Featuring photos of famous locomotives built at Doncaster - Mallard, Silver Link, Flying Scotsman, Cock o' the North...
JULIE BRIDGES FAMILY ALBUM
Born to a railway family in Doncaster, Julie Bridges contacted me via the Guest Book page, with a view to contributing photographs from her family album. My sincere thanks to Julie for sharing her treasured photo collection with the rest of the world...
In her emails, Julie writes: It would be so nice to share these photos instead of them being stored away in a box. My Great Grandfather Samuel Toulson Walker was born in Stamford in 1880 where he worked as a house painter. He moved to Doncaster, presumably to work at the Plant as a locomotive painter around 1902 -1904. He and his wife Ethel lived on Beaconsfield Road, Hexthorpe until they died. Ironically, my dad met my mum on the tennis courts at Eden Grove, which was opened in 1914 to cater for The Plant's sports needs. Hope the photos are of some interest and in good enough condition to replicate…
Absolutely! Julie's photos of Doncaster's famous 'Plant' are true classics of a bygone age and I am delighted to post them on the World Wide Web. Established in 1851, the Locomotive Workshops built locomotives for both the Great Northern Railway and London & North Eastern Railway. Over the years, the works expanded rapidly reaching some 200 acres by the start of the 20th Century and employing more than 4,500 men
(Above-Below) In the group photo (date unknown) Samuel Toulson Walker is seated on the bottom row, the fourth 'full person' from the right with arms folded. (Below) Another undated photo shows 'Flying Scotsman' with my Great Grandfather standing fourth from the right with hands on hips. Sorry I haven't any dates or other information, perhaps your site visitors could enlighten me?...
Yes they can! My thanks to Alistair Nisbet, who has kindly provided additional information via the Guest Book Page on this shot of No 4472. He writes - 'I expect someone has already spotted this, but the Doncaster Plant photo of Flying Scotsman seems to show the loco before the valve gear improvements introduced in 1927 were done (the casing over the valve gear is inboard of the leading driving wheel splasher). Also, the brass beading on the splashers looks like the finish applied for the British Empire Exhibition at Wembley in 1924…'
(Below) The introduction of the LNER's streamlined service between London and Newcastle in the autumn of 1935 was one of the truly outstanding events in British railway history. The train was named 'The Silver Jubilee' to commemorate the Silver Jubilee of King George V's reign in 1935. At the time, Gresley was the Chief Mechanical Engineer (CME) of the LNER 1923-1941, who set about the design of a new Pacific locomotive - the A4. This was essentially a development of his earlier Class A3 4-6-2 with boiler pressure raised to 250psi. However, the most startling aspect of the new engine was its sleek, streamlined casing with a Bugatti-inspired wedge-shaped front end and valance covering the driving wheels. In this historical photo from Julie's collection, the first of the class, No 2509 Silver Link (the loco entered traffic on 7th September 1935) is fresh from the Paint Shop, and sporting a silver-grey livery, which was also carried along the full length of the train. The combined effect of the A4's streamlining and its high-speed performance on the ECML certainly caught the public's imagination. It was one of the town's greatest triumphs…
In the above photo of Silver Link, Samuel Toulson Walker is standing in the centre of the group hands on hips again! My Dad (Denis Bridges) and his father (William 'Billy' Bridges) both worked on the railway out of Doncaster. Dad fired the engines and Granddad was a guardsman - see photo inset left. Dad worked his way up the goods links to the level before passenger status, before leaving due to the difficult hours being unsuitable when raising a young family. I've also emailed Doncaster Archives for information on The Plant Works, as I understand they hold some records...
(Below) As mentioned above, the Class A4 streamlined Pacifics of the LNER achieved instant success, and their high-speed running on the ECML was bound to capture both the press and public's imagination. The LNER publicity machine cetainly made the most of it! Another item of interest amongst Julie's collection of memorabilia is this Daily Mail newspaper cutting of newly-built No 4465 Guillemot, which entered traffic on 8th January 1938; this item appeared in the paper prior to sister engine, No 4468 Mallard, entering traffic at the beginning of March 1938, and later attaining the world record speed of 126 mph on 3rd July 1938. Nevertheless, the optimism of the caption writer reflects the mood of the time with a mention made of the LNER's new streamliners regularly topping the ton! The photo shows Class A4 Guillemot inside the paint shop with Samuel Toulson Walker on top of the ladder. The caption text has been replicated for clarity.
