Into the West with Aliens; a day in Ballina with Snails, and Loughrea with Pigs.

[jhb171achill]

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.

[Broithe]

Excellent! You need to sit Heir Flick on your knee and tell him this...

[jhb171achill]

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....)

[heirflick]

Excellent! You need to sit Heir Flick on your knee and tell him this...

 

ah lads - nowadays i just listen as i sit by the fireside supping the black stuff..and none of that oul knee talk ...unless its a female leg of the opposite sex!!

 

 

johnathan....your writings are like Carlsberg....'worth waiting for!'

[Garfield]

ah lads - nowadays i just listen as i sit by the fireside supping the black stuff..and none of that oul knee talk ...unless its a female leg of the opposite sex!![ATTACH=CONFIG]7031[/ATTACH]

 

 

johnathan....your writings are like Carlsberg....'worth waiting for!'

 

 

So, a man's leg then?

[WRENNEIRE]

ah lads - nowadays i just listen as i sit by the fireside supping the black stuff..and none of that oul knee talk ...unless its a female leg of the opposite sex!![ATTACH=CONFIG]7031[/ATTACH]

 

Reminds me of an ould wan who lived close to me granny

"I have 3 kids, one of each!"

[jhb171achill]

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.... :-)

[heirflick]

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.... :-)

 

ah come on and tell us now Uncle J...

[heirflick]

ah lads - nowadays i just listen as i sit by the fireside supping the black stuff..and none of that oul knee talk ...unless its a female leg of the opposite sex!![attach=config]7031[/attach]

 

reminds me of an ould wan who lived close to me granny

"i have 3 kids, one of each!"

 

[jhb171achill]

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

[BosKonay]

You should write a book! Absolutely engrossing

[jhb171achill]

(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!

[Broithe]

Is it mushroom season out West..?

[jhb171achill]

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

[Broithe]

Probably a bit too strong for me...

[jhb171achill]

Guinness then...

[Broithe]

Nigerian..?

 

[jhb171achill]

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

[heirflick]

 

yep - must admit that you were going to get the crap kicked out of you!!! another good yarn there J .....do i feel a book of yarns comming anytime soon?

[jhb171achill]

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...

[heirflick]

would love to see those pics! i have always said that there must a hugh amount of pics and memorabelia just sitting in boxes in attics around the country just begging to be found....everyone go around to the parents and grandparents gafs and start looking! good luck and enjoy the tour-be sure to take the camera!

[jhb171achill]

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.