The Tale of the Lost Railway

It's been a while since I've bored forum readers with one of my ridiculous stories but with encouragement from @Train Waiting and a few others I've decided to give it another go.

I'll be aiming to publish at least a couple of posts each week - maybe more if I have the time and I'm feeling creative and in the mood.

Let's start with a short Introduction.

The Tale of the Lost Railway

"Thou  'as ta believe in it laddie, thou 'as ta believe. Believe it an'  'tis there but doubt it an' 'tis all nothing but a dream"

This is a story of mystery and intrigue centred around a railway line which, according to local legend, ran  from Moretonhampstead to Okehampton on the north eastern fringes of Dartmoor in Devon.

Local folk are absolutely convinced  of its existence but did that railway really exist?

Look on any map of the area and there is no trace of said line. There is just a rough footpath linking the two towns around the very edge of the moor.

Trains certainly ran North  from Newton Abbot to Moretonhampstead  on the former Great Western branch line whilst Okehampton was served by the ex LSWR main line from Exeter to Plymouth.
However, there is no record of a railway ever being built between those two towns even though it would have made sense.
It is likely that cost was the reason that it was never seemingly constructed.

The area traversed by the mystery railway is extremely remote and  frequently shrouded  by thick mists which roll down from Dartmoor. This only adds to the sense of mystery and intrigue surrounding  the railway.

The story is based largely in the Autumn and Winter  of 1961.

Let's start with a brief introduction to the various railway lines which will be central to the plot.




The Great Western Main Line from Exeter to Plymouth and into Cornwall
To many this stretch of line which is part of the Great Western route from Paddington to Penzance , and which includes the coastal stretch from Starcross to Teignmouth, requires little introduction.


The Southern Railway route to Plymouth from Exeter
The LSWR route from Exeter to Plymouth was finally opened throughout in 1876 construction of various sections of the line having been undertaken on a piecemeal basis in earlier years.
The route roughly follows the Northern and Western edges of Dartmoor through Crediton, Okehampton, Lydford and Tavistock before dropping down towards Plymouth.

The Moretonhampstead Branch
The Moretonhampsted and South Devon railway built a branch which ran from the South Devon Railway main line (from Exeter to Penzance) at Newton Abbot to Moretonhampstead via Bovey Tracey and Lustleigh.
The line, which follows the lowest foothills on the eastern fringes of Dartmoor opened in 1866 closing to passenger traffic in 1959 lingering on until 1972-for local freight operations.
The line was acquired by the Great Western Railway in 1878.
Originally built to the broad gauge conversion to standard gauge took place in 1892 taking a gang of 60 men to complete the entire route of 12 miles and 28 chains.
Lustleigh station was used as the base for the 1931 film Hound of the Baskervilles.

The Missing link (The Lost Railway)
The missing section is, of course, that from Moretonhampstead to Okehampton which, crucially, passes through the grounds of Baskerville Manor owned, for several centuries, by the Hardcastle family.
The family is currently headed by the effervescent, benevolent, idiosyncratic and somewhat eccentric Sir Archibald Hardcastle who is, to say the very least, an extremely enthusiastic railway enthusiast, as was his father before him and grandfather before that.
Did this railway line, linking the two Devon towns, ever exist and is it still extant in the early 1960s?
Although you might diligently search for Railway Clearing House Junction Diagrams of the area or  refer to local OS maps you will surely find no reference to its existence.
Many local  folk, however, are certain  that it does exist and furthermore there are countless rumours revolving around  a headless female ghost, howling wolf like dogs and even gruesome murder.

Are the tales true or is the entire  thing a figment of rather over active and maybe alcohol  fuelled imaginations?

Pay a visit to the Baskerville Arms in the hamlet of the same name, offer to buy a pint for one of the locals at the bar and you'll be rewarded with tales of mysterious trains and strange goings on.

Our story hopes to uncover the truth be it fact or fiction.

To be continued .........

The Tale of the Lost Railway (Part – 2)

An introduction to the  two principal  characters :

Colin Penn

The first of the two main characters is Colin Penn. The story will be largely narrated by Colin.

Colin Penn was born in Teignmouth in 1935 living in the town for his entire  life apart from the three years spent at the University of Liverpool where he obtained a Third Class Honours Degree in Geography.

Colin was never  exactly sure why he studied geography at university. It was probably because he was advised to do so by Mr Beard the careers master at school simply because it was the subject at which he excelled. Having obtained three 'A' levels at school it was expected of Colin that he would go on to University which, of course, he did somewhat against his better judgement.


The Spotting Gang assembled on The Steps with Archie to the right wearing his trademark Brown Felt Hat

School work came reasonably easily to Colin but he generally failed to apply himself fully as highlighted in his regular school reports. He was, like many young lads, easily distracted. In his case the distraction was railways and in particular the fine locomotives of the GWR which frequented the South Devon Sea Wall which was  his local patch .

