Despite a tiring day and a late night, I was up and about early enough to visit my folks then head out with my nephew and brother-in-law to see the Duke of Gloucester pass by on a charter. As we were all heading out in the car, plumped for Crooked Lane which would certainly give an interesting photographic location. It soon became apparent that all was not well, and messages from up the line were not positive - as it looked like a diesel locomotive might haul the train, the small crowd of onlookers departed. We stayed, with nothing to lose and my nephew enjoying his time out, watching local trains and HSTs pass under the bridge.

Out patience was finally rewarded around an hour later when a light in the distance and a small plume of smoke heralded the appearance of the Duke. In apparently light steam, and the diesel pushing quite a bit tucked inside the train, it sped by saving it's whistles for Springfield Road.

Really good to pass an hour or so with my nephew just watching trains go by, something I rarely end up doing these days!

It was all going to be so efficient - companies would compete on key routes, and impartial regulator would decide on services for the good of the network and user, and new rolling stock would pour into the market. Well, finally, fifteen years after the Railways Act promised a bright future of competition - and despite the meddling of DfT and others, this week saw the third Open Access operator begin to run trains - Wrexham, Shropshire and Marylebone Railways. It's been an eventful first week, and today wasn't going to be any different, as I decided to try out the new service. The first challenge was fitting a trip into the Saturday timetable, with four awkwardly timed (for us) trains from London to Wrexham and back. Settled for a later than usual start at 08:16 with a run up to Paddington, fairly uneventful and mostly early running meant time for breakfast, to chat and generally to enjoy the promising morning. It also allowed time to make the transfer to Marylebone - although this wouldn't have been necessary. Arrived to find the service shown as delayed almost an hour before it was due to leave! A locomotive breakdown had necessitated fueling a substitute loco, and as time slipped by it was touch and go whether the train would leave with the new loco and stock, or with that of the next incoming service. Time slipped by, and so did the alternative option to travel on a Chiltern unit to Leamington and change a couple of times for Wrexham. However, a small core of us stayed firm - we'd come for the loco-hauled service and we'd wait for it to run. A few knowing smiles from the gateline staff showed they knew our game, and we were left alone by the large British Transport Police presence at Marylebone due to football, and this being the only place Birmingham trains were arriving.

Finally the service was called, and we walked out to the new platform 4 to wait for it's arrival. The staff waiting for the train were clearly relieved and pleased to be running, and there was a fine atmosphere as the recently repainted 67014 slipped into the bay, with three immaculately turned out blue and grey coaches bearing Wrexham and Shropshire branding. Taking us forward would be 67024 - the replacement engine we'd waited for. Until the modified Driving Van Trailers are ready, these services will continue to use pairs of 67s. Soon on board, settled into a comfortable coach and away from London, well over an hour late. As we moved through the suburbs, alternating bursts of good running with slacks due to speed restrictions or local units ahead, tried to recalculate the journey ahead? Once we'd called to pick-up at Banbury, we had a better idea of timings. Should we leap and Tame Bridge Parkway and risk a couple of hours at New Street, or could we press on into Shropshire? It was clear we were now unlikely to make it to Shrewsbury, where we'd originally planned to turn for home. The staff onboard made up for this with excellent free coffee, friendly service and a genuine interest in what they were doing. A promising start for this new company.

At Leamington Spa we took the line for Birmingham rather than the single-track via Kenilworth. A number of these services, and reportedly all of them at weekends, run fast through Birmingham New Street - making a mockery of the idea of fair competition. We crawled through the southeastern suburbs of the city, passing Tyseley and travelling via Small Heath South Junction and Bordesley Junction to reach Proof House. We came to rest in platform 9 of New Street for some minutes, the driver out of the cab and showing some dismay at the signal check. The doors, of course, stayed locked. Off again, taking the line for Bescot at Soho and reaching our next stop at Tame Bridge Parkway. Calculations showed Telford Central was possible, so we nervously sat tight as we pressed on, getting inevitably stuck at Crane Street Junction before our next pick-up only stop at Wolverhampton. On the move again we passed Oxley, teeming with stored Adelante units, until recently working locally for First Great Western. Stuck behind another local service we crept into Telford with eleven minutes to spare before our train back to New Street. Time for a quick picture in the afternoon sun, then over the bridge to head home via a packed and stiflingly hot Voyager ride which left me tired and cranky.

