Steam Train Crazy
(Enjoying the boredom)
The fifties were by now well establish, the days of the fever cure were just an unhappy memory, its place taken by an abundance of new medication, most which were still of a pungent nature, but at least more agreeable to the palate, yet still I always managed to go under to my annual curse of bronchitis, remarkably at the same time of winter every year.
But now a week in total confinement and warmth with medication, was only half the treatment, usually after the Doctors second visit, which normally was six to seven days after the first, his orders were for me to wrap up and take in the fresh air, and believe me the air could be very fresh, up here in the Dales at this time of the year.
Only condition placed on me, was to keep dry, rainy days in February did seem to be a rarity, so that never seemed to be a problem, moreover I remember the deep blue cloudless skies, days with snow covered moors, that reflected the sun’s rays back onto the numb stone dwellings, softening the vice like grip that Jack Frost had seen fit to implement, and indeed would again by three ‘o’ clock, when the sun’s daily passage had subsided into the shadow of Nab End.
But truthfully I use to relish in this fresh air treatment, because most years I would arise undaunted to the seasonable snow on the ground, always at various levels, sometimes deep, sometimes just a scattering, but never too much to stop me revelling in one of my favourite winter pastimes, and as I was not allowed to go sledging, because it was imperative that I kept dry, this meandering around the village and it’s out- skirts was just the tonic.
Basically, it worked better if fresh snow had fallen overnight, and I could manage to get out of the house before the morning rush, the village automobile population being in excess of at least half a dozen vehicles.
My first priority, was to find car tracks imprinted into the snow on the lane outside of my house, situated in School Lane, usually there would be one or at the most two double tracks in the lane, I would then progress towards the junction of School lane and Chapel street, where the primary school that had taught myself as well as all of my family, Aunts, Uncle also my Father stood, as a majestic symbol to the village.
From here I had a choice, one to the village main street the other down one of the numerous back lanes,
that encircled the place.
I always took the latter, being fewer tracks to follow, and less confusion for me, because these tracks to me were imaginary railway lines, having a deep obsession with the mighty steam locomotives of that time, an obsession I still proudly associate with to this very day.
So once away from the houses that lined Wesleyan Terrace, I plotted my course, imagined I was a L.M.S Royal Scot express pulled by a 4-6-2 Pacific class ‘Princess Royal’, or I could as well be L.N.E.R’s Flying Scot express, pulled by their streamline Pacific, of which one of was the famous world record holder for steam, at 126 miles an hour, ‘Mallard!’
I would walk for miles just following these tracks, sometimes to be joined by others, giving me a choice of which direction, I could take, but only if the tracks crossed, I had very strict rules on this.
I must have looked a sight, shunting down the middle of the out-laying lanes, both arms representing drive wheel piston rods, exhaling puffs of hot bodily vapours into the clear crisp country air.
If I happened to meet anyone, which was a rarity, or hear a vehicle approach, my hands straightaway would meet my warm welcoming pockets, till the intrusion in to my fantasy had past, then again, I would be on my way to, Newcastle, Doncaster, or Leeds or any other place my mind decided to transport me to!
© Harry J Horsman 2008
Comments