Part 1
All small lines have a story. Some are interesting, some more mundane but all are different. This is the story of the PMR.
The recent discovery of the early records of the PMR have proved a fascinating insight into one of West Wales least known about transport systems. The company archives had been carefully filed away in a small room in the back of Woodcock Lodge Works. The nature of the filing was slightly strange in that most of the paper had all been cut neatly into 4 inch squares and filed on a nail. The rest of it had been used to line the box of the works cat. This bad tempered, flea ridden old mouser was known to all as Cooking Fat. At least I think that was what the staff called him.
The line was originally constructed on the instruction of the first Lord Duxssars. It was built after a couple of itinerant engineers called at the Manor House and persuaded him that a narrow gauge steam railway was just the thing he needed and that they had "Got a bit of track and a couple of engines left over from a job up the road and it would be a shame to have to take it back to the depot" They offered it to him at a bargain price of £1500. His lordship accepted and the line was laid in record time.
The bill was presented and his lordship was amazed to see a final total of nearly £250,000. When he queried this with the engineers they said that the price was £1500 per yard and that he had agreed to it, and would he please pay up or else these six big chaps here would have a little chat with him. The bill was paid and the engineers left leaving Lord Duxssars feeling rather sheepish and rather out of pocket.
As he surveyed his new railway Lord Duxssars was alarmed to see that the rail had been laid first and the sleepers fasted to the upper side. Running after the engineers to query this salient point proved disastrous for the old man. After life time devoted to the study of the effects of port and fried food on the human body he collapsed in a heap at the feet of the engineers and with his dying breaths asked why the track was upside down.
"Ah well, the thing is boyo, this track was produced in Australia see" came the reply. On hearing this his lordship breathed his last and slowly shuffled off this mortal coil.
To be continued if anyone is interested.
The PMR a brief history.
The PMR a brief history.
If at first you don't succeed, use a bigger hammer!
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Peter Butler
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Peter Butler
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Part 2
A new beginning.
With the passing of the first Lord the title went to his eldest son. Titus A. Duxssars who was best described as a braying, hooray henry type who had been at the back of the queue when they handed out chins and who when the Almighty was fitting brains, thought they said trains and requested "nice slow one please"
Inheriting the rambling old pile that was Duxssars Manor along with huge debts and 160 odd yards of upside down narrow gauge track caused young Titus a few sleepless nights. Prior to the sudden death of his father the young man had dreams of a glittering career as an officer in the local regiment, the Queens Own Flashers. (not very effective in battle, but you should see the cap badge!) Sadly this was not to be.
The new Lord of the Manor had decided that the fledgling railway would be relaid properly and extended down the valley towards the nearest town. The route as he remembered it, was quite flat and reasonably straight and there were various bridges and things that crossed the river in useful places. It all seemed quite simple on paper.
A small gang of local labourers was recruited under the supervision of one David Jones, known to his few friends as Dai Eighteen Months (this was the result of a minor mix up, when Dai mistook a wickedly sharp billhook for a small pencil and tried to stow it behind his ear. the result was a partially missing left lug and a nickname that came from the fact that he now had an 'ear & a half.)
The original line was turned over and laid in the manner that its designer had intended. The route was now open to lay the track down the valley into town. Dai and his gang of navvies found to their delight that some one had already prepared a good surface for them.
Sleepers well spaced with nice heavy track all fastened down. The only problem being the rails had been laid a little too far apart. Not wanting to let grass grow under their feet and knowing a good thing when they saw it, the gang set to work moving the rails a bit closer together. All was going well until a furious whistling noise was heard behind them.
One of the workers, David Evans, (known as Dai Anna, due to his having an interesting, but slightly worrying hobby that involved much padding and sequins) Went over to have a look at the source of the noise.
"Dai bach, there's a bloke by here from something called the Great Western Railway, he wants to know what we are doing with his track and I don't think he's very happy."
A new beginning.
With the passing of the first Lord the title went to his eldest son. Titus A. Duxssars who was best described as a braying, hooray henry type who had been at the back of the queue when they handed out chins and who when the Almighty was fitting brains, thought they said trains and requested "nice slow one please"
Inheriting the rambling old pile that was Duxssars Manor along with huge debts and 160 odd yards of upside down narrow gauge track caused young Titus a few sleepless nights. Prior to the sudden death of his father the young man had dreams of a glittering career as an officer in the local regiment, the Queens Own Flashers. (not very effective in battle, but you should see the cap badge!) Sadly this was not to be.
The new Lord of the Manor had decided that the fledgling railway would be relaid properly and extended down the valley towards the nearest town. The route as he remembered it, was quite flat and reasonably straight and there were various bridges and things that crossed the river in useful places. It all seemed quite simple on paper.
