Cheshire Railway Modellers

Last week we were reviewing the Merry Hill show.  We’d taken Fred’s 4 mm layout there.  Everything went well, though it could have been so different, as just before closing time on the Saturday, when the ticket desk was unmanned, a group of hoodies wandered in without paying.

“They weren’t the sort of people we expected to see,” Jane explained.  “It was obvious they’d never been to a model railway exhibition before.  You got quite anxious, didn’t you dear?”

“Yes, and I wasn’t the only one,” Fred agreed.  “I think all the operators were apprehensive.  We didn’t know what these yobs might do to us or to our precious handiwork.”

“Nasty,” Paul commented, with support from Peter.  Neither of them had been part of the show team.  “Did the police come?”

“No need,” Jane said.  “A thoughtful member of Merry Hill saw what was happening, realised the potential for confrontation, and calmly welcomed them to the show.  He briefly explained what it was about and gently guided them round.”

“Did they pay up?” Peter asked.

“He told them a little about each exhibit, subtly manoeuvring them into asking questions and then providing answers,” Bill went on.  “His manner and psychology were really brilliant.  This very quickly reduced the perceived threat level.”

“Quite a number of us realised the strategy he was using and joined in the discussions with these lads,” Fred continued.  “OK, they were noisy, and one kept shouting “Heymizzeriwanago,” but, because of the way they were treated they weren’t any real trouble and didn’t cause any damage.”

“Did he gerrago?” Adrian enquired, with a smile

“Oh yes,” Fred replied, “on the club’s shunting layout.  You know, the one with the slow fixed speed and a simple left-off-right regulator.  It was one of the club’s younger members that showed them what to do and then guided them through the manoeuvres.  They seemed quite chuffed when they completed the shunt.”

 “Did they pay up?” Peter demanded.

“I don’t know,” Jane answered, “and does it really matter?  What’s more important is that the whole group seemed a bit taken aback that adults should bother with them and treat them as equals, rather than shouting at them to clear off.  Two even said ‘thanks’ as they left.”

“In spite of appearances, they weren’t a bad set of boys,” Graham said.  “They were just into unfamiliar territory where misunderstandings on both sides could so easily have got out of hand and developed into an ugly situation.  I’ve great respect for the Merry Hill chap who took the initiative and brought the visit to a conclusion with which everybody was happy.”

“Perhaps they’ll think about it later,” the chairman suggested.  “May be they’ll realise there is more to adults than confrontation, even that there is more pleasure to be had from a constructive hobby than from aimlessly roaming the streets.  Mutual respect, perhaps?”

“We’d better add that to our list of contingencies to consider before the next show,” he continued.  Who knows, if they liked one show, they might come to ours.  Of course, if they do, we hope that they’ll pay this time.”  And we all nodded our agreement.

e’d been again to the Salchester show and were discussing the number of new layouts, those that we’d seen before, and those where changes had been made since the last time we saw them.

“I saw Granton Junction,” Bill said.  “It was billed as its debut outing.  But somehow it seemed familiar, though the name didn’t ring a bell.  At first, I couldn’t work out why I thought I’d seen it before.  Then it came to me.  It was the backscene, an impressive and atmospheric work of art in its own right, but totally out of keeping with the modelled scenery in front of it.”

“I asked the chap and he confirmed my suspicion.  He’d re-cycled the boards and backscene from last year’s Irish layout.  The backscene was wrong for Ireland then, and it was still wrong for its new West Country guise.”

“Believable backscenes are a problem,” Felicity agreed.  “Some are in such bold colours that they visually overpower the trains.  It’s important the palette of colours is the same as the foreground, though more muted and bluer.   Other backscenes are so detailed that the objects depicted appear more important than what’s in the foreground.  But, on the other hand, if they are too impressionistic then they aren’t consistent with the level of foreground detail.  And if they’re too pale, like water-colours, then they are no longer a continuation of the main scene into the distance, but something that doesn’t belong.”

“I once saw an urban layout where the backscene was a low viaduct with silhouettes of factories, offices and gas-holders in various shades of grey paper behind it,” Graham commented.  “The distant scene was not colourful in the usual sense, but it really gave an effective impression of a drab city skyscape without all the hassle of drawing and tinting every last bit.”

“I’ve seen an American yard layout with an interesting treatment of the sky,” Jim said  “Behind the low-relief buildings there was a pale blue-ish sky.  The tops of distant buildings were suggested by blocks of mottled off-white on the sun-lit sides and by variegated pastel purple-fawn on the shaded sides.  I think the blocks of colour had been spray-painted through masks.  Simple, no detail, but very effective.”

“Why bother with the sky and distant views at all?” Ken chipped in.  “It saves a lot of effort.”

“But you need something at the back or else the audience are distracted by the sight of old men’s corpulent bellies,” Jane said, causing much embarrassed laughter.

