Abby Ch. 10

The line since Lills Platform had been on a downgrade. The Pannier tank, therefore had little work to do, and just as the loco arrived the safety valve blew off with a great gust of steam. The fireman quickly turned the injector on, to cool the boiler, but knew that the stationmaster would have words to say on the subject. The train stopped, so that the guard's compartment was precisely where Thomas was standing. "Good Morning Mr. Metcalfe." Thomas stepped forward proffering the pouch.

"Good Morning Mr. Tregonney." The Guard took the pouch, and with Thomas observing placed it into the locked box through a non-returnable flap. At South Molton, the box containing the pouches from Paverton, Lills Platform and Combe Lyney would be transferred to another train, which would take the Exe Valley route to Exeter, where it would go to the District Office for checking. Anson was making quick work of loading the parcels into the luggage compartment, and would shortly join Fairworthy in loading the last of the churns into the ventilated wagons.

Thomas approached the engine. "Look busy, here he comes," muttered the driver out of the side of his mouth to his fireman. The man was busily checking water levels when Thomas looked into the cab.

"Fireman," he barked, "you know well enough that safety valves should not blow off whilst in the station. Please ensure that there is no repetition. Driver, you were one minute down. Why?"

"Two minutes late off Paverton, Mr. Tregonney, don't know why, just didn't get the board." With this excuse the Driver checkmated the stationmaster. Thomas couldn't berate him as he had done well to get a minute back. The Driver knew, as did Thomas, that there was no point in checking. Thomas could only do that through his colleague at Paverton, who would not want to waste time answering questions on such a trivial matter, just to please a martinet like Thomas, who at one time or another had upset just about everyone on this line. Anyway the signalman would probably cite operational reasons for not pulling off the Starter, such as a sticking point. Thomas gave him a dark look, knowing that to investigate with his colleagues at Paverton would be a waste of effort.

He looked up the track toward the signal that stood at the end of the platform. "You will observe that our Starter is now off; I trust you will make a smart get away when your guard gives you the flag." He turned on his heel and marched away towards the guard's compartment once more. The churns were now finished loading and Fairworthy was closing the van doors. Thomas checked that the drop bolt was securely in place, and approached Guard Metcalfe, who was standing at his door awaiting Tregonney's confirmation that everything, and everybody was aboard. He looked at his watch again, checking the time. "Right away, Mr. Metcalfe," called Thomas.

"Thank you Mr. Tregonney." Metcalfe gave a short blast on his whistle to attract the Driver's attention, and raised his Green flag. He didn't just wave it, he held the shaft in one hand, and the other hand stretched out the flag by the corner, so the Driver would be in no doubt that he had been given the Green. A short "pop" on the whistle, and the train moved off.

Thomas checked his watch again. He called to his porters. "Smart work, away on time from one minute down."

Alfred grinned at Bob, as the stationmaster went back into his office, "Always economical with praise, is our Mr. Tregonney."

Bob shrugged his shoulders. "It's that bloke Gill, he's always late, if he would for once get his milk here on time we could have got the train away early."

Alfred regarded his young companion with a withering look. "So we get the train away early, what will happen? Nothing. What praise will we get? None. Because it's early the train will be held at the junction, and all we will have to show for it is sweat, and blisters. No point in working your socks off, it makes no difference."

He walked away towards the ticket office. There was little chance of passengers this early, and those that would appear would have weekly Seasons anyway. He would check though, and if it was all quiet he would make his way ostentatiously to the goods shed; giving the impression that he had work there, and then when Thomas was no longer on the platform he could slip away for a mug of tea with Reg in the signal box. No such opportunity for Bob Fairworthy though, for Thomas emerged from his office once more, carrying in his hand the little slip of paper that Bob knew would be his tasks for the shift.

"Ah, Fairworthy, have you changed the lamps yet?"

"Just going to do that, Mr. Tregonney."

"Good. Now when you have done that, please check all the fire buckets, the gentleman's facilities will need to be mopped out, and then the flowerbeds will require tidying. I noticed one or two weeds coming through the platform slabs at the north end, please attend to those as well."

