As a coastal freighter passes on its way up the Bristol Channel, a Maunsell ‘mogul’ stands waiting to leave Ilfracombe up the 1-in-36 gradient that begins almost at the platform end. Note how the carriage sidings on the left appear to end at the cliff edge. The date is July 13 1963. TREVOR OWEN/COLOUR-RAIL
There's something magical about trains in the night. The sight or sound, a procession of lights in the darkness, or the eerie sound of a whistle as you try to fall asleep. It can sometimes be a nuisance or at others, soothing. For me, nothing quite matches settling in to a Canadian motel and hearing the coded horn notes of a train, two long, one short, one long, as it approaches the grade (level) crossing which is an inevitable feature of almost every town.
But I did not grow up with those sounds as a background to my sleep. Nothing much happened overnight at Staines and there was rarely a requirement for whistles at night along ‘our’ stretch of the Southern Region, although there were certainly the sounds of occasional passing steam-hauled trains. Holidays, however, were different. I recall one in particular, in North Devon. It was probably the same year that the aftermath of the Lynmouth flood disaster left such an impression on me. That would have made it 1952 and I would have been just five years old.
Whatever the year, we stayed in lodgings on the outskirts of Ilfracombe. My brother and I shared a bedroom and we would lie there in
