jhb171achill

Richie - I was referring more to the shades of colours rather than the dimensions of the lower lines. You are quite right in that they tended to be narrower than those above window level, and of course the lighter green lines were themselves lined - unlike when the later light green livery was used. The TPO at Downpatrick and the laminates in the Dublin RPSI set, to take a few examples, are correct for the later green livery. One of the reasons that the black and tan livery (once standardised) had the height of the divisions between the tan, black and white at the same height from rail level was to provide uniformity of "look" - the idea was to make a train within which no two vehicles were the same, look more streamlined and uniform. Prior to this, light green lines could vary in height depending on what they were painted on. Thus, if NCC style coaching stock (a la Bachmann) had worn this livery, they might wdell have ended up as on the model, but looking closer at those models, while the colour shades are right, the lower line should indeed be narrower. Hope this helps!

Probably, UP. My father has similar stories re coaches in GSWR livery, Woolwiches, the Lucan and Blessington steam tram, etc. Years ago on the RPSI May Tour, newly-restored 461 was doing a runpast at Thurles or Port Laoise - can't remember. As she thundered through, one 90-something tour participant muttered to two of my teenaged dining car crew "I remember that thing being built!" You should have seen their faces...

Wow! Never knew all that...! Interesting...

Wearing a purple shirt with wide collars, brown bell bottom trousers, a demin "Thin Lizzy" jacket, and white platforms, I emerged from one of the few licensed premises (a private club) which was open in Belfast in the mid 70s. The "troubles" were unfortunately in full swing, and what few bars there were in the city centre shut up shop at 5 or 6 in the evening. But, wait! dear reader; two still functioned way way into the lateness of the night, where you could swig Guinness (or whatever one swigged, or swug, back in the day) unti, as late as 10:30pm. We did live dangerously. Up the road to Botanic Station, a draughty new halt only a year or so old. A small sentry box at the top of a ramp down to the platform on the newly reopened Belfast Central line. A novelty, this; not long ago it was the equally draughty partly roofless bomb-ravaged shell of the once great Great Victoria Street, where AECs mingled with MEDs, rattling away as they idled in their clouds of blue smoke, awaiting their punters. Botanic had brand new track. The embankment walls were bereft of anything that grew - not because they were adorned as in later years by supermarket trolleys, graffiti, old toy prams and discarded rotting mattresses, but because nothing had yet had a chance to grow since the line reopened. There were even new trains; these 80 class things - in their unfamiliar blue and maroon livery instead of time honoured maroon and grey or UTA green. I spoke to Billy at the sentry box; I wonder what became of him - we got to know each other as a result of my nocturnal expeditions through his ticket barrier. Well, round it anyway. I produced my Under 21 Monthly - a little hard-backed ticket with my name hand-written on it. When I went on holiday I could hand it in and they'd give me an extra fortnight's credit at the end of the year, again handwritten on a form. The Bangor train came through as we chatted. An MED; even counting the "Castle" or "450" class railcars - yet to be invented - they were the most uncomfortable things on rails ever devised. They were freezing and draughty in winter, warm, stuffy and muggy in summer; and twelve months out of twelve had you asphyxiated with diesel fumes as you attempted to peer out of filthy windows from rattly upright UTA bus seats, too close together and still clad in standard UTA bus upholstery. Had I been there earlier, I would also have seen the "Enterprise" on its way. This could be five Mk 2's being pushed, usually by 101 or 102. 103 seemed shy, a bit like 113 a few years later. Other times, if a locomotive led, we'd be looking at seven coaches with an engine at each end. They were always clean, their shiny maroon coat matching their blue and maroon coaching stock. As 22:50 approached, and with it the last train to Lisburn, in came a shiny new 80 class set. Mock wood formica adorned the interior, and when idling at stations they made an unfamiliar chugging sound. I settled into my seat, thinking of a burger and chips in Greasy Lizzies in Market Square as I walked towards bed and sweet dreams. What I presume was Lizzie (I never knew her by name) always gave me a few extra; plenty of salt and vinegar please. "That'll be 30p please". "Oh, and a tin of Coke". "38p then". Maybe I dreamed of the late night nibbles too much, maybe the comfort of new seats was too much for me, but I dozed. By Finaghy, I was skipping through the Chocolate Meadows with the Sweetie Mice. By Hilden I probably only differed from the Great Undead by the emission of loud snoring noises; testament to a 4.30pm to 10.30pm session on an empty teenage stomach. Had the Irish North and the Cavan branch not closed over fifteen years earlier, I could have ended up in Culloville or Loreto Halt. Oblivious to the rounding of Hilden curve, I presume the train swept into Lisburn station, halting under the semaphores at the end of the platform. I suddenly jumped; I daresay an imprint of me remained in the ceiling of one 80 class car until it met its end. From behind Mrs Logue's old news stand on the up platform, the familiar tones emitted the clarion call "LIZZZBURRRRRRRRNNNNN!!!!!!!!" It was Noel, the porter. A GNR veteran who had started on the Newcastle branch at Katesbridge or Ballyroney, and ended up a guard on cattle trains in Banbridge. Every day Noel lit the oil lamps in Lisburn, and on arrival of every single stopping train, emitted his loud trademark call. It worked. I exited my Guinness-induced state of peace; perfect perfect peace, and wandered in varying sizes of circles towards Greasy Lizzies. Funny watching 80s being broken up some forty years later.

