Monday 12th December 2016

Monday.

And the first day of the working week, but also a day of appointments, as working away so much means putting off doctor and dentist appointments until things become more important. And for reasons that will become clear during this post, I arranged a few things for this Monday.

So all this meant we got off to a slow start, as Jools also had the day off, using up the last of her days off before she lost them at the end of the year. An old friend was going to take her out for dinner. I had the car so would be able to go into town at half ten to have a dental check up before driving out to Chartham to snap a steam tour.

It was the kind of still and cloudy day we get this time of year; the air seemed dirty, tinged with yellow, which meant photography was going to be difficult to say the least.

Town was busy as ever, with the St James development meaning there are less parking spaces about, or free ones anyway. So I park near the Co-oP and walk back to Castle Street to be checked out. No worries in the end, but then there is always something disconcerting about waiting at the dentist. And even more when the previous and this owner of the business have been South African. Not that I have a problem with South Africans, just that Dover seems a long way from Cape Town.

I have an hour to get to Chartham, no time for a quiet drive in the country, just time for a blast up the A2 to Bridge then cut across country and be on the right side of the manual crossing, and in fact despite worrying I would be late, I have a 15 minute wait for time when Tornado was to arrive.

Men of a certain age had gathered, most of us with cameras or video cameras, waiting for the moment she would steam into view. The opening and closing of the level crossing would give us more than enough warning of it approaching, even if there were a couple of false starts. But the crossing guard gave us a wave at ten to twelve to let us know the next one was her.

I positioned myself at the end of the platform nearest the crossing, sitting cross-legged on the wet platform so not to get in other’s shots.

We hear her before we see here, but soon smoke can be seen above the line of trees. She is working hard, I can hear her pistons going. Two headlights appear in the distance, and soon she is at the crossing, all steam and speed.

And like that she is past us, bathing us in smoke and steam, cameras whirring as we snap her vanishing into the distance. Maybe 20 seconds, and she had come and gone.

From there I have to drive to the university to sign yet more pension papers. A 5 minute job, but the journey in and out of the city takes two hours. Meaning I have 90 minutes to waste before seeing the train again at Minster.

I try to find another church from the Birchinton Benefice, in Acol. Acol to me is a bidding system in Bridge, but it is also a village in Kent. Once into Birchington, I turn down a narrow street and head back out into the countryside, where Acol nestles in a fold in the fields. Only four roads, but I could not find the church. Bugger.

I had not had any dinner, and away over the fields was St Nicholas at Wade, and I thought there might be a pub there. So, I make my way there, round the edge of Westwood Cross, and find two pubs; one closed and the other open. The open one served me a foaming pint of Directors, but being festive time all tables were taken and the kitchen busy. So I make do with my beer.

Minster station is a short drive away, and I listen to the radio as I go along, realising I had an hour to wait before the train was due. As I waited, dusk fell, so that it was quite gloomy by half three, but at least the rain held off.

At half three, I walk to the station, over the bridge to see which offered the best views and with the best light, ending up on the footbridge as usual, which meant shooing straight into the oncoming train.

5 minutes later, it cruised round the bend a mile away, just its light peering through the gloom, but soon smoke and steam could be seen, melting into the evening darkness.

We could hear her now, as she edged closer to the points, switching onto the up line, preparing to take the curve to Deal behind me. I shot away, the locomotive filling my viewfinder as it made its way along the platform until it engulfed us in smoke. Turning round the began to accelerate round the bed, each loud puff indication the application of more power. Behind her, its carriages trailed, lit with yellow lights, and those in first class tucking into a five course meal.

But for us, she was gone, into the night, crossing the marshes towards Sandwich. The 50 of us who had gathered, now melted away like ghosts into the night, back to our cars and back to our homes. I take the back road to Ramsgate, then the main road to Sandwich and to Deal. Darkness fell, and light drizzle fell making it a grim trip.

Finally, back along the coast road in thick traffic, turning up Station Road and to home. At last.

I make Scotch eggs again, and soon they are cooking in the over. I crack open a large bottle of Belgian beer, and review my shots. Always the best part of the day, apart from seeing the train itself of course.

The eggs are great, and we have a quiet evening sitting on the sofa watching football highlights, surrounded by our cats.