EARLY INFLUENCES
Trams got to me almost before I could walk or talk. Although we lived in Manchester, where my father came from, we often used to visit my mother’s parents and her other relatives in London.
My maternal grandparents lived in the area bounded by Camberwell New Road and Brixton Road, and had a hardware shop at Kennington Cross, on Cleaver Street. Between house and shop were some of the busiest tramways in the world, with trams passing constantly in all directions. Those pervasive trams made a very deep impression on me, either riding on them or admiring them as they went past.
Somehow their unrivalled clamour and abundance were a comforting sign that all was well in the bleak post-war world of bomb sites, austerity and rationing, and that may be the real substance of their appeal to me, echoing the reassurance they gave to Londoners during the Blitz.
We travelled all over London by public transport, but it was the trams which stuck most forcibly in my memory because of the spirited way in which they were driven, flung full-tilt at facing points and at death-defyingly sharp curves with glorious panache because of the gaps in the conductor rails. Oddly enough, I don’t particularly approve of today’s wire-free “solutions”, though when I didn’t know any better it was the conduit which made London’s trams so exciting for me, as did proceeding through thick fogs with sonorous gongs sounding constantly.
TRAINSPOTTING DAYS
Later I became obsessed with railways and was a dedicated railway modeller and trainspotter like legions of other young lads at the time. Peter Noone, aka Herman of the Hermits, was one of my trainspotting chums and I especially recall a trip to Doncaster with him to see Gresley Pacifics in all their glory. Wigan and Warrington were good places to see Stanier Pacifics storming through on Scottish expresses, and Crewe amongst many other places was great for illicit shed-bashing.
Reading, near to my grandparents’ country retreat in Wokingham, was wonderful for Kings and Castles powering smart chocolate-and-cream expresses, plus the occasional Great Western railcar, and I always liked the rather trammy Southern Electric trains especially on the approaches to Waterloo intermingled with Bulleid Pacifics, everything turned out immaculately in co-ordinating green livery. I still remember with fondness the lovely sound of the slow-running air compressors and trammy motors of the number 28 trains to Reading via Wokingham, with their melodious air whistles tooting for rustic foot-crossings in the sleepy Surrey woods.
During this time a couple of articles in railway modelling magazines nourished my dormant interest in tramways. One was about CL Fry’s Irish International Railway and Tramway System, with pictures of the best model tram track that I’ve ever seen before or since, and the other was about the wonderfully quaint Wantage Tram, complete with poem:
A curious race has come to pass
Between an engine and an ass
The Wantage Tram, all steam and smoke
Was beat by Arthur Hitchcock’s moke
I also acquired a copy of The British Tram by Frank E Wilson, which is how I learnt about the intricacies of the London conduit system.
TRAINS TO TRAMS
At Stretford Grammar School I helped set up a railway club, and we were accompanied on outings to railway depots and workshops by our music master Mr Hardwick. In spring 1962 we visited the Gorton works of Beyer Peacock Ltd to see diesel hydraulic locos being built for the Western Region. We also saw the Tasmanian Garratt, currently operating at Statfold Barn, and another loco which really captivated me – none other than John Bull, the Beyer Peacock steam tram loco which had been its makers’ works shunter for many years. When I enquired about it, I was told that it was soon going to be transferred to the tramway museum at Crich, which until then I hadn’t heard of. Shortly afterwards, at the model shop on Bootle Street in Manchester, I bought the March 1962 edition of the Tramway Museum Society “Journal”, with John Bull resplendent on the front cover. That did it, the perfect transition from trains to trams courtesy of a steam tram loco.
I lost no time in joining the Tramway Museum Society and making my way to Crich by public transport. I was quickly made welcome in the very friendly, easy-going and undemanding atmosphere which prevailed in those days, and after that my visits became once weekly, at first by public transport – on steam-hauled trains and the E2 bus – but later as one of Dennis Gill’s merry crew of minibus passengers. A history master at our school, Harold Lievesley, was also a tram enthusiast and I can remember when we “chased” Glasgow 101 in his car on its journey to Crich.
When I found out that Glasgow trams would be finishing that September I was determined to pay them a last-chance visit. The final day was due to be one week after I went back to school, when I wouldn’t have been allowed by my parents to make the trip, so I set off the week before on the midnight steam train, alone at the age of 14 from Manchester Exchange station, arriving in Glasgow at daybreak.
That dawn arrival was the last time I did any trainspotting. After a day’s solid tram-riding on those wonderful Coronations and Cunarders it was trams forever for me, and I returned home that night laden with destination blinds, controller keys and air brake handles bought at Coplawhill Works. Later in Blackpool, I was just able to savour the Marton and North Station routes before they closed, and I had my first drive of an electric tram during one of Bradford 104’s regular outings at Thornbury works round about that time.
For my weekly Crich visits I didn’t have to rely on public transport for long. Lifts were kindly provided by Vic Chatburn, Booksales Officer, and John Senior, Journal Editor, as well as by Dennis Gill, Publicity Officer, in his legendary Dormobile. It was probably through John, who with his wife Caroline became involved in organising the horse tram when it was used to inaugurate the carriage of the first fare-paying passengers at the Museum in 1963, that I became part of the rookie team of equine tram crew. I was 15 at the time.
THE HORSE TRAM ERA AT CRICH
Howard Parkinson was also from Manchester and was a fellow partaker of lifts to and from the museum. More confident with horses than I was to start with, he’s credited with being the first passenger carrying tram driver – of Sheffield 15 - at the Museum. The motive power was Bonny, a mare hired from a local farmer – Mr Gregory - for ten shillings a day. Howard and I used to catch her in whatever field she was in at the time and ride her bareback, like something out of “The Miller’s Tale” by Geoffrey Chaucer, through the lanes to and from the Museum. On the steep uphill sections the rear rider (usually me) would slide steadily back until he was sitting on Bonny’s tail, and then have to shuffle forward to avoid tumbling off backwards into the road.
Although Howard was the first tram driver at Crich, of Sheffield 15, on the reins with Merlyn Bacon on the brakes, in a way I was rather illicitly the first “driver” with paying members of the public on board, but in a most makeshift - and by today’s rigorous standards, improper - way. Before entrusting Sheffield 15 to Bonny, we harnessed her to the Leeds flat truck on which a number of turnover seats had been loosely placed, and made a number of trips with full wobbly loads of passengers. Howard led Bonny by the bridle while I worked the brakes, which were operated by a handwheel located low down in the middle of each side. The only way for me to get at the brake wheel from on board was to sit on the side of the flat truck and work them with my heels. Engagement of the pawl was impossible without falling off.