Very valuable information in those diaries of yours, TTC!

Didn't know about Neil Young, Weshty... "...Well I heard Mister Young sing about her Well, I heard ole Neil put her down Well, I hope Neil Young will remember A Southern man don't need him around anyhow Sweet home Alabama Where the skies are so blue Sweet Home Alabama Lord, I'm coming home to you ..." A "southern man".... so obviously, Neil Young was a fan of the GSWR or the CBSCR... well, 800 on the Cork line would certainly impress him then, boyo.

Ah! Black stuff; now THERE are memories, which are Made of More. But tonight, red wine in the conservatory. Tomorrow, things and stuff; beyond that the Tour. Whitehead to Whitehead via Dublin, Waterford, Sligo, Limerick and Bangor, topped off by No. 1 at the Downs of Patrick on Tuesday. And there will be black stuff on the tour - but only in the evenings as I am working every single day on it.... Once upon a time, there was another "C" class stabled on a cold afternoon in Clonsilla. It gave me a lift to the North Wall, after which I wandered about at will through goods yards ancient and modern, then along Sherriff Street with an expensive camera round my neck. Would you do that nowadays? I'll tell ye about all THAT another time.... :-)

Gents, for those interested in traditional music, our new friend above is an absolute master; he organised the trad groups which played on the DCDR Paddy's Day trains a few years back. I am sure he will blush appropriately; a great pleasure to hear. (He even has a saint's day named after him....)

Ah well, Broithe, if it wasn't for me dodgy oul knees what with all that climbing about helath-and-safety free sidings back in the day..... That's another story. Not possessing hard capped boots or a helmet, and before day-glo velcro was even invented, I wandered about tracks at Heuston, Westland Row, Connolly, Inchicore, Cork and other places at will and at random. If someone spotted you, they'd wave and say hello. We climber signal posts for better photos, dodged shunting engines in Limerick station, and hitched lifts in yards and on the main line. Not one enthusiast ever suffered any ill as a result. Apart, of course, from the effects of an unrefrigerated ham sandwich too long in your camera bag on a hot day.... (maybe it was yesterday's, left over from the cab lift hitched on the up Sligo night mail hauled by 131 and 135....)

