Author: Stuart Butler

A Tale of Two Water Towers, A Tale of Two Stations, A Tale of Two Rivers

 

It takes less than an hour to walk from Kemble station to the source of the River Thames: it’s usually dry at the spring-source, although I have seen bubbles surface from the depths below when the fields have been in winter-flood. The source is both officially memorialised – and also unofficially with stones left in a circle around the spring.

 

The infant Thames proceeds in a stuttering manner at first, rather than with a spring in its step. Partly, some say, because of the historic pumping of water at Kemble from wells for the steam-powered machinery at the Swindon railway works. The water was originally transported by train from 1872 but the expansion of the factory at Swindon with a consequent and almost insatiable demand resulted in the construction of a mains water pipe all alongside the main line from Kemble in 1903 at the rate of one mile a week for the thirteen miles.

 

You can admire the water tower at Kemble on the down platform, and the Swindon water tower (much admired by Sir John Betjeman) at the far end of the railway village; it was constructed in 1871. The railway works grew prodigiously: from 143 employees in 1843 to nearly 15,000 in the twentieth-century in an area over 300 acres.

 

The source of the Thames also lies close to the site of what was once Tetbury Road station (91 miles and 74 chains from Paddington). A prominent member of the local gentry, Squire Gordon, objected to the construction of a railway station on his estates and so Kemble existed merely as an interchange for Cirencester until 1882 (when Kemble station was constructed after the death of the squire). Tetbury Road closed to passenger traffic in 1882 and became a goods and freight depot. It’s a ghost station now – fittingly, a deserted medieval village lies not far away.

 

But the river makes its inexorable way to London, fed by a multitude of tributaries, including the subterranean and infamously-named Tyburn which makes its way past Paddington and into the Thames at Pimlico. And the GWR makes its inexorable way to Paddington too.

 

Rail and river inexorably interlinked.

 

A Tale of Two Water Towers, A Tale of Two Stations, A Tale of Two Rivers

 

 

Steam Rail Motors and Chalford

 

I first visited Chalford on the train in the summer of 1960. The locomotive was a 1400 class tank engine; 1463 from memory. I thought that a quaint engine at the time but not as quaint as the Art Deco diesel railcars awaiting the scrap yard at the sidings at Rodbourne Cheyney in Swindon. I knew nothing then of the steam rail motors at Chalford. But I did know of stations at Purton, Minety & Ashton Keynes, Oaksey, Chalford and Brimscombe.

 

In 1903, the GWR reported thus on our local line: ‘the Stroud Valley between Chalford and Stonehouse, a distance of seven miles’ with a ‘succession of villages nearly all connected, adjacent to the railway … prosperous looking places … cloth making, silk weaving, the manufacture of buttons, pins, walking and umbrella sticks, and wood turning …The streams furnish qualities peculiar to the requirements of these industries.’ And the springs too, of course: the water at Chalford station came from a spring in nearby Cowcombe Woods.

 

In consequence, later that year, a new service was introduced – the steam rail motor service, twenty-three minutes in time for the seven miles distance between Chalford and Stonehouse. There was capacity for fifty-two passengers and, similar to the underground, there were straps for standing passengers to clench if felt necessary on the journey. Sixteen of the potential fifty-two could sit in cross-seats positioned in the centre of the carriage, with thirty-six seats positioned longitudinally towards each end of the carriage.

One of the joys of this service was the fact that the steam rail motor did not just stop at stations and halts along the way, but also at level crossings in a bid to lure travellers away from the attractions of the expanding competition from bus services in the 1920s. Who needs a bus stop when you can hop off at a level crossing?

But it was a sign of the times: the best of times, the worst of times. The 1920s saw both the hey day and the demise of the service. On the one hand, the service was extended to Gloucester in 1921, but seven years later, the railmotor service met its final buffer.

And the GWR itself had started experimenting with bus services in that decade of change: Painswick or Cheltenham or Cainscross or Chalford or Rodborough or Kingscourt return please.