That arrangement worked well until somebody parked a car too close to the track, and I had to leap off to avoid getting my legs mangled. Now with no brakes but still very much in motion, the equipage rolled forward towards the end of the track at Town End terminus. Bonny wisely leaped up onto the earth bank, which the flat truck solidly rammed. Fortunately there were no dire consequences, or incident report forms in those days, and later on the same day the fleeting flat truck era was airbrushed forever out of the Museum’s history (until now that is!), superseded by tamer procedures.
EASTBOURNE BOY TRAM CONDUCTOR
Back in Manchester at one of the LRTA/TMS meetings, a short film of Eastbourne trams was shown and Howard and I decided it would be great to work on them in the summer. Howard wrote to Claude Lane and we were taken on as Boy Conductors for our 6 weeks summer holidays Also taken on at Eastbourne were John Edwards who went to the same school as I did, and Ray Hobson, a friend of Howard’s, both of whom had also crewed the horse tram at Crich. Thus the four of us repeated history by graduating from horse trams to electric trams. We B&B’d at first, at Mrs Stoner’s on Channel View Road, not far from Royal Parade tram terminus. Later we camped out in the Works, and were taken by Claude and Allan for weekly baths to the house in Pevensey Bay where they lived.
I’ll try to record what turned out to be my formative experiences at Eastbourne in as readable a way as possible, perhaps drifting from topic to topic in a random sort of way which I hope makes sense all these years later. Hopefully my reminiscences will complement rather than repeat anything previously published.
THE CONDUCTOR’S DUTIES AT EASTBOURNE TRAMWAY
Our induction as Boy Conductors didn’t take long. After a brief medical check, mainly it seemed to make sure that we didn’t have hernias, we were supplied with our green uniforms, which we had to wear at all times when on duty regardless of the hot sunny weather in Eastbourne. Each new conductor was given a short piece of round mild steel with which to make his own crank handle for turning the destination blinds, which always had to be correctly set. After being shown the ropes out on the line we were let loose on the trams as soon as Claude considered us competent. Reporting for duty was done at the top of the stairs in the Works building, where there was a small hatch communicating with Claude’s office, hallowed territory strictly out of bounds unless you were invited in. Surrounding the signing-on point were shelves containing spare parts for the Lancaster Electrical Company (LEC) vehicles which were then still in service, for example Price’s Bakery delivery vans in North Manchester. Some of those parts were generic Bradford Jowett, and the motors, by Crompton Parkinson, were identical with the tram motors.
Through the hatch we were each issued with a TIM ticket issuing machine in its own brown fibre case which also contained spare ticket rolls, and a “float” consisting of perhaps half-a-crown’s (30p’s) worth of small change, a waybill and a leather cash bag for which a uniform jacket pocket was a substitute on quiet days or for one-man working. The “start” numbers displayed on the ticket machine had to be entered on the waybill. The ticket machine case doubled as a conductor’s seat on the back platform. An alternative conductor’s perch was the rear curved seat at the top of the stairs. Our tram for the day was usually extracted from the rather cramped Little Depot, unless it was No 4 - or, later, numbers 2, 8 and 12 - which lived in the Works.
The adult return fare was 10d (ten old pence). I can’t remember the child return fares, or any others for that matter. There were no all-day tickets. A quiet day’s takings would perhaps be £5 or £6, or £10-£15 or so on a really busy Sunday or bank holiday. With all the “shrapnel” the cash bag got really heavy and the plentiful copper coins made sweaty hands quite dirty – embarrassing if one had to help passengers on and off. Saturday, known on the tramway as “changeover day”, was the quietest in the week because that’s when the clientele were either starting or finishing their holidays.
One of the conductor’s duties was to turn the trolley pole at the Crumbles terminus, and at Royal Parade if the trolley reverser wasn’t used. On the double-deck open-toppers this was done hands-on amongst the passengers. One of my “stupid boy” moments happened at the Crumbles when we had a full tram in drizzling rain. I got a mild tingle from the trolley pole, and shouted to Claude, who was my driver that day “I got a shock”. Later, and in no uncertain terms, he took me on one side and told me never ever to say anything like that in the hearing of the public, because you never knew who might happen to be within earshot.
At the time he was at a difficult negotiating stage with the Council, and could no doubt imagine the repercussions of any overheard loose-tongued revelation like mine. Like other things I learnt at Eastbourne, I’ve never forgotten that lesson, which sits nicely with Claude’s professionalism in never telling any of us off in public – a principle often ignored elsewhere.
Another “stupid boy” moment occurred at Royal Parade when I was turning No4’s trolley. The “Boat” had a swivel trolley head, from a Sheffield tram I think, with a ring underneath it for the trolley retriever pole, which was carried on board for the purpose. It had been made from electrical conduit and unbeknown to me had a screwed joint part way along its length. In my efforts to rotate the trolley head to line it up with the wire, I rotated the conduit, not realising that I was unscrewing the joint. Sure enough the trolley retriever split in two, and up flew No 4’s trolley pole with half a length of conduit dangling from it, leaving me forlornly holding the other half. I can’t remember how the problem was solved.
Paying-in at the end of a shift was done at the hatch at the top of the stairs in the Works. The amount paid in had to match the value of the tickets sold, calculated on the waybill by subtracting the previously-entered “start” numbers from the newly-entered “finish” numbers as read from the TIM machine. School arithmetic in action! Any shortages had to be made up from the conductor’s own pocket. It was expected that any “overs” would be paid in.