It was in olden days; all was black and white (except train, which were black and tan); the motorway was cobbled, pussy was a kitten, the Pope a wee lad, and ICRs were a distant futuristic thing. We left Westport station, where I had just been collected by Family from a hotch potch of laminates, Park Royals, Cravens and one Bredin hauled by two dirty black'n'tan 181s. It was very foggy as we wound / wounded / wended / went our way towards Newport. We used to hire a holiday house out beyond there near Mulrany; it was our childhood and teenage annual pilgrimage destination. But now, for me, it was time to set sail into the Wide World; my first solo holiday. Equipped with a runabout ticket and timetables, I was due to visit such exotic places as Charleville, Coleraine, Collooney, Mallow and Enniscorthy over the next two weeks. Staying with Sisters-The-Younger in Mulrany was Night One. The fog thickened as we approached Barley Hill, where we could barely see the sides of the road. We inched forward at walking pace; townies in a foggy world of the Wesht. To this day I don't believe I have ever seen such a fog; but nothing could prepare us for what we saw next. Aliens! Dozens of them! Little sets of green eyes gently wavering from side to side, peering at us through the fog. They hovered maybe a foot or two off the ground, some a bit higher at the edges of the group. I could not believe what I was seeing, and while pondering the fact that I had had no strong drink taken in the train, nor had my driver, I decided to lower the window to see if it I could get a better look. I did so, albeit perhaps somewhat cautiously. I almost jumped out of my skin as one of the aliens was suddenly right beside the open window. Before I got a chance to even think how to react, it spoke. "Baaaah", it said. The others chorussed agreement. The following morning, quick bbreakfast with the folks, then back to the station where another pair (I think it was two 121s) stood in their black and tan glory ready to take me through weed-strewn Manulla remains to Claremorris, where 190, a tin van and a single laminate awaited. On arrival at Ballina, I decided to wander up the Crossmolina Siding, a stretch of track thus locally nicknamed in commemoration of the branch line proposed to go from there to Crossmolina aout 1909. It was never built but the name stuck. I photographed "H" vans in abundance; such abundance as our knitted aliens with mint sauce the night before. Some were brown, most were grey. CIE roundels adorned most, but I photographed two still with snails. We're in the mid 1970s here; such things were by no means uncommon, despite the "Snail" being out of use some dozen or fourteen years, but this example looked so clean and new it was worth a photo. No digital cameras existed then, and film was dear to a teenager, so snapping away at random was not an option. One had to carefully pick what was to be photographed. Back to Dublin that night in the company of some real characters I met in the dining car en route. Think "Hardy Bucks" and you won't be far wrong. Another pair of black'n'tans up front. The next morning dawned with a trip to Loughrea planned. A green "Almex" return from Dublin (Connolly) to Loughrea, Under-21 Day Return, please. Three pounds of my hard-inveigled pocket money well spent. Well, this was the BIG prize. A run behind a "G" - something I'd always looked forward to. Our "A" class - in the new "Supertrain" livery, all bright and shining (I think it was 001 or 005) headed us out along the single track section beside the overgrown Royal Canal, through the long closed outer suburban stations in the green fields and farmland of Ashtown, Blanchardstown and Clonsilla, all the way to Mullingar - the longest stretch in Ireland between two open passenger stations. Exchange of boxes and bags from the brake genny coach, a side corridor version converted either from an old Bredin or a 1950-built laminate, and we were off towards Moate, where a similar procedure took place. Athlone (old station) was always very impressive; the modern station was the derelict remains of the GSWR's pre-1925 "Southern Station" there. Ballinasloe and Woodlawn followed, the latter having newly whitewashed kerbing and very neat flower beds, if I remember correctly, meticulously tended b y the station master. And so to Attymon Junction, and off the train. We've all heard the song "The Wild Rover". The ship struck a rock, O Lord, what a shock. Yes - shock was the only word. Not a "G" in sight, not a sniff of a "G" within a million miles. Instead, the single coach of the mixed train was attached to nothing more than an oul "C" class. Damn. Ye can get one of those oul things out to Howth any day. But a least it was still black and tan, and though there were no wagons that particular day, at least it was officially a mixed train. That afternoon was sunny though cold, and with several hours to kill in Loughrea, I went walkabout. There was a fair going on and as I turned a corner I saw that the street into which I had wandered had a herd of pigs running up and down it. And none of them were aliens any more. On the way back, with not many moons to go until the line was to close and nobody but me as a paying passenger, somebody had written in biro on one of the seats in the carriage, "Farewell to the Dunsandle Express". Farewell indeed.

Superb stuff, very "atmospheric"! And I'd go for the heifers; I don't fancy the "Rossies" chances at all at all! :-)

Talking of Weshty's models, I got a kit by post the other day for 800 "Maedb".... Words fail me. For anyone who knows me personally, that's saying something! I'll just summarise: sell your car and house, rob your granny and BUY one! Amazing! Can't wait to get it made up. Just looking at the bits in kit form, it's worth every red cent. It's a YES from me!!!! Louis? Simon?

