Aug 17, 2011, 12:18
I've already alluded to this remarkable creature in an addendum to the "Gotherington Halt" post.
As I mentioned there, absolutely any exposure I have of late to old railway memorabilia seems imbued with a sense of synchronicitous whimsy:
I wasn't even looking for this museum, really just cruising around the area(in a non-homosexualist way, of course) on tramp for a general pic or two..and when I arrived at the Railway Museum, I had a negative expectation: I was anticipating a shop-sized assemblage of old timetables and the odd old metal sign advertising Colman's Mustard or somesuch.
I duly arrived at the shop-front, whereupon an old dear came straight out and breathed, "Oh, you simply must...," or thereabouts. I'd barely ceased my indulgent nod when a senior couple emerged, also beaming and urging me to enter.
Ah well, may as well, I thought, and gave my cash to a chap who sat engrossed in sorting through various old boxes. Hmm, nice pics of old steamers, coal-blackened men with moustaches and the like. One of two recumbent sheepdogs got up and padded towards me, lolling and grinning away for a non-existent treat, so I thought.
I reached down to pat the dog; it wandered off, then wandered back for another stroke, looked up..and I swear it then approached a side door with a slightly ruffled look at me as if to say, "er, when you're ready, sir."
The chap was ignoring me by this time, so I guessed it was permitted for me to go through the side door; the dog sidled through before I could close it but still the chap didn't look up from his box of bits.
I emerged along a back garden passage, that gave out onto an absolutely vast collection of all manner of railway paraphernalia: countless amazing stacks and piles and even old rail carriages, full of signs, signals, lamps, sleepers and all manner of stuff. What had been a very large garden and allotment had been turned over to one mammoth collection of railway memorabilia, and was in piles, festoons and the most gorgeous random collections. A gigantic Aladdin's Cave or centuries-old pirates' stash, set out in walkways, perambulations and even curves as it followed what was obviously an actual small-gauge rail track that passed through the place.
I'd barely time to try and figure just how something so vast could actually exist in the same dimension as the small shop-front, when I noticed that the dog had politely waited for me to catch up. Seeing that I was caught between being transfixed and pratting about with lenses, it came back for a quick grin, then padded back to the first fork in the path, flollopped down with a sigh, itself caught between its attendant duties and the momentary lapse in decorum needed to flush out a pigeon, which obviously had not paid the entrance fee.
As soon as I was ready and started walking again, the dog looked round at me over its shoulder before setting off down one fork in the path; when I took a bit longer, distracted by another outhouse with lamps and and boxes, it came back for a grin and a stroke, then sat and staked out the next pigeon-free vista for me.
And that dog led me round the entire maze of amazement and intricacy. It had an uncanny sense of politeness: not brisk enough to cause offence, just the right amount of aloofness to trust that I had enough intelligence not to get lost or maim myself...yet with the occasional padding to my side, the snuffle at the hand, as if to say, "if there's anything else I can help with, sir..."
I was thus led around and along lines and stacks and signals, corkscrewing through old sheds and cabins and carriages, in the perfect sense of being hosted without being moithered, given the trust to roam free yet with the dog always appearing with the grin if freedom ever threatened to turn to aloneness.
If this were not uncanny enough, when I had the camera, the dog either politely removed itself from shot, else sauntered into frame with head cocked as if asking whether I wanted the image with or without pigeons...then saying, "permit me to choose", before shushing off the birds, then returning to the same spot. And I kid you not: that dog seemed to know the exact frame edges of a Zeiss 21mm Distagon: as I took a succession of kneeling shots, the dog slowly rotated itself through its pre-ordained and trained poses....here was "Edwardian Lady looking off-camera into the wistful distance;" here was "pensive with paws folded in yesteryear melancholia"..and of course "alert, watchful, pigeon-scaring buccaneer".
By the end of the time there I didn't know of which miracle I was most enamoured: the sentient sheepdog or the multi-dimensional reality of placing an entire fin-de-siècle railyard into a back garden. I wouldn't have been surprised if I'd checked my watch outside and found it wound forward fifty years.
The dog of course knew when I'd finished, ensuring it came back through the passageway into the point of origin at my side, as if the tour had additionally been a rite de passage that allowed the successful initiate to gain temporary equality with the remarkable sheepdog.
Thing was, when I got back in front of the main desk, beaming away as the dog grinned momentarily to itself, the man was still there: sitting quite nonchalantly, sorting through yesteryear's timetables.
"Wow...brilliant...totally remarkable!" I gushed.
"Oh, good then, thank you sir, " he murmured, without a glance.
"And your dog; brilliant company; led me round the whole place, he did," I added.
"Mm.." as he continued to slowly rummage; and then, without a look upwards as he leafed through the box, in the same calm murmur, "Ay, quite a character, that dog."
Anyway. Here are two from the experience. The dog is saying, "allow me to venture, sir, that your shot is not quite complete; please allow me...now sir, Edwardian Lady catchlights should be....just here sir."
