NEITHER SNOW NOR RAIN NOR HEAT NOR GLOOM OF NIGHT STAYS THESE COURIERS FROM THE SWIFT COMPLETION OF THEIR APPOINTED TASKS.
- words in stone above the United States Main Post Office in New York.
Probably everyone interested in steam locomotives has at some time or another, experienced a passing interest in North American engines. Whether inspired by Buster Keaton silent films, or Casey Jones on television, or clockwork train sets, the sight of large chimneys, a multitude of boiler-mounted sandboxes and piles of lumber in the tender will give some fluttering of the heart. Sometime last year I had the flutters and decided that my next locomotive will be a 4-4-0 tender loco of United States design, in 7 1/4in gauge.
My work takes me regularly across the Atlantic and I imagined that I might be able to obtain some copies of original Works drawings relatively easily. Wrong! After several months of trawling through museums on the Internet, and asking numerous colleagues in the States, I have come to the conclusion that either such drawings no longer exist, or are locked away so securely in some dusty vault that no one can find them. I did find many good photographs of typical locomotives, and the late Jim Bowler lent me notes and sketches he had made when building his own 5in gauge model a few years ago.
It was then that our worthy editor advised me of a company in New Hampshire who was able to supply a design, and a range of castings for a New York Central railway 4-4-0 of 1876 - just the period that interested me. After some false starts on the Email, I obtained a good catalogue and having studied the prices decided to take the plunge and order a set of drawings which arrived a couple of weeks later. I was impressed – these were of good quality, with proper revision notes shown as the drawings have been updated over the years (how often have mistakes in an original model design been carried on year after year because the supplier will not take the trouble to feedback the errors and correct the drawings?).
I am keen to machine as much as possible from the solid, but on studying the drawings there was clearly the opportunity to purchase a few castings to ease the work and speed up the progress. The prices seemed very reasonable (especially with the low Dollar rate) and I sent off an order for wheels, cylinders, saddle, pilot (cowcatcher) and some suspension components. The difficulty was the cost of postage – the estimate was $200 (£120) and duty would be extra.
My mind considered alternatives. Bringing back the castings one by one as hand baggage on each trip seemed interminable so I decided to plan an exercise to return all the castings to Britain on one trip, in my personal luggage. I have a work colleague in Philadelphia (whom I shall call Jim to prevent any embarrassment) who generously agreed to receive the castings from the supplier and store them temporarily. This was interesting in itself – the delivery arrived at his house in four separate cartons, each one near the limit of what the US postmen are allowed to carry legally. My friend’s description of the consignment was ‘Goddamned Heavy’. This was my first inkling that the return to Taunton might not be straightforward. Time passed.
In December I had to go to New York on a sudden trip (most of my trips are made at a few days notice or less, but this was planned two days in advance). This was my chance. In the frantic rush before departure I recovered a large suitcase from the Chaos of our attic, cut a piece of 1/2in plywood to provide a firm base within the suitcase then loaded into this some bubble wrap, tape, foam strips and cardboard as well as my normal small overnight bag, and travelled to Heathrow with this one suitcase. At check-in I noted the weight – 8kg which the baggage handlers must have thought suspicious – one large suitcase weighing next to nothing. The next two days were spent in New York on business then the moment of truth arrived: the return journey. Jim met me at the hotel on the evening before departure, bringing with him the four cartons. We took these up to my room where they were unpacked from the original cardboard and then repacked using the materials I had brought, so that they fitted efficiently into the large suitcase. Leaving the hotel next morning, an observant hotel porter would have noticed that I was leaving with two suitcases when I had arrived with only one. ( I suspect that there are very few observant hotel porters in the States) Jim drove me to Newark Airport and together we manhandled the two suitcases to check-in, said cheerio and then I queued. When my turn came I approached the counter and trying hard to conceal the weight, tipped the case onto the scales (lifting it was out of the question). I could see the scale reading – it read 47. I pondered this for a moment. Surely being USA the scales must be in pounds but the bag was heavier than that. If this was kilos then even my worst guess of weight had been a dramatic underestimate. The check-in girl was asking the usual questions in that monotonous, un-wavering way which only intensely-bored airport staff can do. “Did you pack this bag yourself?” “Could anyone have interfered with it?” She had not looked at the scales. The usual luggage labels were attached. Then the girl called over the baggage handler. He was a young man of slight build, almost skinny, not much taller than the suitcase, and had a permanent grin on his round face. I had noticed him already handling previous customers’ bags and noted his style – to make up for his lack of body mass he had developed a technique for dealing with the bags – he used a sort of swing to sweep the bag off the scales and onto the despatch rubber belt. He came over, grinned at me, and then swung his weight at my suitcase.
