I used to walk over a railway bridge on the way to school when I was under eleven years old. The line was electrified for the local trains but occasionally there was a steamer going under and you got the smoke and steam all around you. An unforgettable smell. On one side of the bridge was the local station and I when I was very young, just past being a toddler, I was on the platform with my dad when an express steamed through on the near line. I was terrified.

Martin C

I and a school friend Michael about 13 year old, used to sit at local small station,train spoting, which only had goods delivery and no passenger service except for special trips etc. We were on summer holiday and an engine used to come through to collect wagons of coal from your local colliery and take them to a local concentration sidings now long gone. Anyway on one trip he slowed down and shouted would we like to have a ride and we didn't need a second asking. We jumped at the chance and he showed us to drive and fire the engine and made a few runs with collected trucks from local colliery to concentration sidings. We did this for a few days and after a few days were taking a packed lunch and doing most of the work with just either the fireman or Ray the driver to watch us whilst the other was in the guards van with the shunter drinking tea. We spent a couple of weeks like this only to having to stop when a trial, a new diesel loco engine began on the track we were on, with inspectors and trainers on board. We were great friends with the driver and wife who met our family's and were long time friends.

David

One rather strange memory…

Our home for years had a view, especially from upstairs, across a large public-park, the rooves of a housing-estate in a valley, to Portland and its Royal Navy base (now a commercial port).

The near "edge" of the oggin was a railway embankment carrying the branch from Weymouth to Portland. This had private sidings into Whiteheads torpedo factory at Wyke Regis (gone), the Naval Base, masonry works up on "Tophill", and finally ended in a coal and stone stock yard just beyond Easton Station.

Passenger services ceased apart from the occasional "special" in the 1950s but it still handled goods until final closure in (I think) 1965; one hundred years after it had opened as an SR / GWR Joint. That was unusual for two companies normally bitter rivals; c.f. the SR / LMS, Somerset and Dorset Joint Railway.

Most of the rakes of mineral-wagons and vans were drawn by an ex-GWR pannier-tank based in Weymouth's sizeable sheds. So the distinctive "clank-clank-clank-clank" of 4-wheel short-wheelbase stock on fish-plated track was as familiar in our home as the radio's rhythmic "buzz……buzz" from warships' radar.

A day of no less than three special last passenger trains all the way to Easton (I was one of them), then shortly after that last train ambled across Radipole Lake viaduct and into Weymouth's quite extensive sidings and sheds.

The rails lay slowly rusting for months….

In that time, one still night, in bed, I heard… "clank-clank-clank-clank"……

What? No exhaust beats, so coasting down from the Rodwell summit to near seal-level? Some ad-hoc special, presumably RN goods? Emergency ship-repair parts or ammunition normally carried by RN(Sto) lorries?

I leapt to the window and stared at the embankment, half a mile or so away. Nothing…..

Eerie.

Dad supplied the explanation. A ship moored in mid-Harbour, winding its anchor-chain aboard.

My father used to work for BR parcels and had free travel for our family, we were often going on day trips to places like Rhyll in the 1950's. I remember vividly waiting on New Street station in B,ham and constantly looking up the line waiting for the engine to appear. Then it would come thundering in belching steam and smoke and everyone would step back and then run forward to try and get an empty compartment.

During school holidays I often used to go with him to Curzon street goods depot. While he sorted out the order of the parcels alongside the goods wagons I used to wander around the huge gloomy building which dated from 1838, I remember gigantic curtains that were used to block out the weather on the huge doorways, some let the daylight through and others were solid old tarpaulins.

I remember one foggy winter morning at Curzon street I wandered further than usual and vividly remember looking through a gap in the curtains and seeing a whole row of ghostly looking disused steam engines with cow scoops on the front, like the wild west engines, maybe used for clearing heavy snow off the tracks? That's the most vivid memory for me.