HELP! David Cornish recently contacted the Guest Book page seeking information about his grandfather, who was an engine driver at Doncaster. He writes: 'I really enjoyed touring your web site. I am researching my grandfather Thomas W Lockwood. He started as an engine cleaner and graduated to a main line driver London-Edinburgh included. He did shunting and local runs but also drove 'streaks'. His regular fireman was Harry Capp. My father worked in the Plant machine shop for a period of time. Any suggestions of photographs or sites - or better still, information - would be most appreciated. Again excellent site, thanks. My contact address is: davidcornish44-at-hotmail.co.uk '
SPOTTING TRIPS TO DONCASTER
The highs and lows of a day's spotting on May 23rd 1959 when I 'copped' my last 'Streak' and ended up being thrown out of the 'Plant' on the same day.
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1956 was a landmark year for me, not only because I had grown out of wearing short pants at long last, but because I failed the 11+ Exam (gateway to the grammar school system) and ended up at my local Secondary Modern. Failing the exam was no big deal to this eleven year-old. Most of my mates failed too, so we remained kindred spirits right up to leaving school at fifteen. But then we had no idea that a secondary education was seen as the dispiriting dumping ground, where girls were taught 'Domestic Science' and boys learned practical skills such as woodwork in the hope of getting an apprenticeship in some trade or other. In fact, a lot of bright youngsters lost their chance early on in life, since most were written off as academic failures and finished up as factory fodder.
The first day a Secondary School turned me into many things - 'unhinged' and 'certifiable' chief among them. As we drank free milk at morning break, a group of stroppy Fourth Formers with cauliflower ears, goose-stepped around the playground terrifying the smaller kids with knuckle-dusters. A mote of common sense should have told me that when you're young and gullible, you're fair game, especially on your first day at school. It took only the slightest provocation (a mere glance was enough) and I ended up forking out a whole week's dinner money to a racketeering 4th-Form Prefect for protection. I swear even the teachers wore garlic and crossed themselves in class...
In many ways, those rabble-rousing reprobates in the Fourth Form gave me a preliminary glimpse into the cabalistic affect that adolescence was going to have on me. Sure enough, when my own aberration came, instead of growing into a confident, swell-looking dude, I turned into a walking oil slick. My over-productive sebaceous glands produced enough oil to bring down the world price of crude. My face erupted in pimples, blackheads and boils. And if that wasn't enough to turn a youngster into a manic depressive, I had a mad crush on Sonia Barker from Form 4B (her handstands in the school yard turned her into the object of every pubescent schoolboy's fantasy) and, like most boys in my class, she was all I ever wanted…
...well, not quite - the one thing I wanted more than anything in the world was to 'cop' No 60031 Golden Plover, a Scottish-based A4 which spent most of its life allocated to Haymarket shed before it was transferred to St Rollox. It was the last 'streak' I needed to cop for a full house, so if anyone had asked me to choose between copping Golden Plover or getting up close and personal with Sonia Barker, then Golden Plover would've won hands down every time.
(Below) Could this be you? The quintessential Sixties spotter (complete with tartan duffel bag) is caught by the official BR photographer at Doncaster station on 9 January 1961. The Metro-Cammell dmu awaits departure for Lincoln.
I finally caught up with Golden Plover on May 23rd 1959, though it was a fluke 'cop' really. I had planned on a trip to Crewe, but missed the train to Manchester and caught a train to Doncaster instead. Within minutes of getting off the train I heard that No 60031 was languishing in the shed yard conveniently positioned next to a hole in the perimeter wire fence - and as she was not in steam, the engine was unlikely to be going anywhere unless the shed staff moved her for some reason. I wasn't taking that chance and headed straight for the shed, following the path skirting the allotments at Kelham Bank, only this time trying to avoid the crazy gardener who, only a few weeks before, caught me taking a short cut through his prized crop of rhubarb. Okay, I shouldn't have been there - and I guess he was only trying to scare me, but there is an unreasonable disparity between a broken stick of rhubarb and the man yelling 'Kill!' to his dog.