Never a particularly gregarious sort,  Colin kept to the fringe of the  spotting gang that assembled regularly on "The Steps" situated adjacent to the railway line just beyond the end of Teignmouth promenade. Despite being somewhat shy as a young boy he was on friendly terms with an older chap who always seemed to be immaculately dressed complete with a light brown felt hat. This chap, nicknamed Brown Hat Man by the spotting gang, was very easy to talk to and always happy to pass on interesting snippets of railway related information. He seemed to be "in the know" regarding any unusual  events related to railways.

University worked out well for Colin in a social, as well as academic, sense. He became much more confident amongst other people and was happy to engage in the various societies which interested him particularly, of course, the Railway Society.  He was also actively involved with the student association and became editor of the student magazine. It was  a post that would very much help with his future career choice.
His three years at university completed, Colin returned to Teignmouth. Quite by chance he quickly landed a job as an office junior at the Teignmouth Chronicle progressing very quickly to a position as transport reporter. This was not a particularly demanding role but it gave him an excellent grounding in journalism.

Having moved to his own flat and courting a local girl, Mary White, Colin surprised everyone by branching out on his own as a freelance investigative reporter specialising in newsworthy events  related to transport, particularly railways,

Colin and Mary were married in 1959, the couple purchasing a small cottage near to Teignmouth town centre.

The second principal character is Archie Hardcastle :


Archie Hardcastle, full name Sir Archibald Sinclair Anderson Hardcastle, was born in 1919.
The Hardcastles originally hailed from the far North of Scotland where the family still retain a presence, and a prominent one at that owning a large estate.

The family home of the English branch  of the family has been, for a couple of  centuries, Baskerville Manor which is located on the edge of Dartmoor between Moretonhampstead and Okehampton.

Archibald, having been schooled at Harrow,  obtained a first class honours degree in English at Cambridge before joining  the RAF where he progressed very quickly. He went on to fly Spitfires and Hurricanes during World War Two being highly decorated for valour and outstanding bravery. After the war he took up a senior position as chief advisor to the Prime Minister. He was knighted for his work in 1957.

Archibald hated formality and always played down his achievements, much preferring not to talk about them at all. He rarely, if ever, made reference to his  title and always, unless in a formal setting, went by the name  of Archie.

In 1958 he retired from the Civil Service, at the relatively  young age of 39, effectively to oversee the family farm on Dartmoor. An estate manager was quickly leaving Archie ample time to pursue his lifelong interest in  railways.

Archie and his wife Lady Felicity or, as she much preferred Flic, purchased  a modest house in Teignmouth meaning that he could spend as much time as he dared simply watching trains on the sea wall. Archie is, of course, the man in the felt hat or, as he is referred to by the spotting , Brown Hat Man".

The couple retained the family home on Dartmoor visiting regularly to ensure that all was running to plan but Archie's huge passion for railways meant that he spent as much time as possible in Teignmouth where he had easy access to the sea wall  to simply watch trains. He did , however, allow enough time to spend most lunch times at The Ship Inn partaking of luncheon and a pint, or two, of their very finest ale.

Archie was, by his own admission, a trifle eccentric in his manner but always very popular, jovial and above all very benevolent towards local deserving causes. He seemed to know absolutely everyone and was liked by one and all.

Archie had wide ranging railway interests about which he was very talk enthusiastically. There was, however, one railway related matter, let's,  perhaps,  call it a hidden, secret obsession. It was something which he never, ever mentioned except to trusted members of his own family.............

To be continued............

The Tale of the Lost Railway (Part – 3)

It was early in September 1961. I found myself daydreaming as I returned, weary, from a long and somewhat exhausting trip to London where I had been investigating a mysterious death on a Metropolitan Line train at Baker Street station.

Of course, I had to avoid  the inevitable clever remarks relating to a certain Mr Holmes but that was no problem. After all, it might make a good newspaper headline .

My train home from Paddington was the 17-55 to Plymouth. As  I had around fifteen minutes to departure I walked up to see what locomotive would be attached. I arrived at the end of the platform just in time to witness Castle Class number 7037 Swindon, the last of the class, backing down onto the carriages.

I walked briskly back along platform three to find, hopefully, an empty compartment. I soon found one and very quickly the train was away with the smooth, sure footed elegance to be expected from a Castle.

The rhythmical clickety clack of the carriage wheels on the rail joints was almost lulling me to sleep when my thoughts suddenly, and inexplicably, turned to a week's holiday spent with a Great Aunt and Uncle on their smallholding on the edge of Dartmoor several years ago. I must have been aged eight making the year 1943. The Second World War was in full swing and I vaguely remember hearing on the wireless that the Allies had invaded Sicily. Quite what that meant in the grand scheme of things I knew not at the time but it seemed to be an important development.

