A Pannier tank enters the south end of the 109yard Blue Rock Tunnel, encountering its right-hand curvature. (Photo: Bob Barnett)
cut in half under the wheels of our loco. Stay down!” It occurred to me that I did not have much choice in the matter as Jim leaned across to hold me to the footplate. I had not enough air
in my lungs to fight him and wondered where he had found enough to come across the cab and grab me. I now resigned myself to my fate. I was going to die on the footplate of this loco. After what seemed to be an eternity, we emerged from the tunnel and the eerie yellow fog slid back over the side of the cab from where it had come. I felt as if I had just been woken from a nightmare. Sticking my head over the side of the cab, I noticed that the silver metal of the handbrake had gone the characteristic yellow from the sulphur. As I looked back the smoke was swirling up off the wagons behind our loco as, one by one, they came into view. For the rest of the day and for the first time, I went without a cigarette. Having travelled through these tunnels from the age of ten with my driver father, I had never experienced anything so bad before or since. This article was written by Bob Barnett and is reproduced courtesy of Forgotten Relics
The King and I Leo Brown Before my father died, we had a session together and put this piece together for publication in "The King's Messenger" - published by the 6024 Society. It provides an account of a first trip from Plymouth to London as a 20-year old fireman on a King. It was many years ago, yes, way back in 1944, before the GWR was nationalised. I was a young fireman in the junior links at Laira depot, in Plymouth. With little experience of main line passenger work, I was finding everything a challenge, but not as big as the challenge on that summer's day in 1944. I was only 20 at the time, only just out of my teens and Britain was at war. I had hankered after the RAF and Spitfires, but a finger injury and the essential war effort contribution of the railways had prevented me leaving to join up. That particular week, I had already done two trips Plymouth to Truro on local passenger trains. These trips had been firing to a top link driver by the name of Charlie Cuthbert long since departed to that great roundhouse in the sky. On our second trip, he mentioned that he was booked to London the following day - no less a train than 'The Cornish Riviera Limited', though always fondly known as "The Limited" - Limited referring to the limited 74
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stops and timescale to complete the journey. It was the flagship Express of the GWR's west country arm! Charlie had asked me as his regular fireman was on leave. This in itself was an unusual request, as the roster clerk always booked the top-link spare-man to these turns. Nevertheless, with perhaps a bit of apprehension on both my part and the roster clerk's part, I was booked onto that turn of duty. Needless to say, there was a fair amount of trepidation on my part! We booked on at 10:45am the following day. First task was to prepare the loco, which was 6020, 'King Henry IV', resplendent in her green livery and GWR crests, a real tribute to the cleaners at Laira. Wartime or no, the loco to haul 'The Limited' was at least going to look her best. Whether she was to perform at her best was going to be down ultimately to the two of us. We had a couple of extra tubs of coal piled high on the tender as it was to be Plymouth to Paddington (almost) non-stop. 6020 was still carrying her single chimney then, modifications to the double blastpipe being still some 12 years away. We rode tender first into Plymouth to pick up the three coaches making up the Plymouth portion. The Cornish portion duly arrived behind a Castle,
January/February 2021
