Langley Junction

Langley Junction, where the loop line to Hertford North joined the East Coast main line, was a place of numerous attractions. An ancient iron-plate girder bridge spanned the line. Next to it was a modern concrete bridge carrying a dual carriageway and beside that was a spacious GNR signal box with a frame of about 80 levers. On the other side, next to the road to the coal merchant's sidings was a fence adorned with an old cast-iron sign, thick with innumerable coats of paint that had faded to a pale purple, on which the GNR informed the public that 'Trespassing is prohibited--By Order, 1913'. The message was a stern reminder of Edwardian probity. Towards Hitchin there was a set of water troughs, 594 yards long. They invited one to stand on the oak fence at the side of the lines and throw small stones at the long furrows of water. The plop and clunk when they hit the mark was very satisfying.

In the late 1950s the troughs were still an important installation. On the down side of the main line just after the junction there was a water-softening plant that consisted of a huge cylindrical tower, about 40 feet tall, fed by a pipe from a large open-topped tank located further up the slope on a set of brick arches. The steel-plated side was covered with faded rust-inhibiting paint that had weathered to a matt pinkish-maroon not unlike old Wedgwood china.

A steel staircase ran in a spiral up the side of the tank and someone had written 'Vote Labour' in large letters on it. As an aside, one day in the early 1960s Sir Alec Douglas Home took some time off from huntin', shootin' and fishing on his Scottish estate to address the masses, in his clipped, condescending patrician accent, from a rostrum in the town centre. Nobody actually shouted "Wot abaht the workers?" but he was roundly booed and whistled in that stronghold of support for Wilson's Labour. Simply not done, old boy.

Adventurous children would shin up the metal ladder of the open-topped water tank and jiggle the levers that controlled the water syphon. From that point there was an excellent, if somewhat vertiginous, panorama of the main line with in the foreground an acre of scummy water upon which mats of brilliant green algae floated. Occasionally, the syphon would block and for hours on end water would cascade spectacularly over the side of the tank and down the slope to the lineside, where it would disappear into the cess.

British Railways built a curious structure of yellow London brick and reinforced concrete that straddled the siding by the water tower, apparently so that locomotives could have water-softening powder poured directly into their tanks. On occasion in the late 1950s an ancient 'J6' 0-6-0 from Hitchin 34D shed would be stationed under this building for several hours, hissing gently and waiting its turn on a pick-up freight. It would be given water from the enormous tank that supplied the troughs, which also had a filler pipe complete with the usual leather bag.

In the early 1960s these installations were dismantled and demolished. Suddenly the insides of that huge maroon tank, which had seemed so mysterious and so permanent, were laid bare. The central syphon was coated with decades of lime incrustation; the white of the chalk deposits was stained a patchy brown with rust. No one could believe the change in scenery when it was all gone. No more would the East Coast expresses send up that great travelling cloud of spray as they dropped the scoop at 60 mph.

One night I was invited into Langley box by the young signalman. We sat there in the 25-watt glow of his lamps with his tape recorder playing, appropriately, old "Shadows" hits. For a short while it was possible to imagine that the decline of steam had not happened and the 'A3s' and 'A4s' would still be rushing past the home signal outside.