1958 to 1966 - Rural Trainspotting at Hougham and Barkston.
I dropped onto this planet in September 1950 and I suppose I was most fortunate in being born into a family where my grandparents all lived close to a railway line. This was in fact the famed East Coast Main Line, near to the village of Hougham in Lincolnshire.
During those formative years of growing up, along with my numerous cousins, we were always looking for some ‘free amusement’ so when the school holidays came round I would spend a good deal of time at my grandparents’ house. It was a relatively short walk up to Hougham station, so a bit of trainspotting was always an entertaining activity. From memory, it must have been from around 1958 onwards when I would be allowed to go up to see the railway, and what an experience that was! There was such a variety of locomotives and rolling stock to be seen that in comparison with today’s modern railway, it was absolutely mouth-watering.
Our customary vantage point would be to stand on the bridge near to Hougham station (see map above). From here, if we looked to the south there would be a prolonged view of northbound trains leaving the Barkston Junction area. It was a wonderful vista but there was of course a minor problem. Looking the other way, for southbound traffic approaching from the Newark direction, it wasn’t as easy. If you study the map you’ll see that our view north-west, towards Brandon Road and Claypole further on, was obstructed by a farmer’s occupation bridge; situated about 150 yards north of the Hougham Bridge. We were never brave enough to venture down to that farm bridge, mostly because of what appeared to be a bull in residence in the farmer’s field! In any event, apart from the possibility of a dangerous bovine encounter, I had a farming background and it had always been instilled into me to respect farmland and not trespass on it.
The top of that bridge at Hougham station was just about the right height for an 8 year old to see over it. This would allow me to view the passing trains head on and record the number on the smokebox. Sometimes, once we had established which way the next loco was coming, a quick move to one side of the bridge gave us a good view of the loco’s number on the cab side, and as was sometimes the case, its name! What great names they were too; Wild Swan, Kingfisher, Woodcock, Tracery, Pretty Polly to recall just a few.
Another decent feature of the Hougham station bridge was the siding that passed under it on the Up side. This siding finished at a buffer stop a little further to the north of the bridge, so if a train went into it we’d get a really decent view of the loco itself.
The year moved on and as I grew a little older I was lucky enough to become the proud possessor of a second hand cycle. Bear in mind that following the ravages of WW2 money was still tight, so although I didn’t really know it at the time, a second hand cycle was a genuine bonus for a 9-10 year old.
A couple of my mates of the same age also had their own bikes so, like the fabled ‘three musketeers’, we would often cycle down the long country lane from our homes in Brandon to what we locally called Brandon Bridge (see location map).
Now this location was in many ways a different experience to trainspotting at Hougham’s station bridge. From Brandon Bridge, it was possible to spot trains heading towards us from a considerable distance in both directions. Looking generally south across the fields, we would all watch like hawks for that first tell-tale glimpse of smoke. That smoke would herald the next train coming our way; making its way northwards from Barkston Junction. It was always an enjoyable light-hearted competition to see who would be first to announce the sighting! Once the shout went up we could pretty much follow the locomotive’s passage all the way to Brandon Bridge. There would be a brief loss from our sight as the train took the curve at Hougham station. Now it was bursting out from under the farmer’s occupation bridge and our excitement grew even higher; perhaps it would be a ‘cop’? Soon the loco was almost upon us! With pencils hovering over our notebooks, it was time to focus on the smokebox door, time for intense concentration and time for number taking.
By this stage I was correctly ‘attired’ with the time-honoured spotter’s pencil and note book, and of course the traditional Ian Allan ABC book of loco classes, which listed all of the engine numbers and names; a serious, but necessary ‘de rigueur’ for any self-respecting spotter! There was one big unwritten ‘no-no’ for spotting at the lineside; ruling through a ‘cop’ in your Ian Allan book whilst in situ at the bridge! That was a very strict ritual reserved solely for the use of a pen and ruler after returning home!
Standing on the Brandon Bridge, for anything coming on the Up line from the Newark direction, it was simply a matter of doing an about face. The track is virtually straight looking towards Claypole and Newark, so it was possible for us to see a very long way. With our eyes straining, the first hint of an approaching train would be a little black dot on the horizon. The black dot, getting ever closer, would become bigger and bigger as it neared our vantage point. It didn’t take us long to work out if it was an express passenger or a goods train. At the very last moment, just before the smoke swept up over the parapet, we would hastily jot down the loco’s number. Then, with a quick look right and left, we would dash over the road to the other side; watching the tops of the carriages, trucks or vans moving away south. Once the last vehicle had passed and our excitement had subsided, we would compare notes for confirmation. The usual conversational comparisons and exchanges would follow and, if nothing else was in sight, a rural silence would then descend on our little group.
