Engine Wood: 4mm scale UK Model Railway Layouts,Tim Maddocks,Somerset and Dorset Railways, Bleakhouse Road

A personal view

A journey along the line

I was too young to have seen the G&SSR at first hand and had resigned myself to experiencing it through what little published material is known to exist. The sparcity of published material has always been a real challenge during the research stages of a project like this and the few photographs which have been published cannot really tell the prospective railway historian or modeller what the atmosphere of this remote rural railway byway was actually like.

It was with considerable surprise, therefore, that I received a number of diaries and a photo album from the estate of a friend’s late grandfather. It seems that as a young man this gentleman used to take cycling holidays in the West Country in the years immediately after the second world war, travelling down by train from the North of England and touring around on his trusty Raleigh bicycle. He was very interested in the countryside and architecture and often took comprehensive notes during these trips.

His story fascinated me with it's descriptions of the changing face of rural life in post-war Britain. One such tale concerned a trip he made during the summer of 1951 and held my attention rather more than the others I had hitherto read:

September 4^th 1951; I arrived in Taunton at 1134, having caught the stopping train up from Exeter. The locomotive was 7316. Due to a misunderstanding, the platform inspector nearly dispatched the train before I had managed to retrieve my bicycle from the guards van. Re-united with my machine, I resolved that I would complete today’s journey by bicycle alone, having been forced to abandon my attempts to cycle up to Taunton yesterday by torrential rain and thunderstorms.

Today the weather seemed more hopeful, although it was still warm and humid. My goal for today was to reach Wells, where I intended to stay overnight in a boarding house owned by a friend of the family.

I set off through the suburbs of Taunton, heading eastwards. The roads were quiet on this late summer’s morning, with only the occasional lorry or private car overtaking me. I passed through the pleasant village of Monkton Heathfield and paused to send a postcard to mother from the village post office.

The road is hilly for the first few miles out of Taunton and I was looking forward to the miles of flat countryside to come over the Somerset Levels. I would need to make good time if I was to arrive at my destination by 3 pm, as promised.

By lunchtime I had reached the village of Burrowbridge and stopped to eat my sandwiches, which I supplemented with a fine meat pie from the village bakers. The lady behind the counter reminded me that there was a plaque in the village purporting to denote the site where King Alfred had burnt the cakes, should I want to take a photograph. I resolved to forego this rather dubious history lesson and continued on my way. By 2 pm I had reached the village of Othery. The traffic on the main road had now become decidedly heavy due to the passage of a seemingly unending army convoy, so I decided to try the back roads hence to Glastonbury.

I took the lane eastwards towards High Ham. The air had become hot and still and the sky ominously heavy with dark storm clouds. Rumbles of thunder rolled around some miles to the south west. Before I had covered a mile the heavens opened as a thunderstorm passed overhead. I quickly became thoroughly soaked but kept going in the hope of finding a bus shelter or similar to sit out the rest of the downpour. There was to be no such respite, but after about 20 minutes the rain stopped and the sun came out again.

I realised that I was starting to tremble with the cold and dampness, despite the warmth of the sun. Looking across the field to my left I noticed a single track railway line running parallel with the lane, slightly elevated on a low embankment and realised that I must have been cycling parallel with it for the last mile or so. The tracks looked neglected and grass grown. A further storm seemed to be gathering in the west and my hopes of finding a train to take me the rest of my journey in the dry were dashed when closer inspection of the railway revealed the track to be rusty with disuse. There was nothing for it but to cycle onwards towards Glastonbury and hope to find a barn or some other shelter when the next storm came.

The lane curved away from the old railway but about mile further on I came to a crossroads where a signpost showed directions to ‘Bleakhouse Road Station’, half a mile up the lane to the left. Intrigued but expecting to find nothing but a deserted and derelict site, I set off in that direction.

Suddenly after only a couple of hundred yards my preconceptions were shattered when I heard the unmistakable chime of a Midland Railway steam locomotive whistle. Further on around the corner I was met with the sight of a level crossing gate closed across the lane and the clanging of wagons being hurriedly shunted. I cycled up to the gates and saw a Midland Class 3 loco, number 43218 taking on water at a water column at the end of a station platform. An elderly passenger coach in Southern Region green stood in the station and was evidently in the process of being run round by the 3F. A couple of porters were man-handling some large crates between the neat wooden station buildings and the train.

The fireman threw the bag from the tender and the loco drew forward right onto the level crossing before the points clattered over and the loco ran back tender first around it’s train. A few minutes later one of the porters slouched over towards the level crossing and with apparent reluctance unbolted the gates and lazily pushed them open. I crossed over the line, noticing the buffer stops immediately to my left, barring further rail movements back towards the south west. Turning into the station forecourt, I noticed that the source of the clanging wagons was a small green 0-4-0 saddle tank loco hissing steam from all quarters and busily marshalling a motley mixture of grey and brown box vans in a siding behind the station. The legend SPLR stood out on it’s tanks in faded gold lettering.

The rain began again as I hastily leant my bicycle against the station building and mounted the steps into the booking hall. I enquired of the other porter (who turned out to be the signalman) and was told that the train was leaving for Glastonbury ‘in about half an hour’ and that I could get an onward connection for Wells by changing there. There was a fire lit in the waiting room so I dried myself out as best I could before the train left. I was, it seemed, the only passenger and, if the signalman was to be believed, the only passenger that day! After a few minutes, the other porter looked in and asked if I wanted a cup of tea. He apologised for the delay in opening the level crossing gates earlier and explained that the staff were still getting used to the idea of running trains round. The section through to Taunton had only recently closed, prior to which all trains ran through. I asked him about the little green engine and it’s box vans behind the station and was told that this was the ‘old peat railway across the moor’. I was chagrined to find out that it ran back towards Burrowbridge and, despite having had no passenger service for many years, often gave a lift in the guards van to hikers and others who wanted a ride over the Levels!

Before long, the porter looked in again and advised me that I should get on the train if I wanted to go on towards Glastonbury. The 3F had attached a short utility van by this time. I loaded the bicycle in the guards van and made myself comfortable in my compartment. There were still no other passengers and it was raining heavily again. The signal cleared with a clatter and with a quick toot on the whistle the short train pulled smartly out of the station. Looking over to my left as we gathered speed, I noticed a large works next to the line, which seemed to have it’s own private siding. I later learned that this was a peat works owned by the Bleak Moor Peat & Sedge Company.

We slowed as we neared a gated level crossing with it’s attendant cottage which carried the name ‘Ham Lane’. The train stopped for a few minutes for the driver to off-load a couple of milk churns of drinking water onto the small wooden platform and exchange a few words of greeting with the lady crossing keeper. The train moved off and continued through the flat landscape, punctuated by the occasional group of trees with the Polden Hills forming a backdrop in the distance. We paused briefly at two further halts at Greinton & Pedwell and Walton, before running into Glastonbury station. The whole trip had taken less than 20 minutes. I alighted and, having retrieved my cycle, crossed the platform to the waiting Wells branch service, which was headed by a Johnson 0-4-4 tank loco.

Please note that all written and photographic material on this website is the intellectual property of and copyright Tim Maddocks 2005, unless otherwise credited.