Time for a steamy romance
Simon Horsford signs up for a train trip — and goes back half a century to the heyday of the Pullman
STEAM trains attract a different kind of trainspotter. As we thunder through stations, villages, towns and the spring countryside on a ’40s locomotive, farmers, walkers, children and even railway maintenance workers watch, wave or take pictures. There’s something about the toot of the chime whistle, the telltale plumes of smoke and the celebrated design that attracts more than the anorak brigade.
As I set out on a rough circuit of England and Wales on a Moors and Mountains excursion with Steam Dreams (I joined for four of the eight days), it’s easy to get the sense of a bygone age.
I board the Clan Line, the first of the steam trains used on the trip, in Salisbury, though the journey for most of the 270 passengers began in London. As it pulls into the station, it makes the local suburban trains look trifling; like a battleship berthed next to a ferry.
The Clan Line is a Merchant Navy-class locomotive dating back to 1948. It last saw service on British Rail in 1967 (the final year of steam) before being taken over by a preservation society, which has run it ever since. Aside from its outings for Steam Dreams, the train is used by Orient-Express on its routes around Britain. The oldfashioned carriages — shabby but still elegant — are owned by a different preservation society.
I make my way to my six-seater, first-class compartment and tuck into a late lunch as the train makes its way across Wiltshire. Soon after Salisbury we pass the disused Wilton station, which closed in 1966, a reminder of the Beeching cuts.
On we go into Dorset, past Sherborne Castle, stopping for water at Chard (a fire engine water truck follows the train throughout) before continuing towards Exeter, our first overnight stop.
Surprisingly, perhaps, most of my fellow passengers are not steam-heads but are on the trip for a combination of reasons. Andrew and his son Jonathan are from Oregon and the only non-Britons I meet on the train; Andrew was born here and this is a chance to catch up on his past. Then there’s Steven and Brenda; Steven used to be the special trains manager for British Rail.
In standard class, I meet the elegant Maria, who is making her third trip on the train and is celebrating her 83rd birthday with a glass of champagne.
We are now speeding along at 112km/h and you feel the power. I can only imagine what it must have felt to travel at 202km/h — the record for a steam train. As I watch Wayne, the driver, and Steve, the fireman, it’s clear theirs is no easy task. With not a computer in sight, it’s all about precision and backbreaking work. Six tons of Russian coal and 19 000l of water are used to pull the 240-ton train from London to Exeter.
We’re supposed to have dinner on the train while heading across Dartmoor but, as will happen on other occasions, the train is at the mercy of Network Rail, which can change routes to accommodate the
mainline services — and so we end up having supper at our hotel in Exeter. You just have to go with the flow on a trip such as this. There are a few grumbles from a minority of passengers but it gives us a chance to look around the city, the quay and its glorious cathedral.
Next morning we do a short trip to Okehampton on the Clan Line across Dartmoor before heading back up across the Somerset Levels towards Bristol. There we change on to the Union of South Africa, a distinctive A4-class loco built in 1937 that last saw service on British Rail in 1966 and is now owned by a wealthy Scottish farmer. The Severn Bridge tunnel leaves the windows blackened by soot due to an unintended steam blow in the tunnel — adding authenticity as we pull into Cardiff. We spend four hours there but the city’s art
Aim to evoke the era of luxury travel in the ’50s and ’60s
collection at the National Museum is well worth a detour.
The Union of South Africa makes its way to our overnight stop in Shrewsbury, passing Abergavenny, the Black Mountains, the Welsh Marches, Hereford and Ludlow, during which I tuck into a fivecourse dinner. Marcus Robertson, Steam Dreams’ chairman, is on board and he explains that his aim is to evoke the era of luxury travel on Pullman trains in the ’50s and ’60s. The meals are certainly a highlight of the journey, served by attentive waiters who, in the real world, are all actors.
It’s all plain steaming on this part of the journey, though a “hot box” problem develops (you soon become familiar with steam-train terminology), caused by a cork popping out of an oil reservoir. Again it’s all part of the adventure.
The following morning, we head for the Cambrian Coast on a 97class diesel (the signal system here is not compatible with steam). After crossing the River Dovey on a timber bridge, we head back inland to pick up the Welsh Highland Railway at Porthmadog for the 40km journey to Caernarvon.
This narrow-gauge train is a treat as we squeeze into compact carriages — our six seater is called First Class and it’s like being on a super-sized train set — but that matters little as the train chugs along the former slate railway route in Snowdonia National Park, cutting through mountains, rivers, valleys, the evocatively named Goat Tunnel at Beddgelert and Aberglaslyn Pass, once voted among the most scenic places in Britain. You can see why.
That night we stay in the bonkers Italianate village of Portmeirion, creation of the architect Clough Williams-Ellis, which earned cult status as the location for the ’60s television series The Prisoner. With its triumphal arch, statue of Hercules and fussy detail, it all feels a little claustrophobic, but the hotel by the estuary is a treat.
Next day it’s pouring with rain but I still take the option of a trip to Snowdon, intending to go on the rack-and-pinion mountain railway that heads for nearly 8km to the top. We get only halfway because of the high winds, and instead stride up part of the mountain on foot. It is nothing if not invigorating.
Back on track the following morning, we head from Bangor, once more on the diesel, before boarding the Union of South Africa again at Crewe. Hugging the coast in north Wales, we pass near Chester before heading up through the North West via Wigan and Preston, passing the open spaces and ranging beauty of the Lake District. And this is where I end my journey, at Carlisle, as the other passengers head on to Hexham before turning back south.
I stand on the platform waiting for my modern Virgin train and watch with no little envy as the Union of South Africa pulls elegantly out of the station with a toot on the whistle and a puff of steam. — ©