My memories of the holiday are  quite vague but I do remember the small farmhouse, with a few straggling out houses, being very remote. I also clearly  remember the two donkeys, I think their names were Rosy and Thomas, who seemed to enjoy the extra attention afforded them by a small boy.

Delving further back in my mind I recall that I must have travelled to Moretonhampstead station via  the branch line from Newton Abbot. I dimly remember being taken to Newton station by my parents who put me in a compartment, on my own, to make the short trip to Moretonhampstead where my Aunt and Uncle met me with their horse and cart.

Moretonhampstead  station was at the terminus of the line but tracks did continue beyond the platform towards some cattle pens before ending abruptly at a gated tunnel mouth. My Uncle took me up to the end of the platform to see the locomotive which, likely, would have been a small prairie tank but it was that gated tunnel mouth around a hundred yards away which really caught my attention. I do not recall why that tunnel intrigued me or, for that matter, why I remember it so vividly. Perhaps it  just looked unusual and perhaps exciting to  me as a small lad.


That gated tunnel mouth intrigues me even more today than when I was a small lad

The trip up to the farmhouse was mostly  along a rather rutted and uneven farm track  which became bumpier the further we travelled. I can remember my excitement as we approached a tiny hamlet bearing the name Baskerville.   I had heard of the  book  The Hound of the Baskervilles although I was too young  to have read it. I was , however, going to be staying in a famous village and that was going to be fun.

I must have enjoyed my stay but the thing that I recall most clearly is being told on several occasions not to venture up that bank, don't go beyond that fence or don't open that gate. There seemed to be a great many places that I wasn't  allowed to explore which didn't really bother me then but thinking back today it was rather strange.

My mind wandered off in different directions as my journey home to Teignmouth continued although I did keep returning to that boyhood holiday. The more I remembered the stranger it became in my mind.

Now in my mid twenties there seem to be so many unanswered questions from that week away  with the most curious being the faintest memory of a railway station at Baskerville.  Come to think of it, I'm almost certain that as I was falling to sleep one warm  evening, with my bedroom window wide open,  I heard a steam train in the far distance.

By the time my train neared Exeter St Davids I had made up my mind to visit the area again in the next week or so in order to satisfy my curiosity.

Who knows what I might find?

If nothing else, my curiosity will be satisfied.............


To be continued

The Tale of the Lost Railway (Part – 4)

A few days after my return from London Mary, my wife, had invited a friend to stay with us for a few days affording me the ideal opportunity to spend a bit of time down at the sea wall watching trains. It's the perfect relaxation although I'm  not really into collecting numbers, I just enjoy observing  the comings and goings and taking the odd photograph with my Box Brownie camera.

Down on the wall, the weather was beautifully sunny, pleasantly warm and with a very slight onshore breeze. Being a Saturday the usual gang of spotters were in attendance on the steps but I decided to walk along to Sprey Point where I planned to while away a couple of hours or so.

It was indeed a very rewarding spell. Being a Summer Saturday I witnessed a procession of Castles, Kings, Halls, Granges and a solitary County together with a couple of prairie tanks on local services thrown in for good measure. I wonder what the passengers, perhaps arriving for the start of a week long holiday,  are thinking as they gaze in awe at the glistening blue sea to their left.


Two of the trains on that busy Saturday morning as a Grange and a Castle pass each other at Sprey Point
Around half way through my session Archie Hardcastle arrived as usual greeting everyone around with a jovial good morning and a raising of his hat for the ladies. . I'd become much friendlier with Archie since my shy boyhood days. We were now good friends sometimes meeting up for a pint or two in The Ship.

"Good morning Archie. How are you this fine morning ? "

"Oh hello there my dear old fruit. I'm spiffingly well thank you" , he replied "And how about you?   I haven't seen you down here for a few days".

I told him  that I'd been away on business in London recently and also filled him in on the Baker Street incident although he had already read my report in the newspaper.

Knowing that Archie had an encyclopaedic knowledge of all things railways I thought that I'd tell him  about my childhood holiday up near Baskerville when I was a lad and my vague memories of a mysterious station. I asked him if he knew anything about a railway in the area.

Archie's response was remarkably swift. Perhaps a little too swift even. "I say old chap, I think that's your memory playing a few tricks. There's never been a railway up there although, I'd be the first to admit,  it would have made absolute sense to have a link between Moretonhampstead and Okehampton".

"I'm sure that you are quite right", I replied, "But nevertheless  I'm planning a little trip up there next week to have a good look around and perhaps jog my childhood memories.  I'm thinking of staying  a couple of  nights".