I ran like I'd never run before, and even to this day I'm not sure whether the crazy gardener deliberately delayed calling off his mutt until the very last second, or the animal hadn't heard his master's voice above the sound of an engine movement in the shed yard. Whatever the reason, it was a close call, and probably the only time I've been chased into a shed, not out of it - a split second later, though, and his hound would have ripped the backside out of my pants. As I stood at the perimeter fence close to 60031, my emotions were sky high. Not only was Golden Plover a prized cop, I managed to 'cab' her, then I photographed her - and, if someone had given me a mop and bucket I would have cheerfully swabbed her from buffer to buffer. At long last my search was over, but any excitement was overlaid by a deep sadness. Now that I had copped my last 'streak', there was no longer that fantastic sense of anticipation when an A4 appeared in the distance.
A POT SHOT AT ANORAK BASHERS!!
Why does the media label things indiscriminately? On the one hand, it does a wonderful job exposing any Government shenanigans that might otherwise remain hidden behind a wall of bureaucratic spin; it embarrasses minor-league celebrities, who'll cheerfully strut their stuff at every paparazzi opportunity, then just as quckly vanish into thin air when they're caught with their trousers down - metaphorically speaking, of course. But as soon as there is nothing newsworthy to report, some mean-spirited hack will bash out a few column inches on train spotters (anoraks) for a cheap laugh.
Laugh? I could crush a grape! The very idea of turning inncocent people into fodder for satire is both unfair and infuriating in equal measure, especially when I'm on the receiving end of it. Okay, call me a grumpy old fart, but this outpouring of bog-standard journalism is reprehensible in my view. Clearly the media have got their wires crossed somewhere, because when I look at the spotting fraternity I don't see a gang of disaffected youths mooching about in shopping malls, blasting their brains into a mulch with mega-decibels of gangsta-rap from walkmans. Nor should train spotters be confused with the angst-ridden youngsters who wear back-to-front baseball caps, or hide behind a mask of hard-faced indifference under the hoods of anoraks. And train spotting isn't a tribal thing either, so you won't find us squaring-up to a ritual punch-up with a rival gang of fans, or pestering rail passengers into handing over money to feed our drug habit. No, the kids I'm referring to are not lonely, insecure or desperately in need of a sense of purpose, but because of their passion for trains, they've become an easy target for ridicule.
(Above-Below) My own interest in train spotting has its roots in childhood, so I have no genuine nostalgia for the current scene. I lost interest in train spotting because from 1959 onwards visits to the lineside produced less evidence of Britain's railway past, which, until then, had always seemed so constant. For example, my last Ian Allan abc Locospotters book - the winter 1958/59 edition - could not keep apace with the modernisation. By the early 1960s, unwelcome gaps began to appear among the steam classes (due to scrapping) and the proliferation of new diesels did not enter the equation because they were not yet listed. Call it a dereliction of duty, if you like, but the inconsistencies creeping into the hobby was totally at odds with the orderliness that spotters expected, and many disenchanted youngsters turned to something more rewarding, such as railway photography - a natural adjunct to train spotting.
As for today's spotting fraternity? I suppose an old fogy like me should be impervious to derision - and I am - but I'm also aware that today's youngsters lack the granite self-assuredness that comes with adulthood, so is it any wonder that fewer and fewer boys will declare an interest in railways when the very words 'train spotter' now carries snide overtures? Well, enough is enough, - the boundaries of common decency have been pushed as far as it can go. If you ask me, the British media is no longer a byword for decent family principles because the values they promote seem unreasonably out of touch with general sentiment. That train spotting has become something of a national joke is undeniable, albeit in a light hearted way (I hope) since I suspect the populace is laughing 'with us' and not 'at us', yet the way in which the 'anorak' label has stuck in the nation's consciousness is a rather worrying story, in much the same way as the media's all-pervading influence on its readership is another.
Of course, the media didn't invent our image, they went to a railway station and found us there, and in case
anyone is wondering what they found, then let me be quite honest about this. The interest in trains is huge, therefore the train spotting fraternity is bound to attract its fair share of nerds, geeks and wacky characters. Indeed, the media's views might contain just enough truth to gain wide currency, but since we can't exclude people from joining us it's pointless sinking into a mire of righteous complaining because it doesn't solve the problem. Instead we must find a way of improving the general public's perspective of us. Perhaps the solution can be found by looking at the country's obsession with boom-time consumerism and the crafty way some advertisers keep bombarding us with a stream of glitzy imagery. It seems immensely fashionable these days to have a scantily dressed girl draped over the bonnet of a new car at a motor show, or a beau idol stripping off his denims in a launderette, yet the public are not so easily fooled. We know some adverts are deliberately phony. For instance, I'm unlikely to find myself being seduced by a bevy of gorgeous girls because I've splashed on a certain men's fragrance - a sex symbol, me? In your dreams image-makers. I'm a train spotter, for goodness sake, and dullards like me are not supposed to have sex appeal!