The next few seconds would have been a good opportunity for a spot of high-speed filming. Several things happened very quickly indeed. The boy’s body tensed, then swung, his arms stretched, and at that moment he met the mass of the suitcase. His body deflected sideways and the grin turned instantly into a grimace. The handle on the bag ripped, his arm flew sideways, scattering some papers off the desk. He twisted, and staggered, before steadying himself on a pillar. The suitcase, however, had not moved – not one millimetre. The counter girl looked at the boy, then looked at the bag, looked at me and then finally looked at the scales. She then tried herself to lift the suitcase. “Gee, these scales must be wrong – no surely….”
Yes - you’ve guessed it - the scales were in kilogrammes. The suitcase weighed 47kg. “Wee caan’t take thaat” was her gruff reply. The maximum they would allow on the aircraft was 30kg per item, apparently. I was in a scrape. I retired to consider my options. I still had the other bag, with only a few clothes and papers.
I crept away with the luggage to a quiet corner. There I opened both the bag and the suitcase, and proceeded to split open the cardboard again. Some castings were then moved from the large suitcase to the smaller bag, and repacked. Hoping I had the balance right I returned to check-in and found another counter. The large suitcase was down to a featherweight 29kg while the small bag had dramatically increased to 27kg – but both were accepted. “Have a nice Day” the counter girl said as she attached the luggage labels. Each bag went off down the belt towards the aircraft with bright red HEAVY labels attached. I watched the smaller of the two. It seemed funny, such a small bag with HEAVY written on it.
I passed through Passports and security and had just sat down at the Starbucks counter when an announcement came over the loudspeaker “Would passenger Hartland please return to check-in.” A huge black man was waiting for me, with a dark blue uniform with many silver stars and a six shooter at his waist – The Airport Security Man. He wanted to know what was in the ‘goddamned heavy holdall’. With a heavy heart I proceeded to unpack the bag in front of him – out then came the packing, the cardboard was cut apart again, and the castings spread all over the bench. Passers by eyed me suspiciously. The big black man seemed to be taking a detailed interest – a very detailed interest. I looked up at his face. “Mahn, what loocoo you buildin?”
He turned out to be a model engineer himself, and had built several boats from scratch. We spent a happy few minutes discussing locomotives and boats before his boss came over to hurry things along and I quickly repacked the bag; it was sent it off to the plane and I returned to departures to await boarding.
Was it my imagination or did the plane take a long time to get off the runway?
I spent an uncomfortable night tossing and turning in my seat. Half asleep and half awake, I dreamed of Eskimos at the north pole building igloos out of iron castings which had fallen from a passing aircraft.
At Heathrow I arrived, bleary-eyed, at the Baggage Reclaim. Would the bags come through undamaged? Could I lift them off the carousel? We would soon see. The bags from the flight started to arrive. There was the usual throng of people milling around, and a few bags passed by, but suddenly the conveyor belt stopped and an alarm sounded. After some wait an announcement was made that the conveyor was blocked, and I feared the worst. A workman appeared and rummaged on the conveyor, and soon afterwards, a bag emerged on the belt, ripped apart with clothes showing. Not mine, fortunately. Then, shortly after, my two bags, apparently undamaged.
I lifted them off and made hurriedly for the Customs area, ran over a man’s foot, and hurriedly apologised. He looked at me gruffly then hobbled off towards the taxi stands. After paying some small duty in the ‘Goods to Declare’ channel I emerged onto the train back to Paddington and Taunton where my wife was there to help me load the bags into the car and home. Everything arrived home safely – the bags, myself and the 90 odd pounds of cast iron and bronze – a Happy Ending
I am sorry if the suitcase at Heathrow belonged to you, but it might not have been my luggage which split your bag and revealed your underwear. If yours was the foot I ran over in Customs then I hope it heals soon – but you could have avoided my wheels more easily than my wheels could have avoided your foot. For me – I gained a good deal in upper body strength that day, and saved a fair amount of money in postage.
If you, dear reader, ever visit Newark Airport, New York, look out for an odd pile of cardboard and sticky tape in a dark corner of the check-in area. Look also for the scales which may be in kg or lbs, or may be out of use pending repair. Look out for the big black security guard who likes model boats. But look out especially for the skinny baggage handler with a grin, and observe the way he now handles the bags – with a colleague helping him.