A small gang of local labourers was recruited under the supervision of one David Jones, known to his few friends as Dai Eighteen Months (this was the result of a minor mix up, when Dai mistook a wickedly sharp billhook for a small pencil and tried to stow it behind his ear. the result was a partially missing left lug and a nickname that came from the fact that he now had an 'ear & a half.)
The original line was turned over and laid in the manner that its designer had intended. The route was now open to lay the track down the valley into town. Dai and his gang of navvies found to their delight that some one had already prepared a good surface for them.
Sleepers well spaced with nice heavy track all fastened down. The only problem being the rails had been laid a little too far apart. Not wanting to let grass grow under their feet and knowing a good thing when they saw it, the gang set to work moving the rails a bit closer together. All was going well until a furious whistling noise was heard behind them.
One of the workers, David Evans, (known as Dai Anna, due to his having an interesting, but slightly worrying hobby that involved much padding and sequins) Went over to have a look at the source of the noise.
"Dai bach, there's a bloke by here from something called the Great Western Railway, he wants to know what we are doing with his track and I don't think he's very happy."
Last edited by Big Jim on Sun Nov 09, 2014 10:47 pm, edited 2 times in total.
If at first you don't succeed, use a bigger hammer!
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Peter Butler
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Part the Third.....
It turned out that the problem with the Great Western was far easier to resolve than it originally appeared. Lord Duxssars found that a suitably large brown envelope, stuffed with suitably large denomination notes, stuffed into suitably large pockets had a magical way of making suitably large problems disappear.
A third rail was laid between the two rails belonging to the GW. The official story if any one from Swindon came down asking questions was that the platelayer in the area had previously worked with Hornby Dublo and got a bit carried away.
Motive power for the new line came from the now famous Malins Family of loco model locomotive builders in the Midlands. Three and a quarter engines arrived second hand from a line in Hertfordshire. They were of the Mamod SLK1 (FS) design, The SLK1 designation may be familiar to many readers, in this case the (FS) stood for full size. Initial steam tests of the locomotives proved unsatisfactory due the ongoing problems of finding a good supply of solid fuel tablets the size of hay bales.
Conversion to spirit firing was undertaken and this proved moderately more successful. Although the presence of many hundreds of gallons of any type of alcohol in the stores lead to problems of its own.
It turned out that the problem with the Great Western was far easier to resolve than it originally appeared. Lord Duxssars found that a suitably large brown envelope, stuffed with suitably large denomination notes, stuffed into suitably large pockets had a magical way of making suitably large problems disappear.
A third rail was laid between the two rails belonging to the GW. The official story if any one from Swindon came down asking questions was that the platelayer in the area had previously worked with Hornby Dublo and got a bit carried away.
Motive power for the new line came from the now famous Malins Family of loco model locomotive builders in the Midlands. Three and a quarter engines arrived second hand from a line in Hertfordshire. They were of the Mamod SLK1 (FS) design, The SLK1 designation may be familiar to many readers, in this case the (FS) stood for full size. Initial steam tests of the locomotives proved unsatisfactory due the ongoing problems of finding a good supply of solid fuel tablets the size of hay bales.
Conversion to spirit firing was undertaken and this proved moderately more successful. Although the presence of many hundreds of gallons of any type of alcohol in the stores lead to problems of its own.
If at first you don't succeed, use a bigger hammer!
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Peter Butler
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- Location: West Wales
Hello all.
Thanks for the kind words.
I will do more when I have five minutes and I have a few ideas. I haven't seen the inside of the shed for over a month!
I have three essays to finish by Thursday (80% completed each)
one 28 page application form to be done asap
one sermon to write for next Sunday
one 3 day conference to prepare for.
The missus want a family holiday.
plus what ever the Vicar throws at me for tomorrows services.
plus a full time job.
I think I need a stiff drink!!!!!
Jim (currently surgically attached to a computer and suffering from severe brain over-heating problems and square eyes)
Thanks for the kind words.
I will do more when I have five minutes and I have a few ideas. I haven't seen the inside of the shed for over a month!
I have three essays to finish by Thursday (80% completed each)
one 28 page application form to be done asap
one sermon to write for next Sunday
one 3 day conference to prepare for.
The missus want a family holiday.
plus what ever the Vicar throws at me for tomorrows services.
plus a full time job.
I think I need a stiff drink!!!!!
Jim (currently surgically attached to a computer and suffering from severe brain over-heating problems and square eyes)
If at first you don't succeed, use a bigger hammer!
