You may not be surprised to know that I was the fly, not exactly on the wall but  below the wall; you see there is always maintenance work to be done on our house, both inside and out, and now that the summer has arrived I’ve been doing all manner of out-door jobs. Today, for example, I was painting the risers on the steps coming down from the road gate.

Now firstly I ought to explain that the architectural front of our big Victorian terrace house (with bay windows and ornamentation from the period, as well as the terrace with its attractive white balustrade) is on the sea side; hence, both the main entrances, on different levels (the house has four storeys), are situated at the architectural back of the house, which lacks all the elegant features. We are used to it and don’t mind the back to front appearance as we come in from the road. We have a rose arch over the upper door and there are colourful flowers in pots on the small balcony (which is a suntrap in the evenings); the wooden footbridge and railings are painted in all shades of blue (to reflect the fact that our house is right by the sea) and there are climbing plants that grow over trellises and walls. Basically, we try to make the plain back exterior as pretty and welcoming as possible.

Each summer many visitors and holiday-makers stop on the pavement by our gate, painted like a beach hut (Chris’s handiwork!), and look over it, or the brick wall, to admire the flowers. When I happen to be working outside I often hear lovely comments from people on the roadside, and if they see me we might have a chat; and if they are really nice, and I have time, I sometimes invite them in to see the magnificent view from the other side of the house.

So… back to today. I was painting the risers on the steps just the other side of the brick wall. Incidentally, it was sweltering under the full rays of the sun on those steps. I was about half-way down – at the landing, from which the last flight of steps turns at a right angle – and therefore I was hidden from view (because nobody crooks their neck to look straight down). Suddenly I was aware of a conversation above my head. Judging by their voices (I didn’t see them) it was a couple, perhaps in their sixties or seventies, and they obviously came from Birmingham. Their accents were broad and I couldn’t make out what they were saying – I assumed they were admiring the balcony, now abundant with geraniums, petunias and clematis flowers. Then I heard the husband clearly as he projected his last sentence, as if it was intended to fall on the ears of any worker ants (or maybe a fly on the wall):

“Well they might have a good view of the sea but that’s all!”

The wife muttered some sounds of agreement and they moved on.

“That’s all?” I repeated the words inside my head.

I kept on painting and, as I did so, I made a mental tour of our cherished old house. It’s the same house we have lived in all the years of our marriage, and on which, during  a great deal of that time, we have renovated and remoulded (leaving the original features such as fireplaces and cornices, and restoring ceiling roses and picture rails etc…); and in doing so we brought into it new life and light. A few minutes later I broke into a smile. For all I know it may have been a “Chesire Cat” kind of grin. We love our house and all its secrets.

I was three steps from finishing painting when Chris came out through my studio door to see how I was getting on.

“Oh, it looks lovely!” he said.

And now that I’ve told you, I can forget the ignorant couple from Birmingham.

It is about eleven-thirty on Sunday morning and I’m in our bedroom on the ground floor. I hear the whistle of a steam train approaching. I want to run upstairs to grab my new phone (with the good camera) but I can hear the train is coming fast and there is not enough time.

“Steam train coming, Darling!” I call up from the doorway to Chris who is in the lounge room.

“I know, it’s the Britannia coming from Bristol Temple Meads, going through Western-Super-Mare, Taunton, Exeter – it doesn’t stop at Newton Abbot but it does stop at Totnes – then it carries on to Dartmouth….I’m pretty sure it’s Dartmouth….” said Chris from the top of the stairs.

“Blimey,” I think to myself, “How does he know that? I didn’t know he was a trainspotter!”

I look out of the bedroom window and see the train speed past below on our famous railway line built by Isambard Kingdom Brunel. I cannot forget its most recent claim to fame – the line’s partial destruction in the bad storms last year – because the sea wall repairs are still underway. The line, however, was up and running again only a couple of months later.

“Don’t worry,” says Chris when I come upstairs, “you can take photos of it on the way back from Dartmouth. It will be here at twenty to six.”

“What a mine of information,” I think to myself.