THE EASTBOURNE TRAMWAY
The tramway was very much run jointly by Claude Lane and Allan Gardner, perfectly matched in the balance of their skills, spheres of interest and attributes. Engineers are born, not made, and Claude was very much a sublime blend of engineer and businessman of a calibre rarely equalled, and in his management of the tramway there was a constant interplay between the businessman and the engineer in him. Apart from dealing with all the administrative affairs of the tramway - and of the residue LEC undertaking - from a practical point of view he concentrated on the electrical and mechanical aspects, whereas Allan, another born engineer and a great craftsman, tended to focus on such things as bodywork and coach-painting. Both got stuck in with the infrastructure of the tramway, the track and overhead. Having completed a course with Murex, Allan did most of the welding using a formidable petrol- driven apparatus, although it wasn’t unknown for arc welding of rails to be done by Claude – also a properly- trained welder - or Allan directly from the 120v DC overhead wire via a jumper cable dangling from a hook on the end of a bamboo pole. Such a technique was also used on city tramways, via a suitable resistance or motor- generator set.
The tramway’s power station at the Works was a classic expression of Claude’s finesse as a businessman and engineer. The concept was of a showpiece installation starring the Company’s fine pair of Blackstone oil engines, Claude’s pride and joy, recalling the mechanical engineering apprenticeship he’d served with their manufacturer many years previously. With their big flywheels, single cylinders and exposed parts, they were the closest possible cousins of stationary steam engines, and to casual observers that’s just what they looked like, set off by belt-driven generators, with everything finished in immaculate green paintwork neatly lined-out. Those prime-movers, a joy to behold in action, shared the space with traction batteries floated across the tramway supply, plus an impressive polished slate switch panel. It could all be admired by the public through plate-glass windows, more instructively than in any museum for these engines were actually working under load not just idling.
The tramway at Eastbourne never had a landline or any other telephone, or mains electricity supply, reflecting Claude’s dislike of nationalised industries. This meant that everything in the Works, including the machine tools and all the lighting and heating, was powered by the Blackstones, backed by the batteries. On one occasion when there was a problem with the supply, I saw Claude disappear behind the slate panel in search of a fault. All of a sudden there was an almighty bang, an angry fizzing noise, a flash and a cloud of smoke followed by a stream of invective which I’ve never heard the like of before or since. To say that the air was blue was an understatement – it was every colour of the rainbow. Claude emerged startled but unharmed. I also remember seeing Claude rest a (wooden) ladder against the live 120v overhead wire, mid-span, to remove an obstruction.
There was never enough security of tenure at Eastbourne to justify finishing the display with ornate tiling or panelling, and so Claude’s vision sadly went unrealised. The power equipment remained purely functional and was no doubt a very economical way of energising the tramway, using agricultural diesel oil. It was possible for a tram to operate from the batteries alone, but normally at quiet times the “little engine” would be run. Busy days with a few trams running required the “big engine”. I can’t remember both engines being run at once, but I may be wrong. The engines could be started electrically by using their dynamos as motors, and either of them could be started manually in theory, although I think that was only done with the little engine.
As an aside, an example of Claude’s ingenuity – and foreknowledge - occurred during the 1930s when he needed publicity for a new electric vehicle. Legend has it that he drove it up and down flat-out, in hot pursuit of the publicity which would come with being caught speeding in an electric road vehicle. But no such luck, Murphy’s Law swung into action and his efforts attracted no attention whatever from the boys in blue.
Another, and unrecorded (until now) example of Claude’s initiative occurred at Crich in, I think, Autumn 1963 when he borrowed a set of traction batteries from DP Batteries at Bakewell, with whom he did business. He and Allan installed them temporarily in Blackpool Box 40, and as far as I know that was the first tram to move under power at Crich.
Claude’s car, and the tramway runabout, was a grey Hillman Minx which was also used to tow a small trailer or the welding set. There was a Morris J-type van beautifully coach-painted in rich plum and black by Allan, matching the immaculate finish he’d applied to his pride and joy, a tiny 1930s Austin 7 Ruby saloon referred to as “Chummy”. Allan never used a spray-gun; everything was done with brushes in the traditional way, including all the lining-out. He once told me that he never used a new brush for the best work, but “broke brushes in” by painting brickwork or other rough surfaces with them until they were suitably “feathered”. That was just one of the gems of true craftsmanship which I learnt at Eastbourne.
Another tramway vehicle was a replica B-type bus, built for promotional purposes on a Swift car chassis, and another was a genuine Lancaster Electric Company product in the form of an ex-milk float which I was allowed to have a drive of long before I passed a driving test. For personal transport Allan ran a beautifully-kept green Mini which Claude jokingly referred to as The Roller Skate. Claude had pet names for many other things. Any spider was an Adolf, vinegar was Nanny Goat Sweat, a Mole wrench was an Elmo, mustard was Mouse Turd, speeding was Bashing, groceries were Grockeries, my home town Manchester was, rhymingly and somewhat disparagingly, “sh---y city”, and there were many other examples. When Claude lent you something, he’d say “and remember, it’s got a back to it!” If anyone broke wind he’d say “Speak up Brown, you’re through!” He had a characteristic non-verbal way of dismissing you from his presence to get on with something he’d given you to do, which I can still demonstrate but which is hard to describe in words. Then there was the Bestminster _ank (guess the rest!).
Claude also had private nicknames for many of the tramway enthusiasts who turned up, perhaps best not repeated even at this distance in time, except to say that he sometimes addressed Allan, always ready for a good-natured chat with anyone, as “Mrs G” – “Come on, Mrs G, it’s yak yak yaketty yak all the time”. In many other respects Claude’s sometimes impish sense of humour was apparent. There was no better evidence than the trilingual notices in the trams exhorting passengers to “Minden diesen kopf” “Baissez la tête en descendant” and “Mind yer flippin’ ‘ead when yer git orf”. The name of Seaton Tramway’s Bobsworth Bridge is another example of Claude’s wry sense of humour. I remember him being reduced to helpless laughter by a story told him by the lady attendant in the Golf House pay-booth, the punch line of which I do recall but daren’t repeat here. Amongst the tram crews Claude was referred to as The Guvnor or The Old Man, which I suspect he didn’t mind. It was a couple of years before he gave me permission to address him as Claude.
Few if any of the people immersed in the tramway in those pre camera-phone days seem to have found time for photography or movie-making, and most of the surviving images will have been the work of visiting enthusiasts. Good recordings of Eastbourne trams are, though, featured on a BBC LP produced in 1972 featuring a recording made inside an unidentified car, and one of No 6 passing at speed near Golf House, presumably on the double track (of the tramway, not of the LP).
