It's been a while since I posted anything. This is at least partly because the old long covid seems to have come back, making me feel knackered in the evenings. So, here's a bit of catching up.
A fortnight ago we were just setting off on a wellbeing trip with "Forget me Not" and "Hazel" when "Forget me Not"s engine stalled every time I put it into reverse gear. I took the top off the gearbox to have a look, but, was unable to work out what the problem was.
Via Facebook I contacted Richard and Sue Powell at Primrose Engineering in Kenilworth. If they can't fix it nobody can. They agreed to have a look., so, over the weekend I removed the gearbox then, after dealing with volunteers at Stalybridge on Monday morning, drove down to Kenilworth with it. It turned out that the epicyclic reverse gears had chewed themselves up through lack of lubrication. The problem seems to have stemmed from the oilway, that squirts oil through from the engine, which had got blocked. I'm currently in discussion with Stefan Strom who runs Albin Motor in Sweden about the replacement parts that are needed. Albin engines are no longer made but Stefan has virtually all the parts for them.
https://albinmotor.nl/en/albin-history/
Unfortunately that trip had to be abandoned, but our guests spent the day on "Hazel" and seemed to enjoy being there.
Nessie has been busy finishing off the concreting of "Queen"s bottom and repairing her falling apart back cabin.
It was my birthday last Saturday so Em arranged a little holiday in Haworth, known to most as the home of the Bronte family ( Wuthering Heights etc) but known to me as the headquarters of the Keighley & Worth Valley Railway.
We stayed in a wonderfully quirky room at the Old Apothecary and went out for a meal at the White Lion (having rejected the Black Bull as a covid risk because it was so crowded).
In the morning I went for a walk up the nearby Penistone Hill, where old millstone grit quarries have been left to return to nature.
http://www.wyorksgeologytrust.org/misc/Penistone%20Hill%20geology.pdf
I walked up alongside the old quarries enjoying the views over the valley in the morning sunshine.
I turned back towards the town down a little lane with stone walls on each side.
A blackbird pair caught my eye, frolicking on the mossy top of the wall, probably looking for nesting materials. I watched them for a while until they separated. The female crossed the road and the male went into the field and started digging for worms. Carrying on down the hill, the lane became a path. I enjoyed the low bright sun dazzling the fields and trees.
Everywhere there were early morning dog walkers. Haworth seems to be home to a great many posh dogs. As I walked back down through the churchyard I met a woman with a fluffy brown spanielly thing. It started madly barking at me. "Oh" said the owner, indulgently, "she doesn't like men in hats.
I passed the church and carried on down the cobbled main street where I met another doglady, this time with a little white poodley thing. It started yapping wildly and straining at the lead. I smiled at its owner and said "Ooh, I'm scared" to which she replied "she doesn't like men in boots". Clearly it's wise to go hatless and bootless for a morning walk in Haworth.
I like mongrels.
Back at the Apothecary Em was up and we went for breakfast, then on downhill to the station for my birthday treat, a ride on the Keighley & Worth Valley Railway.
The locomotive rostered for the day was the Ivatt class 2 tank number 41241. When I was a kid this was the station pilot at Leamington Spa, my nearest main station. I have a memory of cabbing what was probably its sister, 41231 at the station, watching trains with my mum aged 6 or 7. The engine was coupled to mail vans in a bay platform, waiting for mainline trains to clear so that it could resume shunting. I asked to go on the footplate and the enginemen agreed. The fireman showed me the fire and I watched in awe as he opened valves in the complicated pipework in front of me. He was probably turning on the injectors to put extra water in the boiler. The driver and fireman joked between themselves. I just stood there, gobsmacked, in my element.
The stationmaster at Haworth is a very smartly dressed young man who is properly into character, and highly informative about the workings of the railway. An enthusiast to the core, his day job is working for the London & North Eastern Railway on more up to date trains.
Soon 41241 arrived, bunker first, from Oxenhope. Not wanting to risk mingling with others, we got into a non corridor compartment coach at the back of the train and enjoyed trundling down the valley to Keighley, where the steam railway shares a station with Network Rail.
Em was curious about Keighley and wanted a cup of tea, so, we exited the station. I don't think I'd ever left the station here either. Em's remark was "it's just like being in Salford". She quickly abandoned the idea of seeking tea and we returned to the platform where 41241 was getting ready to depart.
We got into a compartment again, this time close to the engine. The loco now had to work hard to raise its heavy train up the valley. The gradient was against it. I hung out of the window, enjoying the engine's crisp barks as it hauled us away from each station. Em dozed in the corner.
At Damems loop we passed the diesel working, a little railbus.
These lightweight vehicles were built in the 1950s to try to improve the economics of rural railways. Though much cheaper to run than steam trains they still mostly served stations that were fully staffed for just a handful of daily passengers. Rather than make further economies, the routes that they were used on were chopped off by the Beeching axe. The nearly new railbuses were disposed of.
With single line tablets exchanged, we carried on. Em got off at Haworth. The shiny shoed stationmaster was on the platform playing his part with enthusiasm.
I stayed on the train for the last mile or so to Oxenhope.
My original plan had been to wait around Oxenhope for an hour or so and catch the following train back to Haworth. I changed my mind because I had noticed that there was a good footpath following the line and, as my dodgy ankle was not hurting, I thought I'd enjoy the walk.
After a look round the silent engines in the museum I set off. Soon I came to a little stone bridge over a rushing stream. I leaned on the parapet and stared down into the roaring water. All of a sudden there was a blur of electric blue as a supersonic kingfisher flew under the bridge.
Mostly the footpath followed the stream, but, at one point it climbed the steep valley side. The high path overlooked a field with a couple of horses in it. One of them suddenly let out a prolonged neigh before cantering up the hillside to pose stock still nearby.
The little railbus purred up the railway.
The horse moved nearer to the wall. I imagine it was hoping to be fed, but I had nothing and, besides, horse owners are usually not keen on strangers feeding their horses. Fatalities have occurred as a result of inappropriate feeding.
I entered Haworth through a new estate of rather predictable modern flats faced in imitation stone. the exit from this estate was through the arched entrance to a former mill, now offices, which brought me out close to the engine sheds, formerly Haworth goods yard. One of my favourite engines was in view. Smoke was drifting from it's chimney and I imagine it was being tested ready for service.
In gleaming black paint the engine was the former Lancashire & Yorkshire railway goods engine, dating from the 1890s.
Attempts to contact Em by 'phone had been fruitless, so I went and stood on the long bridge that spans both river and rail. Soon the railbus, a remarkably quiet vehicle, crept up on me. Outside the engine shed stood the famous "Royal Scot", waiting for a steam gala the following weekend.
Thinking that the steam train would soon be arriving I looked for a good spot to photograph it. I didn't find one but I made this little video.
Telephonic communication was resumed and I headed uphill to the Apothecary to join Em. She said it was time for afternoon tea, so we went down the main street looking for a cafe. The one that we found served us with expensive coffee and some brownies that were more remarkable for presentation than flavour.
That evening neither of us were hungry, so we ate butties left over from our journey. Em watched a zombie film on her laptop and I read a book. Exciting times!
On the way home we visited a friend who lives in a flat in an old stone farmhouse in the hills above Hebden Bridge. While I enjoyed the amazing view and hippie atmosphere the two women caught up on years of life's experiences, with occasional interjections from me.
A wonderful little break. Perhaps the accursed virus will disperse so that we can enjoy more little holidays safely.