Part the Fourth....
Regular railway watchers will by now be aware that the PMR has slipped into the annals of history. However I feel there is a need to update the story a little to bridge the gap between the lines opening and its final closure.
As I write I can look out of my window and see the remains of the overgrown track bed slowly being reclaimed by nature. Within a few weeks it will be hard to tell that there was once a railway here at all. The only activity near the track bed is a shooting party led by the owner of the line, Titus A. Duxsarrs.
Here in deepest darkest West Wales it is the slug shooting season and I can hear the sound of shotguns echoing along the valley followed by cries of "Got the blighter" and "Careful, nothing as dangerous as a winged slug, What!" Some of the redundant railway men have been employed as beaters for the day and are currently thrashing their way through the undergrowth with sticks and specially bred slug hounds. (An interesting breed, a cross between an Irish wolfhound and a miniature poodle)
One of the sources of revenue that the owner had tried to tap was the carriage of rocking horse manure. A special fleet of wagons were built for this enterprise. It all came about when one of the men was heard to remark that something was as "Rare as rocking horse droppings". Lord Duxsarrs' ears pricked up at this, he reasoned that if a commodity was as rare as this then people would pay good money for it. He then sent his agent around to the local farmers with bags of cash to purchase all that could be acquired, with the option to purchase more as and when it became available. Now nothing stands between a farmer and the prospect of earning money and His Lordship was so enthusiastic about the whole thing no one had the heart to tell him that no farmer worth his salt would ever sell the deposits of his rocking horses as they need to be left where they fall to attract wild haggis. So they took his money and stopped answering the door when his agent called to enquire about production. The idea of selling such a product caused weeks of mirth in the bar of the Sheep and Cliff Edge and his Lordships money bought many a tankard of Old Excruciating with which, between loud guffaws, his health was drunk.
Regular railway watchers will by now be aware that the PMR has slipped into the annals of history. However I feel there is a need to update the story a little to bridge the gap between the lines opening and its final closure.
As I write I can look out of my window and see the remains of the overgrown track bed slowly being reclaimed by nature. Within a few weeks it will be hard to tell that there was once a railway here at all. The only activity near the track bed is a shooting party led by the owner of the line, Titus A. Duxsarrs.
Here in deepest darkest West Wales it is the slug shooting season and I can hear the sound of shotguns echoing along the valley followed by cries of "Got the blighter" and "Careful, nothing as dangerous as a winged slug, What!" Some of the redundant railway men have been employed as beaters for the day and are currently thrashing their way through the undergrowth with sticks and specially bred slug hounds. (An interesting breed, a cross between an Irish wolfhound and a miniature poodle)
One of the sources of revenue that the owner had tried to tap was the carriage of rocking horse manure. A special fleet of wagons were built for this enterprise. It all came about when one of the men was heard to remark that something was as "Rare as rocking horse droppings". Lord Duxsarrs' ears pricked up at this, he reasoned that if a commodity was as rare as this then people would pay good money for it. He then sent his agent around to the local farmers with bags of cash to purchase all that could be acquired, with the option to purchase more as and when it became available. Now nothing stands between a farmer and the prospect of earning money and His Lordship was so enthusiastic about the whole thing no one had the heart to tell him that no farmer worth his salt would ever sell the deposits of his rocking horses as they need to be left where they fall to attract wild haggis. So they took his money and stopped answering the door when his agent called to enquire about production. The idea of selling such a product caused weeks of mirth in the bar of the Sheep and Cliff Edge and his Lordships money bought many a tankard of Old Excruciating with which, between loud guffaws, his health was drunk.
If at first you don't succeed, use a bigger hammer!
Tee hee.
I'd like to invite his lordship to bring his slughounds to the Moel Rhos Estate, where the beaters are not needed. Huge herds of slugs can be seen roaming freely through the lettuce groves and into the rhubarb forest. Sometimes they take refuge in the tunnels - but I wouldn't advise the party to pursue them into there - I fear a slug-shooting iron would offer little protection against the grey, hairy, long-eared beast I saw in there the other day... fully twice as high as a man.
I'd like to invite his lordship to bring his slughounds to the Moel Rhos Estate, where the beaters are not needed. Huge herds of slugs can be seen roaming freely through the lettuce groves and into the rhubarb forest. Sometimes they take refuge in the tunnels - but I wouldn't advise the party to pursue them into there - I fear a slug-shooting iron would offer little protection against the grey, hairy, long-eared beast I saw in there the other day... fully twice as high as a man.
Re: The PMR a brief history.
