Frinkley Lane and Hougham

A Look at Life along the Tracks.

The now demolished semi-detached cottages at Frinkley Lane were built by the Great Northern Railway (GNR) in the late 1800s. These cottages, stood at a point, some 6 miles north of Grantham, where the long established country track from Honington to Marston (Frinkley Lane) crossed the GNR main line. Having been to this spot many times myself, it's easy to imagine that it was, and still is, a very remote location - Mel Smith

 

Further along the track and about half a mile north of the Frinkley Lane crossing, was the now closed and demolished Hougham Station.

The following memories and recollections have been very kindly submitted to Tracks through Grantham by two people who quite literally lived right next to the railway. I am therefore pleased to reproduce them here, exactly as they were related to me.

Sue Hoyes – A Few Memories of a Trackside Childhood.

I was born at 142 Frinkley Cottage, Hougham, in February 1943. My parents Bill and Audrey Glossop, along with my older brother and sister, John and Ann, had moved from the village a few years earlier.

 

Dad joined the railway in 1941 as a Porter at Hougham Station. As a Special Constable he was in a reserved occupation; and not called up for active service. After some time at Hougham, he became a Porter at Barkston Station. In the August of 1945, my younger brother, Ted arrived.

Come the winter of 1947, we were well and truly snowed in. We couldn’t get down the lane to the village for supplies, so my parents arranged for someone at Hougham Station to get groceries for them. My brother, sister and toddler Ted were all ill with Chicken Pox. It was decided that the next-door neighbour, Mrs Myers (who was the crossing keeper – her husband Jack was signalman at Barkston South) should come round to look after the patients whilst I would go with Mum to pick up the shopping. We always walked along the cess beside the Up road, between the Crossing and Station, but the snow had blown off the fields and created huge drifts so we had to walk in the Down cess. After walking for some time, I heard a train coming behind us. I turned and looked over my shoulder and saw, what to a just turned 4 year old, was the front of an enormous light engine. It had stopped to give us a lift! All I remember is a man leaning down and heaving me up on to the footplate, where it must have been a lot warmer than out in the snow. Mum always told me the loco was Flying Scotsman, but I don’t know for certain if it was. Anyway, that evening I came out in spots, and the family teased me afterwards that I caught Chicken Pox from Flying Scotsman. I just hope that I didn’t give it to the Driver and Fireman!

 

In the summer of 1950, we moved down the track to Hougham Station, where my youngest brother Arthur was born in September. Dad was training at Doncaster, to become a signalman and when he passed out got a job at Westborough box.

 

Situated between Hougham and Claypole, it just had a six-lever frame. On one occasion, it must have been during a school holiday, Dad was on nights, I went with him, and slept the night on the box floor! Don’t think you’d get away with that nowadays!

‘Living in the sticks’ we didn’t get a lot of entertainment, so my brothers and I thought it hilarious when the Porter (Bill West) shut himself inside a box-van. It had been shunted into the siding near our house, for some reason Bill had climbed into the van and had intended to slide the door part way closed, but it had a mind of its own and shut completely! We heard his faint cries and banging and luckily for him Dad was at home and released him. If the pick-up had come to take the van away, lord knows where he would have ended up.

 

Another memory from that dim and distant past is a box van being shunted in to the Up sidings which had a loading dock; presumably the van had a hot box. This van was loaded with a shipment of whisky destined for Los Angeles. In the evening Dad, along with the Porter, was called out to tranship the valuable load to another van. They were closely watched by the local policeman to make sure there wasn’t a ‘Hougham’ version of ‘Whisky Galore’ so no bottles of whisky stashed down rabbit holes for future use!

In that same spot we had another adventure. One evening I was doing my homework when the signalman came round to see if we’d come and help. He’d pulled a goods train into the siding as its injectors had gone and the fireman had to drop the fire. Dad was on afternoons and not at home, so Mum, myself and two younger brothers went with buckets to help. Luckily there was a pump house opposite the dock where we kept filling the buckets and passing them to the fireman until the fire was out and no chance of the sleepers catching light. It was then back to the boring homework. I guess the crew went back to the box for a welcome brew and then wait for a lift to wherever.

Mum had passed out as a relief crossing keeper in the very early fifties, eventually becoming full-time. One day my sister and I happened to be in our bedroom, which overlooked the Up platform and tracks, we realised that a train had stopped on the Down and being nosy, we looked out of the window to see a fireman standing on the buffer beam throwing pieces of wood up onto the bank. The crossing gates at Frinkley had been opened when the train was approaching and the driver couldn’t avoid crashing through them. Thankfully no one was hurt. The signalman came round to tell Mum she had to go on duty and relieve the crossing keeper, who was immediately suspended.

