From the Archives...

Apologies for the recent lack of updates - this is due to the fact I have been too idle to go anywhere for the past couple of weeks, other than to work and to the pub. So, to make up for it, PlatformCat presents, previously unseen photos from that era of terrible hair known as The Late 1990s...

Grosmont (28.04.1995)

First of all, from 28th April 1995 (my 14th birthday, to be precise) we have a scenic view of the side of my head, poking out of a train window in Grosmont. It was taken on my first ever visit to the North York Moors Railway. My memory of the day is from the drive up there - we had to wait for ages on the main road in Sleights, while a lorry attempted to perform a three-point-turn into somebody's driveway. I also remember eating a Cornish pasty.

The intervening 19 and a bit years (holy crap that makes me feel old), have seen quite a few changes - and not just to my hair. At the time, Grosmont station was in the middle of major reconstruction works. The new signalbox (built from bricks recovered from the one at Whitby Town) was yet to be finished, and platform 3 was out of use.

Pickering (28.04.1995)

The second picture (right) shows me standing by the train on arrival at Pickering. Once again, Pickering station now looks very different - the main change being the removal of the British Railways-era platform canopies, and subsequent reconstruction of the GT. Andrews-designed trainshed roof. Eagle-eyed readers may also notice that in those days, there was no footbridge either - access to platform 2 was solely by walking the long way round the headshunt.

Ebberston (03.04.1996)

Skipping forward almost a year, we find my 14 year old self loitering about in the undergrowth in Ebberston...

At that time, the station buildings were for sale, and had been standing empty for a while. On this day, some of the doors were unlocked, so I was able to creep about inside the old waiting room and stationmaster's office, and had a nosey in the gents loos - which were still completely untouched since the line closed in 1950. 

Ebberston awaits its future...

Shortly after my visit, the building and grounds were bought by the present owners, and totally renovated into holiday accommodation, with camping coaches standing on newly-laid track beside the platform. It's very nice now, but I'm glad I got to see it as it was then, in it's grubby old glory, with weeds sprouting from the gutters, holes in the floorboards, and wind whistling through the eaves...

Moving on again, to the end of the month, and we come to the day of my 15th birthday. This year's day out was to Darlington Railway Museum - which, conveniently for my PlatformCat persona, is located in North Road railway station. 

North Road (28.04.1996)

Ticket to Hogsmeade
please?

North Road station - one of the oldest in the world - is still open today, despite the museum taking over most of the buildings. The current service from Bishop Auckland has to make do with a platform hidden away round the back - at the time of my visit, it was fly-blown, graffiti-covered, and smelled suspiciously of piss - I don't think Regional Railways North East (the operator in those days) were overly bothered about the place - hopefully Northern Rail look after it better nowadays!

Anyhow - it was quite a nice museum, and although fairly small (not even close to the size of the NRM at York), had a good array of exhibits, such as the Stockton & Darlington Railway's "Locomotion No.1", a nicely restored booking office, and one of the original cast iron signs from Stainmore Summit - formerly the highest mainline railway summit in England. Which leads nicely to the next bit...

Having looked around the museum in just over an hour or so, there was still plenty of the day left before my stepdad (JP) and I needed to set off back, so it being my birthday, I was allowed to pick somewhere else to visit. Being a totally normal (!?) 15 year old, I requested to visit a windswept and derelict wasteland, in the arsehole of nowhere, next to the constant traffic of the A66...

Welcome to Bowes!

Bowes station was an intermediate stop on the trans-pennine route from Darlington, in the east, over Stainmore, to Penrith and Tebay in the west. It was opened in 1861 by the South Durham and Lancashire Union Railway. For over a hundred years, until closure in 1962, it saw a steady stream of traffic - coal from Durham, iron from Cumberland, Geordie holidaymakers heading to Blackpool - but now it is no more. 

Hidden signalbox

The tracks were torn up, and the route westward buried for ever under the main road. Unlike a lot of places I've visited so far, the unwanted station buildings haven't been restored as a house, or demolished - they've simply been abandoned to the elements. 

The best surviving building, at the time, was the signalbox, which had the good fortune to have had a large farm shed built over it, protecting it from the upland wind and rain. Evidently it hides indoors no more though - having been dismantled by the Eden Valley Railway Society's volunteers at some point, and I believe it is now in storage, waiting to be reconstructed like a giant Lego set.

Abandoned coal-drops

Last year, some friends and I went on holiday to Corfu. The flight was with Ryanair, flying from Prestwick ('cos it was massively cheaper than anywhere more convenient), which meant a long drive setting off at 3am. I spent a lot of the journey asleep, but curiously I woke up at 6am, just as it was getting light.

I looked out of the window to see we were on the A66, and at that very moment were passing Bowes station. It still hasn't been restored. Perhaps if I win the lottery...