“How do you know that?” I ask.

“I checked it out on the computer, of course,” he says in a kind of patronising way.

Inwardly, I marvel how it is that I can have been married to Chris for seventeen years and not realise that he is a train buff, if not an actual trainspotter. I’m slightly disturbed by this, but only because this facet of Chris is alien to me. I have never felt the need to check out information about old trains on the computer so why should he? I used to think we were similar (apart from a few peculiarities on his side) and now there is a small gulf opening up. Why does he need this unusual interest? Am I not enough for him?

Later on we are sat out on the balcony over at Alan’s house, two doors up (or two short dividing walls to jump over in this case). We hear the Britannia blow her whistle before going through the tunnel before Dawlish. This time I have my new camera phone at hand, and Alan’s daughter Caroline runs down to the garden to take a film at close quarters. I lean over the balustrade and wait for the moment for the perfect shot… Unfortunately, I’m a bit too eager and click when the train is still quite far away and, when I recover from my disappointment and go to click again, the train is rolling by directly below the terrace.

“I didn’t get a good shot. How did you fare?” I ask Caroline as she comes onto the balcony.

“Missed it!” she says showing me the first frame of the film depicting an empty railway line.

We laugh.

Now I am going to attach the photographs taken on Sunday. Luckily, my new phone camera is so good that I was able to zoom in close and you can actually see the train rather well. My train-loving husband will be pleased! And, for your information, I have been to Wikipedia and checked out some facts about the Britannia. No doubt Chris will be pleased again. But please don’t tell him that I haven’t personally read all the interesting facts… well, I am trying. I believe that is exactly what Chris might say.

BR Standard Class 7 70000 Britannia

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

BR 70000 Britannia
At Severn Tunnel Junction in 2012
Type and origin
Power type	Steam
Builder	British Railways Crewe works
Build date	2 January 1951
Specifications
Gauge	4 ft 8 1⁄2 in (1,435 mm)
Career
Operator(s)	British Railways
Class	Standard Class 7
Number in class	1st of 55
Number(s)	70000
Official name	Britannia
Retired	1966
Current owner	Royal Scot Locomotive and General Trust
Official Website – Britannia on Icons Of Steam

British Railways (BR) Standard Class 7 (also known as Britannia class), number 70000 Britannia is a preserved steam locomotive, owned by the Royal Scot Locomotive and General Trust.

Contents

 [hide] 

• 1 British Railways
• 2 Preservation
• 3 References
• 4 External links

British Railways[edit]

Britannia was built at Crewe, completed on 2 January 1951. She was the first British Railways standard locomotive to be built and the first of 55 locomotives of the Britannia class. The locomotive was named at a ceremony at Marylebone Station by the then Minister for Transport Alfred Barnes on 30 January 1951.

The BR Locomotive Naming Committee were determined not to use names already in use on other locomotives. They tried to observe this by not selecting the name Britannia for use on 70000 because it was already in use on one of the ex-LMS Jubilee Class locomotives, but Robert Riddles overruled them and the Jubilee had to be renamed.^[1]

Britannia was initially based at Stratford (30A) in order to work East Anglian expresses to Norwich and Great Yarmouth, but was also particularly associated with the Hook Continental boat train to Harwich.^[2] Subsequently, the loco was based at Norwich Thorpe (w/e 31 January 1959) and March (June 1961) before spending the remainder of her career on the London Midland Region: Willesden (1A) (w/e 30 March 1963), Crewe North (5A) (w/e 25 May 1963), Crewe South (5B) (w/e 19 May 1965) and finally Newton Heath (9D) (w/e 5 March 1966) from where she was withdrawn w/e 28 May 1966,^[3]

The locomotive pulled the funeral train of King George VI from King’s Lynn, Norfolk to London following his death in February 1952 at Sandringham House, Norfolk.^[4] For this task, Britannia had her cab roof painted white, as was the custom with royal locomotives (B2 61617 Ford Castle, which pulled the train from Wolferton Station to King’s Lynn, was similarly liveried).Britannia has also worn the white roof in preservation.