The restrictions which cynically ensure that Wrexham and Shropshire's service isn't a competitor for Virgin and Arriva are going to make this operation a challenge, and technical issues like today's failure won't help either - but while the staff retain their air of genuine concern for service and interest in customers' needs, this operator will be winning the battle by other means than short journeys. The popularity of the much missed South West to North West trains shows that for many people a direct train with no changes is often as attractive as an early arrival. If Wrexham and Shropshire keep their spirits and level of service high, they'll become popular and well used.

Movebook Entry

Passing the Highbridge Hotel earlier in the week, I was struck by it's haunted and forlorn aspect. After much debate about how to manage it's precarious condition, the powers that be seemed to do nothing, and a little fencing to stop the public straying into it's immediate environs are all that is preventing further disaster. As you approach from the south, it's windows gape - black and empty. The very part of the building which is listed - which should inspire us with it's endurance - looks like some house of horror caricature of a building. It doesn't feel nice to walk past - and strangely, even though the pavement is open on both sides of the road, and I'm sure the onlooker could get a better view into the blackened rooms from the other footpath, at night we are all walking on the eastern side of Huntspill Road.

So, with all this still fresh in my mind I found myself agitated and distracted by tonight's meeting. I attended the Annual Town Council meeting last night and heard the Police say how they'd been unable to attend to a variety of crimes in the area last weekend because their resources were committed at the Hotel, guarding the private property which had become a public nuisance. Tonight, Derek Mead - the developer himself was the main act. Defiant and bluff, he affected a warm openness at the start of the meeting which soon collapsed, as from a room of sixty or so souls - some of them not young by any means - a collective spirit of Highbridge's own defiance rose. Again and again, the developer pressed the blame back on the community - our young people couldn't be trusted. Finally, and in a dignified and heartfelt speech, Janet Keen spoke of the people of Highbridge being good, respectful and decent in the majority and applause filled the room. A turning point, and from here on in, Mr Mead was less tactful, more combative. Perhaps now we were talking his language?

The meeting took a circular path - much was said about youth facilities, policing and the much misunderstood Section 106 process. The prospective Liberal Democrat candidate managed to make a fairly blatant election broadcast, whilst our local councillor - one of her own party - struck a much more dignified and communitarian tone. There were arguments, a face-off between Mead and a local simply wanting to tell him about metal security shutters, an older lady who asked the simply truthful question "was the hotel in your way?" menaced. As the meeting found its feet and began to challenge, Mead fell back on foul language and counter-accusation. It was the Police - they didn't guard the property, or it was the Council. Hamstrung by Mr Meads' constant references to another authority - my employer - I stayed as calm as I could and found myself frustrated and feeling worthless. The bellicose atmosphere fuelled by Mead's increasingly surly tone and repeated refusal to acknowledge that the building's security lay at his mercy. To claim indeed, that there was no electricity on the premises is absurd. The lights have been on for weeks, and someone has been at home.

So Highbridge found a voice, but naturally it's been hard for people to report how the meeting felt, and the soundbites are as carefully shored-up as the hotel with legally couched promises and pledges. A few of us chatted after, revealing our web-forum identities to each other, comparing notes on what we knew but couldn't say. Interestingly, it is the internet which has fanned the flames of this debate from the start - and Mr Mead let it been known that he hates the internet. Probably because it can't be controlled, bullied or jostled into order. It's hard to know quite where things will head next, but there are storms ahead I suspect.

Movebook Entry

It seems the railtour market has divided in two these days - the summer is filled with high-end trips to the Eden Project and the like, while the good old fashioned enthusiast trip is consigned to the darker days of Autumn and Winter. So it was good to find myself on the platform at Crewe in near daylight this morning for an early start to what promised to be an interesting day. There had been much speculation about which of the dwindling fleet of EWS Class 37/4s would be capable of hauling our train today, and as it turned out 37401 and 37417 has the honour. The outsider bet of recently returned to service 37670 being due out of repair on Monday. Despite looking fairly tired, both locos sounded fine. Particularly good to see 417 again - which I remember chasing around South Wales on the day of it's naming. It's been a stalwart of railtours these past few months, and it's good to see it returned to service again.