Not quite Pamplona

After a reasonably painless trip on the 128 bus to Pickering, I headed up Park Street, past the station (already done that one) and out of town, past the trout farm, and over New Bridge crossing. After the entrance to the quarry, the road heads uphill, not particularly steeply, but for what seems like forever. There isn't a footpath either, but there wasn't much traffic, so thankfully I didn't have to jump into the nettles at any point. A few tractors passed but not very much else.

At the top of the hill, the road flattens out onto a plateau - technically part of the Tabular Hills (apparently), and is virtually straight. As I was wandered along, pondering the possibilities of it's suspected Roman origins, I became aware of three cows up ahead. Being (I thought) guided along by a sturdy, rural sort of woman. She was gesturing to me, but I couldn't hear her. Naturally I assumed she wanted me to get out of the way, so I politely stepped aside onto the verge, waiting for the cows to pass.

As they neared, I realised the woman was actually shouting at me to walk in the middle of the road and scare them away, so for the second time in a week, I had to put my best bullfighting technique into practice - and they were indeed bulls, not cows (I noticed that when they turned round). What happened next was like one of those crap comedy episodes of Heartbeat - the bulls ran past the woman, so she started chasing them, waving a stick. Up ahead, the road was blocked by (presumably) her husband in a Landrover, and the intention was to steer them back into the farmyard from whence they had escaped.

Alas, the plan failed, and they trotted off through a gap in the hedge, and across a pasture of sheep, with the woman shouting and swearing in their wake, but I like to think my assistance sort of helped...

Bastards

Eventually I reached civilisation (of sorts), and entered the village of Newton-on-Rawcliffe, and, as appears to be becoming the norm, the pub was shut. No beer for me! Disastrous!

Scenic.

Scabby OS Map guided me through the village and out the other side, and down a leafy lane. I hopped over a stile, and was presented with a fabulous view of Newton Dale. The only problem was, I was at the very top, and my destination was at the very bottom.

After a perilous, near vertical descent, which would have been challenging even for the sturdiest-footed Peruvian and his llama, I reached Levisham station. By the point I was incredibly thirsty, and the prospect of refreshments was filling me with glee. Of course, Sod's Law worked its magic, and the weighbridge tea hut was closed, as was the tea shack on platform 2, and even the vending machines were shut away and padlocked. Never mind though - there was a train back to Pickering soon, which would definitely have a trolley on board...

Sweltering...

"Chiru"

The train arrived on time, and I got on board. It was absolutely jam-packed with pensioners and the only free seat I could find was by the buffet counter, and was effectively a cushioned narrow shelf. The buffet counter was (of course) closed, but the trolley man was standing nearby. Before I got chance to buy anything, he locked his trolley away in a hidden compartment, and vanished, leaving me parched and surrounded by a coach party of noisy Canadians. Oh dear...

Journey's end...

We arrived back in Pickering late, so I didn't have time to get anything before the next bus back home (which as fortune would have it, just happened to be packed with noisy schoolchildren - the joy...), so when I finally arrived back in Scarborough, I immediately made a beeline to the pub. All's well that ends well. Three cheers for the good citizens of Wetherspoons!

Number 1: Pickering

So, a slightly delayed start - mainly because I hadn't even set this up last Wednesday when I took the first pictures!

But yes, an actual, physically delayed start too, thanks to the tardiness of the 128 bus. Now, I've generally got nothing against people over a certain age, but put me in a queue at a bus stop and that all changes. I haven't actually killed anyone while waiting for public transport yet, but I'm sure that day will come. My whole demeanor changes and I get a murderous glint in my eye. Perhaps it's since they banned smoking in enclosed shelters? Who knows.

Anyway, the bus eventually turned up, without me earning a criminal record - it would have been terribly embarrassing to splatter blood all over my mother, who was accompanying me - and the journey into Ryedale was fairly uneventful, once I managed to stop staring at the woman with terrible gums sitting at the front. 

Pickering station was open to wander around. There weren't any trains running, it being mid-week off-season, and sadly the cafe on Platform 1 was shut, so I couldn't have a pasty, but I was able to inspect the partially completed signalbox, originally from Marishes Road, but stored at Goathland for ages.

Not quite finished inside, but looking good...

Thankfully, the almost complete lack of other people meant I didn't feel a complete retard when taking the required photo of myself. I think I'll have to work on a standardised facial expression, preferably one that doesn't make me look quite so gormless/vacant/dead-behind the eyes...

Task completed, Mum and I decided to round off the trip with a celebratory glass of wine or three, and some tasty food in the Black Swan - I had the liver, it was amazing - then got soaked in a rain shower waiting for the bus back again. I don't think I like buses very much.