Days of Steam

By Joan Davidson

About 60 years ago, my favourite place in Newcastle was at the window of the office where I worked for the National Coal Board. Because of the steep plunge of the land down to the River Tyne, B Floor, Milburn House was almost on a level with the northbound railway where it approached the high brick columned bridge spanning Dean Street. Throughout the day, locomotives approached the relative fragility of the bridge with least respect offering us typing pool girls splendid opportunity to observe the majestic engineering of those wonderful steaming machines. At first I was attracted by the names they bore on the curved, gleaming steel plates above their huge wheels; Ivanhoe, Rob Roy and Heart of Midlothian. All were named after novels written by Sir Walter Scott. I soon learned, however, that the star turn of the locomotive show left the Central Station at 3.25 every afternoon. This distinguished train was named The Flying Scotsman and was hauled by streamlined magnificos, which cast the Waverley class engines into the shade. Mallard, Blue Peter, Flying Scotsman and Sir Nigel Gresley steamed by our office window like lords of creation rendered benign by the waves and steam blasts bestowed on us by the smiling drivers and firemen who acknowledged our daily salutes. It never occurred to me as I admired the steaming, incredible rate and splendour of those magnificent machines that they had few glory days left before being reduced to the scrap heap, remembered only on film and in the memory of those fortunate enough to have enjoyed what felt like a personal relationship with them.