Railtours
don't count!
The sorry story of the misadventures of two Class 27 fans
as they attempted to photograph the 'Fair Maid of Perth' railtour on the
9th of August 1986...
This was booked to have a pair of these excellent engines at the sharp end around the central belt of Scotland, from Carstairs to Shields Junction, via Airdrie, and then from Gourock to Perth. In our innocence, we believed that this tour would present untold opportunities for getting some rateable shots of 27s in their last months of service on passenger traffic (or any sort of traffic at all for that matter) on some unusual track in the Glasgow area.
The day began well enough. The sun was shining, the wind was light (always a bonus when your main mode of transport is a cycle), and since the tour wasn't booked off Carstairs until 1500hrs, a pleasantly late start to the day was possible.
The first blow of the day was when the Gen man at Glasgow Queen Street had vanished from his usual accessible office and wandered across to some cubby-hole in Glasgow Central owing to a radio failure. We never did discover whether this was a BR radio fault, or whether his portable had blown up and he was wanting the gen on the final scores....
Unabashed by this lack of gen, we cycled up to Cowlairs to photograph the 1350 ex Perth, which was often a Type 2. In fact, since it had been solid 27 all week, this was at least one train that was going to produce a bonus phot, no matter what the tour may bring. A perfect location was found at the top of the Cowlairs incline, the sun was shining behind us and all was well. As we waited for the train, we decided that after photting the 1350, we would take a unit out on the Airdrie line and phot the tour there, for a fast cycle into town for another unit down the Gourock line for a second phot. It didn't strike us at the time as being wildly over-optimistic, but....
Presently, 27014, last of the VBs, chuntered around the corner with load 5 on the 1350. It seemed it would be only a matter of seconds before it would appear in our viewfinders and we would be able to capture on celluloid a part of our railway history to savour in the dark 6LDA28B-less months and years ahead. But hark! What was that low rumbling noise: surely not thunder on a cloudless day?
Er, no... it was the 1500 shove to Waverley pounding up the bank, and, just as 27014 reached the ideal spot on the far side line, the intervening line became a streak of Scot Rail blue and grey. Meanwhile 27014 was slipping gently down into the tunnel and out of sight.
Somewhat disappointed, we cycled down into the Street to get some gen on the tour from Kenneth Joy, who quite simply was bound to be on the train. "Actually, it's 27042 and 27059 on the tour," he announced. A half hour wittering session followed, which was just long enough to ensure that we were no longer able to make the move to phot the tour on the Airdrie branch. However, my companion, Albert, smiled knowingly, and said: "I know an ideal location which should provide a good photograph at this time of day." I ask you, how could I fail to be impressed by such a statement of positive fact presented as a Universal Truth?
And so we wandered off across Glasgow on a brief ride to the road bridge at Shields Junction, which overlooked Smithy Lye. A late confession en route that he had never actually been to this particular location should possibly have set the alarm bells ringing. But I put my trust in his innate common sense, and arrived at the bridge to find a number of intriguing difficulties that would have to be surmounted to gain a phot.
I suppose at a pinch I could have put up with the fact that the sun was on the wrong side altogether. I might even have been prepared to have been but little daunted by the appealing/appalling mass of catenary, pylons, poles, fencing weeds, litter, cables, signal relay boxes and general urban decay that is Shields Junction... but even I was perturbed by the presence of nine-foot high parapet, over which it was impossible to see a damn thing! After a period of close scrutiny, a small niche was discovered, and by the far from ideal photographic expedient of standing on my bike frame and poking the camera blindly at arm's length through a small gap, a shot of 27042 and 27059 in what turned out to be dark shadow, and almost totally obscured by masts, was taken and instantly forgotten about.
A stewards' enquiry was held to come up with a spot to try and get a decent phot of the tour. From a point of view of time, Cumbernauld was decided upon. And so it was back into Queen Street for the 1816 unit to Cumbernauld. Whether Cumbernauld would have been a good choice we shall never know. As we pulled into Queen Street and passed across the High Level, Albert noticed that the 1803 to Inverness was still lacking an engine. A flood of happy bashing memories must have come back into the old fool's head, for all of a sudden he came out with the most outrageous fable that Carmuirs East Junction was the most scenic location in the entire British Isles. The sun always shone there, he claimed, and as a bonus we could get there by catching the 1803 as far as Larbert with whatever was about to come off the Field.
However, sitting on the train with newly purchased piece in hand, what should come backing out of the tunnel but 37033. Larbert could not be reached fast enough as far as I was concerned!
After bailing at Larbert, taking several wrong turnings and arriving in at least two dead ends, we finally reached the fabled Carmuirs East Junction. It has to be said that I was impressed. The line curved most pleasingly round towards us, cutting its way through several golden hay fields which glinted in the early evening sun. We had 20 minutes before the tour was due, so I attempted to get a more dramatic shot by clambering down the embankment and wandering through one of the hay fields next to the line. Just as I arrived at the lineside, Albert, who is known for his winding-up capabilities, cryed out impishly: "They're coming now!" I grinned back up at him, and decided to ignore this blatant attempt to catch me out. "Oh sure," I quipped, playing along. "No really, they are coming," shouted Albert from the top of the embankment.
A terrible thought struck me: suppose he was telling the truth and I was about to screw up another attempt to phot this tour? I threw my bag to the ground, and turned it upside down as I flapped to get my camera out. Timetables, lenses, sandwiches etc went flying in all directions as I pulled the cover off and tried to focus on what was the supposedly fast-approaching tour.
Then a sound of echoing laughter came from above me. I had been completely taken in by his elaborate double bluff. I put down my camera, and turned to pick up my belongings which were strewn about the field ... and the tour stormed round the bend fifteen minutes early.
I was absolutely finished, and was by no means aided in my apoplexy when a chive asked me if there was a special train coming or was I just photographing that pair of diesels?
We cycled back to Larbert station. However, just as we passed the railway again, the far semaphore was raised. Albert stopped excitedly. Nothing was due, so this could be something unsual. With a spectacular sunset in the background, it was perhaps a chance to gain some sort of pyrrhic victory out of the day. We waited and waited and waited. What could it be? A 26 on a failure? A special freight? An ecs working?
The tension mounted, and then it came round the bend into full view, beautifully outlined and silhouetted against a magnificent purple sky... a track machine.
And so it was back to Glasgow on the unit, which was 20 late. Which left me with a fast sprint across Glasgow for the 2157 to Stranraer to get back to Ayr loco-hauled. It was cancelled, owing to staff shortages.
The only alternative was to retire to the Blythswood bar to await the last train home, vowing never to take another railway phot again, and never to venture forth in such doomed company again. Our only consolation was that we had been trying to phot a railtour, and as everyone knows, railtours don't count. Dr K M