These are just a few childhood memories growing up beside the railway. I often think the fifties was the best time to be a child. We spent our time watching trains, roaming around the fields or going on long bike rides. We had a wonderful freedom that sadly children don’t have today. It seemed to me that there was just one rule – wherever you’d been or whatever you were doing, just be back in time for tea!

Sue Hoyes (née Glossop) August 2025

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Ted Glossop – Living by the railway in the fifties and sixties: some recollections

I was born in 1945 in one of the pair of cottages at 142 Crossing, Frinkley Lane, Hougham. I have very few memories of my time living there at the Gatehouse besides the King’s Cross to Edinburgh main line, nowadays usually known as the ECML. One vague recollection is that of seeing the train wheels passing in front of the window as the houses were built with the bottom of the windows below the level of the track and quite close to it.

When I was five we moved to the Station House at Hougham. I do of course have similar memories of our time there to those of my sister although hers maybe slightly clearer, she being a bit older than me.

I recall the incident of the engine that failed with injector problems and had to drop its fire. I can’t remember whether it was a passenger or goods train, but I think the train was left on the main line whilst the engine backed into the siding and dropped the fire at intervals, setting light to the sleepers. The driver was wheezing a bit afterwards as the smoke and fumes got on his chest! I also remember the Down train stopping to off-load part of the Frinkley Lane crossing gates it had just run through. I have since wondered whether there is any official record of this incident as it would be interesting to confirm the details.

From the early days at the Station, I remember that locos that came out on trial from Doncaster sometimes stopped at Hougham. They would be reversed down the siding towards the Station House adjacent to what had been the Coal Yard. We were able to go right up to them and talk to the footplate crew.

In fact, in those early days, during the fifties, I think we had more or less free access to the entire station area. We played in the Coal Yard, we played in the Sack Shed, we played in the Goods Shed. I spent many an hour in the Signal Box as a youngster, making model aircraft with one of the relief signalmen. I quite got to know the workings of the box. I think I can still remember most of the bell codes. My Morse was never good enough to master the telegraph, however!

 

 

By the late fifties everything was changing. The station had closed. We had seen the prototype Deltic. We had diesel-electric locos running as well as the last of the steam services.

In 1963 I went away to university and was at home thereafter only during holidays. By the time I had finished and went away to work there were no steam hauled trains left. We got excited if there was a preserved loco running!

Visits home were only occasional from now on and by now the Pump House had gone, the Sack Shed and Goods Shed had gone; the cottages had been demolished in 1966.

Eventually the Signal Box went, leaving only the Station House and the Weigh House remaining of the station complex and these survived until the early eighties.

I shall summarise a few of my memories – the sights, sounds, smells and so on – memories of things long gone:

• The platelayers mowing the line bank.
• The ganger walking the length.
• The lights circling the ceiling in the bedroom as a passenger train passed in the night.
• The porter in the Pump House pumping the water into the header tank to feed the station complex before we had mains water.
• The pots rattling in the cupboard as an express dashed through; the louder clanks, clunks and vibrations as a slower and heavier goods train plodded by.
• Engines whistling for water.
• The rattling of the cables and rods as the signals were pulled off.
• The clatter as the signal arm dropped.
• The sound of the bell signals coming from the signal box.
• The smell of smoke, hot oil and steam; passing fish trains; cattle trucks.
• Cinders dropping into your hair (and onto any washing that was out) when a train went past.
• Leclanché cells for powering equipment in the signal box before we had mains electricity.
• Engines letting off steam which would condense and drop on us like fine rain.

As things disappear and memories fade, so we realise that our vocabulary changes and words slip away into the past: fogging bunker, chipping pots, brazier, home signal, distant signal, banner repeater signal, dolly lamp. No longer do these words, and many others, feature in everyday conversation and are probably not heard outside of a museum or a gathering of enthusiasts.

For another time, what about the memories received from the past, stories passed on to us from a time before we were born?

We know of the train fire during the war between Hougham and Claypole; but what about the signal box being shot at by an enemy aircraft during the war? Who was the signalman who dropped a train back into the Up siding to give it some protection when there was enemy aircraft activity in the vicinity? Was it a troop train or an ammunition train? What about the near misses from bombs during the Zeppelin raid in the First World War as well as those dropped in World War Two?

Ted Glossop - October 2025.

All photographs, unless stated otherwise, are courtesy of the authors; Sue Hoyes and Ted Glossop. Should you have difficulty viewing any of the images try refreshing the page.

Note: If reading this article brings to mind any memories of your own 'Railway life around Grantham' then please get in touch with us via our Contact Form.

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