Like it or not, image plays an important part in our lives, so if we create the right image, then all the rest will fall neatly into place. Create the wrong one, however, and we end up becoming a laughing stock. It reminds me of the pair of jogging pants I once bought which came with the guarantee not to run in the wash. It was a faux pas I found only mildly amusing, whereas the multi-million pound advertising campaign launched by British Rail in 1973 wasn't even remotely funny - 'This is the age of the train' trumpeted BR's publicity department. 'Time to get new ones,' commuters shot back. Oops!...an own goal if ever there was one. Only the gaffes haven't stopped there. Whilst the private train companies now responsible for running our railways are making millions of pounds profit for their shareholders and fat-cat executives award themselves huge bonuses, is it any wonder that passengers (customers in case it's forgotten) demand more for their money rather than late trains, dirty trains, crowded trains, even cancelled trains. Worse still, when the delays are blamed on the 'wrong kind of snow' and 'leaves on the line' what are the chances of train spotters soliciting approval from anyone?
Okay, let's not waste any more time complaining about the media's blatant intrusion on our lives. This site concerns the highs and lows of a train spotting trip to Doncaster in the Fifties, only in doing so I've had to trawl my own experiences, therefore I may be accused of throwing up a smoke-screen of romance which fuels the desire to believe that train spotters were somehow denied the best years of their lives when steam vanished from the scene.
True, it did effect our lives but it wasn't only the demise off steam (tragic though it was) that brought my passion for spotting days to a premature end, it was the arrival of adolescence. For many testosterone-fuelled boys, the fun-loving Sixties offered so many other distractions we simply outgrew the hobby, which is a crying shame really, and I do wonder how many of today's closet spotters wish they had the chance to do it all again? My guess is - all of us! So, in the final analysis, rather than accusing the adult enthusiast of being trapped in adolescence, isn't it about time we were forgiven our passion for trains? For me, a steam train ride on a preserved railway is like a trip down memory lane - a poignant reminder of all the good times I missed all those years ago. Perhaps my reminiscences may jog some memories of your own?
(Below) Renumbered No 22 in 1946, Gresley's most famous Class A4, Mallard is seen here at Doncaster sporting the old Garter Blue livery with Coronation Red wheels in the days before the newly-formed British Railways decided on a future main line livery for its Class 8P locomotive fleet. Mallard is carrying the plaque commemorating its 1938 world speed record, though this was not fitted to the engine until some ten years after the historical achievement. Perhaps the LNER hierarchy had more important things on their mind - a little matter of WW11 - than prestige and publicity? (Below) Fast forward to 1962, and the next generation of young spotters occupy the same 'favourite' vantage point at the south end of Doncaster station, giving them a close up of Class A3 No 60110 Robert the Devil at the head of the 'up' 'Yorkshire Pullman'. By this time, most A3s were fitted with double Kylchap blast pipes which improved steaming but created a soft exhaust, and German type trough deflectors were fitted to 55 members of the class to eliminate the risk of smoke obscuring the driver's vision.
abattoir, whilst the less than salutary sight of the brand new EE Co Type 4 diesels awaiting acceptance trials outside the Paint Shop was a pertinent reminder of things to come. ..steam was on its way out!
On the morning of May 23rd 1959 a friendly gateman at Doncaster Plant gave me permission to photograph a gleaming EE Co Type 4 No D211 (the second of the EE Cos production batch destined for the LMR) and a Brush Type 2 No D5531 destined for ER - both standing outside the paintshop in view of the main entrance - 'You've got two minutes,' he said - 'And be quick about it.'
Two minutes was all I needed, but after taking a snapshot with my trusty Brownie 127, I was approached by a young apprentice, who, for the price a packet of five Woodbines, promised to escort me around the works during his lunch break. A works visit! Not wanting to miss a chance like that, I dashed off to the corner shop, told the shopkeeper I was buying the cigarettes for my dad, then returned to the Plant where my 'unofficial' guide was waiting. Perhaps I should have had more sense than hand over the cigarettes before the visit, and not after, because he escorted me no further than beyond the main gates - then, without any warning, disappeared inside the main erecting shop leaving me stranded like a prized lemon in full view of the gate house.
