jhb171achill

I wonder has any scratch builder ever put together a layout using conventional 00 gauge track, but with models scaled down to maybe 3.5mm to the foot in order to make 00 gauge track accurately represent 5ft 3?

Indeed, Warbonnet! Sometimes it seems April 1st all the time! :-)

Excellent pics!

That brake van is of GSWR origin, probably 1910-ish era but I am not sure. In terms of livery, no brake vans were brown at that stage, nor were any striped. They were grey all over; roof and chassis included. The black paint on the preserved NCC one at Downpatrick and the "Ivan" one at Whitehead are not historically accurate. The livery on the plough van at Downpatrick is entirely fictitious; with GSWR lettering it should be dark grey or all over black. If lettered for GSR or CIE, grey - though post 1970-ish it would have been brown all over, chassis included, under CIE ownership. To go back to CIE vans and livery details, the grey began to be relieved by stripes in the mid 60s. From about 1970 or so (can't be certain of exact date), brown with stripes began to be used by CIE. No goods brake vans were ever all brown without stripes. Contrary to what you can see in the UFTM at Cultra, the stripes were always yellow and black, never white and black. In fact, most unfortunately, not one item in Cultra which has been painted by UFTM has an accurate livery - but that's for another day! As far as I can tell, CIE never painted stripes on any vans which were not of the "modern" standard CIE design, nor were any painted brown. Thus, any old steam era brake van is all grey, and probably also needs to be well weathered to look right!

There is indeed an arrangement for the DCDR to take a 2 car 80 at some stage; this should go ahead but cannot be said to be definite until nearer the time. DCDR will not be taking a Castle Class; it has neither been offered one nor, it has to be said, does the DCDR want one!

He's got Lough Swilly stuff, Cavan & Leitrim, Blessigton tram, you name it; not so much main line though - was probably too familiar! I confess never to having photographed a 201 or any of the modern railcars, north or south, in me life.... nor a LUAS... nor an 071 since they were brand new.... nor a Mk 2, Mk 3 or Mk 4 coach.... oul fuddy-duddy, me.

Yes, but it's not the same glue I normally use. I think it must have come from Inchicore instead of Broadstone.

If I ever get time, Heirflick; and with the May Tour starting in the morning, it ain't going to be soon! There actually is a point here. When I reflect on what I have been lucky enough to see, and what those now in their eighties onwards tell me that they have seen, it is just staggering how much the railway (or what's left of it) has changed. I am currently going through stuff of Senior's which includes such gems as a run on the footplate of one of the Lough Swilly tender engines in the 30s - I am currently getting his photos of it developed. Once I get several hundred of his stuff done, I will talk to him about what bits I don't recognise. Never mind my own experiences, people that age (94 in his case) have certainly some stories to tell. Another of his relates to encountering the Fintona tram for the first time, again about 1937, and of taking the train to Bessbrook, cycling to Newcastle, and footplating the BCDR to Belfast in time for the last GNR train back to Amiens Street...

I'll see you tomorrow, Snapper! Looking forward to it as ever. But Guinness won't be 40p, like on my first....

Aaaargh!! Even in my far off travels of which I write, ah never saw such a sight.

Guinness then...

Maroon in this case. Yellow flashes should be edged in white, too. And original "upright" NIR logo, edged in white. They looked fantastic in that livery.

Great mushrooms, these..... want some? :-)