![[Image: 2648%20raildogcolWeb.jpg]](http://www.shuttertalk.com/forums/images/upload/2648%20raildogcolWeb.jpg)
![[Image: 2642raildogBWweb.jpg]](http://www.shuttertalk.com/forums/images/upload/2642raildogBWweb.jpg)
As I mentioned there, absolutely any exposure I have of late to old railway memorabilia seems imbued with a sense of synchronicitous whimsy:
I wasn't even looking for this museum, really just cruising around the area(in a non-homosexualist way, of course) on tramp for a general pic or two..and when I arrived at the Railway Museum, I had a negative expectation: I was anticipating a shop-sized assemblage of old timetables and the odd old metal sign advertising Colman's Mustard or somesuch.
I duly arrived at the shop-front, whereupon an old dear came straight out and breathed, "Oh, you simply must...," or thereabouts. I'd barely ceased my indulgent nod when a senior couple emerged, also beaming and urging me to enter.
Ah well, may as well, I thought, and gave my cash to a chap who sat engrossed in sorting through various old boxes. Hmm, nice pics of old steamers, coal-blackened men with moustaches and the like. One of two recumbent sheepdogs got up and padded towards me, lolling and grinning away for a non-existent treat, so I thought.
I reached down to pat the dog; it wandered off, then wandered back for another stroke, looked up..and I swear it then approached a side door with a slightly ruffled look at me as if to say, "er, when you're ready, sir."
The chap was ignoring me by this time, so I guessed it was permitted for me to go through the side door; the dog sidled through before I could close it but still the chap didn't look up from his box of bits.
I emerged along a back garden passage, that gave out onto an absolutely vast collection of all manner of railway paraphernalia: countless amazing stacks and piles and even old rail carriages, full of signs, signals, lamps, sleepers and all manner of stuff. What had been a very large garden and allotment had been turned over to one mammoth collection of railway memorabilia, and was in piles, festoons and the most gorgeous random collections. A gigantic Aladdin's Cave or centuries-old pirates' stash, set out in walkways, perambulations and even curves as it followed what was obviously an actual small-gauge rail track that passed through the place.
I'd barely time to try and figure just how something so vast could actually exist in the same dimension as the small shop-front, when I noticed that the dog had politely waited for me to catch up. Seeing that I was caught between being transfixed and pratting about with lenses, it came back for a quick grin, then padded back to the first fork in the path, flollopped down with a sigh, itself caught between its attendant duties and the momentary lapse in decorum needed to flush out a pigeon, which obviously had not paid the entrance fee.
As soon as I was ready and started walking again, the dog looked round at me over its shoulder before setting off down one fork in the path; when I took a bit longer, distracted by another outhouse with lamps and and boxes, it came back for a grin and a stroke, then sat and staked out the next pigeon-free vista for me.
And that dog led me round the entire maze of amazement and intricacy. It had an uncanny sense of politeness: not brisk enough to cause offence, just the right amount of aloofness to trust that I had enough intelligence not to get lost or maim myself...yet with the occasional padding to my side, the snuffle at the hand, as if to say, "if there's anything else I can help with, sir..."
I was thus led around and along lines and stacks and signals, corkscrewing through old sheds and cabins and carriages, in the perfect sense of being hosted without being moithered, given the trust to roam free yet with the dog always appearing with the grin if freedom ever threatened to turn to aloneness.
If this were not uncanny enough, when I had the camera, the dog either politely removed itself from shot, else sauntered into frame with head cocked as if asking whether I wanted the image with or without pigeons...then saying, "permit me to choose", before shushing off the birds, then returning to the same spot. And I kid you not: that dog seemed to know the exact frame edges of a Zeiss 21mm Distagon: as I took a succession of kneeling shots, the dog slowly rotated itself through its pre-ordained and trained poses....here was "Edwardian Lady looking off-camera into the wistful distance;" here was "pensive with paws folded in yesteryear melancholia"..and of course "alert, watchful, pigeon-scaring buccaneer".
By the end of the time there I didn't know of which miracle I was most enamoured: the sentient sheepdog or the multi-dimensional reality of placing an entire fin-de-siècle railyard into a back garden. I wouldn't have been surprised if I'd checked my watch outside and found it wound forward fifty years.
The dog of course knew when I'd finished, ensuring it came back through the passageway into the point of origin at my side, as if the tour had additionally been a rite de passage that allowed the successful initiate to gain temporary equality with the remarkable sheepdog.
Thing was, when I got back in front of the main desk, beaming away as the dog grinned momentarily to itself, the man was still there: sitting quite nonchalantly, sorting through yesteryear's timetables.
"Wow...brilliant...totally remarkable!" I gushed.
"Oh, good then, thank you sir, " he murmured, without a glance.
"And your dog; brilliant company; led me round the whole place, he did," I added.
"Mm.." as he continued to slowly rummage; and then, without a look upwards as he leafed through the box, in the same calm murmur, "Ay, quite a character, that dog."
Anyway. Here are two from the experience. The dog is saying, "allow me to venture, sir, that your shot is not quite complete; please allow me...now sir, Edwardian Lady catchlights should be....just here sir."
