 Engine #8 disappears into the maw of the Aberystwyth engine shed. |
While I
gazed thunderstruck at the apparition of a
classic GWR train steaming cheerfully along in the middle of 1997, the railwaymen went
briskly about their business. As soon as the passengers had cleared away, the
engine crew cut #8 away from the carriages and headed back through the passing loop.
Once free of the platform area, the driver hustled his charge out through the yards and on
into the line's towering engine shed. I couldn't see clearly into the shed, but it
seemed a safe guess that #8's valves and bearings were receiving a thorough lookover after
the day's first working up and down the steep hills.
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 VoR diesel #10 shuts coaches in and out of the shed. |
The
echoes of #8's sibilant exhaust had hardly
died when a harsh braying reverberated out of the shed. The clatter swelled in volume, and
then a compact diesel engine trundled out of the shed's further door. This strange
little beast had a drive crank under the driver's cabin connected by rods to each of its
three axles. As the crank spun the rods danced up and down in time, conferring an
odd jauntiness on the engine's entire motion. A glance at the numberplate identified
the growling little machine as VoR #10-- an oddball successor to the historic steam engine
trio of 7, 8, and 9.
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 #10 in front view: strikingly like the old Plymouth industrial switchers from days gone by. |
Crank
whirring away, the diesel shunter shuffled
open-sided summer coaches in and out of the shed. VoR mechanics were prepping and
painting the open cars for the summer season, and the switch crew was swapping
reconditioned cars for others still needing work. Yet as the minutes went by and the
diesel continued to prowl the yard, I grew increasingly nervous. Departure time was
fast approaching, and there was still no sign of #8. Had the 2-6-2 steamed poorly
that morning? Had a bearing overheated, or the injector misbehaved? Was the
steam engine to be laid up, and the diesel substituted for the afternoon trip? Each
time #10 feinted back toward the platform, my spirits fell another notch.
Interesting though the little critter might be, I hadn't come to Wales to ride behind a
braying diesel!
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 Tank engine taking water: the fireman strains to reach an awkwardly-placed valve.  The driver rests while the fireman works: rank hath its privileges. |
Just as
I began to get truly worried, my steam
engine made her return. Backing daintily out of the shed, the gleaming prairie
picked her way over 20 yards of track to a squat water tower-- actually, a surplus
standard-gauge tank car reservoir set up on wood timbering. The fireman came round, wiped
off his brow with the back of his hand, and climbed up on the pilot and then atop the side
tank. After unbuttoning the tank lid and placing the water hose well down in the
tank, he made a long and perilous-looking lean well out over the side to reach the
hose valve. While the fireman strained, the driver upheld the traditions of his
craft. Feet squarely on the ground, hands in pockets, he took his ease and kibitzed
while his junior worked.
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