"Well, you take care up there old boy. It's rather remote and subject to thick fog at a moment's notice. Make sure you have a good map and don't get lost or you could be wandering around for days".

With that we were both distracted as a beautifully clean  number 6000 King George V rushed past with a down express, the bell on her buffer beam gleaming in the morning sun".
"What a fine sight", exclaimed Archie, "The Kings are such fine looking locomotives and by the look of her she's just out of the shops".

We chatted a bit more before it was time for me to head home for lunch.

"Enjoy Dartmoor my friend. It's lovely up there and you never know what you might find" said Archie as I left. I'm sure that I detected the merest twinkle in his eye as he tipped his hat to wish me goodbye. Did he perhaps know more than he was letting on?

I decided to spend a bit of time over the next week researching various old railway documents in a bid to find any reference to tracks beyond Moretonhampstead but despite visiting the local library and the county archivist's office there was nothing.

However I  couldn't get the memory of that gated tunnel at the end the line out of my mind and I determined to see if it was still in situ. Why was it there? What is, or was,  beyond those gates?

I could find absolutely no reference to that tunnel, if indeed that's what it was, ever being built but I'm sure it's what I'd seen beyond the station platform. Why, however, was no  one else intrigued and if it was a tunnel where did the tracks disappear to?

The next Saturday found me at Teignmouth station waiting for a local train to Newton Abbot from where I would catch the branch service up to Moretonhampstead.

To be continued.......

Excellent! I'm looking forward to the next part.

All good wishes.

John

The Tale of the Lost Railway (Part – 5)

I had arranged a three night  stay at a guest house on the outskirts of the little hamlet of Baskerville, a  village nestling quietly on the very edge of Dartmoor some nine miles north of Moretonhampstead and five south of Okehampton.

My previous visit to the area had been, as you know,  some  eighteen years ago. Aged eight, I holidayed there with an aunt and uncle but they have long since moved away from the area  so the guest house it was to be this time around.

On the Saturday morning I was up early, catching the 7-45 train from Teignmouth to Newton Abbot, a journey lasting  some eight minutes which followed the River Teign for most of the time.

This was a local service from Exeter St Davids to Kingswear hauled by a large prairie tank which accelerated rapidly way from Teignmouth.

On arrival at Newton I had a twenty minute wait for my train up to Moretonhampstead which comprised small prairie number 4554 and and two rather dilapidated  non corridor carriages.

Right on time at 8-16 we were away, soon passing the racecourse to my left before we curved fairly sharply away from the main and onto the branch line.

The journey, which took me via Teigngrace Halt, Heathfield, Brimley Halt, Bovey Tracey , Hawkmoor and Lusleigh took me through some delightful scenery. It took around sixtry five minutes to cover the sixteen or so miles.


My train photographed passing the small goods yard just beyond Bovey Tracey station with the Stover Canal in the forground

The station stops were, to say the least, relaxed  affairs with business carried out in the unhurried style so typical of rural branch line railways across the country. At most of the stations a few passengers, many  of whom were on first name terms with the railway staff,  alighted or boarded and a wide variety of goods were handled, carefully and efficiently,  by the station and train crew.

It was just approaching 9-20 when  my train pulled into Moretonhampstead, the northern terminus of the line.

Around a dozen or so passengers, me included, alighted into bright morning sunshine. The temperature was   an  agreeable 68 degrees as I  wandered up to the end of the platform to thank the driver and fireman for helping to make the journey pleasant and relaxing.

The locomotive would run around its train ready for the return journey at 10-05 , a process that I  determined to watch but, of course, I had plenty of time. Indeed the footplate crew made it their first job to visit the signalman in his box, no doubt for a chat and a brew leaving their locomotive simmering gently in the station.
This allowed me time to wander right to the very end of the platform in order to look for any trace of the tunnel which I recalled so clearly from my younger days.

The tracks  extended beyond the station to a small cattle dock and goods siding then curved slightly to the right towards a steepish hill. Surely a tunnel was the only way a railway could pass this hill, an expensive option that no doubt contributed to the railway beyond Moretonhampstead not being built.

My view, however, was blocked by two heavy wooden gates with an eight foot high fence either side. Those gates were firmly closed and padlocked across the single track with a large sleeper chained tightly across the track.

If a tunnel did exist it must be beyond those gates. I determined to investigate further over the course of the next day or so.

I was lost in my thoughts when a whistle from number 4554 signalled the start of her run round movement which I observed with interest. Right on time, just a few minutes later, the train was away with the locomotive this time running bunker first.

After leaving the station and surrendering my ticket to the smartly uniformed collector I consulted the omnibus timetable, pasted to the wall. It transpired, to my delight, that a Western National service to Baskerville was due shortly.