When the tramway was extended from the depot to what turned out to be its final terminus at Crumbles, the track had been expertly laid parallel to Wartling Road by a retired LSWR/SR permanent way man affectionately referred to as Old Tom. When he finished it he declared in his rich Sussex accent “Look at that, straight, straight as a *~$#!” Readers are free to decide what the unrepeatable bleeped-out four-letter word might have been.
Old Tom became a driver at Eastbourne, his favourite car being 238 (“238! 238!”). Claude and Allan noticed burnt first-notch fingers in any controllers handled by Tom, and spoke to him about it. “Half a notch, only half a notch!” was his defence. After it was explained to him that fizzing the fingers like that was not best tram driving practice, the trouble ceased.
Another driver was Jack Norris, from Burgess Hill, a Sunday volunteer. His preferred tram was No 4. All drivers were under strict instructions never to use the parallel notches, because that might bash the track and would expose the 60v motors to the full 120v line voltage, and never to use the electric brake except in an initial daily check or in the direst emergencies, because of the danger of flashovers – but Jack was a driver in the finest London tradition and was oblivious to both instructions. Whenever he felt unobserved he would wind No 4 up into full parallel on the Extension or the double track and do some melodious electric braking here and there. Claude, however, had a pair of binoculars for surveillance from his elevated office window. He always reprimanded “bashing” drivers.
As far as I know, Jack was one of the LRTL (now LRTA) members who during the war took road-width measurements on various South London tramway streets in connection with the promotion of tramway modernisation initiatives featuring loading islands and subway ramps, declaring to suspicious police officers when challenged “ARP!”, upon which they were left alone to get on with it. Others were Alec Durndell, Wally Ackerman and Bill Deemer, three names associated with the preservation of MET “A” Class tram No 94, the body of which was sheeted over alongside the Works at Eastbourne courtesy of Claude, and worked on at weekends. Eventually No 94 was taken into the Works and sliced in half longitudinally to become MET No 14.
Other London friends of the tramway were Lionel Boylett and John Barrie, who with J W (Jay) Fowler formed a trio of active LRTL members. Eastbourne tramway folklore had it that one day they had to make a journey across North London, and were in a quandary, because one of them refused to go on a diesel bus, another refused to go on a trolleybus, and the third wouldn’t go in a taxi. Perhaps they proceeded separately, or walked. Another friend of the tramway was Ken Farrell, who used to go around in a tiny Messerschmitt bubble car with his mother ensconced in the back seat, where she was usually left waiting patiently while Ken made his social calls. Maybe it was too much trouble to get her out and back in again. Allegedly a huge Westinghouse T10 tram controller was once manoeuvred into the back of the car instead of mother, for which purpose the “bubble” canopy-cum-door was propped in the open position. Unfortunately, when Ken let in the clutch, the car reared up into a vertical attitude and sat down on its tailpipe much in the manner of a circus horse.
Claude and Allan used to say how much they were entertained by the antics of the local Civil Defence volunteers in the 1950s. They used to practice their drills near the tramway, and watching them going through their scenarios must have been a bit like watching Dad’s Army. We were all amused when the Artisans Sailing club, located adjacent to the tramway near Royal Parade terminus, was snobbishly re-designated The Sovereign Sailing Club.
There was a frequent exchange of letters between Claude and myself when I was back home in Manchester, exchanging news of Crich and Eastbourne. After conducting at Eastbourne throughout the 6 weeks school holidays in 1963, I did the same again in 1964. I remember on one occasion having some time to spare at Waterloo station on the way back home, and going into the News Theatre there to watch the continuously-run topical films. I was astonished to suddenly see myself on the massive screen driving the horse tram at Crich in a newsreel about trams.
I was only one of many paid staff and volunteers who crewed the trams at Eastbourne, or volunteered in other ways. A long-standing tram driver/conductor who lived locally was Colin – I can’t remember his surname. Also there was a locally-based conductor, called Malcolm (or was it Martin?) Clere. I remember Claude concluding an admonishment to him with “Clear, Clere?” I never knew of any female crew members. Another conductor was Peter somebody.
The tramway’s own Darby and Joan couple were Ted and Ivy Lilley. They were from Croydon, and when working on the tramway they lived in a small old boxy caravan alongside the little depot with, parked next to it, their ancient upright Ford van, immaculately turned out in pale green. I remember once when Ivy – known to us as Auntie Ivy - got her fingers trapped in the door of the van when Ted closed it. As she screamed “Ted! Ted!” in pain, her hubby calmly took his pipe out and uttered the calm response “What’s the matter with you woman?” The caravan ended its days outside the front of the Works at Seaton as the first overnight accommodation.
Ted, who identified himself as a Retired Muffin Man, always with pipe in mouth, seemed to be a permanent fixture at the controls of No 7, his favourite tram, for which he had his own special soft seat. Tramway enthusiasts were referred to by Ted as “thooosiasts”, and the First World War was “The First World’s Woe-er”. Ivy was a fixture in the tramway shop at Royal Parade terminus, originally housed in one end of the waiting shelter until the mobile Tram Shop was created from Works Car 01. The Tram Shop was driven to Royal Parade every morning, parked all day on the stub, and driven back at night. Memorabilia and souvenirs of the tramway were sold, including postcards and blue Devon pottery items. At quiet times tram crews used to chat to Ivy at her shop window during layovers.
The annual visits of a travelling fair to Princes Park were dreaded by Claude and Allan for fear, based on bitter experience, of subsequent thefts of anything which could be spirited away and weighed-in at a scrapyard, particularly overhead copper wire which did indeed go missing at Eastbourne. Years later, Community Payback characters lunching alongside the depot at Heaton Park and asking questions about the metallic content of various tramway items caused similar collywobbles when I was volunteering there. Trolley wire was stolen from there too.
The pebbles of which the whole Crumbles area was composed were referred to collectively as “beach”. Beach was both a problem and a free resource, a paradox perfectly expressed in the method of planting poles. The instability of beach meant that traction standards couldn’t be planted straight into it, so every pole was planted in a concrete- filled oil drum. Beach from the pole hole was shovelled straight into the concrete mixer as aggregate. Loose beach wasn’t the best of track ballast materials because it had little grip on the sleepers, unlike conventional angular ballast which binds together to resist movement. Combined with lightweight rail inherited from previous Modern Electric Tramways ventures, this made track maintenance a constant battle. Derailments were frequent whoever the driver was, usually with mild outcomes thanks to the safety bars fitted on the ends of all the trucks. Often the derailed tram could be clandestinely driven back on, or otherwise re-railed with minimum fuss. Dealing with such problems certainly turned Eastbourne tram drivers into more rounded and resourceful tramwaymen than their brethren elsewhere. Short leases didn’t justify substantial investment, though as clear evidence of good intentions, there were sections of track with heavier rail and even a length outbound on the double track laid with grooved tram rail which gave an exceptionally stable ride.