There was to be a train on the North Kerry, hauled by 186. I had just started occasionally visiting Whitehead, where my first task had been to help digging out old sleepers with my father, a former PW engineer. "Can we go?" No. Exams. Why can't the RPSI run it in July? Fast forward a few years. There was to be a trip over the Burma Road, again with 186. Exams; albeit the last I would ever have to do. Whew! There was a song on the radio. "Aint Gonna Work No More", by Status Quo. "That's me", I thought. Some people make new year resolutions. I am proud to be able to say I've stuck to that one for over forty years now. Bualadh bos! But after being in employment for several years, when the South Wexford was advertised for 1978, I thought to meself, that'll do me. It was a spectacular trip. The weather was lovely, I had a good set of lenses for a decent camera (pity about the photographer though!), and life was good. The sun split the sky as we trundled along the quays in exford, and I tried to get a decent shot of the old South station out of the carriage window. I bought lots of railway books from the little shop in the end of coach 861, so many that I struggled with my luggage for the rest of the weekend. On the Sunday, 184, 186 and 4 were all in steam at Limerick Junction, and wandering all ov er the yard, the main running lines, and everywhere else, I got some noce shots of the steam trio with a light engine "A" which was sitting on the main line awaiting a signal. I went back to the book shop; think moths and light. The man in charge of it had become used to me by now and asked me if i could keep an eye on it while he went to the loo. I did so, and there began a long long relationship with book sales which will continue 24 hours after I write this. But I was not rostered, I was not crew; I was a paying passenger, so in due course off I went to discuss matters of importance at the bar with like minded barflies. "What do you think of the new engines?" "Haven't seen one yet, but they're just the same as the "B" class, only longer and six wheeled bogies" "Why do they call them 071s - you'd think there'd be a letter, y'know, power classification an all that" "Want a refill there?" "Yes... what's that just passed us?" "The Shelton, didn't see what was on it" "A27 transplant" "Oh. .. Cheers, gimme one of those bags of nuts too" "I'm heading out to take pictures of the Listowel goods next week, ye free?" "Nah... I've a lift arranged on the Kingscourt Goods. If that falls through... here, same again?" I am sure I will hear conversations like that as I go down the diesel trip to Sligo on Friday. Maybe without mention of Listowel, though. But I digress: Fast forward again, but just a few years. 09:30, Tour Saturday, onto the train, photos and pints. Pints, pints, pints. Life is good. Up to the bar, hair o'the'dog won't do any harm. Last night was just massssave, Stepaside were playing in the Baggot Inn. Oh me head. U2 werent supporting that night, haven't seen them in there for a while. Maybe they'll go places. But there was nobody behind the bar. Nobody in the kitchen, and the train was setting off. What I did not know was that at the last minute the catering crew had not been able to make it, and we were looking at the Marie Celeste. Another well known RPSI activist appeared - he too was just enjoying the weekend, off duty. (My role was still primarily carrige restoration at Whitehead ans book sales on day trips). "What's happening", sez he. "Dunno", sez I, but a pint would do no harm. Cue a deluge of Englishmen seeking multiple Guinnii. There was nothing for it. Joe and I got behind the counter and served at the bar all weekend; in my case the bar-serving weekend lasted 11 years. And, no, I never got my pint; my first one was probably 10 pm that night in whatever hotel we were overnighting in. Talk about a baptism of fire. In those days there were many large groups of younger enthusiasts from the UK on the May Tours, and some of these drunk the place dry; great for RPSI fund raising! I seem to remember one lot of gents from a railway society in Birmingham, who were also real ale fanatics. But with such strange stuff not existing in good holy Ireland back in the day, it was Guinness or nothing. So they decided not to opt for nothing. Fast forward again. I'm in charge of the dining car and bar in the early nineties, and we are to pick up the packed lunches at Kilkenny on the Sunday. They have been loaded onto the down Waterford, and once we pull in beside it, myself and three catering crew get down on the track between the Waterford genny van, and our dining car. I climb up to the genny van and open the doors, to the astonishment of the train guard, who is reading the Sunday World. Breathless, I say "Where's the packed lunches?" "Wha? What packed lunches? Ye can't get in here!" I looked about. The van was empty. The guard was not wrong. There were no mobile phones in those days, though one member of our train crew had a large black breeze block with a long aerial, from which calls could be made, reception and weather permitting. The dining car stock was down to a few kit-kats, and we had some 150 punters with tickets which said "Bring me to the dining car after Kilkenny and ye will get yer lunch, so ye will". And they were Q-ing. What to do? Quick thinking used to be a necessity on May Tours, just as Elfin Safety is now. Obligatory. To cut a long story short, Heuston catering had put our lunches on the down Galway, not the Waterford train, and they were speeding towards the bogs from which you must not remove turf right there and then. (Well, you were allowed then; Ming was but a mere youth). Punters were calmly told, "Sorry for the slight delay folks, we'll have the lunches ready at Bagenalstown". (After we've said our prayers). At Bagenalstown, the lunches were unloaded from a white van on the platform and distributed. How did we do this? High friends in low places, and a motor bike escort of said van from Tullamore or somewhere at speed, through the blooming lanes of spring gorse of Co Offally and Laois, on a May Sunday morning. And it's Tour Week. In 24 hours I'll be on it. There's nothing like it, nothing at all. The RPSI May Tour is a life force in itself, an institution, a pillar of the year, of years. In my case, something over 35 of them. Long may they last.

