Story Time Mostly Railway Related/Some Not.


A short story
SAM


The past couple of months or so have been surreal. How can I explain? It is said 'start at the beginning'.

Well, I don't exactly know when it began, but he was there. Always there. In the restaurant. On the train. In the public bar. Always there. I did not know his name obviously, but for the story I'll call him Sam. Wherever I was, he was there also. Was Sam stalking me? He never looked at me. He certainly never spoke to me. Was he actually following me? I was becoming paranoid. Ridiculous I know
'Snap out of it,' I told myself, 'You're a grown woman for Christ's sake.'

Then it happened.

I was in the supermarket. Collected the trolley and started shopping. Just a few groceries. Just enough to the weekend. (I was to visit my brother and sister-in-law and Alex, my nephew.) Some grapes in the trolley. Milk. I needed some milk. Just a small carton would do. Then I saw Sam. He had a few items in a hand basket. He never looked at me as he reached for a tub of cream.

I purposely kept a good distance behind him as I shopped. Suddenly the aisle was busy with shoppers and I lost sight of Sam. Never mind, he is in front of me, I told myself.

Suddenly the alarm went off. A fire in the building. I, along with other shoppers abandoned our trolleys and headed for the exit. Seconds later I was shoved to the floor and a body pressed heavily on my back.
I heard a huge explosion. The sound of things crashing to the floor. I felt something hit my back, but not actually touch me. Dust and debris. I could hardly breathe. I tried to move, but the weight on my back was too much.

It was some time later; how long I do not know, but help arrived. I could see firefighters and medics. I called out. The weight was removed from my back and as I was being helped up I saw Sam. He was dead; his back broken.
"He saved your life," a paramedic said.

Only a few people turned up for Sam's funeral. To be honest nobody knew who he really was. He had no identification and nobody came to claim him. I was there though. Thank you Sam.

Leaving the cemetery I began to make my way home. I didn't see Sam follow another woman into a public bar.
 
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Thank you, David, it has been a long time.

Your timing is perfect as now I am off to bed. 🙂
 
The Last Time

From the moment you hold your baby in your arms,
you will never be the same.
You might long for the person you were before,
When you have freedom and time,
And nothing in particular to worry about.

You will know tiredness like you never knew it before,
And days will run into days that are exactly the same,
Full of feeding and burping,
Nappy changes and crying,
Whining and fighting,

Naps or a lack of naps,
It might seem like a never-ending cycle.
But don’t forget …
There is a last time for everything.

There will come a time when you will feed
your baby for the very last time.
They will fall asleep on you after a long day
And it will be the last time you ever hold your sleeping child.

One day you will carry them on your hip then set them down,
And never pick them up that way again.
You will scrub their hair in the bath one night
And from that day on they will want to bathe alone.

They will hold your hand to cross the road,
Then never reach for it again.
They will creep into your room at midnight for cuddles,
And it will be the last night you ever wake to this.
One afternoon you will sing “the wheels on the bus”
and do all the actions,
Then never sing them that song again.

They will kiss you goodbye at the school gate,
The next day they will ask to walk to the gate alone.
You will read a final bedtime story and wipe your last dirty face.
They will run to you with arms raised for the very last time.

The thing is, you won’t even know it’s the last time
Until there are no more times.
And even then, it will take you a while to realise.
So while you are living in these times,
remember there are only so many of them
and when they are gone, your heart will yearn for just one more day of them.....

One Last Time …....................
 
THE DASH OF LIFE

A walk around any cemetery you find the same. Gravestones; some old, some not so. All have the same on them. The name, date of birth and date of death. Between those dates is the Dash of Life. The Dash of Life, the most important part of the person buried, yet very little, if anything, is known. What did the person do in life? The ups and down of life; tears of sadness, the tears of joy. Knowing of other births, other deaths. The daily life, birthdays, Christmases, a myriad of emotions. The Dash of Life now forgotten, just a date of birth and a date of death.

See. Here is one. Born 1924, died 1947, a young woman just 23 years of age. See also a baby is there also. A baby girl born and died not the same day, but three days before her mother passed to the other side. Did the mother die because of complications of the birth of the girl. Nobody knows except a few. The Dash of Life doesn't tell us.

Those that know know the woman was born in the U.S.A.; Pennsylvania so it has been said. American born father Scottish born mother, two older sisters and a younger brother her immediate family. Nothing is known of her childhood. Those that knew never told. Those that didn't never asked.

Whatever, her father died and her mother and children. left the U.S.A., their destination England. They settled in the county of Northumberland. Her two sisters and brother married locally. Their own stories are their own Dash of Life.