At 10-35 a green coloured Bedford SB arrived in the station forecourt. I was the only passenger to board and joined two others for the short journey.

"Whur be goin' ?" enquired the jovial conductor to whom I replied, "Single to  Baskerville please" .

"That'll be tuppece please but what you be goin' there for.  There baint much there for a young lad like thee".

I explained that I would be staying at the guest house whilst exploring the area for a day or two.
"Ahh, thas ol' Mrs 'Arris' place you'll be stayin' at. She's a bit on the stern side mind so thee besn't do anythin' ta upset 'er".

It wasn't long  before the bus slowed down and the conductor said to me "This'll be thy stop lad".

I looked up and down the street which was, it has to be said, rather bleak. There were a few old cottages, a small shop and a pub to my left. To the right was a terrace of little houses with a few larger ones just beyond but very little else other than what appeared to be. a large rambling farmhouse and yard in  the distance.

I set out in search of the guest house. The lady had said on the telephone that it was just past the pub so I began walking in that direction noting that the pub was called The Baskerville Arms. It looked just as bleak as the rest of the buildings.

As I walked I noticed a narrow tree lined lane off to my left.  I peered down the lane. About a hundred and fifty yards along there were large gates which appeared to be locked tightly shut. Those gates appeared to me to rather resemble those at Moretonhampstead station.

I thought little more of this as I approached the guest house which was named, a little disconcertingly, Wolf's Lair.

I knocked the door, with some trepidation,  to be greeted by a lady, probably in her early sixties, with straggly  unkempt grey hair and dark steely grey, deep set, eyes. She was wearing a long black dress with what appeared to be wellington boots on her feet.

"Who be you?", she rasped  by way of greeting.

To be continued.......

    
  Following with interest Martin
  stay safe regards Derek

The Tale of the Lost Railway (Part – 6)

It turns out that Mrs Harris, the owner of the guest ouse where I was staying, had been feeding her chickens. One had escaped causing her to chase it round the garden in the warm weather which did nothing for her mood when she answered the door to me.

Once she realised that I was a paying guest she calmed down and showed me to my room. The price was one pound, eighteen shillings and sixpence  per night plus an additional five  shillings for breakfast and an extra one shilling and six pence if I required  a daily packed lunch.

I paid in advance, taking up the offer of the packed lunch including today.

Mrs Harris chatted amicably for a few minutes after I had settled my bill  but then  allowed me to settle into my room.

At around 11-45 I decided to explore the local area around Baskerville taking my packed lunch with me.

Walking down the main street, if you could call it a main street, I was struck by how quiet it was. I saw only one other person, a man in his sixties, who nodded but carried on past me without saying a word.

It was the gated lane which interested me most so I retraced my steps from yesterday. As I walked along the main road towards the lane I noticed that the vegetation to my right was extremely lush and overgrown to the point of being virtually impenetrable to all but the most determined of individuals.

There did, however, seem to be a flat grassy ledge in the distance which resembled a railway embankment. It couldn't be, could it or was it just wishful thinking on my part?


I had no way to get to the bank so continued on along the road. When I reached the lane I turned right heading directly towards those rather inhospitable looking gates which were, I realised, locked tightly shut.

To the left of the gates was a steep  bank and to the left a  thick stone wall  with a small archway set into it.


Just beyond the arch was a very heavy wooden door which, like the gates, was locked.

There was no way in so I turned to leave but spotted, out of the very corner of my eye, what looked like a very big, heavy  key hanging from a large, rusty  hook. It was almost hidden by ivy but it was definitely  a key.

Surely that key wouldn't unlock that door.

Dare I try it?

To be continued.....

The Tale of the Lost Railway (Part – 7)

The key was remarkably heavy but I managed to insert it securely into the lock.  With mounting trepidation, I turned it.

Despite appearing to be old and rusty, the key  turned very easily allowing  the gate to swing open which it did remarkably smoothly. To my surprise it seemed the lock and hinges had been well maintained and fairly recently oiled.

Once through I closed the gate quietly behind me.

Ahead was a somewhat  overgrown rough gravel path leading quite steeply uphill to what appeared to be a flat bank stretching away into the distance.

I walked to the top of the bank to find, as I had hardly dared to hope, railway tracks curving away to the left through trees. I had expected, if I did manage to find  evidence of a railway, that the tracks would be old and rusted but this railway was in reasonable order with the top of the track being shiny which surely indicated that a train had passed this way recently. How on earth was that possible? There were  no railway line in the area according to all of the maps and official documentation I had recently studied.
Feeling somewhat emboldened I began to walk in the direction of Baskerville. The railway was lined, on both sides, by lush vegetation surely making it virtually impossible to see from the surrounding fields.