(dunno what happened: it posted half my post!) ..... said the driver, whose name I regrettably forget. I climbed aboard and he set off shortly, as I took a picture of him at the controls. "Where are you going?", I asked. "North Wall", came the answer. We pulled into the yard surrounded by four wheeled container flats, bubbles and fertiliser bogies, presumably for Belfast, and "H" vans by the dozen. At least one "A" was shunting along with a couple of 141s. "Thanks very much", sez I, as I dismounted. Some years later, mental note that this was my only ever cab run in a "C", putting it on a par with a "B101" ("Birmingham Sulzer") in my memory bank of life experiences. I walked around taking pictures of whatever took my fancy, including the last surviving MGWR bogie coach, then used as a departmental vehicle but in perfect condition. What a shame it never made it as far as Whitehead or Downpatrick. I had a good camera. It was my first good one and had cost me £120, or a month's wages. I was very proud of it and was keen to try it out. I finished taking photos and nipped out through a hole in the boundary fencing that a now-well-known railway enthusiast colleague had taught me about! I walked back up to Amiens Street along Sherriff Street. This whole area is now regenerated, as they say; new apartment blocks, new "Spencer Dock" area, looking very well. Back then, it was a run down part of the inner city, and not the place to be hovering about in daylight, never mind after dark. My thoughts were of which "A" would be on my train to Rosslare in the morning, and whether it would be repainted into the new orange and black "Supertrain" livery. A car slowed beside me, and the window wound down. Yes - wound. There were no electric windows then. Or iPads or ICRs. Life was good, and simple. Someone leaned out and beckoned me to go over to them, which I did without thinking twice. "Plees, we lost. We from la France, Pleese you can tell us the way to Doll Key?" I drew the route to Dalkey on their map and they gave me a lift back to Ballsbridge. You thought this story was going to end differently, didn't you!

That was a simple one. Despite being entirely unrelated to Ross O'Carroll-Kelly, I always viewed places like Ashtown or Clonsilla as the Wild West; locations only served by the remotest of buses. You could get a navy and cream one out there once a week, same as the six coupled HGS class engine taking supplies to north west Pakistan at the foot of the (real) Khyber Pass. These were the lands of the great Northside, where sheep, rain, goats, and probably yetis stalked the land. I had been to western Mayo, the Hills of Donegal (though not Las Vegas), and even Ballymena by train or bus. But Clonsilla; now there was a challenge. Northside passport in hand, I boarded a navy and cream double decker along the quays, and offered the conductor a brand new Northern Ireland five pound note, hoping he had change. "Wassdis?" He asked, as it was of a newly introduced design. Having examined it he gave me my change. Some Irish coins, some British, same as the north - we're pre-punt here. Off we went, into the rainy green fielded landscape. All our Celtic tiger developers were still learning their spellings, and their da was shtill farmin de land out be Castleknock. Off I got at Clonsilla, all the better to photograph the derelict station and old overgrown platform. My working timetable told me that if I hung about for an hour or so, I'd see the up Sligo sweeping through behind the usual pair of 121s which I think was normally on that link at that stage. I heard a noise almost immediately in the distance, and into view came a "C" with what turned out to be empty ballast hoppers and a guards or plough van with coal smoke lazily drifting from its chimney stove. It stopped at the gates, which were shut across the track. I had got my photo of the station, so I ambled up the ballast towards the locomotive. "Any chance of a lift?", I asked. "Sure, c'mon ahead

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....)