People used to tramp over the tramway and up the sloping shingle towards the sea, causing slow landslides especially at Beach Corner where the seaward rail sometimes disappeared under the stones, especially when someone tried to drive a vehicle up the slope. Then the pebbly deluge had to be shovelled away, only for it to happen again before long. The Council really ought to have paid the tramway an allowance for helpfully intercepting the beach to stop it invading their car park access road.
The ready supply of pebbles meant that as well as being mischievously thrown were often placed on the rails by children, only to be knocked off by the safety bars. Alternatively they might jam under the safety bar and be dragged squeakily along until being ground away. Smaller ones might find their way under the wheels and be crushed. More deadly were stones placed in the points, which could and did cause derailments, especially at Golf House. Tram drivers were exhorted to always “watch your points”, something which I never forgot. I once saw Claude intercept a troublesome youth on a bike by stepping in front of him and grabbing the handlebars to give him a good telling off.
EASTBOURNE TRAM DRIVER
Interlacing the track at Golf House in April 1965 enabled two sets of point switches to be eliminated, thwarting the mischief to a useful extent. That was quite a month for me personally at Eastbourne. Claude and Allan gave me a few tram-driving lessons, and when on April 21st Claude suddenly disappeared and went back to the Works I realised that I’d passed, and so became an Eastbourne tram driver. At that time I was unpaid, and glad to immerse myself in whatever else needed doing, which included working with Allan in a small way on the construction of No 12’s bodywork and helping with the Golf House interlacing. I’d also been given a project by Claude, to build a pair of trucks for a 31⁄2” gauge London E3 tram body which he had. Claude told me that the model would come in useful if there was ever a court case in which it was necessary to explain the features of a tram. Perhaps, though, he just liked having it on display in his office. After all, he’d tried to preserve a real London E3 tram in 1952-3, only to be thwarted by the lack of anywhere to keep it. Anyway, the body of the model tram needed trucks, and I’d been sent the necessary castings so that I could do the job in the well-equipped metalworking shop at school.
Preferring more creative ways of expending time and energy, I’d always hated games periods, so I’d progressed from having hard balls thrown towards me in the cricket nets or standing around during football games admiring trammy DC Altrincham electrics and Liverpool-bound push-and-pull trains, with sidelong glances at the surviving tram track alongside Old Trafford cricket ground on Warwick Road - which many years later I was to help install at Heaton Park - to hiding half-way round the cross-country course and tagging along as the rest of the runners came past on the way back, to the sheer bliss of being given the run of the lathes and drilling machines at the school. That’s how, before I acquired such equipment at home, I was able to work on the E3 trucks, and it’s also when I first dabbled in metal-casting techniques, something which I’ve resumed latterly. I also made lifeguards for the tram, and completed the whole job in the Works at Eastbourne. Claude was pleased with the result I’m glad to say.
That project formed an essential part of my transition from raw schoolkid to making myself useful in the world. With a relevant background of woodwork, metalwork and engineering drawing at school, I was able to “hit the ground running” at Eastbourne where my further development was encouraged by much more diverse, and much closer, tramway mentorship than was ever available anywhere else. In some ways it was like a traditional apprenticeship in everything to do with trams and tramways, and I appreciated it enormously. The skills I gained, and my gratitude for them, are with me still. Having reached the dizzy heights of being passed out as a public- service tram driver, I now sought more scope as a more rounded tramway person.
Even if I’d fancied combining my job with my hobby, which even then I didn’t think wholly advisable, a permanent job on the tramway was pie-in-the-sky at the time, and being due to leave school shortly I had to find myself a career back in Manchester, having had enough of academia. There was plenty of choice in those days, and I was keen to be involved in anything to do with engineering, though the subject content of the 9 GCE “O” levels which I ended up with pointed elsewhere. Claude kindly furnished references for me, which coming from a tramway manager must have lent them a certain odd distinction in those UK tramway wilderness years. I was offered a student electrical engineering post with the National Coal Board conditional on passing GCE “O” level physics, which - mercifully - I failed to do. And so, thankfully, I didn’t find myself in a job with a ticking clock counting down towards early redundancy, surely a strange example of benefiting from exam failure. Instead I accepted the offer of a “Youth-in-Training” telephone engineering apprenticeship with the GPO (General Post Office), having been fascinated by the whirring and clicking of the electro-mechanical equipment and the spotless abundance of neat cables and wires during a visit to an automatic telephone exchange. My start date was postponed to 27th September so that I could work on the trams at Eastbourne for the 3 months intervening after leaving school in June.
MY FIRST PAID JOB – TRAM DRIVING AT EASTBOURNE
Friday 18th June 1965 was my last day at school. The disrupted nature of my school departure meant that I missed any celebrations, and partly as a consequence didn’t stay in touch with anyone, apart from Alan Etheridge and Keith Chadbourne, who I hadn’t actually known at school but who, like me, gravitated to Crich. Keith later became a driver at Seaton. Anyway, during my last week at school I’d been summoned to Agecroft Colliery to undertake an underground tour there on Wednesday 23rd June in connection with my National Coal Board job application. Afterwards I had to write an essay and submit it as part of the selection process. The next day, Thursday 24th June, I handed in the last of my books at school and set off for Eastbourne to start my first paid employment as a professional tram driver, getting to grips with the handles in earnest on my own that Saturday 26th June on No 6.
