MY LITTLE WELSH PONY by Ben Bucki

With a pile of less than inspiring materials, Ben Bucki managed to produce a fine looking locomotive in what should have been a relaxing project.

With Lockdown in full effect, I found myself needing a distraction from home-working, whilst homeschooling three kids, and also the general ‘screaming-into-the-abyssal-void’ which the situation inspired.

What was wanted was something nostalgia-focused, and calming. In hindsight, I missed this last target in quite some magnificent fashion. That’s the nature of the beast when you decide to make something and almost all of your supplies and tools are safely stored at your in-law’s house five miles away; moving it all there whilst we redecorated seemed such a good idea in early March…

After an assessment of what I had to hand (not much) and a bit of a think, I decided to make a model of my favourite locomotive: the Ffestiniog Railways “Welsh Pony”.

The Prototype

The Ffestiniog Railway) invested early in steam power, increasing efficiency in the shipment of slate from the mountains to the harbour at Porthmadog by replacing gravity and horse haulage. The original pair of tank locomotives, built by George England in

London, were swiftly followed by two more, then a final pair to a slightly larger design incorporating lessons learned from those four originals.

These ‘Large Englands’ were named “Welsh Pony” and “Little Giant” and arrived on the railway in the mid-1860s to lead a reliable, albeit quiet, existence. When the famous Double Fairlie locomotives took over the majority of slate trains, “Welsh Pony” seemed to have spent a lot of time as shunter around Blaenau Ffestiniog, or on occasional full-line mixed trains, and later on jaunts onto the Welsh Highland Railway.

Around 1940, the loco was mothballed at Boston Lodge in increasingly decrepit condition. When the preservationists took over post-war, ‘Small England’ loco “Prince” was the better candidate for restoration, and “Welsh Pony” was increasingly cannibalised to provide spares to the rest of the FR fleet.

Eventually, the engine was repainted, paired with a spare tender, and plinthed at Porthmadog Harbour where the sea air slowly rusted the loco away, and where generations of little hooligans (like me) happily clambered all over it. I suspect any child visiting Porthmadog in the 1980’s-early 2000’s probably clambered all over “Welsh Pony”, which probably explains why a great many enthusiasts around my age seem to regard the loco with such affection.

With the restoration of the Welsh Highland Railway drawing nearer, the plinthed loco was removed to make space and “Welsh Pony” was finally placed into covered storage, though out of the public eye. Happily, there were enough volunteers and supporters who appreciated its historical significance, and during the 2005 gala “Welsh Pony” was turned out in blue livery, using leftover paint from the restoration of Adrian Shooter’s Darjeeling B-Class, to get a bit of attention.

“Welsh Pony” received a more fulsome cosmetic restoration in 2012 for the 150th Anniversary of the Ffestiniog, and this prompted the present situation, where after extensive rebuilding the loco is tentatively scheduled for a return to service in 2020, and like many, I’m looking forward to seeing it run.

The Model

With the real thing hitting the rails, it seemed a good opportunity to finally make a model of it. Being stuck in Lockdown, I didn’t want to buy any bits specifically for the build, partly because I didn’t know if our household would still have wages coming in and I kept hearing people insist it was morally wrong to burden the postal services with unnecessary ordering. However, in a way, I quite liked the challenge of using what I had to hand.

So, what did I have to play with? In the last box that hadn’t been transferred to storage; one damaged Newray Gauge One(ish) train set, and three extremely-battered G Scale Echo Toys sets, bought very cheaply online last year to try and make one good loco out of three dead ones.

These, a few spare plumbing parts, and some scrap wood would form the basis of the build. Fortunately, I also had a few sheets of Plastikard available, but beyond that, improvisation would be the name of the game.

The pictures and their captions should give some idea of how the project progressed, but really, the main theme is compromise. To start with, building on a G-scale chassis meant this wasn’t going to be a properly-scaled model and led to a nightmare of modifications and escalating problems. There’s also the colour. When I first got to know the loco, it was bright red. The last time I saw it, when cosmetically-restored, it was green, and apparently, the plan for the restoration is dark plum livery, followed in 2021 by green again. The trouble was, I had no spray paint in any of these shades and

frankly dreaded hand-painting a model of this size.

Happily though, “Welsh Pony” wore light blue for a brief period in the 1930s, and whilst there are two photographs, both unfortunately greyscale, the exact shade has generated debate for decades, including some enthusiasts who contend it was never blue, just a shade of pale green. I did have a can of light blue paint, which at least meant I could crack on with spraying the model, but certainly, the prototype’s blue livery wasn’t a success, as reportedly household paint was used which faded quickly. In an unplanned tribute to this event, I managed to spectacularly mess-up the painting of my own version of “Welsh Pony”, as mentioned in the captions.

Just to complicate things further, from the start, I wanted to do some atmospheric twilight photographs with the model, so it was designed to incorporate a working mini humidifier to generate steam effects, as well

as a functioning headlight, using yet another component culled from the Echo Toys loco, and lit firebox. To my surprise, these at least worked as planned.