He's just out of sight inside the carriage....

(Continuation) organisations do a fantastic job in difficult conditions and it is better to put a coach into traffic with good brakes and a hasty livery than the other way round. The Bachman coaches have an authentic livery for CIE 1945 - 1955, though examples of coaches in this darker green were still to be seen into the early 60s.

Liveries in preserved ITG and RPSI stock are a mix of the absolutely authentic, the not authentic, and the RPSI's own livery. First, the accurate. The RPSI "wooden" set are all authentic bar the maroon one with the flying snail logo. Needless to say, nothing ever ran in maroon in any CIE livery. This livery dates from a film contract after which expediency dictated making it match the rest as best as it could with limited finance and manpower. Some Cravens are still in IE livery. The society's own liveries are the blue for the Dublin Craven set, designed to stand out entirely from anything else, and the UTA-esque livery on the Whitehead set. The green is close enough to UTA green, but the lining and lettering are different. They use yellow and red instead of the UTA's straw and red, and the lines are separate red and yellow, as opposed to straw lined BOTH above and below in a thinner red line. Finally, for those concerned with livery accuracy, a few pointers. The only ITG loco not authentically painted is G611, which is green with black chassis and flying snail. Only the first three "G"s ever carried green, and (a) the chassis was green too, and (b) they had no flying snail, just the number. RPSI's 461 carries lined CIE passenger green - a joy to behold! But the green is not quite the right shade (it would have been easy to copy it from "Maedb" in Cultra), though to be fair it's not far off it. Apart from the three 800 class, all green CIE loco's had a painted number. Of the three 800s, one had red backgrounds to its numberplates, and two had blue, as in GSR days. 186 is authentic in grey, though for some reason they have allowed the smoke box and chimney to become progressively dirtier to look more "black", but this is not authentic, as (like 078) everything was grey. I should point out here - very strongly - that I state the above as a matter of historical record, and under no circumstances whatever is it meant to imply any criticism of any of the aforementioned organisations. Volunteers in both

Good find - Liffey jct to broadstone, anyone?

It most certainly would!!! I was unaware that those bogies survived so long.

I questioned senior further about these carriages today. He said they were delivered complete apart from bogies, painted and furnished and all, having been built in England. The bogies were built in his father's time in Inchicore. I asked him if someone from Inchicore went over there to be in involved with any aspects of their design for Irish loading gauge, livery, or any other details. Not so, apparently; they were given details by Inchicore right down to livery details and they just got on with it.

I would take my hat off to anyone prepared to invest money and time in this. It is an excellent site. I thoroughly support any efforts made to help reimburse those who cough up €2000! A stand at an exhibition? I'll offer assistance for a start.

Any new freight flow is good news. Regarding the north, there's nothing on the horizon, according to good sources of mine, and the timber to Derry issue has raised its head in the world of rumours a number of times over the years. However, I suppose one can never say never. A few years ago, the prevailing opinion was that pretty much all freight would disappear forever. Clearly, and happily, this isn't the case. Mayner's comments about his neck of the world are very interesting and certainly the first impression I would take out of that is that if such things are possible there, they certainly are here.

As Mayner says, there were recognised official procedures for trains "topping and tailing". One jeep, preserved no. 4, had an NIR logo on one side and a UTA one on the other. Two other jeeps had both sides with NIR logos... I have a note somewhere of which ones. Crews included "oul hands" and new starts. Two NIR men were still in their teens. One, who went on into the 1990's, was pictured firing a spoil train in bell bottom jeans, tank top and long hair, rather than traditional locomen's attire!

Most were scrapped, though NIR used a few as ballast wagons for a while. They are all long gone now. In use they were actually found to be quite unstable! Livery oddity too; they were delivered from Cravens in duck-egg blue with black chassis, and "U T" stencilled on them in black along with the number. They most certainly didn't stay like that for long!

Superb job, boskonay, and greatly appreciated. Keep it up!

Fert bogies?

The paintings are by David Briggs of Lisburn, and I understand he is always happy to take on commissions.