delete
And I think there was something special about Deltics with a white cab. Can't remember what it is now. Bugger.ReplyDelete
Yeah, so anyway, what do you think to Arcade Fire's latest? *wanders off dreaming of the sound of a Deltic at full chat*
I don't know either but I do know they look better painted blue than green. Arcade Fire have never appeared on my radar. Should I be digging them?Delete
I dunno either, I was just trying to think of a groovy band name so I didn't appear to be the total nerd that I am. They were on Glastonbury so I believe that's what the kiddywinks cut a rug to these days.Delete
A 'baby' Deltic hauled a steam engine on the East Coast line yesterday. Or so a 'friend' told me.
I think even sadder are those middle aged men with cameras logging the bus names in Brighton....ReplyDelete