With it finally built, how do I feel about it? Well, it is only slightly “Welsh Pony” I suppose, with all the compromises, and it seemed to take forever to build, and I’m still not too happy with that cursed chassis. But on the other hand, as an exercise in using only what I had to hand and rebuilding a couple of knackered toys into a model of a beloved prototype loco, it worked. I suppose I’m reasonably happy with how it came about, however, I think the next project (using yet more bits from the Newray/Echo Toys sets) should aim to be rather simpler… ■

Top: The main parts of the project; the part-modified Newray tank loco (showing the cracked bodywork that made it very cheap to buy, with the various plumbing parts, and some of the selection of details stripped from an Echo Toys mogul (Below). By this point, I’d swapped the better wheels from the mogul onto the tank loco, but it led to massive problems with quartering, gear-binding, and issues with the coupling rods. Turning an 0-6-0 chassis to a 4-wheeler started a chain reaction of mistakes where the overly flexible plastic of the Newray rods, with a comedy twanging sound effect, explosively dismantled everything until heavily reinforced with strips of Plastikard.

The model was starting to take shape, though still showing a crazy amalgamation of toys, plumbing parts, and scrap wood before cladding in plastic. Just visible is the cradle within the saddle tank, which would hold a mini humidifier to create steam effects, as well as the other electrical gubbins. The problems with the cab roof were just starting to become obvious at this stage; needing access to the interior of the saddle tank, I’d need to make the roof removable (tricky with the curved roof edges) and in the end, I had to plump for reusing the Echo Toys roof with some modifications, and ply framing with some wire reinforcement for the cab sides/ door frames. Illustrating something of the random mix of detailing parts; the long saddle tank handrails are Echo Trains parts, and after faffing with reshaping some more to produce the distinctive curved smokebox railing of the prototype, I snapped, as did the donor parts. In the end, I cut off the handrail knobs from the shattered plastic, drilled them out, and used a bit of blue plasticcoated single-core wire as the handrail. The chimney is a cut-down felt pen with plumbing bits, the tank filler cap is a mini paint pot, the dome a cap from some aftershave, and the big rivets are jewels for decorating a mobile phone (sheet pinched from my eldest). These were a right faff to apply, evidently I don’t have the fingernails for it. The home-made strips of rivets for the boiler bands, made by laboriously pressing a screwdriver into Plastikard, are also on show and were yet another mania-inducing moment in this build. Finally, the smokebox door is a rubberised plastic cap designed to go on the bottom of a table leg, and the hinge/strapping is a mix of plastic sprue and a nail, after the first attempt to curve some plastic strips failed. In any case, the material of that smokebox door meant it was a struggle to get anything to stick to it at all. The wheel for the door is a Tri-ang wheelset of ancient vintage - too many spokes, but the nearest thing I could find, and didn’t look too bad with the flange filed away.

The firebox and backhead, a horrendous mish-mash of drainpipe parts, curry powder pot-lid, mini camera tripod, Biro’s, Plastikard, ply, bits from the Newray loco, bits of 00 gauge Dapol Pug, and bits from the Dapol Girder Bridge. I subscribe to the Gerry Anderson/Derek Meddings school of thought that it isn’t proper kitbashing if it doesn’t feature bits from this kit. Though bearing little resemblance to the real England loco parts, it would only be barely visible through the doors; it also shows the removable part to allow the steam generator and lights to be fitted later, and thanks to me not cleaning the curry lid efficiently, the loco produces a faint but pleasing smell of rogan josh when it runs.

The model was basically done at this point, awaiting a waft of primer to show any faults before the final painting, then the addition of a few last bits of detailing. The washers I’d be using as spectacle frames would go some way towards hiding the slightly rough cut-outs for the windows on the cab, though nothing apart from a coat of black paint and fancy camera angles could disguise the over-large cylinder cover below the frames. This was an unfortunate side effect of modifying the wheels and reinforcing the connecting rods, pushing the cylinders too far out, but at this point, it was just one more compromise in a build that seemed never-ending...

With the blue laboriously re-applied, I set about painting the various bits of strapping and framework in black, then the handrails, and so on with a bit of brass (Citadel Miniatures acrylics being used for this purpose), before a bit of dry brushing to bring out the details.

Interior view of the cab of the model, with the somewhat freelance backhead and firebox detail. To be fair, the doors on “Welsh Pony” are quite narrow and you wouldn’t be able to see a lot. One of the aspects of the project that actually worked as planned is that it all comes apart to allow the small humidifier to slide into the saddle tank, and also the battery for the headlamp and the bicycle tail-light to provide the Tri-angesque Firebox Glow Effect.

Spray painting on a particularly hot day, where the model ended up accidentally left in direct sunlight while drying, left the saddle tank looking like a drought-stricken riverbed, and thus the air was filled with some choice language. Eventually, after an afternoon spent sanding small patches of the paint off, I realised I’d need to take more drastic action and just ended up stripping it back to the bare plastic. This was what I think of as a ‘Size 10 Moment’, that is, the point where a project becomes so frustrating I just want to introduce it to my Doc Martens. With the paint finally chipped and sanded away, I replaced the rivet strips as well, re-masked it all, and waited a few days for better weather conditions to spray it, this time with about six light coats. Irritating to say the least...