"Very good, Mr. Tregonney."

The Lad Porter set off to the Lamp Room; built in to the front of the station building, another peculiarity of this station. Usually at most stations a separate corrugated iron hut was used for this purpose, a precaution against fire. Today was Thursday, the day for replacing the oil lamps that illuminated the red and green spectacles on the signal arms. The oil lamps would burn for eight days. Unlocking the door, he collected two replacement lamps, trimmed and filled, one for the up home signal and one for the up distant, and began the long trek to the signal. This was situated in the cutting by Huish Coppice, and was three-quarters of a mile from the station. Today would be a good day for this job, a pleasant walk in the warm sunshine, even a chance, once out of sight to lie back beside the track and have a cigarette. In winter, he hated it, with rain sleeting in on the South-Westerly winds, he would arrived at the distant with his back soaked through, climbing the steel ladder to the lamp would be treacherous, and then on the way back his front would be soaked in its turn. The wet weather gear supplied by the railway was efficient except in high winds, when it tended to act either as a sail, speeding progress outward, and impeding progress inward; or as a parachute, at all times trying to fly above his head; either way the soaking was inevitable. The down distant was even worse, the signal standard being on a slight embankment, where the wind and rain ruled without mercy. In those conditions climbing the ladder to pull the old lamp off and replace it was extremely dangerous, he thanked his lucky stars that it only had to be done once a week.

Thomas worked quietly at his desk; a relic from the thirties, scarred, damaged and repaired on more than one occasion, it was now secured by an angle iron to the wall, as the joints were so sprung that nothing else would save it from wobbling. He was reading the latest promotional literature special rates, and changes in timetabling. He would select those items, which would be of benefit to the potential customers in this area, and later today would write to the largest outlining the offers, and enclosing a handbill with the details. He could never decide which would be better; to write longhand, or to use the ancient Remington Typewriter that had been issued to the station in nineteen forty-nine. The problem with the typewriter was that the punctuation, needed a double shift; the first shift was for capitals, and the second for punctuation; and he was constantly forgetting to do this. His typed letters therefore tended to take twenty minutes to half an hour for a simple two paragraphs, and would contain many erasures or overtyping and as he would normally send out twenty such letters, he found himself working well into the evening to complete this work. He could as a matter of course write in Copperplate, but this could take almost as long. The sorting proved to be far longer than he originally thought, as two of the special rates would at first glance appear to be the same, as he puzzled over this his hand instinctively went to his waistcoat and pulled out his watch; he was no longer amazed that this now unconscious action happened when there was four or five minutes to the arrival of the next train.

The service that had triggered this was the first down passenger due at eight fourteen. He put on his coat and walked out onto the platform. This was the train, which would take most of the village children to school in Paverton, his daughter included. The children waited quietly, knowing that the stationmaster's displeasure would be incurred by any larking around. Thomas nodded to Marion, pleased to see that she was well turned out as usual, her school uniform neatly pressed and clean. It was a source of pride to him that she would get herself up in the mornings, breakfast, wash up, and dress, in plenty of time to catch this train. His personal sense of duty and integrity applauded his daughter for these similar attributes. Yet apart from that nod he would not acknowledge her in any way. He was the stationmaster, and he was on duty.

The engine could be heard now, working hard on the almost continual climb from the junction close to South Molton. When it approached the down distant, the driver blew the whistle, and moments later the train appeared. It came over the level crossing and as it approached the signal box, came almost to a complete stand, the fireman leaned down and handed a ticket to Reg, who had come out of his box to collect it. The regulator was opened again briefly, and then closed, the driver allowing the train to coast into the station. The engine was one of the little tank engines so often used for lightly loaded passenger trains, with four coupled wheels and two trailing wheels. Almost everything about the engine was on the diminutive scale, with the exception of the vast polished dome on top of the boiler, which seemed completely out of proportion to the rest of the locomotive. The coaches were the two, which had formed the last up train. As ever with a train, even though they travelled twice a day, there was a sense of repressed excitement amongst the children, as the train drew to a halt, and there was some jockeying for position in order that they could share a compartment with their best friend; or that some other child could be excluded from their select group. Thomas's stern gaze would put a stop to the more physical of this selection process.