“Just plain sky would do,” Ken continued.  “Either that or a plain pale blue curtain.”

“But that only works for East Anglia,” Nigel pointed out.  “What do you do for somewhere like the western Peak District?”  We smiled.  This is the one stretch of railway in which he shows any real interest, and then only if it is springtime in the ‘50s.

“Get Felicity to paint your backscene,” Ken suggested.  “I’m sure you have lots of colour pictures to guide her,” he continued, “especially of it in the May of 1956.”  And we laughed again, though Nigel still couldn’t see why.

“We’d better see if we can incorporate these ideas in our next club layout,” the chairman suggested.  “Shall we see if we can plan the backscene, the foreground and the colour palette all at the same time to give consistency and the impression of a receding landscape?”  And everybody agreed with that.

The other week we got round to discussing some of the odder things that run on rails at exhibitions.  And we weren’t talking about models of some of the early archaic locomotives, but real anachronisms, such as exploding explosive vans and giraffe wagons.

Dan reported with simple glee that he’d seen a mouse running a short distance behind a passenger train.

“At one of the old Salchester shows there was an express passenger train passed along the main line,” Graham recalled.  “On its second circuit, it was being followed by a diminutive four-wheeled tank loco going like the clappers.  Its little coupling rods were just a blur.  During the third circuit, the tank was clearly gaining on the passenger train.  By the fourth time round it was rapidly closing on the last coach.  The audience was becoming increasingly concerned as to what might happen next.   At the tank’s next appearance, it was in front of the passenger locomotive and steadily pulling away from it.  A relieved cheer went up.  It was blatant showmanship, with some slick backstage work, but great fun.”

More recently, Felicity had seen a long N-gauge layout.  “I could see a slight perturbation on the distant main line, something like a mirage.  Only when it was close was it possible to be sure that there was indeed something real moving along the track.  It took a hand-lens to identify it unequivocally.  It was a miniature gandy dancer.  There were gasps of admiration at such a diminutive model of such a small subject, and wonder at the engineering that made it actually run in miniature.”

“But such aberrations can cause problems,” Bill warned.  “I was leaning forward to study the detail on one warehouse when a brown furry object with bead eyes, whiskers and a long tail emerged from beneath a bridge, hurtled in front of me and disappeared through the open door of the very warehouse I was examining.  I recoiled with surprise.  The operators fell about laughing, and an elderly lady feinted with shock.”

We all acknowledged the imagination of the concepts, the ingenuity of their realisation, and the amusement value for operators and visitors alike.

“But it’s all very silly,” Paul admonished us.  “Totally un-prototypical.  It just plays into the hands of those who ridicule modellers and gives the whole hobby a bad press.  Such frivolity really upsets serious modellers.”

“Precisely so,” Fred acknowledged, much to Paul’s surprise.  It not often that Fred, a highly competent modeller, and Paul, who likes to be thought of as a serious modeller, agreed on anything. “But,” Fred continued, with a twinkle in his eye, “serious modellers can be so humourless because they are, … well, … so perpetually serious.”

“What’s wrong with being serious?” Peter demanded.

“Nothing,” replied Jane.  “Take your modelling as seriously as you like, but don’t take yourself too seriously.  And certainly don’t assume that other folk lack a sense of the ridiculous and even enjoy a little fun.”

“When we put on an exhibition, we’re really in the entertainment business,” the chairman mused.  “What we do on our layouts at home is one thing.  You can be as pedantically prototypical as you like.  But if we are so faithful to the prototype that we fail to amuse and delight the paying public, then the exhibition has failed.  As long as the audience know that we’re just having a bit of fun, then I see no problem.”  And most of us agreed with that.

The other week we got round to talking about mishaps on model railway.  Not ones we’d caused of course.  We don’t go in for accidents, but ones like Ken and his brother-in-law Phil had seen at an event staged by a large scale society up in the North East.

There was an enormous oval modern-image layout. The operators were putting a Voyager and a Class 66 through their paces.  At the end of the layout, partly hidden from their sight by an embankment and bridge, the freight train left the inner track, crossed the outer track and collided with a signal.  In spite of comments from the onlookers, the operators remained oblivious of the mishap.  The Voyager came into view.  Warnings were shouted.  It continued at full speed towards the site of the derailment.  A quick-thinking chap dropped a metal comb across the rails simulating real-life track clips.  The circuit-breaker tripped and the passenger express slithered to a halt just short of a major catastrophe.

“Bloody stupid thing to do,” yelled one of the operators.  “This meeting isn’t for mindless yobs!”  He grabbed the comb and disdainfully flung it to the floor.  As he scowled at the erstwhile miscreant he noticed the Sixty-six, its MBA wagons slued across the tracks, and the bent signal.  He realised the hastiness of his judgement and the inappropriateness of his language.