Firstly, after an on time departure we made a dash down the West Coast Main Line to pick-ups at Stafford, Wolverhampton and Birmingham New Street. The timings didn't seem to stretch the locos, and we were consistently early. Out of New Street and a further pick-up at Coleshill Parkway - the first time I've called at this new station. Via Whitacre Junction now, we headed northwards again to call at Burton-on-Trent, before taking the freight-only line from Stenson to Sheet Stores Junction - as covered rather unexpectedly on the Sunday of an All Line Rover a few years back! After negotiating the tangle of junctions at Trent, via Loughborough and Syston - taking the North to East curve - and onwards towards Melton Mowbray.

This isn't a favourite stretch of line for me, but its one I rarely visit. In the brightening morning, the views were pleasant enough - particularly around the attractive town of Stamford. Also recalled much from Iain Sinclair's Edge of the Orison which digs deeply into the topography of this area. We swung into line with the East Coast Main Line at Helpston, running parallel to Peterborough where a fair few locos were on the shed. Much surprise and delight from the normals to see a 'proper train' in the station! Still in Sinclair's orbit we departed via Whittlesea (to coin the railway spelling of the town's name rather than the more accepted -sey ending) and soon enjoyed stunning views across the fens to Ely.

Passing Ely slowly we seemed to slip into the gravity of London, as we waiting at Cambridge for a few city-bound services to depart before we took the Liverpool Street lines, once again drifting into the countryside as we passed provincial Bishops Stortford and Harlow, where we managed a brief leg-stretch in the warm Spring sun. Soon back on the train, and passing through the mess of works which make up the Olympic site in the Lea Valley, to Temple Mills where we waited for the leading locomotive to run around to the rear beside the new Eurostar depot.

From here, it was just a short hop to Fenchurch Street, but it involved a bit of track I'd wanted to cover for a long time. The line from Bow Junction to Gas Factory Junction links the lines from Liverpool Street to those from Fenchurch Street, and is one of the few connections remaining from the former London, Tilbury & Southend Railway into the wider network. This link sees empty stock and the odd diversion, and as I recall used to see an absurdly early or late working to retain driver knowledge. I always wondered how I'd ever cover it - so today was a treat. As we screeched around the rusty curve, the train came to a halt at a signal allow access to the mainline near Limehouse. The residents are obviously resigned to the line having very few trains, as one of them was enjoying the midday sun topless on her roof. Credit to her, after a brief moment of surprise at the sight of a train full of frothing track-bashers she simply positioned a towel judiciously and carried on enjoying the rays! We were soon on the move, and arrived at the unlikely railtour destination of Fenchurch Street. This odd little station is such a strange backwater at weekends, in a prime City location it's business is done mostly in the weekday peak - and it seems eerily quiet despite the presence of two noisy locomotives. A dash for refreshments and pictures, and a young lady is heard to say to her boyfriend "Why are they taking pictures of those trains?". He thoughtfully replied "Because they're perverts". I can't quite summon the energy to complain at his lazy thinking, or defend my fellow gricers, bashers, frothers and friends. Needless to say, perversion - whatever that actually is in 21st century society - occurs at pretty much similar rates in the enthusiast population as it does in the wider world. If the perpetrator of this odd remark is reading, then "Yes, I was looking at your girlfriend!". Does that make me a pervert? I wonder!

After a wander out into the city, just to see the area in wonderful sunlight after a long period of not visiting, I rejoined the train for the run out through more Sinclair-infested country. Through sinister Purfleet, marshes and container ports enclosing the line, to Tilbury - the once important Riverside station still visible but barred by gates - we speculated about the chances of Gas Hill and the BLS effecting entry sometime? A little short of Stanford-le-Hope we curved to the right and took the branch to Thameshaven. A slow, trudge though the marshes, almost like we were being dragged back by the humid, fly-infested air we crawled along. The huge gas plant dominated the view to the north, while the estuary and it's ships filled the windows on the southern side. Eventually we crept around a sharp curve, passed by the signaller's cabin and entered the traffic centre. All was silent, some derelict gas tanks and a few discarded Channel Tunnel wagons all the evidence of this once to be redeveloped port. Another run around, and again time to move on and leave the marshes to their silence.