Howard Parkinson and Ray Hobson were also crewing at Eastbourne at that time, and we stayed either in the caravan next to the Little Depot at the tramway, in the Works, or with Claude and Allan in the Cottage, as it was called, in Pevensey Bay – actually a modern detached house, No 94 Eastbourne Road. I think that Ted and Ivy stayed in the cottage when we didn’t. Supper was frequently a “fry-up”, not at all good for the arteries. Late-night must-sees on the television were all-in wrestling and “On The Braden Beat”, featuring Peter Cook as The Misty Mr Wisty. Lunches were habitually taken either at the Works or at the Blue Moon café on Seaside, the main inland road near the tramway. The elderly couple running the café were the Greek chef, called George, and the waitress (Marie?), his wife. A favourite meal was “Roast and Two, All On” (beef & veg) sometimes abbreviated to “All On?”. In those days the roads in Eastbourne were very steeply cambered, and it was strange to see the buses leaning precariously towards you as they went past.
The diary which I kept at the time provides a daily record. Turns of duty might involve either driving or conducting, relieved by the occasional day off. There were at the time many visits from town councillors in connection with the tramway’s current expansion plans, piling further pressure onto the daily slog and stress for Claude and Allan of keeping the tramway running, and dealing with all the urgent matters which cropped up relentlessly. One such crisis occurred while I was driving No 4 one day. Just after passing the Works points going inbound with a full load of passengers, there was a brick lying in the “2 foot”. I really ought to have stopped and removed it, but it looked too low down to be a threat and I’d been over it already with no trouble, as had the other trams out on that day. However, perhaps because this time the tram was heavily loaded and down on its springs, the brick knocked the drain cock off the under-slung brake reservoir and with a great blast of escaping air from underneath I suddenly had no mechanical brakes, because No 4 had no handbrake – there just wasn’t room for one.
Fortunately the track was level there and it wasn’t windy, so I chocked the wheels with pebbles and trudged to the nearby Works to asked Claude for instructions. Needless to say he wasn’t at all impressed with me, to put it mildly, and told me to get the tram to Royal Parade, unload, and then run it in empty to the Works. It astonishes me all these years later that he trusted me to do that, but somehow I brought it off by relying on the rheostatic brakes for service stops, plus pebble parking brakes.
We were taught to treat the controller key as the “Tram Driver’s Bible”. If you were at the controller but not using it, the controller key had to be put in the neutral position and the handbrake or air brakes had to be applied. If you were not actually at the controls, even if you were still on the tram, you removed the controller key, and might put it in your uniform jacket pocket. At Crich I’ve been horrified at seeing passengers descending the stairs towards an unlocked and unattended controller while pedestrians passed obliviously through the narrow gap between the bumpers of their tram and the one in front.
Patronage declined when the schools re-opened in early September and the holidaymakers disappeared. Nevertheless the trams continued relentlessly in operation. Single-manning was the order of the day during the quiet times, and even when there was no-one about a half-hourly service had to be maintained, almost exclusively with No 6. Trundling to and fro with nobody on board became extremely monotonous, and the experience “cured” me of tram driving for ever. Paradoxically it came as quite a relief when the time came for me to start my career in telecommunications back in Manchester on Monday 27th September 1965.
During this time Claude kept me up to date with goings-on at Eastbourne including preparations for the transfer to Seaton, and that led to the episode recounted in the March 2021 edition of “Tramway Review” magazine, explaining how I came very close indeed to being employed at Seaton permanently. Here’s that article for the sake of continuity:
Claude Lane, the founder and prime mover behind Modern Electric Tramways Ltd (MET) parent company of the Seaton & District Electric Tramway, died in hospital from heart trouble 50 years ago on 2nd April 1971 at the tragically early age of 63. Many people have dedicated the best parts of their lives to tramways, but surely none can have actually given their life for a tramway in quite the same way that Claude did. The tramway stands as a fitting memorial to him and to the way in which he threw all he had into its creation in partnership with his friend and collaborator Allan Gardner.
My own involvement with Modern Electric Tramways started at Eastbourne in 1963 as a Boy Conductor. Two years later my first paid job after leaving school was as an Eastbourne tram driver, before starting a non-tramway career as a telephone engineer back home in Manchester.
I continued to work at Eastbourne as a volunteer whenever I could, helping with maintenance and construction work in preference to crewing, although it wasn’t unknown for Claude to thrust a uniform at me when I turned up and tell me to take a tram out pronto to shift the queues.
Throughout that time the tramway’s relationship with Eastbourne Council was worsening, and although Claude did his best to achieve extensions and proper security of tenure, a parting of the ways became inevitable. Flatteringly, the Council feared that if they supported the development of the tramway it might one day compete with their buses, a suspicion perhaps encouraged by the creation of 40-seat winter saloon No12 in 1966, and by the "back-burner" plan to one day extend to the Redoubt and to Langney Point and even as far as Pevensey Bay. Seaton was finally identified as the way forward, and so began a transfer process which became so gruelling that it was literally to cost Claude his life.
Claude and Allan always drove themselves hard. They maintained, operated and developed their self-contained tramway seven days a week, rarely taking a break. Genuine engineers, they confronted adversities head-on and worked wonders to surmount problems. True products of their times, they came from a mould which I fear may have been broken. I consider it a great privilege to have known them, especially during my own transitional time between schoolboy and young adult, echoing Allan Gardner’s own experience at a similar age. In a way I underwent at their hands an apprenticeship in tramways and the world of engineering generally. In fact I ought to have the words “Made in Eastbourne” marked indelibly on me.
Claude was a powerhouse, strong both physically and mentally, and along with Allan he threw himself wholeheartedly into the transfer project with its huge challenges. The Seaton line had to be purchased from British Railways and BR had to obtain a Light Railway Order, then a Light Railway Transfer Order had to be obtained by the tramway company after the resolution of objections, planning permissions had to be obtained, friendly relations had to be cultivated with locals including those who’d opposed the tramway, a headquarters building had to be bought and erected, overnight accommodation sorted out, re-gauging from 2ft to 2ft 9ins accomplished, rails, sleepers, power generation equipment, batteries and overhead line equipment had to be sourced and installed, problematically as far as rails were concerned, and finally all the trams and all the infrastructure and workshop equipment of a self-sufficient electric tramway had to be cleared from Eastbourne and transferred the 180 or so miles on ordinary roads to Seaton, while – as if all that wasn’t enough - continuing to operate a popular tramway and suffering the stress of it all and the worry about what might be happening at either end while they were away. All by two men.
The relentless slog of the whole process was punishing in the extreme, and as we look back from this distance in time, it’s clear what a destructive effect it had particularly on Claude, as I hope to illustrate with a few examples hitherto-untold.
