Colin Skears

A Northampton Trainspotters Tale – Life South of the Castle (Station that is!).

I was born in Northampton in 1946 to the sound of locomotive whistles, labouring freight trains climbing a 1 in 200 grade and express trains roaring out of a tunnel and applying a screeching brake for the slow at Northampton Castle Station. Born within smelling distance of Northampton MPD, I was a Cottonite.

My father worked at Pianoforte Supplies Ltd. alongside the West Coast Main Line at Roade, Northants, so it was not unusual to go there in my infancy, and helpful that he was born and brought up there before moving to Far Cotton, Northampton. My first memory of trains was when I was around 5 years old. My elder brother and I had left my grandparents house at the top of Roade High Street and wandered across the playing field to the bottom of the access road to PSL and the gate to the end of the up slow platform of Roade Station. Needless to say we were not supposed to stray on to the platforms but children will be children and when a black hissing and steaming locomotive drew into the station and stopped it was just too much to ignore. My, it was so big and interesting with steam coming out for almost everywhere. Then there was a slamming of doors, the guard blew a whistle and waved a flag, a toot as the driver replied......suddenly there was a huge roaring hissing sound as a cloud of steam leaped out and the engine moved towards me. In short I Ran! Screaming! Out of the gate, over the playing field, into my grans back garden and the arms of my mother and aunt. It took a while to clean me up at both ends but never killed my fascination for steam locomotives.

The next memory was when I was about 6 and on a Saturday morning my father worked a half day so he took me on the bus from Northampton to Roade and dropped me off in the field on the opposite side of Roade Station while he went to work. I moved down to the station and sat on the retaining wall of the down main platform. The morning was misty so I could not see the down main signals but I could hear the first train coming, working hard in the distance. The mist was such that I could not see much past the footbridge to the factory over the lines, but the sound of the approaching train grew louder and louder until it exploded out from under the footbridge, a huge blue monster, belching steam and crashing past me, through the station and disappearing into Roade Cutting. It was the only Coronation Scot class locomotive I ever saw in British Rail Blue, although I saw most of the rest, in green or maroon in later years. I did not know about collecting numbers but I remembered it having an odd long name. I have since identified it as City of Stoke on Trent, 46254, in a livery she carried from 1950 to 1955. A vivid memory, still with me today 68 years on.

Also when I was 6 the vicar from St. Mary’s Church called at home and inquired as to whether my parents would like to send their son Colin to Sunday school, which they did, taking me the next Sunday. After which I was sent, under my own steam, for a couple of weeks before I decided that I had had enough. Not having the courage to tell my parents that I did not want to go any more, I had decided to go past the church and explore, especially as it led towards the sound of the railway, which seemed busy despite being a Sunday. So, down Abbey Road to the end and then onto what we later knew as the ‘Tank Field’. From there I went diagonally towards the end of Main Road and onto the short track and bridge under the railway line, to the field there I would watch the trains until I felt hungry and would then retrace my steps in time for lunch. This was possible because unbeknown to me at the time, there were regular diversions of the WCML onto the Northampton Loop, either at Roade, or at Blisworth, so that maintenance could be carried out between Roade and Rugby, and especially on Kilsby Tunnel. The morning trains were quite busy, especially compared to an 'ordinary Sunday' and the one special memory from this first visit was the sound of a train roaring out of Hunsbury Hill Tunnel and as it rapidly approached the noise was magnified as the driver made the first brake application. He had 'double pegs' in his favour but he knew he had to slow to about 25MPH to negotiate the Castle Station approach and junction. It was another memorable moment, the first and only unrebuilt Royal Scot I ever saw, 46137, and again it was the unusually long name that helped me to remember it, The Prince of Wales Volunteers (South Lancashire). I suspect it may have been less than spotless at the time as I cannot recall which livery it carried! It may have been the only unrebuilt I saw, but I saw them all in rebuilt form with the last being 46104 Scottish Borderer at Crewe in 1962.

My Sunday trainspotting worked very well until one dark night about 12 months later when the vicar from St. Mary’s Church called at home and inquired as to whether my parents would like to send their son Colin to Sunday School! I can still remember the look on my mother’s face after telling the vicar that I had been going every Sunday for the last year – there were 2 confused faces looking accusingly at me from the doorway - the truth had to come out at last. My mother then simply asked if I wanted to go to Sunday School and I shook my head and that was the end of it – I received nothing more than a scolding and my visits to ‘The Banks’ became a regular event later extended with a visit to the loco shed as Sunday was the only day they let us roam the yards without getting thrown out.