 

Oh, to have been able to have hopped off at St Mary’s Crossing & Halt, Brimscombe Bridge Halt, Ham Mill Crossing & Halt, Bowbridge Crossing & Halt, Downfield Crossing & Halt, Cashes Green Halt, Ebley Crossing & Halt.

 

 

 

 

The 200^th Anniversary of the Stockton & Darlington Railway

But also, the 200^th Anniversary of the proposed Stroud and Severn Railroad

And the 190^th Anniversary of the Prospectus for the C & GWUR

The Cheltenham and Great Western Union Railway

There are national celebrations this year to mark the 200^th anniversary of the first public steam railway in the world: the Stockton & Darlington Railway. But few people know that this year also sees a similar anniversary for a proposed local line: a railroad with horse-drawn wagons, connecting the River Severn with Brimscombe on the Thames & Severn Canal: the Stroud and Severn Railroad.

The line would have run from Framilode Passage, through Frampton, Alkerton, King’s Stanley and so to what was the second-largest inland port in the country at Brimscombe. Branch lines were also envisaged for Nailsworth from Dudbridge via Woodchester, with a line to Iron Mills at Avening too.

Dissatisfaction with the tolls levied by the Stroudwater Navigation and the Thames & Seven Canal and narrowness of some towpaths (so preventing horse-power) prompted this proposal and this proposal prompted criticism from the canals – such an impractical, duplicative and inefficient pipedream! Nevertheless, the canals did reduce tolls and did widen towpaths. And as it happened, Parliament rejected the Bill for the railroad – but dissatisfaction with the canals continued and so many were pleased to see some ten years later …

Prospectus for the C & GWUR

‘The Stockton and Darlington, and the Liverpool and Manchester Railways – the only experiments of the kind in this country which have been subjected to the test of some years of operation – have established beyond all question, the fact, that this mode of conveyance exceeds all others, hitherto adopted, in the great requisites of safety, regularity, speed, and cheapness.’

 

Happy Anniversary to the Stockton & Darlington Railway

Happy Anniversary to the Stroud and Severn Railroad

Happy Anniversary to the Cheltenham and Great Western Union Railway

Railway Life Part Four

A spring time step in his walk to work,
On past the gas works, the pub and the chip shop,
A wriggle of his hips as he walks past the football pitch,
With egg and bacon for a fry-up on the shovel;

But back in the house, she sits fretting.

Her anxiety worsened, her nerves on edge,
After a twenty-year marriage
Of sleepless fatigue and shifting shifts;
Twenty years of keeping the kids quiet,
And the door knocker muffled:
The Railway Widow;

Sleepless, cold, and alone, in the double bed,
While he tip-toes across the lino,
Gently closes the front door,
And trudges off for the 2.15 link,
Shunting in the sidings,
Feeling the aches in his bones,

Hearing the rustle of the bills in his pocket,

Clutching his pools coupon.

 

 

 

Railway Life Part Three

It’s full steam ahead –

Until, freezing in the cab, paper in his boots,
He gets stuck in a wind-whistling loop,
Out here in some unsheltered, open landscape;

Or, shovelling six tons of coal
Choking in some seeming endless tunnel,
On a two-hundred-mile journey
Of relentless, endless standing,
Shovelling, shovelling, back-breaking labour,
Watching and checking and checking and watching,
Until the journey ends, lodging away.

(He had left home early in the morning,
A stranger to the children;
A weekly pay packet to the wife;
Waiting for the proud longed-for day,
When he takes control of the regulator:
A right proud member of ASLEF);

But now he’s on another interminable shift,
Freight train working in the dead slow of night,
Catching a moment to dream his future:
Mainline passenger link,
And the top pay packet each week –
When name, engine and coal consumption
Will be systematically monitored –
Renting a house close to the lodge,
And close to the marshalling yard,
With double-homers to boost his wage;

 

A spring time step in his walk to work,
On past the gas works, the pub and the chip shop,
A wriggle of his hips as he walks past the football pitch,
With egg and bacon for a fry-up on the shovel;

But back in the house, she sits fretting.

Is this the time he crashes?