If by chance two trains were likely to meet at the bridge, Oh, what a quandary we would be in! It was unthinkable to miss a potentially elusive ‘cop’ so we quickly decided between us who would note down which loco. The rule was, if you were busy spotting the other one, as long as the other loco had actually been seen by you, then it was perfectly acceptable to be informed of its number afterwards. Another tricky situation would arise on occasion, and in much the same manner, when we would be cycling towards the bridge from Brandon and had heard the sound of a train getting closer. As we got closer to the bridge, just to make sure that one of us would get the number down, well the pedals on our bikes were almost steaming! At Brandon Bridge, in those far off days of less road traffic, I don’t ever remember having to take excessive care when crossing from one side of the road to the other. We would just leave our cycles propped against the fence or the bridge parapet; all safe in the knowledge they would still be there when we wanted them again.
A huge memorable highlight of my trainspotting days on that stretch of line came via one of my mates one day. He announced that his dad, who was a signalman on that stretch, would be working in the signal box at nearby Hougham. His dad had told him that if we all kept our hands firmly in our pockets, then we could go and see him working the box there. My, what an experience! He had us well briefed to leg it, sharpish, should his supervisor appear, and fortunately they did not. To stand there with that quite baffling array of levers and bells in view, and watching a number of impressive express trains thunder past the signal box on the main line is an experience I’ve never forgotten. It was a real privilege! That same mate also told me about how his Dad liked a game of chess. When he was working the box at Hougham, if the next box up or down the line had a similar minded signalman on duty, then they would each have a chess board set out. It was only at the times when their important job allowed them to that they would make chess moves over the railway telephone. I can’t imagine that happening these days!
Again the years moved on and as I eased into my early teenage years, Brandon Bridge now became an increasingly popular location for me to carry out most of my spotting,
To this day I can clearly see, and hear, in my mind’s eye, the haunting sound of the wind through all those telegraph wires; an ever present companion at the side of the line. Those wires made a distinctive but indescribable sound that only those who have experienced such things are able to imagine. Ah, the sweet smell of grassland mingled with that lovely cocktail of steam, smoke, oil and creosote. Against the backdrop of the farmland countryside, and the sound of nature itself, there would be the railway sounds; a distant whistle, the sound of a signal wire being pulled, and of course that familiar ‘twanging’ of the rails as the next train approached; thundering by and then away and gone in half a minute.
Talking of sounds; one sound I readily recall was being in bed at my grandmother’s house and listening to the distant ‘clickety click’ of a night time train as it passed over those shorter rail sections they had back then. Her house was only about a mile from the railway line and the sound carried easily to my young ears! I often wondered how many of them might have been rare ‘cops’?
Writing this, other memories of those halcyon days spring to mind; I remember that one of my grandmothers always used to buy me either the Dandy or the Beano comic. I can’t recall the exact title now, but whichever one it was; they frequently had an article in it about trains and railways. Each article would be a compact education on the various types of lamp configurations to be seen on the front of locomotives, including what they meant. Other times there would be a piece on the different signals and what they meant; all fascinating stuff! If you are reading this and remember which comic it was, then please do make a comment at the end. I’d really love to know.
Another memory of those trainspotting days was watching the passage of a ‘Pullman’ equipped train. This would bring its own problems, for as they quickly travelled by it was such a task to see how many of those wonderful named carriages you could ‘cop’. In fact you had done really well by managing to get more than three or four names or numbers written down in time. I didn’t know then, but the word ‘cop’ was to have a completely different connotation, and in my later years take up a significant portion of my adult life; but that’s another story!
To this day I still love seeing those ‘Pullman’ carriages on heritage lines; thank goodness so many were preserved! To that end thank goodness for the foresight of a certain Mr Dai Woodham of Barry South Wales who, towards the end of steam, provided many opportunities for preservation. We owe him so much by having our steam railway heritage still available for ourselves and future generations to enjoy.
More Memories....
Going back in time again, a vivid memory of my grandfather comes to mind. I am walking with him down Frinkley Lane, situated off the road between the villages of Hougham and Marston. We would walk all the way down to the railway crossing; all with the intention of him taking me to watch the trains. In truth he was more interested in reminiscing about the fields down there where he proudly told me that, as a younger man, he would plough his ‘acre a day’ with horses! Grandfather never really adapted too well to the arrival of the tractor, but he could talk about horses in intricate detail all day long.
