 |
 |
 |
|
|
|
No way could you call her beautiful. She was now an elderly and badly maintained loco much given to taking her ease in some distant and out of the way part of the yard. There covered in coal dust, with a flaking wooden body and a coughing aged petrol engine, her declining years were spent ambling around Brentwood goods yard and as a ten year old in the early fifties – I fell in love with her.
I was just the latest to full under the magic spell of Peggy. Squat, black and a body of rotting wood, she spent her days chugging around the yard shunting Moy's , Hudsons or Co-op coal waggons and any othe fright that came Brentwood's way duringt he fifties when it was still worthwhile transporting goods by rail rather then by road. For any child, so long as you kept out of the way, and behaved yourself, being allowed to hang around this small goods yard was an adventure. Apart from the local coal trade British Railways in those immediate post war years still had a flourishing parcels business with three lorries available to serve their customers. Life for those yard men in those pre-Beeching days - (the British Railways Minister who all but ruined the rail system) was quite enjoyable and easy. For in the age of full employment, Brentwood had a sizeable staff. Not only did it have a station master -whose word was law. But under him a large complement of Porters, Signalmen and booking office staff and well as the man who looked after the stations goods and parcel traffic. This parcels traffic involved the use of what must have been the towns strangest lorries. With just three wheels, one at front to steer and the other two providing the motive power. it trundled around town daily. It even had it's own guard dog, a large black shaggy hound that came to regard the cab as it's own personal kennel and become the drivers constant companion. Apart from coal and general fright the yard was very much into lifestock - Racing Pigeons. Every Friday night you'd find piles of large wickerworked cages - all full of slate gray pigeons. All would be loaded into the guards vans of passing passenger trains for their onward journey to some remote part of the country for release the next morning at a set time. Come the next morning local pigeon fanciers would assemble back in the yard to be faced with another pile of travelluing cages. These had been sent over night from yet another area and at the apponted time a great cloud of freedom loving pigeons would rise high over the station area before heading for home. As for the fanciers, after cleaning up the by now empty cages, there would be time for a swift half or two before the return to their home lofts to await the return of their beloved pigeons. Not that I was very interested in pigeons and their little ways. If however when during school holidays I got bored watching various steam locomotives storming up Brentwood bank. And if I was very good, (And of course I was) and fetched the crews jug of tea then the reward would be to be allowed to clamber aboard 'Peggy' for either a short ride or some shunting duty. So you can keep your memories of Black Fives, A4.s and so on. For me only one locomotive counted, and that was 'Peggy.' If any reader knows anything about this type of locomotive or about the previous history of 'Peggy' I would be most grateful.
|
