One of the first people to record their warm memories was one Miss Elizabeth Isabella Spence, an authoress, who wrote excitedly in a letter to her friend Turnour, the Dowager Countess of Winterton in 1808, ‘I never spent an afternoon with more delight than the former one in exploring the romantic scenery of Oystermouth. I was conveyed there in a carriage of a singular construction, built for the conveniency [sic] of parties, who go hence to Oystermouth to spend the day. The car contains twelve persons and is constructed chiefly of iron, its four wheels run on an iron railway by the aid of one horse, and is an easy and light vehicle.’

Margery Bowden (née Jenkins), a member of an old Southend family regaled her family with tales of long ago, when as an old lady she recounted her memories of summer life along the ‘concrete’ before the Great War.

‘We would build a grotto and trim it up smart. Then we would wait for the old steam train to come along and we sing ‘patronize the grotto please, a ha’penny or a penny!’ The people sitting on the top would throw us pennies and with the people passing on the ‘concrete’, we would make quite a bit, which we would save up and go to the shows.

As I grew up, I had to do my share of work as my father was a fisherman, dredging for oysters in winter and fishing in the summer. So I had to learn to pull the boat, pump out the skiff, bag oysters, open them and help to sell them with my father. We used to send some to London or anywhere they were wanted. We used to bag them and wheel them to the old Mumbles Train at Southend and send them by rail.

My father and brother were also lifeboat men and my youngest brother Ernest, a lampman. The lifeboat in those days was in the old boathouse and when called out, the Mumbles Train used to have to stop for the men to get the boat down and up, as it had to cross the line to get to the sea. So in our house every night during the winter, my brothers and father would put three jerseys, coats and pairs of wellingtons, ready in case there was a call’.

Frank Dunkin, the longest-serving driver on the Mumbles railway recalled that ‘I always wanted to be a whistle-boy. The job was to sit on the front of the engine and blow the warning whistle. I was born in Blackpill and the trains went right past. I was fifteen when I started work and stayed on the railway for 57 years (1903-1960) moving on to firing, cleaning and by 1911, driving the steam train. I liked the steam train better than the electric, where we just stood there with the controls. I took the train on its last journey’.

His daughter, Hilary Lewis, ‘Everyone has memories of the Mumbles train, but my many special ones are of a much more personal nature, as I was his eldest daughter. He was a popular man whose beaming smile greeted all who boarded the train.

During the lunch hour, it was my job to go down Cornwall Place from our home in Park Street, Mumbles and along the back of the bowling-green to give ‘Dada’ his dinner, which he would eat on board the steam train at Oystermouth Station. It was always a cooked, gravy dinner, which I would carry in a basket, lined with newspaper.

My younger sister, Gwen, would then sometimes accompany him for a ride to the Pier and I, being older, would have to walk up Dunns Lane to attend afternoon school. Even now, I can still hear the ‘toot’ of the steam train and smell the acetylene of its lamps.’

Esther Edwards (née Flowers) lived at Southend and many years later wrote her autobiography. This extract records one memorable journey home from school. ‘Sometimes we used to make the trip home more interesting by finding a different route each time. One day when I was about six, we decided to have a ride home from school and got on the train, climbing into the end carriage and hiding under the seats. Unfortunately, the Guard saw us and shouted, “Come on, out of it!” But he was laughing; he was very amused as we thought he couldn’t see us, as small children do. “Come on, stand up!” he said, and we got off. We didn’t try it again’.

Wilfred Mock, ‘I had 51 years in service, except for one week. I began when I was thirteen. I used to work 12 or 14 hours a day, 365 days a year with only a half-day on Wednesday and I remember I was paid £3 a week. We also worked Christmas Day, Boxing Day and bank holidays, but we were paid double time then.’

In 1929, the red electric train appeared and many of those of my generation remember it with affection—an emotion much echoed by Grafton Maggs. ‘The coming of the new electric Mumbles Train in 1929 was indeed, an eye-opener. As a child, living in The Vic, public House in Gloucester Place, Mumbles, I was impressed by the concertina doors controlled by the driver and loved the noise, which accompanied the smooth acceleration of the vehicle. It was to become as familiar as the train itself, being a rhythmic “Le-Lul, Le-LuI, pause, Le-Lul, Le-Lul, pause” and so on, the rhythm increasing to a steady cadence at thirty mph. It was a noise that carried for many miles and on many a still, cold, bleak winter's morn, one could hear the 6.30 a.m. train leaving the Mumbles Pier for Swansea, encouraging one to snuggle deeply down beneath the warm blankets for another hour or so.