The visits to ‘The Banks’ also became regular Saturday outings, especially in Summer, and any evening when it was not raining. Even from Primary School we would run down Main Road at lunchtime to see what trains were running and we were sometimes a bit late back for school as they were not always on time! On other days we would just cross the road from school and take the path leading to the footbridge to the loco shed and watch the engines passing and entering the sheds.

In later years, usually with schoolfriends, we would take the London train to Roade or the Blizzy Flyer (an Ivatt 2-6-2 Tank auto train) to Blisworth, and even later similar auto trains to Wellingborough, Bedford and Hitchin for Midland Main Line and ECML. From 12 years on we started cycling the shorter trips and from 14 we ventured to Banbury or Kings Sutton (25 Miles each way), Rugby (20 Miles each way), Hitchin (40 miles each way) and Peterborough (49 miles each way) on our various racing bikes. Train trips were days out to London, where in 1956 I saw my only unrebuilt Bulleid Battle of Britain Class Locomotive, 34076, 41 Squadon, parked in the middle of a bridge over the Thames! In my last school years I took a trip with my brother on a cycling shed bash over 5 days to Oxford, Didcot, Swindon Works, Bristol, Gloucester, Cheltenham, Worcester, Bromsgrove, Warwick, Leamington and home, with overnight stays in YHA hostels. I also did a number of Derby Works open days, one memorable Crewe open day and also Sunday shed bashes to South Wales, Leeds, Sheffield and all roads to Manchester!

In those days there were definite up and down sides of letting your son go trainspotting. On the up side we learned our way around the country, became good map readers and navigators. We also learned the countries of the then British Commonwealth, how Gold Coast became Ghana and the Irish Free State became Eire. We learned the Canadian States from Nova Scotia to British Columbia; that Bihar and Orissa were in India, along with Mysore and Bhopal; about Nelson, Codrington and Hardy; Greek mythology with Agamemnon and Bellerophon, Minotaur and Ajax, not to mention that crate Polyphemus! Then there were the regiments; The Royal Scots Grey, Scottish Borderers, Highland Light Infantry, not forgetting The Northamptonshire Regiment. The list is almost endless, from Castles and Kings to Halls and Granges; towns in the West Country; Shipping Lines; The Knights of the Round Table to famous public schools; The Royal Family and cities of Britain; famous race horses and antelope, but enough is enough.

Just as an aside, it was a common joke to tell your friend that there was a ‘Hall’ on shed and when they asked which one the reply was either bugger ‘all or sod ‘all, because as far as I know it never happened despite there being several hundreds of them in existence. The other favourite was to say there was a named Black 5 on shed and watch people chase down there to see it was not there. This was funny until one actually turned up! I still don't believe my brother saw 72005 Clan McGregor go on shed one evening, it certainly wasn't there the next morning! Hummm.

Now, about that downside. We often got up to mischief of some sort or other when the train spotting became slow, usually in the afternoon. The first hobby was to put pennies on the line and then trying to find them after an express has run over them. Also in Roade Cutting under the Black bridge there was an access hatch between the two fast lines that you could climb down and watch the trains thunder past your head. At Roade station you could see how long it would be before the Station Master chased you off the platforms, and similarly how long before you were chased out of Northampton Shed on weekdays. As a dare we would walk along narrow bridge parapets, Rothersthorpe Road bridge being a favourite. On away days to Wellingborough we would park ourselves opposite the shed where there were some old brickworks where we could play and generally misbehave. One day on the north end of Birmingham New Street Station I was encouraged to take back cigarette smoke for the first time, needless to say I thought the world was about to end and my lungs would collapse, but they didn’t and from then on I was a fully-fledged smoker and twelve years old to boot. From the age of fourteen when I started a paper round I was able to fund my habit and buy my racing bike.

Towards the end of steam on British Rail, some of the spotters behaved more like vandals, and I remember seeing one lad (I will not name him) walking bold as brass out of Stoke loco shed with a stilson wrench in one hand and the front number plate of 44064 under his arm. However, the Transport Police caught up with us at Gorton Works in Manchester, seized our coach and collected a fair bit of contraband before letting us go with a warning. Suitably chastised we were driven back to Northampton, our driver had seen enough! I wonder where that plate is now?

Some of the saddest sites were the condemned lines of locos in the 60's and even more so Woodham's scrap lines at Barry. Little did we know then what was in store (sorry about the pun) for them. Below is the end and the start of a Patriot, and this is for all the trainspotting 'patriots' out there today. Both taken at Crewe.