Railway romance and other essays

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PART I iSlailtoag ISomance

The Fascination op the Railway Romance In and Around the Signal Cabin Romance in the Locomotive ....

The " Understudy " : A Locomotive Fireman From Goods Yard to Guard's Van Railway Stations, In and About Them The Permanent Way and its Guardians En Route for "The Twelfth"

Part I Railway Romance

I WAS visiting a friend lately who is the head of a school in a small but thriving seaport town. We had a walk round the docks and he explained to me about the various piers, the whistles, the flag signals, the pilots, and other interesting things which everyone who lives in a seaport may know. He said that all whistles and horns, which sounded to the uninitiated as only a meaningless Babel of noises, conveyed to him information as clear as written or spoken word could do. Even such an " outsider " as he could not be debarred from intelligently following all that took place within his sight and hearing. To the harbour-master, the pilots, and everyone connected with the docks, the steam whistles and flags took the place of a language ; yet it was a language which could be acquired by any others who cared to learn it. My friend did so, and thereby added one more interest to his life. Even in the quieter moments of a busy school-day he heard the sounds from the docks, and understood. In his walks in-shore, where the docks were hidden and seemed far away, he could tell by the sounds — for example, when steamers were in the offing and needed pilots. If he happened to be awake at nights, he need not weary, for he could follow in imagination the arrival or departure of vessels at the docks almost as if he were there.

We all do this kind of thing. We cannot always be thinking deeply, or working at full pressure, or so engaged in the engrossing calls of life that we know not what is happening in the world round about us. In spite of all that is said about the rush and hurry of the age, we all have some part of our thoughts which we occupy with other interests. By reason of these interests, which lie outside of our own departments of life, we are saner men, and have wider sympathies- In going to or coming from our own sphere of occupation, we get into the habit of observing what goes on in the lives of others around us, and soon make it part of our own lives. In our walks abroad we take a friendly interest in them, and they give a healthy tone to our conversation, and keep out gossip. It may be docks, it may be trains, it may be factories ; it may be anything which by its sights and sounds excites in us a pleasurable interest. They occupy well the "offduty " moments of our lives ; they take us out of ourselves without our scarcely knowing it. They are scarcely hobbies, because hobbies usually entail work and concentration. But they are very real, and they are truly "recreations" to tens of thousands of tired people who with difficulty endure the daily round of common tasks.

In my case it was railway trains ! My home was situated in the western outskirts of a small town, whose railway station was a junction for hues connecting with two distant cities. The station stood at the apex of a triangle formed by the west and south lines. It was within this triangle that my home stood, about a mile distant from both lines. I was thus well within hearing of all the trains which passed on these lines. I had become acquainted with the time-table, and thus was able to identify the trains. It was only for a very short distance I could see them on either line, my view being obscured by intervening embankments, woods, or houses ; but I could hear the sound of their approach while yet a long way off. Although I scarcely required to see them in order to identify the particular trains, it was an added pleasure when I happened to be able to catch a glimpse of them as they passed. I soon became familiar with all the trains — and they were not few — which passed west and south during the day and night. They even became my intimate friends. I knew when they were running late, and upbraided or excused them to myself; I often listened somewhat impatiently to the familiar bang-bang-bang of shunting operations at the station; and I calculated whether the trains lost time at the station, and speculated whether they were likely to make it up before their journey's end. I lauded them in my own mind when they made a prompt and spirited start from the station, or I sympathised with them when their length and heavy loads made progress difficult and slow.

The line both south and west was a single one, and trains had accordingly often to " cross " one another at the station. The west line -was to me the less interesting of the two, because it was for the most part level, and the western terminus of the line was only twenty-five miles away. Accordingly, it seemed to me there was little scope for giving play to the imagination and sketching an eventful journey for trains upon so short a " section." It was different with regard to the southern section, where the terminus was one hundred miles distant, and the route full of variety and interest. On the west line, trains had either left the terminus little more than half an hour before I saw them, or they were within the same short distance of reaching it. But on the south line trains took nearly four or five hours between the terminus and the town where I lived. It crossed two or three ranges of mountains ; it had many tunnels, viaducts, and steep gradients ; and altogether traversed a more exciting and in some respects dangerous route.