The Dash of Life of the young lady was coming to the end, though of course she did not know it. The Second World War began. Once again the Dash of Life is but a dash. Little is known of what she did in the war, but as the saying goes 'She did her bit'. Sometime near the end of the war she met the love of her life. They married after the war ended. Just a local ceremony in a Registry Office. A child is expected; no it is twins.

It is said, a difficult birth. Difficult is an understatement. A girl is born then a boy. What was joy to the lady began to turn to despair. The girl died within two hours, the boy suffered a stroke and has a hole in the heart. He was not expected to live long. Twenty four hours passed, then forty eight the boy still lives. Then everything changes.

The story goes, the lady began choking. What caused it is unknown, but other patients began calling for a nurse to attend. The nurses were having a tea break and ignored the pleas for help. Eventually a nurse did attend after her tea break, but it was too late.

THE DASH OF LIFE of a twenty three year old. 1924 - 1947
 
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NorthBrit said:
From the moment you hold your baby in your arms,
you will never be the same.
You might long for the person you were before,
Click to expand...
David, I was free from the person I was before, thank God. It can be a life changing experience, if you embrace it.
Another wonderful story, thank you.
 
HEXHAM TO RICCARTON JUNCTION
Part 1


Railway lines come and go. Not all off course, but those that do somehow have a charm and peaceful atmosphere about them. The reason of why they were built in the first place was often on misplaced ideas of getting vast minerals from the ground. Vast minerals that were unfortunately not there. The areas the lines covered were not through towns, but villages, hence poor passenger traffic. Passenger traffic that still had to be catered for. A single carriage train, maybe two carriages on Market Day or Saturday.

Let's take a journey along such a line; The Border Counties Railway Hexham to Riccarton Junction. Not that you can do these days but let's take a trip up the line anyway. The line was owned by the North British Railway (NBR) as a way to get to Newcastle. We'll choose the year 1934 for the journey. Really it doesn't make much difference the year, the journey rarely altered. One of the main differences in timeframes was the locomotives in charge up the line. Pre 1948 North British Railway locos were in charge, after 1948 London & North Eastern Railway locomotives ruled the route.

We arrive at Hexham Station. A typical double track through North Eastern Railway Station of a goods yard and coal yard. There is a siding for NBR passenger trains as they wait for their journey. A three carriage train is there; a Class D30 'Scott' locomotive number 499 'Wandering Willie' ready for the journey. 499 is a regular on the route, the driver and fireman know it well. We board the train and settle in a compartment. There is plenty of room as there are only a few passengers on board.

We depart on time, just after five; eight minute after five in the afternoon to be precise. It is not long before we see the River Tyne nearby on our right. Hexham West End is on higher ground on the left. At Waters' Meet we see the Rivers North Tyne and South Tyne meet. It is just before there we cross the river; a single track bridge. We are now on North British Railway metals. Almost immediately we pass Acomb Goods Yard. There is no station here, just a stone built goods building. In fact all the buildings along the line are built of Northumbrian stone. Though it is seventy years since the line closed the goods yard building is still in use as a private goods store.

It is a steady climb. The River North Tyne stays close on our left, hills to our right. Soon we arrive at Wall Station. Two people leave the train. They have a steep hill to walk out of the station to the village. Today the station is a private dwelling (as others are also). The owners have an old British Railway carriage smartly painted in BR maroon.

Onwards the train climbs and reaches Humshaugh Station. The station is actually in the small village of Chollerford; Humshaugh village is a mile further away. It is at this station we see the old Roman Military Road from Newcastle to Carlisle. The station building is now a private house, the platform and trackbed in pretty condition. Though the outside of the station house is noticeably of NBR design the inside is unrecognisable as a station building.

Passing old lime kilns and crossing a two arch bridge, Chollerton Station is reached. No more than a Halt there is very little to see. The station serves the local farming community, but has little traffic or passengers. Today Chollerton station looks like an overgrown garden centre.

Another station is reached very quickly. Barrasford has a few more people living there as a few work at the local quarry. Passing the quarry we see a narrow gauge railway working serving three quarries in the area. Today Barrasford Quarry is very busy. With no railway everything is transported by road.

Just past the quarry a new station, Gunnerton has opened. It is no more than a Halt like Chollerton. Passengers have a half mile walk to the village. Today the station did not remain open long, closing at the beginning of WW2. There are no remains of the station.

The journey to the next station is a little longer. The arrival to Wark Station is 'in the middle of nowhere'. I say middle; that is true. Two miles from Wark, two miles from Birtley Village and two miles from Chipchase Castle. Two platform passing station with a goods siding. A large station house completes the scene. On leaving the station any passengers could call into the Chipchase Arms Inn. Today the station house is a private one and is pleasantly looked after, still looking as a station house, albeit minus the track. The Chipchase Arms survived a few years after the railway closed. Patronage from Wark and Birtley keeping it open, but the 'don't drink and drive' law forced its closure.