I do often wonder about the classic locomotives types and named trains that were passing on the main line there during the 1920s, '30s and '40s? He was probably too busy working those fields; too busy to look up, and most likely they had become a familiar sight. In much later years I would take two of my own grandsons down Frinkley Lane; just to watch the trains. We would have a wager on which direction the next train would come from. By then most of the magic of the passing traffic had gone for me; I had been spoilt by the majesty of steam hauled trains.....
A 'Foreign' Trainspotting Expedition (well, relatively speaking!)
It must have about 1963, or maybe 1964, that we three musketeers from Brandon embarked on what we thought of as being a ‘foreign trainspotting expedition’.
Although we equipped ourselves with ridge tents of dubious quality, sleeping bags and a good supply of food I think it was decided that an adult ought to have some idea of where we were actually going to be camping; so my dad would be dropping us off at our chosen spot at Barkston. This would be the start of our ‘foreign’ camping expedition.
We set off from Brandon in my dad’s car; taking the long lane from the village towards our usual haunt at Brandon Bridge. However, this time we would be leaving the bridge behind and carrying on to Marston village. As we passed over the ECML at the bridge we all craned our necks to see if any trains were coming. Now through and beyond the village, dad turned left along Sand Lane towards Barkston Junction. Further along the lane there would be an added bonus! The first railway bridge we went under carried the Nottingham to Sleaford line. After passing under this bridge, and now on the approach to the next bridge over the ECML at Barkston, there’s a triangular shaped field to the left. At the northerly point of this field the Nottingham to Sleaford line heads under the ECML on its way to Ancaster; so two adjacent railway lines for our entertainment. This would be an ideal place to set up camp! Our tents and supplies were manhandled over the field to the chosen spot. It was only day one, but at the end of our expedition an arrangement had been made for us to take everything back to the lane, assemble there and wait for dad to pick us up.
We had of course been granted permission to camp in that field from the landowner; via one of my relatives. Although we had carried out a trial run at home, it did take us a little time to get the tents pitched in just the right spot at the top of the field. We wanted to make sure that we had a good view of both lines from the entrance. Blimey, we had the best of both worlds!
Over the course of our outing we noticed that the Ancaster line wasn’t particularly busy. It seemed mainly to be used by slower goods trains. A most memorable two days were enjoyed by all; spotting in ‘foreign parts’ before the primal yearning for some of ‘mum's grub’ would call us back home! Even apart from the close proximity of the two railway lines, the camping alone was a wonderfully exciting adventure. It was something at that age that we had not done before, and further enhanced by our lengthy trainspotting sessions.
During the daytime there was a plentiful supply of fast 4-6-2 types to savour and many of the locos and their names have stuck in my memory. Two names in particular are A1’s Nos 60116 Hal o’ the Wynd and 60130 Kestrel.
There would have been other classes in charge of local passenger and freight services too, but memory fades over time doesn’t it? I don’t recall too many of the A3 class, but again two of them do stand out; Nos 60039 Sandwich and 60050 Persimmon.
What strikes me now, with the benefit of 60 years having gone by, is how some of the locos' names relate to their railway credentials! Watching Sir Nigel Gresley or AH Peppercorn steaming along on the main line didn’t really resonate with us at the time.
As dusk fell there would be a continuous procession of evening trains, an orange trail of flickering glowing light from the loco’s cab. Carriage windows reflecting insipid yellows made each passing train akin to a convoy of ocean liners. When dusk had finally turned to darkness and our exchange of stories had dwindled, the idea of sleep soon tugged at our weary bodies. Somewhere off over the fields a vixen screamed, and from the nearby woods an owl called out to its mate. Being outdoors on our ‘foreign expedition’ the relative comfort and safety of our tents pulled us inwards. It was strange to lay there and hear those passing trains; anonymous people on their way to unknown places. Although we may not have realised it at the time, it was an integral part of our parents gradually letting the rope out, and thus providing us with that little bit of extra freedom, en route to self-sufficiency in later years.
As the 1960’s moved on and I approached school leaving age, inevitably my interests shifted. Such matters as getting a job, learning to drive, motorcycles and later cars and, dare I say it, girlfriends, shifted my attentions and I took my eye off what was happening on the railway. In many ways I regret that now because, unbeknown to me, the age of the steam train was ending! In retrospect the fact I wasn’t fully aware of that saddens me, because I would have liked to have been there in 1968 at ‘the funeral’ to pay my respects…
Obviously I was aware of the first Diesels coming in during the very late 1950s and, in the early 1960s, the first of the production ‘Deltic’ fleet thundering through. It never actually occurred to me at the time that they would all eventually supersede those wonderful steam locos, rather than compliment them! I suppose that all seems rather naïve now, but it didn’t at the time!