The next station on the south line was nine miles distant, and stood some hundreds of feet higher than did my native town, and, consequently, there was a steep gradient all the way. To negotiate the rising ground, the line made several long, sweeping detours, wending its way over high embankments with frequent inclines of 1 in 70, and through a thickly- wooded country. Although, as I have said, the line was visible from my house at only one point about a mile away, I could see the smoke of the trains for almost six miles of their winding route as they forged their way southwards. On a very calm day I could sometimes hear the engines whistle on approaching the next station, which the train usually took twenty minutes to reach. I could not see any smoke from trains which arrived from the south, for their engines scarcely used an ounce of steam in making the descent, and so I could only judge of their approach from the noise they made. On the ** up " journey long trains were always " double-headed," that is to say, they were drawn by two engines. I could easily distinguish such trains by the snorting of the engines, sounding now synchronously and now separately. I really loved the sound, and could listen to it for a long time without wearying of it. It certainly was not music, and yet it used to soothe by its regularity and its very monotony, like that steady and deep breathing which brings drowsiness. Anon it excited me, as I pictured the engines straining and pressing forward like two monsters of a nightmare.

My room faced southwards, and there I used to study often far into the night. The trains did not distract me in these hours of work ; on the contrary, they were my companions. Often I became so absorbed in what I was doing, that I forgot them, and afterwards felt conscience-stricken in consequence, like one who has unintentionally slighted a friend. But usually the sounds and noises of the trains attracted my attention, and I do not remember ever being sorry when they did so. If in my work my thoughts were slow to come, or there were many difficulties to solve, how often my mind wandered away with relief at the whistle of an engine, or the rumble of an approaching train ! I liked also to watch the flashes of light sent up to the sky from the opened furnace-doors of the engines as they climbed the south *' road." On cloudy nights they illumined the firmament as with a searchlight, or played in the sky like sheet-lightning. I could follow in imagination every part of the line which the train was traversing, for I kn^w it well, and had often walked it. Sometimes I fell to wondering what the men in the engines were doing, and how their faces would be lit up too by the light from the furnaces. I knew when the train passed over some of the steeper gradients by the snorting of the engines becoming more laboured. I used to wonder what would happen if they were unable to draw the train over them, and " stuck." I reassured myself by the thought that they would surely be able at least to keep the train from running back down the hill, but, nevertheless, I was glad to hear the engines going ahead again faster, and with a sort of triumphant sound in the snorts from their funnels.

There were various tales told about the south line with more or less truthfulness, of which the following are examples : (a) Very heavy trains had not only two engines in front, but were assisted by a bank-engine pushing behind. It was expected of that engine that it would take the weight of a number of the vehicles off the load which the engines in front had to drag. On more than one occasion, however, it was said that a bank-engine, familiarly known as "The Old No. 9," got "winded," and was actually left behind ! This I quite believe.

and would have given much to see. (b) Two wagons of wood were standing in a siding at the next station on the south section, but somehow were set in motion, and, before they could be stopped, " escaped " down the line with an ever-increasing speed. The line happened to be clear at the time, and the heavily-laden vehicles kept the metals, and covered the whole distance of nine miles. They passed through the station at the junction at a velocity which the language of the narrators of the story failed to describe, and with a disregard for the railway company's regulations, which filled all who saw with consternation! They are said not to have stopped until they were well over two miles beyond the junction ! It has also happened in more recent times that half of a goods train broke away at a point a number of miles up the embankment, and safely performed the same extraordinary run !

A railway train running at speed on the permanent way makes a series of peculiar sounds, which it is difficult to liken to anything else. Heard at a considerable distance, the sounds vary every minute, not only according to the speed of the train, but also according to the nature of the country through which it passes, and the clearness or heaviness of the atmosphere. Woods, embankments, cuttings, bridges, hills, and flats all originate sounds and echoes which are distinguishable from one another. For example, there is the continuous *' swishing " sound, as the train passes through woods, making one think of a strong wind in the trees ; there is the "burring" sound, as it passes over high and bare embankments ; there is the more hollow sound, as it passes through cuttings ; and there is the " rushing " sound as it emerges again into open country. There are similar peculiarities in the sound of the engine-whistle heard at a distance. Now it sounds clear and shrill, and businesslike ; now fainter and far away, like a voice in the wilderness; now broken, as the train rushes through a bridge or into a tunnel, making the whistle end in what is like a shriek from a woman, or a wail from a child. All of these multifarious sounds are modified to our ears as the train approaches or goes farther away.