Edited By vic newey on 11/01/2023 10:05:11

A Single To Shillingstone

The last time I came to Shillingstone by rail was in late June or early July of 1966. The much beloved Somerset & Dorset Joint Railway had finally closed on the 7th March 1966. The stations closed, the infrastructure was removed with indecent haste lest like the phoenix it should try to rise again. Apart from the buildings & the track little remained, but gossip had it that there was a gangers trolley left behind at Sturminster station. The story was true, & it didn't take long to find it! So one afternoon instead of taking the school bus home to Childe Okeford, myself, Jamie Hobson and three school friends from Stur school re railed the trolley . We trundled out of the station on a beautiful warm afternoon, three riding whilst two pushed. Gliding along past the sewage works we soon crossed the river Stour. Our progress so far had been almost effortless as we took turns to ride or push. Fiddleford was across the meadows basking in late afternoon sun as we entered the small cutting and echoed under the humped back bridge that carried the road to Hammoon. Swinging round by Tan Hill copse another small cutting brought us out near the river as we headed for the bridge over the Childe Okeford road past the signal box and into Shillingstone Station.

Jamie Hobson carried on walking down the line home whilst I cut down the bank, over Haywards bridge heading for Childe Okeford and home, leaving the remaining three to push the trolley back. I was later told it proved to be quite a struggle to return to Sturminster for reasons that only became clear to me when over forty years later when I saw a profile of the line and the 80/1 gradient up from the river into the station.

It might have all ended there, an unusual way to get home and a harmless bit of fun BUT officialdom didn't see it that way. As our three musketeers rolled breathlessly into the station yard there was a reception committee waiting, and it wasn't a welcoming one ! Names and addresses were taken and admonishment for their foolishness was laid heavily upon them.

Even then it was still not quite over ! The following morning in assembly at what is now the High School Mr Tozer the headmaster drew the attention of the 400 or so students to the foolishness of Certain Boys in the fifth year !

We felt honoured as only school boys can !!!!

Noel Shelley

I have as a steam nut many wonderful memories to many to list here one I will share is that in my easy teens we had a caravan at Towyn (North wales) and late evening I would sit on the sea wall and wait for the Irish Mail it would come round an headland somewhere by Colwyn Bay and you could see a tiny red glow with would get bigger and bigger until it went roaring past it was always double headed and it was some train. Another without wishing to bore was visiting Swindon Works and standing in the cab of Evening Star the day before she was pulled out and a fire put in her.

H

If you have read my 2 earlier posts then to put the following into context, this is early March 1966 ! Read on ! On the Monday evening I returned to the station ! With the engines entering the station very slowly due to the large crowds, rather than thundering through, quite a few of the detonators rather than being run over by the wheels and exploding had been pushed off the line (they were held on the line by two small lead straps)and laid by the track. These were gathered up for attention later. We had a large garden and two corrugated iron pig styes with a sloping roof, the unexploded detonators were placed on a brick behind the sty, one then climbed onto the roof and hurled another brick down and persuaded the detonator to fulfill it's roll in life by making a loud bang !!!! It seemed like fun, we had for several years enjoyed mixing weed killer and icing sugar !

I was at an auction at Fakenham in Norfolk some 40 years later Talking to a lady who's father had many steam vehicles ! The subject of Shillingstone and it's Station came up ! I was told that The Antell Brothers( I was at school with some of them) had got all the station name plates ! To which I replied"OH NO THEY DIDN'T"

It was a few days after the station had closed that I once again returned ! Quite why I had an adjustable spanner in my pocket I don't remember unless I had already formulated a plan. But never the less I proceeded to climb one of the canopy supports, shuffle along the longitudinal beam and remove the coach screw that held the name plate(totem) to the beam ! Bearing in mind the preceding and what follows I hope you will understand why this is one of my most treasured possessions – I still have it ! Another treasured possession is the guards lamp ! Several months after the line had closed, on a warm sunny day I and a couple of friends were walking up the track when something in the middle of a large bramble bush caught my eye ! I was to be handsomely rewarded for being torn to pieces by finding a guards lamp, complete and almost intact, but most important was that it had a small oval plate stating" Somerset and Dorset Joint Railway" and it's inventory number. It has it's three coloured lenses and for the sake of a drop of paraffin still works – even the wick is original.