Britannia was withdrawn in May 1966, after 15 years of service.^[5]

Preservation[edit]

Britannia on a charter train onWhalley Viaduct in 1994

Initially destined for the National Railway Museum because of her cultural significance, she was stored. However, due to her prototype design and construction differences, the NRM chose standard sister 70013 Oliver Cromwell, instead. Britannia was eventually bought byBritannia Locomotive Company Ltd.

After a series of moves, she was eventually returned to steam on the Severn Valley Railway, where she remained for a number of years in operational but non-mainline condition. With the society wishing to make more use of the locomotive, she was moved to the European gauge Nene Valley Railway in Peterborough, where she was also fitted with an air-brake compressor. Britannia made her return to the main line on 27 July 1991, successfully working enthusiast trips until 1997, and was featured in an episode of London’s Burning.

Britannia at Canterbury West, April 2011.

With an expired mainline boiler certificate, due to the high cost of refurbishment, the locomotive was sold to Pete Waterman in 2000. Stored at Waterman’s workshops at the Crewe Heritage Centre, after initial assessment the amount of work resulted in Waterman selling her to Jeremy Hosking. The locomotive underwent restoration at Crewe which involved a newly refurbished cab, a new smoke box and major work on the boiler; replacement steel sides, new crown stays, new front section barrel section, new steel and copper tubeplate, repairs and patches to door plate and major work to copper firebox.

Transferred to the Royal Scot Locomotive and General Trust (RSL&GT), the locomotive was returned to main line operational condition in 2011, initially out shopped in its prototype black British Railways livery (where it did not have nameplates fitted, as was thus known by railway convention as 70000). After a running-in period, in 2012 the locomotive was repainted in British Railways Brunswick Green, but with an early BR crest (unlike her sister 70013 Oliver Cromwell which carries BR’s Late Crest). On 24 January 2012, the loco hauled the Royal Train with Prince Charles on board to Wakefield Kirkgate, where he rededicated the locomotive. For the trip the loco again had a painted white cab roof, removed after the engine’s appearance at the West Somerset Railway‘s Spring Gala.

The band had stopped. Perhaps the group went to wet their whistles after playing their repertoire of old favourites (including “You are my Sunshine, my Only Sunshine”) – you know the sort of thing that people expect, and love to hear, when attending village fetes. Suddenly some different music – not the type you would necessarily expect at a country fete – surprised the visitors and villagers gathered on Mamhead green.

“Hello,” I said to myself, “that sounds like belly dancing music!” (I used to go to classes years ago so I should know.)

I and probably everyone else at the fete turned towards the bandstand as three ladies in voluminous skirts and big bras like metal sculptures (worn on the outside over their tops – in superhero fashion) made a grand entrance onto the grass arena. For some unknown reason to me I fancied the belles had stepped out of a Bulgarian comic opera. I wondered if they were going to sing but they remained tight-lipped and serious as they treated us to a most unusual and entertaining routine of belly dancing.

The belles looked like no other belly dancers I had ever seen before (or will again, no doubt). They were tall and they were grand (in the French sense); they weren’t young or exactly beautiful but they were stunning in their own particular way. A little girl from the audience was mesmerised, as you can see from my photographs…

For a change I thought I’d let you see photographs from a dog’s eye view. You will find yourself on a green by the village hall in the little country village of Mamhead just a few miles from my hometown of Dawlish. The occasion? It is a fundraising fete, the proceeds of which will go to the upkeep of Mamhead Church, one of the prettiest churches you could imagine (and it has been the subject of one of my paintings).

There were a few stalls, including my own – I took along some prints and a few originals; also games and tombolas, a hog roast, two llamas (alive and well, not roasted!), live music (the heavy metal band didn’t go down too well with the oldies but the following band got everybody’s feet tapping on the grass); and, perhaps most surprising… a troupe of unusual belly dancers. Sorry, but you will have to wait until my next post for photographs of the incredible belly dancers. For now I’m concentrating on the dogs at the fete…