On the south and west sections I used to listen for the approach of trains, and try to guess, from the sounds they made, whether they were passenger or goods trains, and what point precisely they were passing when I first heard them. I thus became familiar with all the variety of sounds to which I have just referred. It was not difficult, as a rule, on the south section to say when an approaching train was a " goods," because of the clanking of the wheels of the wagons on the joinings of the rails, and the deep resounding noise (almost like distant thunder) which they made, especially on wet or dull nights. On the west section there was an iron bridge across a river about a mile from the station, and I could tell when a train approaching from the west was passing over it by the low "thudding" noise which it made. Once ofi" the bridge, it always ran lightly, and (as it almost seemed) merrily down a gentle incline into the station. Practically every train stopped at the station, but there was one notable instance in which a train frequently passed through the station at high speed. On Sunday mornings, in summer, a fish "special" (consisting usually of engine, some fifteen wagons laden with fish, and a brake-van) used to pass southwards, and I often made a point of being at the station to watch it. It was a time of some excitement when it approached from the west at a considerable speed, passed over the iron bridge and down the incline in a trice (steam being shut off till the train had just " taken " the points before entering the station), and swerved round the sharp bend within the station in front of where I stood, and then up the south line with full steam on, so as to get as much advantage as possible, in climbing the south gradient, of the impetus it had just received !

The south railway line was a favourite walk of mine. The scenery of moor and woodland was beautiful and even romantic. Besides that, there was a stream, five or six miles up, which I used often to fish, and in going to or coming from which I used to walk by preference by the railway line. Some parts of the line were rough and stony, but that was compensated for by the interest which the walk had for me, and the number of interesting things to be seen. It was, doubtless, contrary to the bye-laws of the railway company to walk on the line, but I was never challenged, and I seemed to think that I was specially privileged because of the interest I took in the company's trains. Of course, I walked there at my own risk ; but there was not much danger, as approaching trains or returning " bank " engines could be heard or seen a sufficient distance off. For a change I often walked on the " sleepers," and this kept my pace more regular and steady. "Sleepers" are laid an equal distance apart — ^just about a yard " stride " — with the exception of every ninth or tenth, which are laid closer together than the rest, at the junction of the rails, and occasionally there is thus a short step. I used often to meet the surfacemen at work on the line, and in conversation with them learned many things about their work to interest me. I used to get a drink of spring water at the little " wells " which they had made for themselves at various places along the line. Occasionally the men were to be found at work with a " bogie," or miniature truck, conveying " sleepers " and other material between different places in the section under their charge. I was never able to dissociate this in my mind from the category of very hazardous employments, and I could not help thinking what would happen if an approaching train did take them by surprise while at work with their " bogie."

If I had no other company, I at least always had the telegraph wires making their peculiar " singing" sound beside me, and at times I gave my imagination play in thinking what messages of joy or sorrow, business or pleasure, were passing me at lightning speed. I had a regular haltingplace at the surfacemen's hut, where I used to sit and rest. It was rudely built of " sleepers," and with no comforts except that it afforded a seat and shelter. A draught-board had been roughly designed on one of the benches in it, where the men could beguile a spare hour at the game. Curiously enough, although I visited the hut often, I never happened to meet any of the men there. I used to make a notch on the side of the doorway with my penknife (like " Kobinson-Crusoe ") on every visit I made. In walking by the line, I used to keep a sharp look-out for any of the little blocks of wood or " keys " (which act as wedges in the " chairs ") becoming loose or falling out. At one part of the line there was a double or "guard" rail on one- side for some two or three hundred yards, where the line passed over a very high embankment and at the same time round a sharp curve. Many a time I watched with bated breath a train rushing down over this part, as I thought of the awful consequences which the least mishap might cause.

In addition to what I have said, need I mention the glimpses of natural beauty to be seen with every bend of the line ; the ferns, the marguerites, the blue hyacinths, the primroses, the wild violets, and other flowers, the wild rasps, and the heather, — all to be had for the gathering ; the rabbits popping in and out of their holes or even straying on the line ; the "echo" wood; and the many other interests which made this walk by the railway line loved and appreciated by me beyond all others ?