After the tracks were cleared and the stock re-railed, he apologised.  He and the saviour of his train were last seen heading together towards the bar, now the best of friends.

Elsewhere there was a model of a freight depot controlled by DCC.  The locos were fitted with lights, sound and smoke.  Ken thought is was brilliant.  At one point Phil pointed out to him that he could see head-lights coming towards them through the long tunnel from the fiddle yard.  It was on the same track as an engineer’s train moving off towards it.  Again there were shouts of warning from the audience, but this time the operators listened and prevented a head-on collision.

“Signalman error,” explained one of the operators in a loud voice.

“Who’s the signalman,” asked the other.  “Has he gone off duty?”

“He has now,” was the instant response.

“Wouldn’t have happened with proper two rail control,” commented an onlooker.

Another display was of Gauge Three track laid out on a line of tables.  Someone was invited to drive a Class 26.  Getting it to accelerate away smartly was easy.  However, he concentrated on reaching top speed rather than intelligent driving.  He couldn’t stop the loco before it ran out of track.  Fortunately there was another quick-witted visitor on hand to field the loco as it headed for the floor.

“Small scale models can accelerate and brake very quickly,” Graham explained.  “However, the shear weight of large-scale models makes their response to the controls that much slower.”

“It just goes to show,” the chairman observed, “that the closer models are to full size, the more important it is that they are operated just like the real thing.  Proper signalling, gentle acceleration and long braking distances are a feature of real railways,” he observed.  “If we are replicating railway practices, then isn’t that something we should emulate in all scales.”  And who could disagree with that?

While on holiday in Scotland, Fred and Jane had been to a show at Bridge of Muir.  One interesting feature was the inclusion of a number of Family Layouts.  These were billed as having been created by parents and their children.

“At one table there were a five-year-old and his father,” Fred reported.  “They had set out sectional wooden track, platforms and buildings to form a small station.  On it ran push-along locomotives, coaches and wagons.

“Some modellers were very disparaging,” Jane added.  “They openly dismissed it as ‘just a toy.’  And indeed, it was a hand-made toy, dating back to the 1950s.  A bit of a museum piece, really.  Very nostalgic.”

“But if you watched carefully,” she went on, “you saw the lad running the tank engine round its suburban coaches, stopping at the water tower on the way.  He made sure that express tender locomotive visited the turntable as well before rejoining its train.  He temporarily stored the guard’s van in a short siding while he dealt with incoming wagons in the good shed.  It was obvious that the lad had an excellent grasp of the basic working of a terminus.  Between them, he and his dad provided explanations, to all that would listen, of what was going on and the reasons for the various moves.  And many folk did listen. Some stayed for quite some time because their conversations were so informative.”

“The next layout was quite different,” Fred continued. “It depicted a rural through station and goods yard.  The modelling was immaculate, with great attention to detail.  It was probably the work of an adult.  Two trains circulated repeatedly, while the young minder sat at the back engrossed in a book, totally oblivious of his audience, most of whom drifted away after seeing each train for the third time.”

“Mum, Dad and both kids were involved with running a third Family Layout,” Jane went on.  “They were following a sequence, taking it in turns at working the main lines, the goods yard and the fiddle yard.  They weren’t saying a lot to each other, but concentrating on the job in hand and co-operating to get it right.  The determination on the face of the youngest was a picture.  They all seemed very pleased with the success they were having as a team and delighted to be co-operating.”

“And then there was the fourth layout,” Fred said with a deep sigh.  “Just two lads - bickering about pretty well everything and blaming each other when things went wrong.  No sign of the parents while we were there.”

“The fifth was really a Family Layout,” Jane said.  “Three children, two parents, two grandfathers and a grandmother, with a load of battered clockwork locos and stock, running on tin-plate track that had seen better days.”

“Running was a bit chaotic at times, but it sort of followed prototype practice,” Fred observed.  “But there was so much laughter.  Even the audience were joining in the fun.”

“I don’t think any of them should have been at an exhibition,” Paul observed, “except for the well-modelled one, but only if it had an adult running the trains.”

“You miserable so-and-so,” Felicity riposted.  “You’ve missed the point of Family Layouts.”

“Ah, but which of these was truly a family layout?” the chairman enquired.  “Which gave the best impression to the visiting public of what railway modelling is about and how a whole family can enjoy being involved?”  On this we could not agree.

There was lots of laughter from one layout at the Shelley Bridge show.  It was a beautifully modelled scene, with immaculate period stock being pulled by exquisitely modelled vintage locomotives. There was the usual collection of barrel, bale, crate and sack loads, together with early motor cars, steam road tractors, farm implements and boilers.  They’d obviously taken great care to make the sure the freight services on the line appeared well-used and hence profitable to the miniature railway company.

