My word, BEagle, you remind me so much of my late Father-in-Law - GWR to the core.
Considered by his contemporaries to be a benevolent and kindly man, he would regale us young ones with tales of his life on the Railways. From humble ticket hall clerk to Station Master at one of the Great Western’s termini, his stock of humorous tales seemed limitless.
But he had his dark side too. Heaven forbid you should mention the enemy; Southern Railways. He’d kick off in a trice, embarrassing the staff and inmates at the old people’s home, cursing the whole scum-sucking, dung-eating crew, from General Manager down to Station Cat. Of course it was they who decided that I K Brunel’s magnificent bridge at Saltash was incapable of taking anything heavier than an eight-car rake, thus keeping revenue down for the Company, and thereby eliminating the possibility of renewing rolling stock. It was also the Southern who gave the Luftwaffe target maps for the GWR station in Plymouth, a magnificent edifice so badly damaged that all trains from up-country were forced on to Southern metal, again diverting much needed cash away from locomotive maintenance.
But it was his hatred for the machinations of politicians and their ‘professional advisors’ such as Dr Beeching, with their meddlesome ways, closing many a fine station steeped in history. His outbursts could be spectacular as well as frightening, and only the intervention of a kindly nurse, prepared to ignore medical protocol and exceed Father’s normal dose of sedatives, would restore calm.
But thankfully, human nature suppresses the memories of the less savoury side of those we revere. Barely a day passes without my wife, his daughter, commenting on his wonderful sense of humour, and when she does, I smile to myself, and envisage a proud old man, sat on his commode, a warm drink sloshing around in a saucer by his side………….
and my Father in Law.