The train stopped predictably with the guards compartment just where Thomas was standing. The guard / stationmaster acknowledgment intoned just as before, except that this time the guard was the other regular on the line, George Bird. Combe Lyney's stationmaster was not one for idle chat, which was strange in a way, as that position was a solitary occupation, and other railwaymen, were probably the only people that they would come into contact with on a regular basis. Bird knew of some stationmasters who relished a chat, and would return to a topic that interested them with the regularity of the timetable, picking up two minutes conversation with a guard every time that train returned to his station, as if the last words said on the subject were only a minute ago, instead of an hour or so. Thomas supervised the embarking of the children, walking slowly down the platform ensuring that all the doors were closed. As he walked he peered into each compartment, and acknowledged regular travellers with a nod, or in the case of First class touched his cap. He wasn't much called upon to do that these days. Anson was standing at the picket gate, having examined or collected tickets of those passengers who alighted.

As he passed, the stationmaster enquired. "All correct?"

To which Anson replied. "All correct Stationmaster." Thinking to himself, "how can it be any other way with only three passengers to deal with?"

Thomas arrived at the engine, just as the down starter signal dropped. The train could not depart yet as the driver was not in possession of the Token, which Reg would be bringing now. The Fireman was leaning out, watching the activity on the platform. Thomas called across to the Driver. "Driver, it isn't required in the rule book that you sound your whistle at the distant, or have the whistle codes changed in the last twenty-four hours?"

The driver had been ready for this. "I thought I saw an animal on the line, Mr. Tregonney, but I was mistaken."

Thomas nodded; this was in the rule book. "Very well, Driver, but you should be careful, or our signalman would believe that you wanted to come inside." This was the railwaymen's colloquial for leaving the main line to enter a siding or loop. The fireman, trying hard to keep the grin off his face applied himself studiously to the rear of the train, where Reg Purvess was just walking up the platform with the token for the next section; he handed this to the driver who checked that he had the right token.

The guard had just placed his whistle between his lips; and with his pocket watch in hand he waited until the minute hand reached twenty minutes past. Thomas had his watch in hand as well, also checking the time; he raised his arm to indicate that the time was right. The guard blew his whistle, and the Green flag was shown. The driver tugged the whistle chain just once, and immediately opened the regulator, being on the far side of the cab, his comment to his mate, "and that's in the rule book as well." Did not reach Thomas's ear.

Whilst the train had been in the station, there had been considerable bustle, the idle chatter of the children, the opening and slamming of doors, the hiss of steam from the engine combined with the crackle of water dropping on to the hot surfaces. Yet the moment the train departed there was silence, except for the sounds of the engine away in the distance, working hard on the bank towards Lills Platform. This was the extraordinary characteristic of branch line stations. Five minutes of hectic activity and then an hour or more of tranquillity. The platform was deserted as the staff went about the jobs that passengers rarely saw. Thomas to his never-ending paperwork; Alfred Anson checking in the tickets he had collected, and Reg Purvess wandering back down the track to close the level crossing gates, and then returning to his isolated signal box. A viewer from the distance would see a deserted station, with apparently nothing happening, giving rise to the impression that railwaymen lead an idyllic life. Only was there an occasional movement as one or the other of the staff would make a brief appearance walking out of one door, only to enter another.

In the office Thomas pecked carefully and laboriously at his ancient typewriter, grinding out the letters to his potential customers.

His hand went instinctively to his pocket and consulted his watch; he called out to Anson. "Anson, Goods due in forty-five minutes, is everything checked in and loaded?"

Anson had been sitting quietly, enjoying a few moments of calm. "Yes, Stationmaster, I am just going now over to make sure nothing else has arrived."

Thomas did not look up from his typing. "Do that if you please?" Framed as a question, this was more an imperative. Alfred knew this and reluctantly left the ticket office.

