The Tales of Gehiwian Circle

The Gehiwian Coastal Disaster

28th September 1922

With another draw of the cigarette between his chapped lips, Charles Bowman looked to the night sky and exhaled a mushroom cloud of smoke. It was their last trip of the day, but because of a points issue on the junction outside the yard it would be an unnecessarily long one. This was his first visit to the Gehiwian Circle line, and from what he'd seen so far he was not impressed.

Who builds a loop line on a site like this? he thought to himself, and does anyone here know how to diagnose points issues?

In the siding next to him, his engine, a London, Brighton and South Coast D3 tank engine, simmered ahead of their final trip home. It was the first time a D3 had ever ventured to the Gehiwian neck of the woods, and some of the engine staff from the yard across the lines had come over to admire and fuss over her. The D3 was larger than the Terriers that ran the line, and the dark umber livery with black lining was markedly different to the Gehiwian unlined purple. D3 No. 362, named 'Battersmith', was a work of art in her shining clean state, a contrast to the coal dust that had infected all the rolling stock in the surrounding yard. Charles yearned to get going. The last thing he wanted was extra hours wasted hosing down Battersmith.

"Oi!"

Charles turned, the collapsing form of the cigarette sagging between his lips. His fireman, Joey Tanner, was sticking his head out of the cab. At the top end of his twenties with a baby-like, soot-covered face, two round ears stuck out wide and forward-facing. "All's good in 'ere."

"Right," Charles dropped the cig from his lips and crushed it beneath his boot. He hopped up the ladder into the cab.

Looking through the front cab windows, Charles spied the signal box for the Gehiwian North junction on the far edge of the yard. At the end of their siding he spied the ground signal at red. The points ahead of them clicked, and a few moments later the signal rotated to green. Behind the three coal wagons hooked up to Battersmith's rear, their brake van guard blew his whistle at the very end of the train.

"Do the honours, Jo," Charles said.

Grabbing the chain, Joey tugged on it and released two echoing peeps of Battersmith's whistle.  Charles released the brake and manned the regulator. Slowly and steadily, Battersmith's four driving wheels rolled forwards, pistons chuffing like an angry bull. The trailing four-wheel bogie rolled smoothly behind them, as did the three coal wagons and brake van.

Battersmith's whistle chimed again as she exited the yard onto the inner loop line. The wagons behind her clattered and clicked over the points. The yard lights cast striped bars of yellow and dark over them as they passed. As the train approached the Station Road level crossing, the arm dropped to grant them passage as an orb of green light shone from the signal post. Holding Battersmith at a steady speed, Charles peered outside the cab and spied the red lights atop the level crossing gates. Joey shovelled some more coal into the roaring firebox. Golden beams from the headlights of stopped traffic scythed across the rails in front of them. All was clear.

Battersmith and her train passed cleanly over the crossing. Charles opened the regulator and they picked up speed. He eyed the steam pressure and water gauges. The lights of the town and yard quickly vanished as they charged into the unlit countryside. 

They followed the tracks down and round towards the coast. To their left the road followed them for a while before turning away towards a goods depot. From there a small single track road continued alongside the line to the other side of the goods depot. They'd pass the junction to there and the outer line shortly, but not before passing close to the cliffs that marked the edge of the estuary.