The view that greeted me at the top of the bank

I found the remains of an old  stone wall enabling me to sit awhile, take a break and enjoy Mrs Harris' cheese and chutney sandwiches which were, by the way, delicious.

Ii was soon on my way again walking for some twenty five minutes. Eventually, in the distance, I could make out yet another set of heavy gates with a high wooden fence on either side.

On reaching the gates I discovered that I would be walking no further. This time there was no key to be found.  However I  did notice  a very small gap between the gates allowing me to get a peep beyond.

On the other side of the gates, surrounded completely by the tall wooden fence which must have been eight feet high, was a sight that I couldn't believe. What I saw was beyond my wildest imagination.

My journalistic instincts soon swung into action, this was a massive opportunity for me, the sort of story that, perhaps, only occurs once in a lifetime. I determined to return tomorrow with my camera. Perhaps with more time I might be able to find a way in.

After taking in the scene for several minutes I decided to head back to my guest house where I could write up a few notes.  Of course, on the way, I was very careful to lock the entrance gate and to secrete the key back onto its hook.

That evening I decided to take a visit to the local inn, The Baskerville Arms.

It was a typical rural country pub. As I walked in the whole place fell silent. I could sense around twenty pairs of eyes staring at me but undeterred I made my way to the bar.

"Good evening to you. A pint of your finest, foaming ale if I may landlord", I  said to the grey haired, rather portly man behind the bar.
With that the locals returned to their various conversations. The landlord said "Be you stayin' along at ol' Ma 'Arris' place?"

I replied to the affirmative, "Ya see we dunt get many strangers in 'ere. Word da soon get round if there be a foreigner in town".

I wasn't surprised by his reaction. I guessed that most of the customers had probably lived in the area all of their lives and were a little wary of a stranger walking in.Despite the reaction I now felt a little more comfortable and feeling hungry hungry I enquired if any food might be available.

"Food, we dun't do no posh food in ''ere but I ken get the wife ta knock e up sum bread n cheese if these like?".

Bread and cheese would do nicely so I took my pint and scanned around for an empty table.  The pub was only small and the only available seat was in the corner. I would have to share a table with an elderly man sitting on his own, nursing a pint and engulfed by pipe smoke.

"May I sit here?", I enquired politely.

The man looked up, nodding. "Good evening young chappie", he said in an unexpectedly refined and  cultured voice, "Please do join me. I'm Giles Forsythe, Estate Manager to His Lordship Sir Archibald Hardcastle. I don't expect you are familiar with the Hardcastle family but they are a very prominent family locally and own a lot of land around here. Sir Archibald sometimes pops in here for a couple of pints but I don't expect him this evening as he is entertaining friends up at The Manor House".

Giles must have sensed, from my dropped jaw and open mouth,  that I was somewhat taken aback. My mind was working on over drive.

Archibald Hardcastle – that cannot be right I thought.

Surely it can't be Archie from the sea wall.........can it?


The Baskerville Arms

To be continued..........

I was a bit concerned you might take the wrong turning and end up at Crinkley Bottom at which point it would become a horror story.

Splendid story, thank you, Martin.

As for the picture of The Baskerville Arms, is it just me or has it more than a hint of a Kestrel kit about it?

With all good wishes.

John

That signpost needs a bit more glue as well.

The Tale of the Lost Railway (Part Eight)

I quizzed  Giles about  Sir Archibald trying not to appear over inquisitive but I just had to know if it was the same Archibald Hardcastle that I knew from the sea wall.

It became apparent  from his answers that Sir Archibald was indeed my railway enthusiast friend Archie. I was intrigued and rather confused, I needed to know more.

I next, tentatively, broached the subject of the railway tracks  that I'd discovered whilst taking a walk in the area that very afternoon. Giles was, perhaps unsurprisingly, somewhat  dismissive of the subject which led me to think about my similar conversation with Archie on the sea wall just a few days earlier. Archie had appeared similarly reluctant to discuss any possibility that a railway existed in the area.

Giles and I in The Baskerville Arms

I decided that any further railway talk might sound  suspicious. Indeed,  I sensed that I was beginning to tread  on delicate ground  so I changed the subject towards that good old British discussion point of the weather.

Giles soon announced that he had to go. Perhaps he had become bored with my questioning.

The pub was still quite busy meaning that as  soon as the seat opposite me was vacated  it was taken by an old chap who must  have been well into  his eighties. The elderly man was nursing his pint whilst looking at me with a thoughtful expression on his face.

