The signal box at New Street
"And what do you want to do when you grow up?"
This inquiry, addressed to me from their great height by visiting
aunts or acquaintances of my mother encountered at the shops, usually
followed the observation that I'd grown. I could never think of an
answer, and even now can't think of any job I'd have wanted to do.
I've loathed every job I've had and looked forward to retirement from
about the third day after I left school. In a correctly ordered
society the State would recognise the valuable contribution of
contemplatives and bookworms and award them a kind of platonic income,
paid on the "grace and favour" principle ...something like
Maundy money, but legal tender of course. In return we'd be happy to
perform some kind of minor ceremonial function at state occasions.
If I had to do some sort of "real" work and were given the
choice, I think I could have learned to tolerate the job of railway
signalman. After all, I've had to put up with far less congenial
occupations. What I have in mind is a cosy cabin on a lofty brick
plinth (housing the "frame") at the foot of a grassy
embankment. Primroses and cowslips in spring, followed by ox-eye
daisies in June and rosebay willowherb in high summer. In winter a
supply of free railway coal for the tortoise stove would keep me snug.
I think I would prefer an intermediate box on a moderately busy line,
but I wouldn't mind supervising a branch line junction or a passing
loop or something of that sort. Somewhere with a good view would be
nice. I would have lots of big levers to operate and a telegraph for
communication with neighbouring boxes. Composing my log book entries
would be an exquisite literary exercise. In the preferably fairly long
intervals between trains I could listen to the skylarks and observe
the passage of the clouds.
But we live in advanced times, and efficiency is thought to make
people happier. This hideous concrete concertina, confined in its
lightless falaise of tower blocks, is scarcely recognisable as a signal box at all.
The projecting canopy at the top is to shield the control console from
the sun, but that's about the only clue. Not much of a prospect to
look out on here and, I imagine, little opportunity for introspection.
It is one of those things that is so bad that it breaks through a
barrier and becomes good. In a way I quite like it, but the love of
ugliness is a perverted, morbid, psychologically unhygienic thing.
Comments and faves
Sir Norman Font (51 months ago | reply)
Was always slightly disturbed by this building - reminded me somehow of a great big wasps nest...
rugd1022 (51 months ago | reply)
You should try ringing them from a signal post telephone . . . . takes them ages to answer! Heaven help us in an emergency. I'd say New Street is probably the ugliest of the 1960s MAS replacement boxes. Bescot Down Tower looks quite intimidating at night, mark my words . . .
focalplane (51 months ago | reply)
But, wait, it's a listed building!
geordiedave68 [deleted] (51 months ago | reply)
Does it list to port or starbord! Seriously though, taking of primroses, there used to be a box at the north end of Stockton station on the up side called Primrose Hill. In front of it lay a scrapyard, at the rear gas holders, there certainly was no hill (not that I could see) and you'd be hard pressed to find any primroses!
rugd1022 (51 months ago | reply)
Fray, further to your musings accompanying the photo, you might want to buy a copy of David Cannings 'Signalboxes, People and Trains on the Berks and Hants Line'. The book was self published back in 2000, the print quality isn't exactly spectacular but its well worth a look as it gives a wonderful insight into life as a Bobby in the 60s, 70s and 80s. You can probably secure a copy direct from www.davidandmarionphotography.co.uk. Some of the stories made me chuckle and I recognised one or two incidents described by David in the book.
DH73 (50 months ago | reply)
And also the fabulous 'Signalman's Morning/ Twilight/ Nightmare' books by Adrian Vaughan. I too would have enjoyed working a 'proper' signalbox. Alas, the railway Doctor at York did not think my lazy left eye was fit for signalbox work. Little did he know that I had been quite at home working some of the York area manual boxes, with many signalmen friends, since I was 13.
That HP Chap (45 months ago | reply)
Going past here on the train the other day, I tried convincing my colleague that it was designed in a concertina style, so that they could stretch it up a bit if they needed more space.
He was having none of it, though.
westcoastminiatures added this photo to his favorites. (16 months ago)