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Timeslip at Gotherington Halt
#1

Last week I set out north of Cheltenham to see if I could locate a still-used but largely forgotten railway line, that of the old Gloucesterhire-Warwickshire Railway. My intent was merely to try and spot any telltale embankments, possibly to find a footpath that would allow me to photograph any trains running.
The thing is, my hopes were not up, as there is one steam train alone that runs a restricted service, and that as a result of immensely dedicated enthusiasts: my best hope was that I might catch a shot of a steamer if I was blessed.
I meandered through the village of Gotherington, having been told that I was miles away, that I needed to be at Winchcombe from where the train set off.
However, totally by "chance", I turned down a little road thinking I'd seen a railway embankment, went a little further and saw 2 old stone steps.
I climbed up these, seeing a public footpath sign, went a few yards and then smack bang in front of me were the words "Gotherington Halt".
Now, I'd remembered seeing the name on an online search but was totally unprepared for what I saw. For there right in front of me was a complete train platform, seemingly right in the middle of nowhere.
It was how I remembered the very memory of such old train platforms from the days of steam: I can dimly remember travelling on a "real" one when I was 3 years old, a leviathan of coal and steam.
And there was just me; not another soul...nor was there throughout the next few hours I was there...as if I had found a personal Brigadoon of steam, just me and the sun and birds and a platform clock forever stuck.

...Not a soul...

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...And these were the things I saw: a platform ever-expectant of passengers, ever awaiting the seven fifty-two that never would arrive....

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....And then, scarcely distinguishable from the highlarks and the singing in the wires, a high and urgent note...and the unmistakeable sound of coal and steam and iron:

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...and I was 3 again in front of the leviathan:

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...a clatter, a rumble, a clank and shadowed carriages full of laughter....

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...and then no sign that it had happened at all, with just the birds and the singing in the wires, with the clock still awaiting the seven fifty-two...

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...but as my steps scrunched back towards the road over the clinker and cinder path, a distant bellow as a leviathan surfaced somewhere unseen and a high and urgent note.

All my stuff is here: www.doverow.com
(Just click on the TOP RIGHT buttons to take you to my Image Galleries or Music Rooms!)
My band TRASHVILLE, in which I'm lead guitarist: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z6mU6qaNx08
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#2

Super story - tight and well credited. Photographically speaking, #3 and #6 are particularly interesting to m. Nice.
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#3

An interesting series and good composition.
My Brother in Law is doing a bit of research for Oakenshaw (2 mile south of Bradford) history group. From the feuding families and landowners of the 17/18th centuries, to the recent years.
He brought a book for me to read, called 'Old Flames' by Granville Dobson ( a local to Bradford, ex footplate-man.)
I have not read much as yet but a little bit reads ' The footplate of a steam locomotive at speed was a dirty, dangerous and uncomfortable, and wildly exciting place to be. The fireman, feeding a fire 2 foot deep by forty square feet, with a temperature of three thousand degrees Fahrenheit, braced himself on the footplate which was swaying in every possible direction.'
Sound good Shaun? Music to a railwaymans ears. Smile

My earliest recollection of steam was passing a gigantic throbbing beast, fire pouring from a smokestack, and the engineer letting off steam with a great swooosh, frightening the living daylights out of me. I seem to remember jumping two feet in the air and backing off at great speed. A bit of a shock for a 7 or 8 year old, but we were made of stern stuff in those days and you got used to it. Wink

Lumix LX5.
Canon 350 D.+ 18-55 Kit lens + Tamron 70-300 macro. + Canon 50mm f1.8 + Manfrotto tripod, in bag.
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#4

A really engaging response; thank you NT.
Oddly, I seem to come across little serendipitous pieces of steamorabilia of late, quite unbidden but like treasure-hoards: I went to a town near Cheltenham yesterday, happening across a railway museum. I was about to consign it to a quick peek through the window, when out comes some old dear beaming away, saying, "Oh, you simply must go in...," followed by another old couple who said exactly the same thing.
Blow it, I thought, might as well.
And it was like a tardis: tiny from the outside yet stretching away into sidings and gardens and all manner of paraphernalia, forming delightful compositions and fascinations...and all the while led around by a sheepdog, of all things! This dog must be well-used to the form, as it came up for a greeting, then padded off, sat and looked back; when I approached it, it got up and walked some more up this path, then sat again looking at me. If I stayed a long time, pratting about with lenses, it came back, had a smile and a pant, then stationed itself back where it had been, again waiting for me.
That sheepdog also knew how to recline like an Edwardian lady to left of shot, gazing out of shot with a fin-de-siecle wistfulness...and the thing led me completely around all the intricacies of the entire exhibitions, several which I'd have missed were it not for its uncanny intervention.
When I finally arrived back at the start, I expressed amazement to the old blokie who was sorting out some memorabilia; without an upward glance and with a faint smile, he said, "ay, quite a character, that dog".
I'm not sure what it is, but since my first exposure a few weeks ago to old railway stuff, the experience has been punctuated by such episodes of sheer magic.
Picture of the Railway Dog to follow, I guess...! Smile

All my stuff is here: www.doverow.com
(Just click on the TOP RIGHT buttons to take you to my Image Galleries or Music Rooms!)
My band TRASHVILLE, in which I'm lead guitarist: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z6mU6qaNx08
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#5

Wonderful. I loved most of them, I always find so interesting railways and train stations and trains... Thank you dear Zig,

with my love,
nia

“There are no rules for good photographs, there are only good photographs.”

Ansel Adams



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