"I were 'eves droppin' on you an' Giles talkin' about a railway", he suddenly uttered, "You wanna be careful if you go snoopin' around up thur. If Giles' gamekeeper do catch ee, 'e'll 'ave yer  guts fer garters. All I'll say though is thou 'as ta believe it laddie, thou 'as ta believe. Believe it an'  tis there but doubt it an' 'tis all a but dream". With  that the elderly chap downed the last of his pint and he was gone.

I hadn't uttered a word to the man but his words left me completely non plussed. What on earth did he mean?

Despite what appeared to be a slightly veiled warning I vowed to return to the railway tomorrow in order to walk the tracks in the opposite direction back towards Moretonhampstead . I was intrigued and simply had to find out as much as I could.

The pub was, by now, a little quieter so I ordered another pint and settled back in my chair soon lost in my thoughts as I tried to make sense of everything that had occurred today.


Meanwhile.....
Earlier that afternoon, some two or three miles to the north, a  creamy-white Jaguar 100 sports car, with two well healed gentlemen on board, was approaching the grounds of Baskerville Manor, home of Sir Archibald Hardcastle.

The car was soon followed along the lengthy drive by a chauffeur driven Rolls Royce with at least three bowler hatted passengers.

To be continued..........

The Tale of the Lost Railway (Part – nine )

"I say Bertie , this is a mighty fine estate that your chum Sir Archibald owns. The countryside around here is absolutely  splendid and these grounds are just so well manicured and beautifully maintained".

Bertie Poppingham, along with his younger brother Bonzo, had motored down to Devon in Bertie's 1938 3.5  litre SS Jaguar 100. Having enjoyed a very pleasant luncheon at The Prince Regent Hotel in Tewkesbury the pair were in good spirits.

"I'll be darned", exclaimed Bertie as the Jaguar took a slight jolt which the superior suspension dealt with at ease.  "If I'm not mistaken  those were railway tracks set into the driveway  that we've just bumped over. That old rascal Archie must be setting up some sort of full sized garden railway. He did mention that the reason for inviting us down for a few days was to discuss a top secret railway related matter. Oh, by  the way, you did pop those two bottles of  Bollinger RD into the hamper didn't you?".

"Of course", replied Bonzo, "Looking forward to sampling it later. We'll have to ask the butler to put it straight into the chiller".

The pair drove through the superb gatehouse arch before approaching Baskerville Manor, a large, beautifully proportioned  17th century mansion. The final section of the drive was lined with tall , nicely shaped Italian Cypress trees which  opened out onto  a crescent shaped forecourt boasting an ornate fountain as its centre piece.


Bertie and Bonzo passing through the gatehouse arch on arrival at Baskerville Manor

Bertie swung the Jaguar to a halt.

The brothers climbed out  just as a silver Rolls Royce came to a halt behind them. The immaculately dressed chauffeur was out of the car in a flash in order to open the rear door from which emerged three top hatted gentlemen.

With that Archie appeared at the top of the half moon shaped steps which led up to the heavy mahogany front door.

"Bertie my dear old thing", gushed Archie as he charged down the steps, two at a time,  before embracing his old friend, "It's been a few years but it's so good to see you again. A pleasant enough drive down I trust?"

"Indeed, a most pleasant drive. It's so good  to see you too Archie", said Bertie. "May I introduce Bonzo, my younger brother. He's a little less excitable than you and I but has an extremely quick wit. Put him in the cockpit of a Spitfire or Mosquito though and he'll come alive. You really must ask him about his exciting encounter with a Messerschmitt off Dover. It'll make a good story over a cognac or two after dinner".

Archie shook Bonzo enthusiastically by the hand then, almost as an afterthought, turned his attention to the three bowler hatted gentlemen.
"Good afternoon to you all on this fine afternoon. Welcome to Baskerville Manor. I'm Sir Archibald Hardcastle but please, please do call me Archie.

"Thank you so much", replied the taller of the three, "I'm Gerry Fiennes, Chief Operating Officer to the British Railways Board. Please let me introduce John Hammond, General Manager of BR Western Region and Ronald Parker, Station Master at Moretonhampstead".

All six men shook hands exchanging pleasantries as the y made their way up to the front door of Baskerville Manor.

"Tompkins here will direct you all to your rooms" explained Archie, "and he'll see to your luggage. Shall we meet in the study at five thirty for pre-dinner drinks".

At that moment Archie's wife, dressed immaculately in a yellow dress, appeared from an adjoining room.  Archie  turned to the guests. "Gentlemen, let me introduce my beautiful  wife Lady Felicity. Please do refer to her as Flic though, we both simply hate standing on formality".

As everyone followed Tompkins up the stairs to their rooms Bonzo whispered  to  Bertie, "I say, Bertie, what a stunner Lady Felicity is".
"Indeed so", replied Bertie, "But remember, she's Flic not Lady Felicity. I rather hope she'll be joining us for dinner as she'll lighten the mood if the railway talk gets a little too stuffy".