A familiar swing across North London took us homeward, leaving the Gospel Oak line at Canonbury as on a recent tour, and traversing the Hertford loop. Our lateness due to the slow traversal of the Thameshave branch was compounded by a broken down train, but we were soon underway and heading for Peterborough once again. Our timings had been good all day, and this was really the only significant delay. Chatted a great deal with a gentleman who'd had a similar career to me, which passed the time as dusk fell over our route back to the Midlands. Bailed at New Street, mere minutes after the train to Redditch and had to wait half-an-hour. Time to amuse myself by watching the local drunks stumbling dangerously around the platforms. A fine day out, some interesting track and another stirling performance by the 37s.

Movebook Entry

A public meeting is to be held on Thursday 1st May at 5:30pm to discuss the future of the former Highbridge Hotel. The developer of the site, local MP and councillors and the Police have been invited to attend. The meeting will take place at the Community Hall on Market Street.

It's hard to know how this particular site can be rescued from the mess it's become. However, the truly encouraging thing is that the future of Highbridge is now a subject for serious discussion and not idle assumptions about what the town is, or has been in the past. I hope the meeting is well-supported, and that the invited local officials do take the opportunity to come along.

Movebook Entry

The debate about the regeneration of Highbridge turned ugly tonight. Over the weekend, a series of small fires have occurred around the town, most notably including a minor incident in the abandoned and boarded-up Highbridge Hotel. The same hotel which is Grade II listed in part, and currently owned by Mead Realisations - a group of businesses that specialise in redeveloping 'difficult' sites. Since the pub closed in early 2008, security on the site has been poor, and this once proud building, parts of which have survived since the 18th century, has slipped quickly into decline.

Tonight, after lazily listening to more fire appliances screaming by and sparked by a message from my sister, I looked out of the window to see smoke and flames in the sky. A quick look at the internet indicated that a fire had taken hold of the hotel. Like many others I was drawn out of my house to watch the building disintegrate before our eyes. I thought it would be crass to take my camera - but plenty didn't. My 'phone had to suffice to document events.

There was a strange, almost dangerous and semi-criminal taint to the atmosphere. Much of the town seemed to be lining the fence, groups of children playing chicken with the Police Officer put on crowd control duty - sprinting across the former market grounds to the line of tape and back as she lunged for them. Next to me a young boy said quite simply "this is the most exciting day ever!". Older folk reminisced about the pub, and about its decline - both before and after closure. Someone called the former landlord "Its OK, your 'book early for Christmas sign' isn't burning!". With the railway bridge closed again and the police turning cars back at the roundabout, the road began to fill with cars - mostly those of locals down to get a picture or watch the action.

Strangely, the Market was the centre of Highbridge once again tonight. People passed the time, bemoaning 'kids' or adding to the conspiracy theory about planning consent, listing and conditions. Only a full hour after the drama began did someone - a kindly soul - say "I hope there was no-one in there". Names of potential pyromaniacs were tendered. People reminisced about Jewson's burning many years ago. It was like the Carnival had finally come to Highbridge. I took a brief and very poor quality video, and again cursed my sensitivity at not bringing a better camera. It's curious to note the general level of excitement and banter among the watchers.

Whilst the conspiracy theories may well be unfounded, there are questions for the developer to answer about the security of the site and protection of the public. Since the Police were keeping us away, its hard to know if a salvagable facade remains. I left as the fire had died to embers, but it continued to retain the power to regenerate in a way the Town has never managed - springing up, bright and hot again in some new corner. The roof, collapsing under the jets of water, no longer containing the flames. The firemen trying to break skylights by throwing bricks and cheering each other's efforts on!

Whatever happens, one of the oldest buildings and perhaps part of the very core of the town is gone, and both the fabric and genus loci of Highbridge has changed again forever. Strangely though, the fire seems to have stirred some sense of belonging and place once again, and the reaction is threatening to turn against the 'developer'. Perhaps another chapter is already beginning?

Movebook Entry