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.  It was no big deal in those days, except 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 at Secondary School turned me into many things - 'unhinged' and 'certifiable' chief among them. As we drank our free milk at morning break, 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 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. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Left) 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 the engine 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 Golden Plover 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 old 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 to his dog - ‘KILL!’

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. 

(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. 

 

During the Fifties, the railway town of Doncaster was a Mecca for train spotters, its major attraction being the famous ‘Plant’ locomotive works. The superb condition of the outshopped locomotives acted like a magnet for the crowds of youngsters who congregated to pay homage at the main gates just off Hexthorpe Road. At the back of the Plant, however, it was a different story - the area was designated a dumping ground for scrapped engines awaiting cutting up at the

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! 

 (Left) Established by the GNR in 1853, by the turn of the century the Plant covered 200 acres and employed 4,500 men. A total of 2,228 steam locomotives were built there, the last being BR Class 4 No 76114 in 1957. Fifties spotters will remember the ‘plant streamer - a cavalcade of immaculate engines fresh from the workshops, coupled together for transfer to Doncaster shed before returning to traffic. It was a sight for sore eyes! Class A1 No 60141 Abbotsford was photographed at Doncaster in March 1954. The memory of steam’s demise will never go away. Here, the final indignity of Class C12 4-4-2 No 67362, one of sixty of the class built between 1898 and 1907 for handling suburban trains. It looks in a pitiful state on the scrap line at Doncaster Works on March 9th 1958. Both photos © PR Batty.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There are certain things in life that stay with you for ever. No matter how long ago they happened, you are always able to bring them back. For me, one such occasion was the the morning of May 23rd 1959 at Doncaster Plant when a friendly gateman gave me permission to photograph a gleaming EE Co Type 4 1Co-Co1 No D211 (the second of the EE Cos production batch destined for the LMR) and a Brush Type 2 A1A-A1A 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.