To be continued........

The Tale of the Lost Railway (Part – ten)

At five thirty precisely Archie, Bertie, Bonzo, Gerry Fiennes, John Hammond and Ronald Parker assembled in  the study for pre-dinner drinks. At the request of  Archie, dress was informal.

Archie took the opportunity to address the guests and provide a little background information as to why everyone had been asked to attend.

After thanking everyone for taking the trouble to travel down to Devon Archie continued :

 "Gentlemen, back in the early years of this century, my grandfather came up with a splendid plan to build a railway between Moretonhampstead, which lies at the northern end of the branch line from Newton Abbot, to Okehampton which is distance of some fourteen  miles around the north eastern edge of Dartmoor. Such a railway would have provided a link between the old Great Western Railway to the South and the Southern  Railway to the north.
The trackbed  would,  of course,  pass largely  through our family estate.

Neither the GWR or the Southern were willing to contribute to  such a venture, even on a shared basis, and so my grandfather, Lord William Hardcastle , a railway enthusiast with an interest in civil engineering, decided to fund the venture in its entirety.

Construction of the railway would be expensive, very expensive actually, involving the building of tunnels at both ends and at Baskerville, just up the road from here. Despite the considerable expense  good old Grampy Bill, as I liked to  call him, could envisage the benefits both to local folk and, of course, to our own family and estate.

Now, the next part of the story must, for the time being, remain in this room. The railway was built but as most of it ran through the family estate parliamentary  approval was never sought or indeed, needed. The local MP, the Right Honourable Sir Barnaby Bastable was instrumental in negotiations with the GWR and LSWR to ensure that both ends of the line could be temporarily laid with the intention that approval from Parliament  would be sought retrospectively. However, The First World War intervened, the whole project was put on the back burner and trains never ran. After the  war my grandfather became involved with several  other, more urgent projects and my own father, not interested in railway matters, failed to resurrect the plan.

In around nineteen twenty  Grampy Bill, for reasons that we don't fully understand, arranged for the tunnels at Moretonhampstead, Baskerville and Okehampton to be boarded up and allowed  both sides of the track to become hidden  by thick vegetation thus creating the illusion that no railway ever existed.

Today, some fifty years since the tracks were laid,  it was, until just a few short months back, virtually impossible, without an awful lot of effort, to gain access to the track bed".

Puzzled glances  were exchanged between the various men assembled around the table. Everyone was probably thinking that the whole scheme was always likely to fail but undeterred by the quizzical faces Archie continued.

"As some of you assembled here will know, I have an insatiable interest in railways leading me to consider the possibility of reinstating the lost line. My first action was to contact my old university chum Gerry Fiennes. As COO to the British Railways Board he is in an ideal position to  ascertain whether or not  my madcap scheme stood any chance of becoming anything more than a pipe dream.

When I called Gerry his first reaction was to laugh  so loudly that I had to move the telephone away from my ear in order to avoid being deafened. However, once he realised that I was being serious rather than insanely frivolous  he said that despite it being a completely crazy idea he would give it some consideration.

There was though  a word or warning  to the effect that, as I was no doubt aware,  the adjoining railways at Moretonhampstead and Okehampton would almost certainly be  closed under BR's rationalisation plans leaving my railway completely isolated.

I replied that yes of course I was aware of that but I also wanted to purchase  the existing  Newton Abbot to Moretonhampstead line before BR ripped it up. Not only that but I would retain the existing stations and halts and build a new one at Baskerville including a railway workshop.

By the way  that's where you come in Bertie".
Bertie looked a little non plussed as Archie continued , "I'm rather taken with the idea  of running  it as a preserved railway along the same lines as those splendid chaps at the fledgling Bluebell Railway. I gather that Bonzo and yourself  have some experience of purchasing the Bobbington to Sillybury line on behalf of Poppingham Estates and Bertie, I know that you  have also been heavily involved in the building of a very reputable railway workshop as part of your splendid SPAM scheme.  A workshop facility is something that I would very much like to include, probably at Baskerville.


An artist's pencil sketch of the proposed new station and workshop facility at Baskerville

As far as the railway itself is concerned I have already taken the first steps, with  assistance from Gerry and John, towards clearing the track and wayside vegetation plus the link to the existing line at the Moretonhampstead end had also been partially reinstated.

I'm arranging for us all to visit the the line tomorrow ".

At this point Archie winked across the table to Gerry and John before continuing, "I guarantee that you'll all be in  for a very pleasant surprise when we enter the tunnel at Moretonhampstead but for now  enjoy  your meal this evening and we'll perhaps talk a little more over drinks later".

With that the group were called through to the dining room for dinner.