By now(May/June) the station and more so the signal box were starting to show real signs of dilapidation, the buildings had been entered and all sorts of the paraphernalia were laying about, Track pads, and under the signal box I remember many glass leclanche cells and the zinc rods they used. Without signals and telecommunications a railway cannot run – so the telephone wires were the first thing to be scrapped, lest like the Phoenix it should try to rise again.

It would be around this time that I was to arrive once again at Shillingstone Station by rail, as told by one of my previous posts above.

By the early 1970s I was living in Ringstead in Norfolk but still returned not only to North Dorset but also to Shillingstone Station when ever I could, watching it be an engineering workshop then the awful prospect it might be demolished ! Numerous friends would keep me abreast of developments and phoenix like It rose thankfully not from ashes.

I would make regular pilgrimages to sit on the platform, look up at Hambledon hill and relive my youth. Not long after the 9F 92207 arrived I was asked if I would be prepared to lead the rebuilding project and met with Brian Bottomley, and those who had shown an interest. It was obvious that this task could NOT be undertaken without specialised equipment and any building work to erect a heavy engineering workshop was many years away. Also such labour as there was at that time had no experience of steam or heavy engineering, this would be a problem. Whilst very flattered to have been asked I felt that as things stood it would be very difficult to make much progress and reluctantly declined the invitation.

When a DS88 shunter arrived I was asked about repairing or running it ? I requested the manuals Etc and was told there were none ! It had come from the North Norfolk railway, a quick phone call and a ride over to their workshops at Weybourne resulted in my delivering all the technical manuals to the new owners !

Needless to say I was at the 50th aniversary of the closure !!! Only as I was returning on the Sunday to the friends house I was staying with did I realise that I had NOT signed the visitors book on this most important day. So on the Monday, on the off chance there might be someone about I came back to the station,and indeed there were staff about and I was allowed to sign the book. I was the last person to sign that weekend, it meant more to me than anyone can imagine !!!!!

They were for me good times ! Noel.

Edited By noel shelley on 21/01/2023 15:20:54

My Grandad used to come and get me from Norwood on his bike (about 1950) and we always stopped to watch the trains go under the bridge. I was very sure that I knew where that 'bridge' was – and prompted by this thread, went to look for it on Google Maps. There is a tunnel entrance near where I thought we watched but clearly it's not the bridge that I remember. So I 'walked' the route and I think I've found that bridge but it's not where I've believed it to be for all these years.

My Nan was not too happy with him when I turned up with soot all over my face and clothes either but he always let me wait for a train. Never saw that much of the engines but I still remember the smell and sound of them (and the smoke of course). Still reminds me of him

Regards,

IanT

WW2 time 1973, as a 7 year old, my friend live at the bottom of the embankment just west of Layton (Blackpool) station. We used to climb up the bank and put a penny on the line and wait for it to be squashed. Later (1950) used to go to Old Oak Common and wander around the yards.

In the late 50's I used to take my fathers lunch to the loco.He would meet me at the gate and we sometimes got a ride on the back of a shunter up the yard to where the coach and wagon fitters shed was.This was at Grantham yard where mainline loco's would change ,at this time over a thousand men worked on the yard.There were stand by drivers and firemen and a card game called crash was running continualy in there shed.As the pacific loco's were too big for the turntables they had a triangle to turn them round and sometimes the crew would let us hang on the back as they navigated the angle.Many happy memories of those days.

Coming home from the Saturday morning pictures meant crossing the railway, if the gates were shut it was over the footbridge. This is where the target practice came in, to wait for the steam train and throw an apple core down the chimney but the drivers were on it and opened the blast nozzle so we were enveloped in steam.

I often wondered if they opened the front and found apple cores in there.

My earliest memory of live steam was being sat in the coal bunker of our Aveling & Porter steam roller "Billy Boy" travelling at four miles an hour from near Knaresborough to the Pickering steam rally in 1965 when I was eight or nine years old.

I actually fell asleep at one point even though you could not hear yourself speaking above the noise. We travelled hundreds of miles to steam rallies by road with various different traction engines in those days.

It was only in the late seventies that we got a low loader, but even that was a vintage 1946 chain driven Scammell. In fact our Burrell road loco "Dalesman" was faster then the Scammell come to think of it.

Happy days

Phil

Edited By Phil P on 23/01/2023 20:35:47