When the time came to transfer the first tram to Seaton, “Blackpool Boat” No 4 was chosen because it was potentially the least difficult. A Bedford TK flatbed lorry had been acquired for the move, and a single-deck half-cab Leyland PS1 bus had been converted rearward of its front entrance to a flatbed lorry. A heavily-built six-wheeled trailer with mixed-gauge track on it was specially constructed by Allan for towing by the bus.
Recycling was a way of life for Claude and Allan long before it became fashionable, and the trailer was duly fitted with air brakes actuated by a cylinder from a Leeds Horsfield tram, and controlled from the Leyland cab by a self-lapping motorman’s valve from a Blackpool tram - surely the only bus ever so fitted. The trailer had coupling pockets front and rear so that it could be towed by the Leyland, and pushed up hills by the Bedford.
I helped in a small way to prepare this formidable equippage, and I can particularly remember lying under the trailer with a terrifying “gut-buster” drill to bore large-diameter holes in the steelwork for the coupling-pocket bolts. Finally the tram was loaded onto the trailer via a ramp, and a quantity of tram seats, controllers and other stores were loaded onto the Bedford and the bus, with more being put onto No 4 for good measure, and we were ready for the off.
The journey was done overnight to avoid traffic, and we set off on a Friday evening. Claude drove the Leyland and Allan the Bedford, with me beside him. Three particular episodes stand out. When we reached the steepest part of Lewes High Street the Leyland couldn’t manage it unassisted and Claude had to stop so that the Bedford could be coupled up for a push, invoking echoes of London conduit trams being pushed off dead sections.
I unshipped the tow-bar, connected it to the front of the Bedford and was locating it in the coupling pocket on the back of the trailer when bus and trailer started to roll back towards me. It seems that a bored beat bobby had wandered over to ask Claude what was going on, and they got chatting. Unfortunately the air brakes leaked off and the bus and trailer rolled back, bending the tow-bar with me trapped in the closing gap. It was around midnight and my terrified shouts must have wakened half of Lewes.
Onwards through the might progress must have been slower than expected because we hit Chideock hill on the Saturday morning just as the homeward-bound holiday traffic was jamming the carriageway in the other direction. The road was so narrow that before ascending it, Claude folded back the mirrors on the Leyland and asked me to ride postilion on the front entrance step to keep an eye on the walls on the way up. Then it was foot hard down for the climb. The spare width was reduced almost to nothing by coaches and, I seem to remember, a wide load coming the other way, but stopping was out of the question because we would both have been trapped in the bus, we wouldn't have been able to get going again, and there would have been utter mayhem. I can remember my horror as I watched rough stone walls skimming past with only a few millimetres clearance. To make matters worse, the bus boiled and enveloped everything in clouds of steam. Claude slogged on through the thick fog though, and we finally pulled into a lay-by at the top of the hill for a rest and a cool down following that truly stupendous feat of driving.
What goes up must come down, and our descent into Axminster caused quite a stir because the trailer brakes overheated and started squealing loudly and emitting horrible black smoke. There was nothing Claude could do but wrestle with the air brake valve while shoppers tried in vain to cover their ears, noses and mouths at the same time as the cavalcade brushed dramatically and only just in control past them. Welcome to Devon, Modern Electric Tramways!
During the frequent trips to Seaton the Eastbourne works cat, Mr Muggins, “minded the shop”. He’d earned his name by eating his own tail as a kitten, giving him the profile of a tail- less Manx cat. Claude used to sign his letters to me “From we 3, C, A & Mugs”. Mr Mugs was about nine years old when the transfer was under way, and when Claude and Allan were absent a local chap fed him. On one occasion when they returned from Seaton there was no sign of him, and they were told that a policewoman had assumed that he was a stray and had taken him to the RSPCA at Hailsham, where he had been summarily put down. Anyone who has cherished a pet cat as part of the family will understand how devastated and upset Claude and Allan were at the cruel loss of their furry and beloved member of staff.
As the transfer momentum built up, discussions had started about a permanent job for me at Seaton. It wouldn’t be an easy decision – I would be giving up a well paid and secure job which I liked, and more importantly I’d be combining my job with my hobby. That was a choice which Allan had once faced, and it was a matter of real concern for me, for Claude, for Allan and – according to Claude – for Mr Mugs too. Ultimately we agreed that I should “dip my toe in the water” for a trial period. My employer granted me special leave without pay for 9 weeks in March- April 1971, after which a mutual decision would be made about permanent employment.
At Seaton I stayed with Claude and Allan in the large caravan which they’d installed behind the Works, and was employed on pole preparation and erection and other jobs. I found pole hole digging far easier at Seaton than it had been at Crich, because the ground consisted of pure clay easily augured. The poles were ex-Eastbourne fluted street lighting standards, including one with holes in it made by a strafing Messerchmidt during the war. Erecting the poles was done manually, and I remember on one occasion finding myself with a fluted pole balanced precariously on my shoulder when the bottom of it flipped out of the hole.
A genial volunteer at the tramway was David Massey. A retired schoolteacher, he lived at Thorverton, a tiny village near Exeter on the former Great Western Exe Valley branch line. He’d installed an impossibly tiny circle of track round the clothes post in his small garden, 2ft gauge I think, and equipped with overhead wire, on which he operated a home-made version of a Vicinal four-wheeler, earning himself the nickname “Vicinal Thorvertois”. I got on really well with David and enjoyed a memorable visit to his tramway with Claude and Allan.
Another outing with Claude and Allan was a visit to Dawkins, an old-fashioned department store in Axminster, to see their wonderful Lamson rapid wire cash-carrying system. Five or six closely-spaced wires ran straight out from the cash desk into a narrow arch. In the apex of the archway was a dense cluster of curves from which the wires radiated to the various counters. Another route went vertically up from the cash desk to an upstairs department, which it entered through a ragged hole in the carpet. That implanted in me a lifelong fascination with all things Lamson, rapid wires, pneumatic tubes, and cash ball railways – another debt which I owe to Claude and Allan.