During that early diesel period I had a fairly basic camera so, with film being relatively expensive, taking railway photographs was very much an ‘on the spot’ decision. From those I’ve picked out a couple of snaps that will hopefully give you an idea of the wonderful sense of excitement that we all experienced; just three young lads enjoying ourselves beside the main line.
The first (above) shows two of the ‘three musketeers’ one of whom is trying to outpace the rapidly approaching deltic hauling a Down express, needless to say he failed! If you look closely, further along the field fence, you might be able to make out the outline of another ‘musketeer’ who seems happy enough just watching the speeding train hurtling by. In the far distance, to the left of the tall trees on the right, the farmer's bridge near to our ’musketeers’ bridge at Hougham station is also visible.
In this second photograph (above) the art of pressing the shutter at just about the right time is clearly demonstrated, especially when a bridge obscures judgement! Here the first of what turned out to be a brace of BRCW Type 3s (class 33) is captured heading south with the Uddingston (Lanarkshire) to Cliffe (Kent) cement empties.
So to sum things up, I feel extremely fortunate to have come into this world when I did. The horrors of WW2 were five years before my time; I was old enough to see the last few years of steam hauled trains running on the real railway. As I progressed into adulthood I experienced the golden age of pop music, much better roadworthy vehicles, much improved televisions, and a slowly improving economy for most people. There were of course other technical advancements that we all take for granted these days!
As mentioned earlier. In much later years I would take two of my own grandsons down Frinkley Lane; just to watch the trains. We would have a wager on which direction the next train would come from. By then most of the magic of the passing traffic had gone for me; I had been spoilt by the majesty of steam hauled trains.
It’s now time to finish my story; to this day I still value my experiences on that stretch of the ECML between Barkston Junction, Hougham and Westborough. One of these days I’m going to stand on Brandon Bridge again and look for a ‘black dot’ rapidly approaching and morphing into an express train heading for Kings Cross. I’ll let my mind wander for a moment, back to those happy days of the 1950s and '60s.
Postscript: Completing the Circle.
On a bit of a whim, the other day I decided to return to Brandon Bridge. I always said that I would, just to complete the circle. It was the first time I had actually stood on top of it for just over 60 years. Now at the risk of being called naïve things have changed somewhat, and in a very disappointing way!
Fortunately standing at 6 foot 2 in height, as you can see from my photograph, I was able to see over the bridge, but of course the view looking towards Westborough is now filled with those hideous power gantries. As might be expected the former ‘black dot’ of a locomotive travelling towards London had been replaced by a very rapidly approaching yellow light.
Adding further to my disappointment; as you can see from my second photograph, our former favourite spot for sitting out of the wind at the side of the Brandon Bridge is now just a sea of brambles!
Perhaps the most striking and somewhat alarming change was the sheer volume of road traffic that crosses the bridge these days, it was really busy! Anyway, I’m glad that I did it and finally completed that circle. The joy of actually being there when steam ruled the line, way back in the '50s and '60s will live with me forever.
I often go down to Sheringham in Norfolk; taking the chance to visit the Poppy Line. It’s a wonderful nostalgic feeling to walk onto the platform and take in the sound and smell of the steam engines. So evocative! That mixed aroma of smoke, oil, coal and steam, still to be experienced by anyone on a heritage railway like the North Norfolk Railway, always takes me straight back to those carefree trainspotting days, standing on the two railway bridges at Hougham and Brandon Road.
Happy Days indeed!
Copyright: Paul Squires 2026.
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Great memories - thank you!
Thanks for writing this. I was born in 1951 and spotted at Peascliffe and Barkston. Your memories are very much the same as mine and resonated with me in so many ways.
Very interesting, and well written. Love the picture showing the 3 musketeers on the bridge viewed from behind with a train approaching. Thank you for sharing your memories, and trying to teach your grandkids.
I really enjoyed your article and photographs. I think that your story does copy the memories of mine and many others, although I used to find myself on the embankment at Leyland - Lancashire, or Blackburn Station (sometimes Preston Station) and Lower Darwen MPD (I use to live in Lower Darwen then Blackburn. The Midland Region was my "ABC" book from Ian Allan. Though I did spend summer holidays at my grandparents in York, where my grandad was a railwayman so, going to Leeman Road MPD with him for his pension on a Friday morning was a regular experience of walking between the locomotives in the shed as he chatted to his friends / railwaymen who worked there.