 

 

 

 

 

Railway Life Part Two

But down at the running shed: All is different!
Hustle, bustle and red-hot tumult:
Fill the tender! Water the tank! Empty the firebox!
(Cough on the dust, choke on the fumes, burn your hands.)
Smash the clinker! Draw the firebar! Sweep the pit!
(Hot sweat pours down night-cold skin.)
Rake it out! Open the damper! Push it through!
(And rush outside for a lungful of frost-fresh air.)
Clear the smokebox! Four whole wheel-barrows filled!
Race against time! Steam-pressure’s falling! Something’s awry!
Repair the brick arch! Firebar setter! Boiler tube cleaner!
Where’s the fire kindler?

Dreaming he was a fitter
In the quiet order of the fitting shop,
Or a roster-clerk, dozing after tea
But there’s no escape, even in dreamland
From the foreman’s peremptory demands:
Cover the inkwells! Use both sides of blotting paper!
Save on lighting! It’s a full moon!

Or perhaps he was dreaming of the footplate?
That long, long, lifetime ladder
From cleaner to fireman to driver,

Starting out with rag and oil and grease,
And soot and paraffin and tallow fat,
And sulphur and ash and blistered hands,
Unpaid overtime, and a seventy-two-hour week.

But now he sits, chatting and listening,
Drinking tea with the tired eye drivers,
Who now sweep the floors and clean the lavs;
And they sit, tired eye, and declining,
Remembering their footplate days,
Slipping and sliding from mainline shifts,
To shunting and siding;

And as they doze, they recall their footplate youth,
Walking in the driver’s shadow and footsteps
(Behind his black box, overcoat and rule book),
Proud of a brand-new billy can and new blue serge jacket
(No cleaner’s overalls now),
Arriving early to prepare the engine,
The boiler pressure, the water level, the firebox, the fire,

And, of course, the driver’s seat.

A Victorian Railway Maxim

Zealously try to excel. Industry is commendable.

Perseverance deserves success.

Quietude of mind is a treasure.’

This was a GWR 19^th century maxim for its workforce:

A world of gaslight, back to backs, the workhouse;

The engine shed, the ash pit; the night black platform,
The coal fire waiting room, the leather strap carriage window;

Signalmen clanking levers; tip-tapping the telegraph,
Filling in the forms in triplicate, polishing the brass,
Trimming the wicks, cleaning the grates,
And all for sixteen bob a week, on a sixteen-hour turn;

Pointsmen and fogmen, choking on the fumes,
Kindling the coke in the brazier in a pea-soup fog
Banging up the wagons to pilfer some coal,
While winter’s frost and a cold, clear moon
Light up the permanent way.

Then at five minutes past midnight,
The goods guard’s tail van leaves the marshalling yard –
(Hectic with wagon examiners,
Repairers and axle box greasers)

Its red tail lamp slowly disappears
Into the reverberating distance,
While he sits alone in his van,
In dark isolation,
Buffeted by shunting, points and engine brake,
Watching the night slowly tick away
In silent loop or siding,
Counting the pennies of overtime,
Hoping for passenger-promotion,
Lighting another Woodbine,
Staring at the moon.

Shopping in the Railway Works Retail Outlet

Shops had a double meaning in my childhood:

The obvious, which was the domain of women,

Open every weekday except Wednesday afternoon,

And the ‘Inside’, which was the domain of men,

And accessible to children on Wednesday afternoons only –

When we clutched our precious Permits

(Applied for all those long weeks before),

To process down through the tunnel,

To spot train numbers beyond anyone’s dreams,

As we wandered through the Railway Works,

And its alchemy-alphabet of shops:

A Shop, A Erecting Shop, A Shop Engine Testing Plant, A Shop Extension; B Shop, Boiler AV Shop, Boiler House, Brass Turning & Fitting Shop; C Shop, Concentration Yard, Carpenter’s Shop, Carriage Finishers (No.7) Shop, Carriage Repair (No.19) Shop, Carriage & Wagon Construction (No.24) Shop, Carriage & Wagon (No. 16) Shop, Coppersmiths’ Shop; Cylinder Shop; Diesel Engine Repair Shop, DMU Lifting Shop, Erecting Shop; Forge & Smiths’ Shop; Grinding Shop; Iron Foundry; Lifting Shop, Locomotive Paint Shop, Locomotive Wheel (AV) Shop; New Points & Crossing Shop, Points & Crossing (X) Shop; Road Motor (No.17) Shop, Rolling Mill; Steam Hammer Shop, Stamping Shop; Tender Shop, Trimming Shop, Truck Shop, Turning Shops; Wagon Frame (No.13) Shop, Wheel Shop, Wheel-smiths’ Shop.