The Pentremorgan Mountain Railway reprieved (Maybe)
With most of the rolling stock and motive power of this eternally pointless and now defunked line in storage, sold or loaned to other railways the future for the PMR looked anything but rosy. The majority of the Staff had been laid off, the three that remained were supposedly Luftwaffe air crew, now POWS, that Lord Duxars had neglected to tell that the war had finished, They still remained incarcerated in his Lordships small, but perfectly functional, private prison camp. The fact was that they were certainly not pilots and had been no nearer to Germany than Swansea. In truth, they were three men from the next valley over. Who finding themselves out late one night in 1943 decided that a short time in a Prison camp was preferable to many hours of prize winning nagging, cold shoulder and dirty looks that turning up late and plastered would cause from their respective wives. In truth, this was a sensible move, the women-folk of Cwm Cnaps had raised husband control to something akin to a martial art. It was said that Gladys Vest, wife of local flasher (and prize winning dirty old man) Dai Vest, could scold with such intensity that any man within a 75 yard radius would find himself weak at the knees and grovelling intensely for several days. Her signature move of bursting into tears while saying "My Mother was right about you" was pitched in such a way that bladders emptied and bowels voided. When coupled with a pair of crossed arms and a wagging finger this had been know to reduce one man at least to such a pitiful state that he attempted to do away with himself. Tragedy was only avoided when he was prevented from sticking his head in the gas oven by the shrill cry of "Don't think you are coming in here like that, get your filthy head out of my nice clean oven, gas costs money you know..." The man in question now sits quietly by himself, rocking gently and asks for permission to breathe.
Aside from the 'Germans' there was no one else left with any interest in the line. The preservation society had followed the traditional route of many others. They had started well enough and full of good intentions but had descended into arguments about liveries, flag waving techniques and whistle blowing protocol. The final straw came when there was a huge schism over whether or not the roll of IZAL in the gents should be mounted with the loose bit facing the wall or facing out. The survivors of this particular battle were marked for life with the scars resulting from hurled tupperware lunch boxes and several of their number sported scalds from booby trapped thermos flasks.
Despite the setbacks, Lord Duxars had heard that there was a possibility of some fish traffic from a nearby port. Red Herrings had been seen in great number in the local waters and a work party was sent to the coast to survey a possible extension to the line.
Will this result in a reopening for Wales' most pointless railway?
Watch this space.......
With most of the rolling stock and motive power of this eternally pointless and now defunked line in storage, sold or loaned to other railways the future for the PMR looked anything but rosy. The majority of the Staff had been laid off, the three that remained were supposedly Luftwaffe air crew, now POWS, that Lord Duxars had neglected to tell that the war had finished, They still remained incarcerated in his Lordships small, but perfectly functional, private prison camp. The fact was that they were certainly not pilots and had been no nearer to Germany than Swansea. In truth, they were three men from the next valley over. Who finding themselves out late one night in 1943 decided that a short time in a Prison camp was preferable to many hours of prize winning nagging, cold shoulder and dirty looks that turning up late and plastered would cause from their respective wives. In truth, this was a sensible move, the women-folk of Cwm Cnaps had raised husband control to something akin to a martial art. It was said that Gladys Vest, wife of local flasher (and prize winning dirty old man) Dai Vest, could scold with such intensity that any man within a 75 yard radius would find himself weak at the knees and grovelling intensely for several days. Her signature move of bursting into tears while saying "My Mother was right about you" was pitched in such a way that bladders emptied and bowels voided. When coupled with a pair of crossed arms and a wagging finger this had been know to reduce one man at least to such a pitiful state that he attempted to do away with himself. Tragedy was only avoided when he was prevented from sticking his head in the gas oven by the shrill cry of "Don't think you are coming in here like that, get your filthy head out of my nice clean oven, gas costs money you know..." The man in question now sits quietly by himself, rocking gently and asks for permission to breathe.
Aside from the 'Germans' there was no one else left with any interest in the line. The preservation society had followed the traditional route of many others. They had started well enough and full of good intentions but had descended into arguments about liveries, flag waving techniques and whistle blowing protocol. The final straw came when there was a huge schism over whether or not the roll of IZAL in the gents should be mounted with the loose bit facing the wall or facing out. The survivors of this particular battle were marked for life with the scars resulting from hurled tupperware lunch boxes and several of their number sported scalds from booby trapped thermos flasks.
Despite the setbacks, Lord Duxars had heard that there was a possibility of some fish traffic from a nearby port. Red Herrings had been seen in great number in the local waters and a work party was sent to the coast to survey a possible extension to the line.
Will this result in a reopening for Wales' most pointless railway?
Watch this space.......
If at first you don't succeed, use a bigger hammer!
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