Railway memoirs provide a glimpse of life in days gone by

Now 95, Hubert, who lives in a sheltered flat in Kelbrook, is as sharp as a pin and looks back fondly on his working days.

He has been asked so many times by family and friends to tell his tales of railway days that he has set them down on paper.

The result is an enjoyable read, charting his rise from junior porter to Class One Signalman, a career spanning 44 years. It is the personal account of a man who loved his work, but also a historical document painting a "warts-and-all" picture of what it meant to be a railwayman from the thriving 1920s to the decimation of Britain's rail network in the 1960s.

Hubert was born in 1907 at Moor Gate Farm, Kelbrook, one of seven boys and four girls. His family later moved to Lawfield Farm at Threshfield, returning to Kelbrook when Hubert was 10, to take on Lane Ends Farm, in Main Street.

He attended Kelbrook School, but at the age of 12 went "half-time", spending half a day in school and the other half at work in the mill, leaving school altogether at 13.

He would get up early, help with milking on the farm, go off to school for half a day, then half a day in the mill and home to do more work on the farm before collapsing exhausted into bed.

He started work as a "reacher in" at Kelbrook Bridge Mill, threading the warp yarns and passing the ends on to the knotter.

Later he worked as a warehouse lad, keeping the weavers supplied with weft, before learning to weave himself.

But he didn't take to life in the mill and longed for more variety. All this time he was still working on the farm as well, including delivering milk around the village.

One customer was the goods yard foreman at Earby Station and Hubert asked if there was any chance of a job. He was given an application form, which he sent off to the LMS head office in Derby. In due course he was called for a medical and exam, the train journey to Derby a memorable experience for a lad who hadn't been beyond Skipton before.

He was the only one of seven candidates to pass the exam, but had to wait long months before a letter came offering him the job of junior porter at Foulridge.

He started at Christmas 1925 and took to the varied work immediately.

"I enjoyed it right from the start," said Hubert. "I was booking passengers, attending to trains, collecting tickets, all kinds of jobs. I met a lot of different people, it was a different job altogether from working in the mill."

He recalled one occasion when he was collecting tickets in the first class compartment and one passenger couldn't find his pass. Keen as mustard, he whipped out his excess book and charged him the full first class fare from Skipton to Colne. Later his pals had a good laugh at the junior porter who had "excessed" the LMS district controller - the local railway chief!

Changes at Foulridge meant a move to Grassington where station master George Hanks taught him a great deal. It was while at Grassington that he met his future wife, Olive, at a dance.

At Christmas 1927 he was promoted to senior porter, but it was a mixed blessing, taking him from his happy life in Grassington to a "cold and miserable" Hellifield. It marked a low point in his career when he actually considered giving his notice, but he spoke instead to the controller's assistant and was transferred the following week to Giggleswick.

After two happy years there, he came to Earby Station as a leading porter and a few months later was appointed porter/signalman at Barnoldswick Junction - the branch line to Barnoldswick off the Colne to Skipton line.

Although he liked that job and kept on learning, he was delighted to be offered the Class Five signal box at Giggleswick, taking charge in March 1930.

When a company cottage became vacant in the station yard, Hubert talked to Olive and they agreed to get married if he could get the tenancy. He did, and they were married at Linton Church in 1931. Those years at Giggleswick were the happiest of his life, despite the spartan living conditions described in his memoirs.

"The cottage had four rooms, two up and two down, there were no amenities. The toilet was a bucket in a galvanised metal hut. When you had to obey the call of nature you were boiled alive in the summer and frozen stiff in winter. There was no electricity or gas, we had an Aladdin paraffin lamp and Olive used the side oven for baking.

"The fireplace was a very old-fashioned one, oven at one side and boiler at the other, but we were very cosy and happy. After a time we began to talk about a family, but we would need more money so we agreed that I would apply for another box."

That move took Hubert to the bustling Bradford Goods Yard.

Describing some of the characters who worked there, Hubert wrote: "Then there was Old Buckley, the yard inspector. By the lads he could swear, he could swear for five minutes without repeating the same word twice. He was a good sort for all that!"

In 1935 and still moving up the promotion ladder, Hubert applied to be a Class Four Signalman at Barnoldswick Junction.

The couple moved to a house in Cowgill Street, Earby, and it was while living there that their son, Colin, was born.

The branch line to Barnoldswick was a single track with no passing place, so only one train could be on it at any time. To ensure that happened, each train had to carry a key, called a "staff". It was kept in the signal box at Barnoldswick Junction, handed up to the fireman on the footplate as the train passed and handed back when it returned.

"Occasionally, for a joke, the fireman would put the end of the staff in the firebox, making it too hot for the signalman to handle. In retaliation we would daub it with thick black oil for when he returned."

By now Hubert has his eyes on the Earby Station Box - a job he knew would soon become vacant - but to be sure of getting it he needed to improve his Class rating and the only way to do that was a hectic spell at the Hunslet Lane Goods Yard.

"It was the dirtiest box I ever worked in, and no wonder. Sometimes you hadn't the time to sweep out and when you did you were covered in dust.

"The yard was surrounded by iron foundries and the smoke from them seemed to hang over all the yard. It was like breathing smog all the time."

It was a means to an end, and Hubert's reward was securing the job at Earby Station in 1939. He enjoyed working there very much and relates several incidents in his book, including the blizzards of 1947 when the line was blocked for almost a week and German prisoners of war were brought in from a camp at Embsay to dig the trains out.

He stayed at Earby for eight years until getting a Class One relief signalman job at Colne.

"I had 10 enjoyable years at Colne, but I could see Beeching's axe was cutting deeper as time went on."

Those cuts meant a move to another Colne box and a 10-shilling cut in his weekly wage.

"I was there just over two years when I was called to Preston for a medical - a man nearing retirement age would expect this. I failed the medical. I was told I was colour blind, but my own doctor did not agree with this.

"Obviously they were cutting down on staff, three others failed their medicals that day for the same reason. I was removed immediately from the signal box to work on the platform at the grade I attained in 1927, but kept the current rate of pay.

"I was very disappointed at the time because I had just over two years to do to my 65th birthday and retirement. After further cuts they wanted me to go to Accrington as a messenger. I refused, they made me redundant. I finished on the railway on August 22, 1970."

It was a poor end to a 44-year career, but couldn't detract from the enjoyment of all those years.

"Looking back, I enjoyed every minute of it," said Hubert. "It was lucky I did, because I didn't do it for the money."

After leaving the railway as a skilled Class One Signalman, he got a job sweeping up at a local factory and earning twice the wage! When he brought his first week's wage home, Olive told him to go back and make sure they hadn't made a mistake.

After 19 years in Earby, the family had moved to a house in Vicarage Road, Kelbrook, where Hubert and Olive lived for 36 years. Olive died in 1995, aged 90, after 64 years of married life.

These days Hubert still likes to get out in Kelbrook with his motorised wheelchair, though it isn't the village he knew as a lad when there were a dozen or so shops, everyone knew everyone else and the only car to occasionally visit belonged to the local vet.

There is even talk now of re-opening the old Skipton to Colne line, with a pressure group pushing for it.

Asked if he thought the railway would return, Hubert replied: "I hope it does, but it won't be in my lifetime. It should never have been closed."