We also visited a flour mill in Axminster which had a Blackstone oil engine similar to the Eastbourne ones. One of the tasks I was given at Seaton was to commission a small petrol engine, a Lister I think, for use in a lineside power boosting facility housed in one of the tramway’s former Southern Region concrete PWay huts. The engine had a flywheel, which I rotated a few degrees to get access through the spokes. To my horror the engine started, but fortunately I wasn’t injured, only a bit embarrassed.
Sadly all the stress and overwork of the move caught up with Claude, and he was admitted to Axminster Hospital with a suspected heart attack. The real problems had started the previous Christmas. Claude and Allan lived in a detached house on Eastbourne Road in Pevensey Bay, which was the planned ultimate destination for the trams. As usual, Allan spent that 1970 Christmas with his family, and Claude quite happily stayed on his own at the Cottage, as the house was known. What happened next is best described by quoting from a letter which Claude wrote to me shortly afterwards;
“Allan’s Mini is here at Seaton, so I lent him my 1800 to go to Barnet with and I said I would be quite O.K. with the Bedford. Well, I got home O.K. on Xmas eve, but then we had a wee bit of snow which effectively prevented me from getting the Bedford out of the front garden, and as there were no buses running on the 25th or the 26th I was imprisoned in the house till Sunday 27th, when I got the 99 bus to Eastbourne, and this is where the real trouble started. I got to Beach Road alright and walked up the seafront – all ankle deep in snow – and when I turned Eastward to walk to the works I was faced with a VERY strong bitter east wind, and by the time I managed to reach the works I was completely exhausted. Anyway, I rested and regained my puff, and eventually went to catch the LAST bus home, but in true bus style it was cancelled – the crew had not turned up! And NO taxis. After about an hour or more in the freezing cold I managed to scrounge a lift home, but not before I had developed considerable pain in the chest, which went off when I thawed out. Allan returned on the Tuesday (I did not venture out on the Monday) and on the Wednesday we went to Macclesfield as there were some ex L.C.B.E.R. bulkhead fittings and odds and sods which I had bought some 18 months ago which I wanted to collect, also we wanted to go to Bradford to see about a new Diesel engine, and on to Blackpool for a couple of days. The rest (!) seemed to effect some improvement but as I was not 100% so went to see the Doc. And at once he said it was angina, and therefore I must switch off and do no lifting or heavy work, eat no fried stuff, no sugar, no cakes or pastry in fact I am absolutely starving! So I have bought a bloody great whip and now go around with that to make sure everyone else gets on with it. Actually I have been taking it as easy as I can and (touch wood) I have had no repetition of the symptoms, so I am hoping it will mend in time.”
Three months later he was dead. Circumstances had not been in favour of easing off in compliance with the doctor’s orders. There was tremendous pressure to capitalise on some good free publicity which the new tramway had received on television and in the press. Before the erection of overhead wires, battery operation was the order of the day and there was an urgent need for double track at Swan's Nest passing loop so that more than one tram could be operated to bring in much-needed revenue.
Two railway permanent way staff had been taken on to lay track, and a clash of cultures soon reared its head. The railwaymen didn’t conceal the disdain with which they regarded the tramway’s doings, showing scorn for the pragmatic approach to tramway engineering which had been necessary for the time being to get the trams running. Upgrading would have been done as soon as resources permitted, but they would have none of that. For example, when Bobsworth Bridge’s deck timbers had to be replaced with rolled steel joists one and a half inches deeper, they insisted on a long “main line” slope either side to absorb the small difference in level.
Matters came to a head when Claude was lying seriously ill in hospital, although it has to be said that no-one knew he was so near the end. I can remember one dark night hearing the phone ringing at some unearthly hour and feeling my perilous way through the dark, unavoidably cluttered Works to the office at the other end of the building, fearing the worst, only for it to be a wrong number.
The intention had been to use re-gauged ex-Eastbourne points temporarily for Swan’s Nest loop, but the railwaymen insisted on long heavyweight custom-made points with planed switch- blades at a cost which was prohibitive under the circumstances. I witnessed first-hand the way in which their intransigence tormented Claude on what turned out to be his deathbed. It haunts me still, and gave me a jaundiced impression of that rare species of tram-sceptic railwaymen whose brethren, years later, were to summarily reject anyone who mentioned the word “tram” when applying for a job on the Manchester Metrolink tramway. Steam locomotive whistles and screeching railway horns were defiantly inflicted by the railwaymen on city- goers, and the city centre was defaced by their typhoon-proof overhead line equipment. Only when I worked for Network Rail did I realise how few railwaymen are like that, although they are still out there involved in tramways yet failing to embrace tramway concepts.
And so Claude died a worried man, and in the aftershock my tramway job dreams vanished. None of us had known what was about to happen, which made the blow even more shattering when it did fall. After attending the funeral I had to return to my life in Manchester, and I still regard the Christmas no-show of that bus crew in Eastbourne as a personal “sliding doors” moment. If the scheduled bus service that Claude so clearly deserved had been provided, he would doubtless have lived far longer, and life thereafter would have been totally different for me and for the tramway.
It’s difficult to imagine that things could have turned out any better at Seaton than they actually did, except to think how splendid it would have been for Claude to have been there to bask in the success of the tramway which he and Allan had given birth to, and to enjoy the fruits of his handiwork in a long happy retirement. I think we can be sure that he would have been delighted with his flourishing and immensely popular tramway today.
In the seismic aftershock of Claude’s sudden death, I remember going with Allan in his Mini to a remote spot in the countryside which he knew about, and just sitting with him in the car listening to an intense silence more profound than anything I’ve experienced since. It seemed entirely appropriate to contemplate the devastating loss in that way.
For me Eastbourne and Seaton had been warm and friendly comfort zones where it made me proud to feel like a valued part of a small but extremely effective team. During my protracted absences when I was back home in Manchester and volunteering at Crich, Claude and occasionally Allan had corresponded with me regularly so that I never felt cut off from Modern Electric Tramways and all its doings. That changed in the aftershock of Claude’s death, when the termination of any plans for a job at Seaton meant that I had to go back to my telecoms career in Manchester. After that I lost touch partly because the distance seemed prohibitive and partly because communication was severed by the upheaval.
Life after Seaton consisted of four main threads for me - raising a family, tramway preservation, tramway promotion and work. In 1976 I married my beautiful and multi-talented wife Nicolette, and we have a daughter and son, Alex and Greg, who between them have (so far) given us four wonderful granddaughters.