And so the watcher from the distance would have seen Anson leave the building, stroll down the platform, descend the ramp, and cross the line on his way to the goods shed. He passed Bob Fairworthy, who was just returning from the down distant having completed the task of replacing the oil lamps.

"If you get the chance, come over and help," he shouted, "I've got one large crate to load." Bob raised his hand in acknowledgement, and continued on his way, stopping at the Lamp room, where he stored the exhausted lamps. Within the next couple of hours he would trim the wicks and re-fill the lamps so that working spares were always available. He walked up onto the platform wondering whether to just go over to the goods shed, or tell the stationmaster first.

He opted for the safer of the options, and went in to the office. "I have completed the lamps Mr. Tregonney, the leading porter has requested help with a large crate, shall I go now, or is there anything else you wish me to do?"

Thomas looked up wearily from his typing. "Go help load the crate, you should know well enough now that that is the priority."

"Yes, Stationmaster." replied the porter, and backed out quickly, before Thomas could add any more sarcasm to his reply. Typical he thought. If he hadn't said anything he would be in trouble for not letting the stationmaster know where he was. You got it in the neck for doing something, and also for not doing it.

In the signal Box, Reg Purvess, had re-filled the kettle, and put it on the stove in anticipation of the arrival of the goods. His timing was right for at that moment the Bell gave one ring, Reg immediately pushed the plunger once to signify that he was alert. The bell then rang three times followed by a pause, then four times with another pause, then once, signifying that the goods wished to enter the section. Reg set the signals and points, and sent back the same bells he had received. The moment the passenger had cleared the section he had set the block instrument to show 'Line clear'. A few minutes later he got the bell code for "Train entering section". He acknowledged this and set the block instrument to "Train on Line". The line was divided into sections known as 'Blocks', and the signalling system ensured that only one train could be in any block at a time. Having done this he ambled down to the level crossing to open the gates. In many places these gates would be interlocked with the signals, so the signal could not be cleared unless the gates were open for the train. Due to the amount of traffic this had never been thought necessary at Combe Lyney, and more than once a signalman who had forgot, watched horrified as an engine smashed through the gates. The crossing gave access to the goods yard and the dirt lane that led to the old mill, and so little traffic used it these days that it would have been easier to leave the gates shut, only opening them when a wagon required access to the yard. That would probably have happened were it not for Thomas Tregonney, who of course insisted on everything by the book; therefore Reg had to make this walk many times each day.

The goods ran as it had for years on the same timing, irrespective of the fact that there was little work for it these days. Where once it would be a dozen vans and half a dozen wagons, all to be shunted and reformed, a process taking up to an hour or so; now there would be three or maybe four vans and two open wagons, and the shunting could be accomplished in twenty minutes. The demand had changed but the timetable hadn't; and the goods would have to wait for the up passenger from Paverton. The crew were quite happy as this gave them an hours' break to drink Reg's tea, and gossip in the box. In the goods shed, Alfred and Bob had manhandled the heavy crate into one of the two vans standing on the goods road. Bob, with regret now had to return to the station to carry on with Thomas's job list. Anson made the final check that all the crates, and boxes had been written in the rate book, that the vans had the destination labels clipped into the carriers, one for Exeter, and one for Taunton, and settled down to wait for the goods.

Thomas bestirred himself, glancing once more at his watch. Whilst the goods train would not be dignified at every station with the attendance of a stationmaster, he felt it incumbent upon himself to oversee the proceedings from a distance. Therefore he was standing on the platform when the goods arrived and made its way slowly into the goods loop, again hauled by the six-coupled Pannier tank. It stopped to the accompaniment of the clanging buffers, as the un-braked wagons closed up to the wagon in front. Reg set the points for the head-shunt, a short length of track on which the guards van could be shunted to clear the vans and trucks that would be detached here, and the little round ground signal turned to clear, the guard, it was Mr. Metcalfe again, waved his green flag from his van, and slowly, groaning, the train set back, until the guards van was placed well into the head-shunt. Anson had wandered down, and ducked under the couplings to release the guards van from the train, which was then allowed to pull forward leaving the van in the head shunt.