What caused interest amongst those who were really looking were the unusual loads that appeared from time to time.  Some were appropriate for the period, such as rolls of linoleum in the long wagons specially constructed for that traffic.

And there was a game going on.  As each new goods train appeared, the operators asked if the audience could see goods made from a firework, or a gas fitting, or whatever.  There were smiles all round when, after some teasing, the unusual ingredients, and the loads into which they had been converted, were finally identified.  It was surprising how much erstwhile ‘waste’ had, with just a little imagination and skill, been converted into believable representations of all manner of freight.  This interaction kept the audience both interested and amused.  Very cleverly, the operators were able to drop in a few words about the locos, or special wagons, or how the loads would have been handled and secured, and even about prototypical operation.  It was fun, but also educational at the same time.

However, other loads were definitely flights of fancy, causing much merriment.  There was a long crate with a 90° twist along its length.  Another crate was bloated, about to burst apart.  There was even one in the shape of a grand piano.  Some of the audience muttered ‘non-prototypical’ in disgust.  In their opinion the hilarity was ‘inappropriate for a serious hobby’.  They were really upset.  But the operators and the rest of the audience were having a great time.

They kept their audiences for long periods, much to the annoyance of the equally well-modelled layout across the aisle.  Here the operators worked in total silence, avoiding any contact with the audience.  Off duty, they were rudely derisory of the friendly team over the way whose audience blocked the aisle with folk who were not admiring their own display.  They complained that “their techniques are more suited to a market trader than a model railway show.”

“Not everybody is comfortable addressing the public,” Nigel warned.  “We’re not all born extrovert exhibitionists.”

“No,” Jane agreed.  “You only need one out-going person at a time.  But they must have a fair knowledge of the prototype and the layout, together with the enthusiasm and confidence to talk about them.  And a smile always helps, too.”

“I’m sure neighbouring layouts really enjoy hearing the same patter all day,” Paul added sarcastically.

“But what’s wrong with working the audience and having a bit of fun? Jane asked.  “Every-so-often, of course” she added quickly, as Paul’s hackles started to rise yet further.

“At exhibitions aren’t we’re in the business of attracting audiences to our layouts, making them pleased to be there, and giving them something they’ll remember with satisfaction?” the chairman suggested.  “Impassive operators and dour faces don’t do anything to promote the hobby.”  And we all agreed with that.

We all agreed that attendance at the Salchester show had been declining over the last few years.  At one time the queues waiting for opening time would stretch almost round the block.  This last year it didn’t even block the pavement.

When tackled about this, a member of the Salchester club complained that there were too many exhibitions in the region.  According to him there should only be one - a huge one, bringing in the best layouts from across the country and abroad. It would replace all those in the surrounding towns and villages.

“Isn’t that a matter for the Regional Federation?” Bill asked.

“It could be, but Salchester aren’t members,” Fred replied.

“But who’d be in charge?” Adrian asked.  “I bet the Salchester people see themselves doing that.  Some of them are so arrogant.  They think they are the only people who can model railways and run a good show.”

“What about local shows as training grounds for exhibitors?” Ken chipped in.  “How would anybody get any experience of exhibition conditions?  There’s nothing like being ready for a show as a spur to getting a layout finished.  And of having one’s work recognised as being of merit is an encouragement to improve.”

“What about those shows that are genuinely family-friendly, with things for the youngsters to do?” Felicity asked.  “I can’t see families travelling from the other end of the region.  They want something that is close to home and not particularly expensive.

“What about those people who just pop in on the spur of the moment to see what it’s all about?” Graham enquired.  “They’ll never know if there wasn’t one locally.”

“Why worry about casual visitors,” Paul complained.  “How many of them join a club?”

“But if they can’t get to see railway models easily and cheaply, they’ll never get interested.”

 “If it’s a big show, there isn’t really time to examine all the exhibits with the attention they deserve,” Jim observed.  “I remember the PA announcer at the Midlands show say that ‘there are 300 stands.  That gives you one and a half minute to look at each.’ That hardly allows for shuffling from one stall to the next.  For ten quid entrance fee, that’s very expensive.”

“It’s got to be expensive to cover the transport and accommodation expenses?” Jane remarked.

“And what about shows like Nether Hamblins?” Nigel enquired.  “They raise about the same for charity as Salchester do for themselves.  If they were somehow prevented from staging a show, could the regional event provide them with anything like that income?

“I’m sure some clubs see themselves and their shows as being in competition with other clubs,” Graham complained.  “They want to stifle the competition.  What they should be doing is getting out into the non-modelling community, marketing railway modelling and their shows.  That way they’ll grow the audience.”

“Many shows have their own distinctive character,” the chairman observed, “each with their own local loyal audiences.  They are also both a proving-ground and a shop-window for emerging talent.  A single regional show would eventually starve the hobby of experienced modellers, proven layouts and audiences.”  And we all agreed with that.