Chapter Two:

The Journey, 1902:

The trip from London to Cornwall was agonising. The goods stopped first at Norwood, where the engine went forward with the two terriers, picked up 3 empty wagons, then set back onto the rest of the train, making great pains of re-starting. In Sutton they again pulled up, fly-shunting five loaded timber trucks into a siding partially occupied by wagons. These banged together and the wooden buffers made a great amount of noise on colliding. Then the train started off again, straining as ever and slipping on the ice. They paused at Dorking to ditch a further two wagons, but picked up six others filled with coal, which were marshalled behind the two terriers on the front, who were growing impatient and cold already. At Horsham they drew to a grinding halt and there sat for 10 minutes while they attempted to fill the tender tank of the goods engine. The water filler cap was stuck with ice, along with the water valve on the column. The hose was full of ice and it took subjecting the metal to some burning coal to free it. They were now running three quarters of an hour late. They rattled through Pulborough in fine style but again cranked to a standstill with a clash of buffers at Midhurst. Four gas tank wagons were placed at the rear of the train ahead of the brakevan. Piccadilly, who was marshalled by the wagons, had a very sore front by this point. She was not used to loose-coupled, unfitted goods trains that went slack and tight and shook with every change in curve and gradient. At Chichester, they dropped the six coal wagons they had picked up at Dorking earlier. In Havant, the engine pulled up to have her cylinder lubricators refilled and repairs were made to the guard's van. It was five torturous hours after leaving New Cross that they were dumped at a place called Cosham. Left there to sit at the end of the LBSCR line, they spent another shivering night snuggled up together as best as two sisters could manage...

The next morning, they were collected by an LSWR goods engine - more substantial then the LBSCR machine that had brought them so far. They were placed on the front of a set of empty coaches, before being whisked at speed down the mainline - at last they had exceeded 25mph - the first time they'd attained such speed since leaving New Cross. This was the life. No stops or starts, just a light snow dusting them and the wind blowing around them.

- at least until the engine of the train picked up water from a trough. They were showered with a wave of flying spray of water from the scoop of the engine tender! Piccadilly was sheltered slightly by Wandle, but still swore loudly, and the offending engineman popped his head up over the coal of the tender to shout an apology. It was the stretch after this, soaking wet and freezing cold, that proved the most arduous bit of the LSWR part of the journey. They arrived in a very large station after some time that the LSWR engine said was Exeter. Once again - they were dropped off. But not for long, as it was a very excited pair of men that approached them soon after.

'You see, Jerry, I did well with these two didn't I? Aren't they so delightful together! Now, we need to get them up to Ilfracombe, then we'll have options.'

'Are we even allowed to run them up there under their own steam?'

'Yes, of course - I had a word with the traffic superintendent and he cleared everything up with Signal. We've a path in two hours so let's get either one of them up to steam.'

'Very well Bertie' the smaller man said, then turned to the pair of small engines -

'Now my lovelies - which one of you is up to be steamed?' Wandle spoke next, directly to Piccadilly:

'What d'you reckon, sis? Do you want to take us or shall I?'

'You can, Wandle, if you like, as my connecting rods are surely about to freeze on their bearings.' So the short man spoke:

'Very well - let us go - here's the plan: we'll go up to Ilfracombe under your own power, then get you on a ship up the coast to Jocyspool - sorry about that - I know you might not like going by sea but it's necessary. At Jocyspool - we can get you on the rails and Foxhill can take you up to the engine sheds.'

'Yes sir,' said Wandle, 'but who is Foxhill?'

'Our No.2, dear. She's quite old, but a kind little engine. So is Ashwell. They're named after places on our railway. You shall need new names and numbers too, to compliment the livery - if you don't mind of course?'

'I certainly don't, sir, I never liked being called Piccadilly. It's a long name, too many syllables. Neither of us are wearing our painted names anymore either way, so some plates would be nice.'

'As you wish my dear! Now, we must get your sister here up to steam.' And the short, jovial man clambered onto 'Wandle', (as she was currently known), and began to build her fire. Cotton in paraffin, kindling, matches, and soon coal were added to the grate as the heat in the firebox rose. Wandle simmered happily, enjoying the invariably pleasurable experience that was being steamed up on a stone cold day.

'Oh, Pickers, you don't know how good this feels,' she said, 'I'm warm for the first time in about 2 weeks.'

'You enjoy yourself Wanders, just don't prime all over me when you start moving, alright?'

'Don't worry, I won't, I'll get us there safe and clean. It'd be a shame to get excess water and soot all over our new paint, wouldn't it?' And so Wandle was brought up to steam ever so gently. A couple of hours of happy warming passed - and the safety valves sprang open at 5 in the afternoon. The taller of the two gentleman took up position at the regulator, smiling like a schoolboy and waiting for the signal to change. The shorter man who'd spoken to the two engines about names earlier acted as fireman. The signal arm dropped to clear, and the two engines, led by Wandle, drew out of Exeter with whistle open wide in the direction of Ilfracombe, North Devon.

The journey was uneventful, and they continued north without incident. Stopping for water regularly, and slipping on the icy rails every other minute - yet they were in motion. The evening was dark almost as soon as they had departed initially, for it was winter of course, but this did not impede them. They ran to Ilfracombe in around two hours, and there, with Wandle's fire being dropped, were left to sleep on a siding.

By morning-break, there was a predicament. The AFJR had, apparently, chartered a ship into the harbour to take both Wandle and Piccadilly along the coast west to Jocyspool Harbour. However, the were no cranes at Ilfracombe or any track down to the supposedly passenger-oriented quayside. It was clear that somewhere along the line something had gone badly wrong. The Owner went off in a very great hurry, sending telegraphs by the score and redeeming old favours everywhere. He came back an hour and a half later, by which time he was looking very harassed and worn out, stumbling over the ballast before tearing off across the yard to find his friend, who had been Wandle's fireman on the journey up. Wandle and Piccadilly were both very confused, but kept their wits about them - there was a Drummond 700 a few lines over eyeing them up - whenever Piccadilly (as she was facing the 700) shot them a glance they would leer back, bearing teeth and letting off steam. They were ever so glad when a very elderly six-wheels-coupled came to collect them, and she scuttled out of the yard with both terriers in tow. The little old engine must also've been frightened of the 700, however, she was also the first of their mainline escorts to speak to them so far, in a delightful West Country accent:

'So, darlin's, what brings you up our end then? You didn't half look frightened sat about with young Kimberley - not that I can blame you mind! She can get a right wind up at times, then I leave the shed until she's had her fire dropped!'

'Well,' answered Piccadilly (who was usually the more lively of the two, but was now becoming drowsy as she had not been steamed for several days), 'We're supposed to be going to our new railway, somewhere in Cornwall, a place called Ashwell? It seems we're having bother getting there though...' She trailed off.

'Oh!' exclaimed the little goods engine, 'You're for the AFJR, I ought've guessed by the livery! Ah, it's a different way of life over there, so I'm told. Isolated it is, not connected to the 'big railway'. Laid back operation that line is, they call her the 'Awful, Floundering, Jostling Railway'...

Both Wandle and Piccadilly were quite taken aback by this, but said no more - merely drifting off to sleep behind the tender of the six-coupled goods engine.

'Bless 'em', she muttered, as they carried on west...