Commander W. J. Alcock recalls an exciting journey on the “Tees-Tyne Pullman”, driven by the late Bill Hoole. First published in the October 1979 issue of The Railway Magazine, the account describes a run from Kings Cross towards Darlington and Newcastle.
TRIBUTE TO A MASTER
COMMANDER W. J. ALCOCK, RN (RTD), DESCRIBES AN EXCITING RUN ON THE “TEES-TYNE PULLMAN”, DRIVEN BY THE LATE BILL HOOLE
Enjoy more The Railway Magazine reading every month.
Click here to subscribe & save.
A poignant memory
IT is not often that one experiences a poignant moment when reading the familiar and friendly pages of The Railway Magazine, but such was my unexpected and abrupt experience on reading of the death of Driver Bill Hoole in the August 1979 issue. This was in no way because I could count myself among Bill Hoole’s friends—had I been such, I would doubtless have heard earlier of his demise. It was simply that I had the good fortune to be driven by him once, and that once was quite unforgettable. Its memory lingers still, and it may be that a brief account of it in these pages will form a not inappropriate tribute to one who was, truly, a master of the art of locomotive performance.
The “Tees-Tyne Pullman”
It was a summer evening twenty-six years ago, June 19, 1953, to be precise. The “Tees-Tyne Pullman”, composed of nine traditional chocolate-and-cream Pullmans, and headed by the “A4” Pacific No. 60028, Walter K. Whigham (which on this occasion might better have carried its earlier and more inspiring name of Sea Eagle), had already reached the latitudes of South Yorkshire, having left Kings Cross at 4.45 p.m. It was, therefore, well on its way towards its first stop at Darlington, where it was due at 8.37, in 232 minutes for the 232·2 miles. The 60-m.p.h. timing had only recently been reinstated, and represented a significant advance towards that recovery of express train speeds which, eight years after the end of the second world war, still seemed so long in coming. I had, therefore, been looking forward to this trip with considerable anticipation, and hoped very much that it would prove a successful and punctual run.
Delays on the journey
So far, things had not gone too badly. The near mile-a-minute rate at which we had set out to ascend the climb past Hadley Wood to Potters Bar some 2½ hours earlier had constituted a distinct improvement over my earlier experiences, and to pass Peterborough in even time was very satisfying, if not exactly spectacular work. We were now approaching Doncaster with every prospect of passing through the station in even time, when there came a long and very severe signal check at Black Carr Junction, causing our time to expand to almost 162 minutes for the 156·0 miles. This left exactly 70 minutes for an on-time arrival at Darlington, still 76·1 miles away—hardly a difficult task by 1979 standards, but not at all to be taken for granted in 1953, especially with the very severe service slack through York to be taken into account.
The pace increases
Shortly after entering the North Eastern Region at Shaffholme Junction I detected an increased crispness in the pace, and began to sit up as we touched what was, for me, an unusual 82 m.p.h. at Templehirst, before slowing down for the swing bridge and sharp curves through Selby. Here, as was my wont, and as it has been since, I pressed my face to the window, to watch our train, with its long line of picturesque Pullmans, their windows illuminated by the little pink-shaded table lamps, being reaccelerated round the bend north of the river by our “A4”, itself a fine and purposeful sight. Then came a swift crossing of the Ouse at Naburn, with the customary roar from the swing bridge, followed by the rallatando before Chaloners Whin, preparatory to negotiating the cavernous vault of the station at York. As we passed slowly through, the time was 1¾ minutes to 8 p.m. and we had only 38½ minutes remaining to reach Darlington, still 44·1 miles away. The odds against us were lengthening.
The odds lengthen
Worse, moreover, was to follow. We had reattained an encouraging 65 m.p.h. at Beningborough when, to my dismay, the brakes were applied, for what transpired to be a permanent-way slack to 40 m.p.h. for a good half mile. By Alne, therefore, the odds against us had lengthened even further, with 32·8 miles to traverse in a very bare 27 minutes, demanding an average of all but 73 m.p.h. to the finish. This was hardly the sort of thing to expect in this era, and with mounting disappointment I put my watch down, still running, on the Pullman table, and gazed ruefully out over the great Plain of York now illuminated in the mellow light of the setting sun. But I had underestimated the man who was driving!
A supreme effort
By Pilmoor speed had recovered to a full 70 m.p.h., against the rising tendency of the road, and I picked up my watch again. At least, I calculated, we might well not be very late. It was then that I experienced that unforgettable stirring of the blood that comes when the realisation dawns that a supreme effort is about to be made to achieve the seemingly impossible. For the speed was still rising, and at Thirsk it had crossed the “80” line. The “Tees-Tyne Pullman” was now sweeping northward in very truth, and with a cry on the chime whistle of the “A4” it plunged through the long platforms of Northallerton at all but 90 m.p.h. For a few minutes, it seemed, we were anticipating the then unknown “Deltic” era, still to come, with our “A4” paving the way for its mightier, but not entirely unrelated, successors. With speed still hovering near the “90” line, Danby Wiske, Cowton, and Eryholme Junction flashed past, and the odds were now shortening distinctly. Across the Tees bridge at Croft we were still doing 86, with just over three minutes left. At the last reasonable moment, the brakes went on, and as we threaded the crossovers and entered Bank Top Station, the clocks were still showing 8.37 p.m. The unbelievable had happened!
On to Newcastle
As I was travelling through to Newcastle, I could not of course alight in the brief stop at Darlington, and had to contain myself until the end. The intervening 36 miles, including the then very severe slack through Durham, were run off in 40 min. 36 sec. with a rousing 82 at Low Fell, before braking for the curved run up to the King Edward Bridge and the entry to the great Central Station. The fading light of the evening sky was silhouetting the spire of St. Nicholas Cathedral as our flanges squealed on the final bends, to come into view of the station clock indicating that we were 2½ minutes early.
Meeting Bill Hoole
As the train stopped I rushed forward to congratulate the driver. He was climbing down from his cab as I arrived, slightly out of breath, by the locomotive. He turned to face me, and I was conscious of a pair of kindly eyes, seasoned with wisdom and long experience, looking into mine. What he thought of the young naval officer, in plain clothes, who had arrived breathlessly to proffer his thanks for his craftsmanship I do not know, but I shall always remember his appreciative rejoinder: “Keep smiling”! I then asked his name. It was Bill Hoole.