When one is sullen, nought will claim a smile ;

when weary, one has no eyes to look for things to charm. But I have mentioned some, which need never fail, however dull we be, to arrest, and interest and cheer. They make us brace our laggard step ; and set our minds on other bents of thought, more happy and more kind than the dark moods whose company we too often keep.

ROMANCE IN AND AROUND THE SIGNAL CABIN

"Take on the London fast!" . . . "Right for the local train ! Let out the engine !"..." Clear the slow; she's in!" "Shift for the pilot in No. 9 dock ! "

Bright lights overhead ; the glare of large electric lamps outside ; the flashing of hand-signals, red, white, and green, on every hand below ; the snort of passing engines, their deafening whistles, far and near, and of every variety ; whiffs of nauseous smoke ; shouting from the shunters below ; and, as a constant accompaniment to all that, the ringing of bells, the snap and clang, the rattle and wrench of numberless lever handles.

Do you know where you are, or have you ever been in it ? These military-like orders are not heard in barracks. This banging and noise is not that of a factory. That smoke and whirr is not round the shaft of a coal-mine. It is all of these, and much more besides — it is in a large signal cabin near a busy railway station !

You have admiringly watched a policeman, have you not, as he stands in the middle of crowded city thoroughfares regulating the traffic? Omnibuses, cabs, carts, lorries, vans, and vehicles of every description pouring in from every approach in endless procession. Stopping, moving, stopping again, jamming and pushing, tacking and wriggling they come ; and the streams, cross and re-cross, mingle or divide, all in obedience to the wave or arrest of the policeman's hand.

In this signal-cabin is the same controlling genius at work, but presiding over a more imposing array of traffic, conducting it amidst almost incomprehensible intricacies, and with responsibilities of far greater magnitude.

No one entering the signal cabins can fail to be impressed by the importance of the work which the men there do. They are like the brave guardians of the Pass of Thermopylae! Indeed, they "hold the pass," and no train may enter or leave without their sanction. The signals by which they are surrounded are like the Oracles of Greece, which at every move have to be " consulted." If the omens {i.e. the signals) be unpropitious, it is worse than useless to attempt to set forth on a journey, for disaster would surely be met ere the journey had well begun. Similarly trains seeking to enter the station by this route may come only when beckoned, and when the signal is given that they may safely do so. Trains approach the station like strangers coming to a town in time of war. They may turn out to be peaceful travellers or ambassadors, but they must show the men on guard whether they are friend or foe.

There are the sharp electric bell-rings from the next cabin to the north, announcing the approach of an express, which must be taken into the already full station at once and somehow ! At the same time, the south cabin gives warning that there are two engines on their way towards the station from the dep6t, requii'ed for the " up " mail, due to start in ten minutes. That suburban train, whose engine is whisthng so angrily "within" the starting-signal, has already been detained three minutes, and must be dispatched ; while, in order to clear from the fifth dock a train of carriages just come in and emptied, that shunting engine must be manoeuvred behind it out of the siding. On one side of the cabin an excursion train goes snorting past the windows, enveloping everything in its dense smoke. On the other side, the chief shunter below is shouting directions, now to his men, now up to the open windows of the cabin, as to how the trains are to be worked. Do you believe it? Could you live in it ? Now there is the London train coming into the station ! It has coaches for four different routes diverging from this point ; and within eight minutes a process like that of assorting letters inpigeon-holes has to be gone through, and the coaches must be shunted into the respective lines, where the trains to which they are to be attached await them. Then each train needs an engine, and these are summoned from out-of-the-way corners, each to find its own place at the head of a train. You cannot realise — unless you have seen it — what evolutions have to be performed in that signal cabin before all these operations are carried out, and the four trains have at last left the station complete. Kemember that the forward and backward movements on the lines of each detached portion of the train means the working of different

B sets of levers, and that, not at haphazard, but with the most careful attention to signals, time, and distances, and the most unremitting application of intelligence.