All the while of the journey the River North Tyne was never far away, but after Wark the line headed towards the River Rede. Here we find Reedsmouth Junction. Yes, Reedsmouth Junction and not Redesmouth Junction as one would expect. Reedsmouth Junction is a goods yard with a line that bears left to Riccarton Junction and Scotland. The line to the right goes to Morpeth,
 
HEXHAM TO RICCARTON JUNCTION

Part 2


Reedsmouth Junction is the size of a small village, yet here we find a small locomotive shed for two locomotives, a coaling stage and water tower. The goods yard deals with traffic to and from the three directions. Due to the track layout on a V locomotives from Scotland to Morpeth and vice versa had to run round their carriages or freight wagons to continue to their destination. Today the station house is a private dwelling, The platforms and water tower are still there and many railway enthusiasts visit; taking photographs etc.


The train from Morpeth to Hexham arrives. Two passengers from the train transfer to ours and we continue our journey. Minutes later we arrive at Bellingham North Tyne station. Prior to 1923 the station was called Bellingham. After 1923 North Tyne was added to the name, so as not to confuse with Bellingham in London. Bellingham is a small market town, easily the biggest place on the whole line. During any given day some trains start or finish their journey. Most people on our train get off, and others board. Today the station building is home to a small business. The Heritage Centre is in the old goods yard with two railway carriages providing lunches and afternoon teas.

Departing the town we see the River North Tyne on our left again. The scenery changes to open grassland. Sheep roam the land as we head towards Scotland. We pass Charlton Halt. It was built for the personal use of the Charlton family. It was they who put a lot of money to finance the line. The Halt sees little use as Reginald Charlton has bought a new automobile.

The village of Tarset is reached. Here we see a siding for goods deliveries. On the hillside is a small narrow gauge line used in the mining of coal. It is the 1930s the mining of coal is now coming to an end. Today Tarset is still a tiny village. With young people leaving how long will the village last? Thorneyburn Station; our next stop is rather similar to Tarset. Even in the 1930s there is very little work. Families are leaving to find jobs.

It is quarter past six. We are a minute early arriving at Falstone. A two platform station with a small goods yard. Trains can pass here, though freight trains are dwindling on the line. We see no passing train. Today Falstone is a pretty little village. Though the workers travel daily to elsewhere for work there is a certain charm to the area. It is still a lovely village to this day.

It was at Plashetts, our next stop, that was the main reason the line was originally built. Here was believed to be vast amounts of coal. Coal was found and narrow gauge railways were built to the mines to get te coal to the railways. By the 1930s the mines were exhausted of coal. Passenger traffic was the staple form of revenue on the line. Nowadays, Plashetts no longer exists being deep under Kielder Water. A dam was built just above Falstone to hold the water

Not long now before the end of our journey. Kielder, a small hamlet of a few houses and a castle. The new man-made forest caused the station to be renamed Kielder Forest. The trees were still young to save the railway in 1952. In the year 2001 there was talk of rebuilding the line from the Scottish Borders to Kielder to bring out the cut timber, but the line would be too costly. The wood is hauled on timber road wagons to this day. As an aside. Every year a Christmas tree is cut and sent by road to a port, loaded on a ship and sent to Oslo Norway.

Just before the Scottish Border is Deadwater. Very little is here. A station serving a few isolated farms. It is here we find the source of the River Tyne. The farms still remain; the railway long gone.

Crossing the border into Scotland we arrive at Saughtree. a station a mile from the village it serves. A villages of a few houses and a little store. On closure of the railway the store closed also. The few houses were abandoned and are just ruins on the landscape. The Station House is a private dwelling, the owner has rebuilt the line a couple of hundred yards and has his own private railway. It is at present up for sale. I believe the remoteness of the area is putting people off buying.

Whatever, that is in the future. Our train joins the main Edinburgh to Carlisle Waverley Line and slows into Riccarton Junction Station. We alight here after travelling The Border Counties Railway. Riccarton Junction, a station with no road in, no road out. Everything comes in and goes out by rail and I mean everything. Food, coal, household items, you name it it came by rail. Even a person who died left Riccarton by rail to be buried elsewhere.

Today there is no line to Carlisle let alone Hexham. The platforms are still there; unkempt and overgrown. A small band of volunteers are in the process of preserving and restoring the station. There is a road to the platforms.

NORTH BRITISH RAILWAY LOCOMOTIVE - WANDERING WILLIE NEAR WARK STATION


NBR D30.JPG
 
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SHALL I STAY. SHALL I GO?

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"What shall I do? Shall I go or shall I stay?
Oh! He is charming and a gentleman. Off course being at our house with mum and dad he would be.
This is different. I have only known him two weeks. Twice he has come to see me. Both times they have been wonderful. Both times he has treated me as someone special. Now he has asked me to his house. I have said 'yes', but am I doing right?