But it was very much more than a mere form of transport, it was the Mumbles Train— a much loved part of our way of life.’

Owen Davies described one occasion in the train during the Second World War. ‘We were going to West Cross and there was a train in front of us, which we were supposed to pass. It was stationary and had no intention of moving as it was the second night of the blitz on Swansea. I said to my friend, ‘Look at Brynmill, it’s on fire! I’m not standing here, I have a wife and kiddies up there!’ We decided to change trains, take the other train in to Swansea and then go home. We had stopped at Brynmill for a passenger to get off when a plane flew over. We were on the floor, a bomb was dropped on the promenade and we were in total darkness. A woman was next to get off and just after that, another bomb came. I often wonder what happened to her.’

Bert Harris, then a pupil at the Grammar School recalls one of his wartime journeys to school: ‘The 8.10 a.m. Mumbles Train daily departed Oystermouth Square Station with a large group of Mumbles boys and girls travelling to their respective Grammar Schools in Swansea. In company with a group of friends, smartly dressed in our red blazers (with yellow badge), red caps, short grey trousers, knee-length grey socks with red and yellow hoops at the tops, we always tried to sit on the upper deck in the semi-circular seat at the front or rear of the carriage. . . . I clearly recall the morning when The Mumbles Train was halted just past “The Slip” (the St. Helen’s train stop) because of bomb damage further along the Mumbles Road (normally there were two more train stops to complete our daily school journey) . . . A small group of young schoolboys, looking around in bewilderment, walked with some trepidation through a part of the devastated, still-smoking town centre.’

Post War Recollections

Jennifer Giannini (née Secombe) remembers with affection her holidays at West Cross when she stayed with her Gran and Bampi Atherton. ‘Most summers in the 1950s, we could spend hours on the beach, laughing, talking and playing make believe games and not notice time passing. We'd sit on a tree branch to wave to the passengers on the Mumbles Train and hope to catch a glimpse of our great uncle, Cyril, in his Inspector's uniform.’

Carol Powell 'My own memories include the time when I was seven or eight years old, before Grange school opened, when I had to travel to Oystermouth School every day on the train from West Cross to Oystermouth for a fare of 1d. Sometimes, during the holidays, my friends and I would climb the trees in the “cutting” at West Cross, to wave to the upstairs passengers on the Mumbles train, which startled them somewhat!'

My husband, John Powell remembers that, ‘As a teenager, I and other schoolboys used to travel to Swansea Technical School on the Mumbles Train. I got on at West Cross and went as far as Rutland Street Station, on the site of the Leisure Centre LC2.

He said, 'We used to play shove ha’penny upstairs on the stairwell cover. I remember that outside Swansea Prison, there was the width of the road and then the railway, which was immediately outside a row of houses, whose front doors opened directly on to it. On summer days, there were often ‘baby gates’ in the open doorways to prevent the baby of the family getting out, but enabling him/her to see out.

One thing I saw, which reminds me of the reason why the railway was constructed in the first place, were engines travelling from the Docks railway system alongside the Museum and on to the Mumbles railway. At that time you could also still see the lines going up from Blackpill to Clyne Valley—as the line had been a freight system originally.

We children used to place pennies on the track to let the train run over them and flatten them. Another thing we used to do (which would probably be forbidden today) was to walk along the track—the sleepers being correctly spaced for our steps. Today, the outlines of some of these old railway sleepers are still visible in the tarmac just outside the Junction Café at Blackpill.' (No longer there after a recent repair).

My girlfriend (now my wife) had recorded some of the last few sounds of the train from her house near the line at West Cross a few days before. This may have given me the idea to record the occasion on cine film. We spent almost two days filming with my father’s cine camera, on the first day, making the journey from Rutland Street, filming from within the train. On the final day, Carol and I recorded the last train from the trackside at West Cross and the first of the number 77 buses, which were to replace them. Our film now forms part of Roy Kneath’s films, Sentimental Journey, which is published and on sale in Video and DVD format and his new DVD, Ticket To Ride.

These are just some of the lovely memories, which lived on in the minds of our contributors and are recorded for posterity. The Mumbles train was, to re-quote Grafton Maggs, very much more than a mere form of transport, it was the Mumbles Train— a much loved part of our way of life