I looked around for an escape route, but there was no place to run, or hide, so I edged back to the main entrance - knowing all along I'd be spotted…I wasn't mistaken - 'Hey you!' a man shouted. I froze. He had a mouthful of teeth like a Venus Fly Trap. On the Richter scale, my knee-knocking probably registered an 'eight-point-five', especially when the guard marched me into the gate house and threatened to slit my throat. Once inside, I was confronted by the same gateman who had allowed me to photograph D211 earlier. He locked the door behind us, then sat opposite me glowering with umbrage. I had obviously put his nose out of joint. Both men regarded me across the desk in the same way that Hannibal Lector might size up his next meal. On the desk was a flask of tea, an open lunch box. They were on their lunch break, so the last thing they wanted was some pea-brained train spotter trying to sneak past them when their backs had been turned. I had dented their pride in a big way and their malevolence plainly showed...
So I confessed everything - the apprentice, the packet of Woodbines, his Houdini vanishing act. I blurted out the whole truth, never for one moment thinking they wouldn't believe me. I was wasting my time. They accused me of cooking-up the whole story - and, by fair means or foul, they were going to get to the bottom of it. Anyone would have thought they were grilling a suspected terrorist; they kept badgering me to go over my story again and again, and at one point, I'd have told them anything to save my grubby neck - 'Just tell the truth!' they kept saying. A half an hour later, I could stand it no longer and came to within an inch away from bursting into a flood of tears, when 'Jaws' asked me if I would recognize the apprentice again -'Yes sir,' I said.
'Right!' he ordered, 'Stop blubbering and follow me.' It has to be every spotter's dream! Starting at the erecting shop, we covered every inch of the Plant before tracking down the apprentice hiding inside a locker room in the boiler shop - 'Is this 'im?' the man asked. I nodded.
'He's a liar!' the apprentice said. Of course, I had expected him to say that, so I was more than relieved when 'Jaws' ordered him to empty the contents of his pockets and the incriminating packet of Woodbines was found. I was frog-marched out of the main gate and warned not to go near the Plant again. But why would I? Both men were capable of doing a first-class demolition job in just one sitting...
DELTIC DONCASTER: Photo © E R
Morten. To deal adequately with the history of Doncaster as a railway town would take a whole website in itself, but here is a scene (typical of the late Fifties) of the EE Co Deltic following its transfer from the LMR to the ECML in January 1956. The prototype was found unsuitable for the restricted loading gauge on some stretches of the former NE and NB systems, and Deltic was transferred from the NER based at York to Hornsey shed on the ER. From there it was regularly employed on a Mon-Fri diagram of 'down' White Rose out of Kings Cross to Leeds, a Leeds-Doncaster local, then returning to London with a Hull train from Doncaster. Here the prototype waits in the bay platform for the return trip to Kings Cross on 5th September 1959.
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Mention of racehorse names reminds me of the tale about two female teachers accompanying a group of primary school infants on a field trip to Doncaster races to learn about thoroughbred racehorses. When it was time to take the children to the toilet, the teacher assigned to the boys was waiting outside the men's toilet when one of the boys came out and told her that he couldn't reach the urinal.
She went inside, assisted the boy with his pants, and helped him direct the flow - 'Who else needs a hand?' she asked the other boys.
'Me, me, me!' they chorused.
So she began hoisting the boys up to the urinals, one by one, until she came to an unusually well endowed boy along the line - 'You must be in the Fourth Year,' she said.
'No, madam,' he replied. 'I'm riding Silver Arrow in the 2.15 but please carry on…'
(Below) As mentioned elsewhere on this website, when Edward Thompson became CME of the LNER in 1941-1946, his guiding principle was to standardize wherever possible by using existing patterns, jigs and tools to save on costs. It was a sensible strategy given the stringency of wartime conditions, though the scale of rebuilding Gresley's six Class P2 2-8-2s into new Class A2 Pacifics in 1943-44 required extensive surgery and did not come cheap. Unfortunately, Thompson's Class A2s ended up becoming second-rate locomotives and had the dubious distinction of being the first ex-LNER Pacifics to be scrapped. The six Class A2/2s were transferred from Scotland at the end of 1949; Nos 60501-3 were allocated to York while Nos 60504-6 went to New England. These allocations lasted until their withdrawal - the first two being Nos 60503/5 in November 1959, followed by No 60501 Cock o' the North in February 1960. Here, No 60501 looks in a forlorn state of disrepair in the scrapyard at Doncaster Works on 9th April 1960.
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