I took my mother back there in 1997, when the designer outlet opened, on the site of all those closed down railway shops, and we went shopping where ghosts of five generations of my family marched through that tunnel. I sniffed the air: Smoke, steam, gas, coal, coke, oil, soot; I heard the factory hooter again; Mum picked up a keepsake magic touchstone: For she knew it could open a closed-down factory.

GWR Holiday Haunts, 1939,

I bought you at Didcot in 1978:

GWR Holiday Haunts, 1939,

All sepia tinged arts and crafts, and art deco modernism,

And Olde Englande Mockobethan,

For this is a book to get you through the winter months of 1938-9,

A book full of promise and practical tips

As you plan your summer holiday haunts

In the dark nights of winter.

No fear of war here, no barbed wire beaches,

No pill boxes and tank traps along the Thames;

Instead, punts and tweeds and flannels:

‘Make a holiday based in Reading

An idea worth serious consideration’;

Or, you might make it to Wiltshire:

‘Camping Coaches and Fashionable Walking Holidays

In Marlborough and Savernake Forest’;

Photographs of passengers with tea and scones smilingly served,

Steaming west to the Cornish Riviera –

And I’m pleased to say that everything

Is just tickety boo, Cheerful Charlie and Even Steven,

Especially in the buffet car from Bath to Newquay,

Thirty-four shillings and fivepence return –

No wonder they look so happy.

But doesn’t hindsight give an air of tragedy to it all?

The unspoken foreshadowing of war.

For even though there’s no shots of barbed wired beaches,

Gas masks, sand bags, bomb shelters and pill boxes,

Just the carefree innocence of buckets and spades,

The cheerful innocence of the high tides’ tables,

An almost limitless list of west country

Hotels, guest houses and bed and breakfasts,

At ports and seaside resorts served by the GWR,

All the way from the promise of spring

(When Hitler will break his Munich pledge),

Until the late summer of September

(‘I am speaking to you from the Cabinet Room, 10 Downing Street’);

In truth, what fearful thoughts were in the minds

Of those model passengers, posing for the camera

Captured in those holiday haunts buffet car snaps?

What haunting anxieties?

How many women were to wait anxiously at railway stations,

As children were evacuated

Or as GWR troop trains left for the coast,

Or arrived back with the wounded?

How many of those men would stand in queues

On the beaches at Dunkirk,

Or in the cold waters of the English Channel,

Taking their turn to embark for home,

And arrive back at their old holiday haunts?

And all that, just one year later.

Where the Railway Lies

It was hardly Dombey and Son in Stroud

When Brunel brought the railway into town:

No earthquakes, or bridges that went nowhere;

Instead: Dickensian Cheapside.

I walked beneath the beech tree, by the Black History notice boards,

Pondering on the elusive meanings of that ambiguous word ‘Heritage’,

Remembering the GWR coat of arms:

‘Domine Dirige Nos: Virtute et Industria’

‘Lord Guide Us: ‘Virtue and Industry’;

Remembering these Bristolians

Who benefitted from the abolition of slavery:

Thomas Daniel: major shareholder in the GWR;

Richard Bright: GWR deputy chairman;

George Gibbs, director of the Great Western Railway;

Christopher Claxton: zealous defender of the West Indian plantocracy,

Close confiding colleague of Isambard Kingdom Brunel,

Claxton, the future managing director

Of the Great Western Steamship Company …

Remember this when you journey on our branch line

Wandering through the Golden Valley,

Half in love with the picturesque perspective –

But lines of steel stretch to revelation point,

As you see how the railway lies.