Waiting here at the train station. Waiting to go. There is a challenge in that the train is running late. Is that a sign to stay? It was here outside the station we first met. I thought he was lost. He said he was deciding to go into town or down towards the river. We walked down towards the river. As we talked, he said he was visiting the area. A tourist. We see many. Along by the river I felt a breeze getting up. Gently he put an arm around my shoulders. It felt natural to the point of snuggling into him.

That's how it began. Now I am apprehensive. Am I rushing things? I hardly know him; but then does anyone know a person no matter the time. My last relationship was a disaster. He had a 'string of girlfriends'. I was lucky though. I found out two of them had children by him. How glad I am that I didn't sleep with him.

It's the main reason I am wondering should I go or stay. Oh! I want children, sure I do. I want to be married first. Enjoy married life, going to places and holidays just the two of us. Then have children. Is that too much to ask? If I go it will be for five days. What will he expect of me? Will he respect my wishes? Shall I go or shall I stay.

Oh! The train is arriving. Am I doing the right thing?"
 
NorthBrit said:
Victoria's Bell

"What is this bell?" asked Andrea picking it up from her mother's dressing table, the bell giving a little ringing sound at the sudden movement.
"It is Victoria's Bell," her mother replied. "It is very old and and has been handed down through the family. It used to belong to your grandmother and her mother before her."
"Who is Victoria?"
" A pit pony that lived underground in a mine."
"How come we got the bell in the first place?" asked the now inquisitive Andrea.
"Ah! Now that is a long story. We shall ask granddad at the weekend. He knows the story well."

----------------------------------------------

"Granddad. Tell me the story about Victoria's Bell," asked Andrea. "Mummy says you know the story well."
I looked at Elizabeth as I knew she knew the story just as well. She gave me a knowing smile.

As Andrea sat on the floor against my feet she listeed to the story ----

Many years ago down a mine, Victoria and her pit pony friends worked along the pit coal seams. They would pull wooden tubs of coal walking between wooden rails to the pit shaft. There the tubs would be hauled to the surface; the coal sorted and sent onwards to factories and houses.
Meanwhile the ponies would take empty tubs back to the miners to be refilled. To hear the ponies as they pulled the tubs, a bell was worn around their necks. Each bell had the name of the pony engraved on it. The ponies stayed underground every day and night. Young boys of around eight years of age would feed them and give them water to drink.

The mine where Victoria worked closed in 1953 and the ponies were brought to the surface. They had to wear blinkers with shades to protect them from the daylight. The field they were in was a large, enclosed triangular shape. During the day people would come and see them; the bells ringing as the ponies grazed. One of the people visiting them was your grandmother's mother.

Every day she would visit. Ponies would wander over, bells ringing and she would stroke them. The man in charge of looking after the ponies noticed this going on. As time passed less and less bells rang, still grandmothers mother came to visit.

Eventually the bells rang no more.

The owner saw the visitor for the last time, tears in her eyes.
"Here," he said handing over a small metal object. "This is from the last one to be alive."
She looked at it. A bell. The inscription on it said 'Victoria'.
With tears rolling down her cheeks she thanked the owner and slowly walked home.


David
Click to expand...
He never used to talk much about it but my dads first ‘job’ helping his mum who was a dairy made was to sell icecream that the farmers wife made, he would leverage the thickness of the icecream by a sliver between the wafers, until his deemed it safe enough to eat sone of the icecream himself, later in life his mum told him the farmer knew he did it, but in the scheme of things it was not much

His first ‘proper’ job was helping a blacksmith in Wales who looked after pit ponies, usually the work was above ground in some circumstances below ground when his small size might be leveraged. the one thing it taught him was that he never ever wanted to be a miner. but later in years when he went To live with my brother (before he came to live with us) they had a field and he bought a pony. sooty was spoilt, my dad built a nice stable, he bought an old blacksmith tool or two, and that pond was really well loved. It came to us with my dad in time, and the pony for a female companion another pony with crooked hooves and my dad slowly with help from a farrier learnt how to trim her hooves until she could walk normally. sooty apparantly was named in honour of the pit ponies.

Not quite railway, but they pulled wagons up and down, and my dad helped looked after the rails, the wagons and the ponies.

We used to go to Kings Lynn and I would get to ride a pony everyday, and as the ponies walked the promenade a little boy would walk behind with a bucket picking up pony droppings, this obviously hit a cord with my dad because every time I rode my dad would walk beside the boy with the bucket and spade collecting the manure and the boy would be in seventh heaven with an icecream to keep him company. The ponies owner would roll his eyes but never said a word, my dad said he assumed the boy was his grandson.

Our memories carry with us throughout life. Making us what we are.
 
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