Thursday 17th March 2022

St Patrick's Day (Ireland and Boston only).

I was a toddler when BBC screened the film of the last non-stop steam run between London and Edinburgh before the troughs were taken out.

Like most children I have always been taken by steam, and like most, this locomotive in particular.

This was the 4th time I have seen here: first time she was in pieces in the National Railway Museum, where the scale of the rebuild had become clear.

In 2012 she was put back together, in NB black for Railfest, she looked whole, but there was still much work to be done.

A few years ago, I went to Barrow Hill where she and Tornado were the star attractions for its reopening.

Scotsman sat on the turntable in the roundhouse, a small fire had been lit, just for effect. She wasn't in steam.

So, this was my first time.

And it was good.

I wrote that at the end of the day, so let's go back 12 hours or so.

I had a day off.

Because: Trains.

And I wanted to.

I would need the car, so I had to drop Jools off at work, and then pick her up in the evening, but all that was worth it for old 4472.

I had a full day planned, with time for more stuff, but I hadn't planned on the delayed railtour taking nearly three hours out of the day, waiting on the platforms of east Kent for two high speed passes by the world's most famous train.

Apparently.

So, after coffee I drove Jools to Hythe, through the light morning traffic. It was a glorious morning, clear blue skies and the sun rose on the way. But it was frosty.

So after leaving Jools along the prom leaving her with about a ten thousand step stroll into work, I drove back to the motorway then along it before turning up Stone Street and making for Earley Wood, where early by name and nature, I hoped to see sme wood anemonies in flower, and maybe a bluebell, but I wasn't hopeful of the latter.

It was muddier than I thought, so glad I took my boots, but it was wonderful among the trees and green fresh undergrowth. I found three colonies of Early Purples, none in flower, but spikes forming, and if the weather stays mild, we may have flowering spikes in two weeks.

Maybe.

I did find lots of amemonies in flower, but closed due to the chill, but as the sunlight warmed the ground up, they would open too.

I went all the way down through the wood to the bottom path, and then along, hoping to see the flock of friendly sheep and lambs we found last year, but they were in a field next door, and I didn't want to trespass, so left them to their plantive calls.

Back up and I see a few bluebells in bud and one of two in flower, until I came to an almost fully open spike, all curved over under the weight of several open flowers.

I took a few shot of that, and others, before returning to the car.

I had an hour before I was due to pick up Gary so he could tag along to see Flying Scotsman, so I decided to go back down Stone Street to Stop 24 Services to use their facilities and buy a sandwich for breakfast. And it was there that I saw about a dozen minibuses filled with folks in hi-vis clothing, milling around. Turns out these were the blacklegs who were to take over the P&O ferries. None that I saw had a company name on the back of their jackets, which I thought was odd.

I drove to River to pick Gary up, we have a chat before leaving and then drive out of town, back the way I had just come to Stone Street and up to the top of the Roman Road before turning off to Chartham.

Chartham is the location of choise for many, as it has an original SER signal box and manually operated level crossing gates, well, for the time being anyway. So, a steam railtour is perfect for here.

Dozens of photographers thought so too.

And then there were those who just wanted to see Flying Scotsman, there were people in their dozens, if not hundreds.

We parked by the football pitch and walked to the station, 50 minutes to go, and so a wait.

We were told by some with a mobile phone that it was delayed an hour.

Oh no.

I grabbed a position on the overbridge, and Gary looked for locations, before deciding he needed a sandwich, so he went to the village shop for supplies.

Time crawled.

But it was a glorious day, a few local trains stopped and passed, and photographed.

Time passes, and after yet another stopping train left, the gates closed again and it was showtime.

We could hear the whistle after it crossed a foot crossing, and then it came into view.

I guess it took five seconds to pass beneath the bridge, and a quick turn to snap it the other way. And it was gone. All that effort for what, thirty seconds.

Worth it.

Gary said he needed to go home for a rest, so I drove him back via the A2 and Lydden back to River.

I had time to nip home to review shots before the planned second pass at Shakespear Beach.

By then news of the P&O sackings had come and suspension of sailings, the result was jams everywhere, and so I made the decision to not go into Dover, but to nip down the Martin Mill.

The station was packed, well, a hundred of so people, all waiting for the steamer, but news was that it had not left Canterbury yet, and it would take half an hour to get here.

So, another wait here, an hour before news came it had left, then the half hour to reach us. By which point half the crowd had left, leaving us with much better viewws.

A child shouted, he it comes!

And indeed, there she was.

My camera whirred as the train approached, spin and snap it as the climbed the bank into Guston Tunnel two miles away.

I watched it merge into the mist and late afternoon sunshine.

Perfect.

I walked back to the car, under the subway and through the car park, drove back up the hill, washed up, reviewed shots, and it was time to leave to go and collect Jools.

Traffic had melted away. In fact it was very quiet, unusually so.

Odd.

I drove to Folkestone, then took the back road to Hythe, but where the road crossed the motorway near the junction for the Tunnel, a queue of trucks lead to the horizon, so this is where all the P&O traffic went.

I collect Jools, arriving dead on knock off time. No worries about having to find another route back, all roads were open, and we had a reservation at Nameste at 18:00, so we should make it easy.

The line of truck on the A20 was only halfway to the Capel turnoff, but the town itself was lorry free, which is unheard of, really.

We drive up Jubilee Way, and behind us the three P&O ferries were all tied up along Admiralty Pier. Just like Chistmas, but a very much different occasion.

We arrived at the restaurant at quarter to six, it wasn't quite open, so we sat in the lounge and chatted, until the owner heard us and insisted we go to our table and be served drinks! The cheek of it!

We were presented with the menu, talked through the specials, so we could order. I had lamb something, Jools had salmon something, along with rice and naans.

It was all very nice.

And from where I sat I could watch the chefs busy cooking and chopping and making glorious smalls and foods in general.

We were done by five to seven, and home in time to hear almost all the Marc Riley show on the wireless. We drove home under the sivery lights of another full moon.

How did that hapen?