So we come to think of the men, and we must stand and admire ! Does anyone say, "It is easy enough ; it is all rule-of-thumb ; admire rather the minds that planned." So we shall, and at another time. But do you ask us first to salute those who invent and manufacture the guns, the shells, the mines, the rifles, and all the other instruments of warfare ; or rather the brave men, who use them with such heroism in the day of battle ; who venture the most perilous positions, and, with brain and nerve and muscle, execute movements without which the skill of the inventor and manufacturer were without profit ? We can do no other here !

Things were different in the old days, before Board of Trade regulations and the expansion of traffic demanded elaborately arranged and properly equipped cabins, from which, as central authorities, the junctions of any number of Hues can be controlled. Such multiplicity of lines did not exist then, and the old-fashioned *' ball " points were used. These were placed opposite each junction of lines or "points," and were shifted by hand. When traffic was not so heavy as it is now, the pointsman, on being warned of the approach of a train, had ample time to ** set " the various points required, and hold down the main one with his foot while the train passed over. Shunting operations were conducted in the same primitive way, and he was usually accounted the best pointsman who could run fastest between the different " points," and dexterously shift them in the nick of time, whenever the wheels of the vehicles passed clear. They were brave men in those days too, and if the lives of the passengers were more imperilled by the clumsier methods, the pointsmen at least were always hazarding their own.

Now all is changed, and the fastest runner does not count in the race for promotion amongst signalmen, but the man with the clearest and coolest head. The men employed in a large cabin at a busy centre are among the best in the service. There is the foreman, and he has under him several men, as well as one or two boys for recording in the timebook the advice, arrival, departure, and "clearing" of every train. The men are all needed, for there are some two or three hundred interlocking levers in operation in the cabin, and often fifteen to twenty levers must be pulled for one "move." One is much impressed by the unison in which they all work. It is done under the direction of the " chief," but each man knows every movement of his neighbour, and what requires to be done in order to comply with orders given. That is how it is possible to manipulate so many levers so promptly and accurately, although the levers requiring to be drawn in any one " move " are necessarily distributed over a large part of the cabin. The men work into one another's hands ; there is no jarring or friction ; all is order and method. " Take on passenger special on the main down," the foreman calls, having exchanged the necessary bell signals with the next cabin ; immediately there follows the clash of some seventeen levers, as the men pull one after another in rapid succession, in order to ** set the road " for the train ; levers being pulled for the treadle-bars, points, lock-bars, home-signals, control-signals, and distant signals, in bewildering fashion. Yet, if you look above the men's heads at the chart which hangs there, indicating lines of rails more deftly knit than a spider's web, you will find that its minutest directions have been complied with. In addition to possessing acuteness and collected minds, the men in these manual-lever signal cabins would need to be, as they are, men of muscle and fibre.

In connection with some signal cabins at a number of the largest railway stations the electrical system of operation of points has been introduced. It has many advantages over the older system, and it is claimed for it that greater ease, quickness, and sureness in working are secured, while the cost of maintenance is relatively less. But the initial expense of installation would seem to be greater when it is remembered that one motor is required for each end of every set of points ; and undoubtedly the system constantly requires to be very carefully watched in case any part should get out of order. In actual operation at the side of the rails, the system seems somewhat complicated, but within the cabin it appears unpretentious and simple to a degree. There are no huge levers, such as pertain to other systems, which can be moved only by exerting much muscular strength, and with banging and din resembling the working of looms. Each of the electrical levers, which stand usually in two neat and compact tiers (a higher and lower), measures less than a foot, and works in a slot whose " stroke " is of even less dimension. The result, of course, is that the levers can be worked with ease, rapidity, and quietness, unattainable by other methods now in use. On entering a signal cabin where the electrical system is used, one is not greeted with the loud banging and clanging noises which are inseparable from signal cabins in which the manual-lever system is in use. The electrical pneumatic system has been thus explained : " The points and signals are moved by motors operated by compressed air, and the motors in their turn have their valves actuated by electro -magnets controlled from the interlocking apparatus in the signal-box. . . . With the electric control and the high pressure air the action of the point motors is very quick, and the return electric indication in the signal-box being almost instantaneous, the system can claim the merit of speed." It is, however, improbable — for reasons of expense — that power-working will for a long time become general, except in stations of very considerable size and importance, in the handling of traffic. At all the smaller station cabins the pointsmen will still continue to pull and push their manual levers.