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Senin, 15 November 2010

Fog! - The Railway's Silent Killer - Part 2

In my last post I wrote about how fog was a silent killer within the Victorian railway industry. In this post I will look at one of the ways that the industry tried to mitigate its potentially lethal affects. In one respect, this is the story of one technology in particular, the Fog Signal and how it warned drivers of impending danger. In another respect, it is also the story of the Fog Signaller or ‘fogmen’ whose job was probably one of the least technological in the railway industry.

The Fog signal, or more accurately the track detonator, was developed by E .A. Cowper in 1841 as a way to provide an audible signal for drivers when visibility was limited, or at times when there was an emergency. [1] Ordinarily, when the sun was shining and a train driver could see all that was around, the ‘distant’ signal played a role of forewarning him of the status of a ‘home’ signal further ahead. However, in foggy conditions it was quite possible that both were out of sight in the murk. Therefore, fog signal was predominately used to supplement the distant signal.

The track detonator, which came to be used throughout the railway industry very quickly after its development, was basically a small, flat, round box, that was attached to the top of the rail. These were placed on the track by the fog signaller, a short distance before the distant signal when it was at danger. Within it was a small explosive charge, which detonated when a train rolled over the top. The driver, alerted to the danger ahead by the explosion, would then be on the lookout for the danger signal or the frantic hand waving from the fog signaller. In response, he would either slow or stop his engine until he had been given the all-clear to proceed.[2]

The poor sod, and I think sod is the correct word, to undertake the placing of fog signals was the fog signaller or fogmen. I wrote a few weeks ago about the dirt of the railway industry, the platelayers, and on many occasions platelayers doubled up as fogmen. However, this job was also taken on by other railway employees such as porters. These men were posted to small huts next to the signal and had to monitor the status of the distant signal constantly so as to know when to place the detonators. Some were also employed as ground men, which could pass messages to the signalmen in the signal box and inform him of the status of the trains.[3] Fogmen typically spent anywhere up to sixteen cold and hungry hours on duty, but for as little as 2d per hour.[4]

Looking at the 1884 London and South Western Railway (L&SWR) rule book, which was almost identical to all other British railway companies’ (they being standardised through the Railway Clearing House in 1876), gives us and insight into the duties of the Fogman. When a fog descended during the day, those employees allocated to be fogmen had to report themselves either to the station master or, if the posting was too far from a station, to the signalman covering a section of the line (Rule 62). If the fog occurred at night, they had to be sent for (Rule 63), and a list of the names and addresses of all fogmen were kept at the stations and signal boxes to facilitate this (Rule 64).

On arrival at the station or signal box they were provided with ‘no less’ that 24 detonators, a hand signal lamp (trimmed and lighted) and a green flag. They would then proceed to the signal where they would work (Rule 65). If during their duty the number of detonators became exhausted, they were to communicate with the station or signal-box and obtain more (Rule 66). If the fog continued for long periods of time, station masters or inspectors were to arrange for a relief to be sent, and station masters were to provide the fogmen with refreshments throughout their duties (Rule 67). It was up to the Station Masters to make sure that the fogmen had proceeded to their posts, and where there were ‘numerous’ along the line, a competent man was to visit them to see if they were doing their duties and to provide them with more detonators if required (Rule 68).[5] Established in the 1840s, this system of operation lasted well into the 20th century.

In a way, the relationship between fog signal and the fog signalman were part of a greater construct of interactions between the railway worker and railway technology that were replicated throughout the Victorian railway industry. While the fog signal itself was undoubtedly an important technological advance that saved many lives, it was still highly dependent on some poor individual sitting in miserable conditions to place them on the line. While today almost all technology serves us as there are safeties that are built in, in some respects, technology in the Victorian railway industry for many railway workers was a wild beast that had to be tamed. Therefore, the adequate functioning of fog signals was served by the misery of the fog signaller.



[1] Pope, Norris, ‘Dickens’s “The Signalman” and Information Problems in the Railway Age,’ Technology and Culture, Vol.42 No.3 (July 2001), pp.454

[2] Foster, Richard, ‘Fog,’ The Oxford Companion to British Railway History, (London, 1997), p.165

[3] Foster, Richard, ‘Fog,’ The Oxford Companion to British Railway History, (London, 1997), p.165

[4] McKenna, Frank, The Railway Workers, 1830-1970, (London, 1980) p.66

[5] 1884 London and South Western Rule Book, Author’s Collection, p.37-42

Jumat, 05 November 2010

The Dirt of the Victorian Railway Industry - The Platelayers

The railways were one of the few organisations in the Victorian period where someone from a lowly background could rise up to better their ‘lot’ in life. For many, these opportunities were small, but for the industrious they definitely existed. However, excluding women, who could not advance for obvious reasons, one group of railway employees had almost no opportunities to advance beyond their station. These were the platelayers. In correspondence with author Frank McKenna, Will Thorne, a Victorian platelayer himself, stated that the platelayer was the ‘most neglected man in the service.’ [1]

By 1860, W.M. Mills stated that on Britain’s 8863 miles of railway there were 8598 platelayers. Gangs of platelayers were marshalled under a foreman or ganger, and were allocated a section of line to look after. This had to be inspected twice a day and any faults in the track’s gauge, level and superelevation were to be mended by using their picks, shovels, hammers, wrenches and track gauges. They also had to maintain line side fences and keep the culverts clear,[2] as well as retrieve any item that may have fallen from a train.[3] All these tasks were to be done in all weathers.

Further, to this, platelayer’s working conditions were the poorest of any railway employees. For six days a week they had to be on duty between 6am and 6pm, and at the end of the day they had to make sure that the line was clear and in good working order. Naturally, if the work had not been completed by 6pm, they had to stay until it was done so. Pay was probably the worst of any railway employees, apart from women, and the hard graft was rewarded with a measly 17 to 21 shillings per week. Indeed, sickness on a Sunday would mean that a platelayer would forfeit his Monday pay.

Promotional prospects to improve their pay were also non-existent. Where some of the weekly paid staff, through industrious working, could jump onto the clerical promotional trees that could take them to management (a rare, but recorded occurrence), platelayers could not do this because they were outside the main framework of railway life given their working location away from stations. They could rise within their own limited hierarchy, from platelayer, to ganger, to sub-inspector and lastly to inspector. But, because of the small ratio of gangers and inspectors to platelayers, promotion was highly unlikely.[4] This lack of promotional opportunities to any ‘higher and more remunerative’ grades was confirmed by Will Thorne.[5]

Further, platelayers’ poor working conditions, promotional prospects and pay were not their only hardships. They also had a bad image, and they were not the sort of individuals that railway managers wished to have around their pristine stations. On the Lynton and Barnstaple railway, just before the First World War, playelayers were issued with an edict that they were not allowed on the platform at Lynton. Rather, they were instructed to ‘slink by on the track,’ lest they be seen by passengers.[6]

Thus, platelayers had the hardest life of any railway employees in the Victorian railway and were destined to remain in their position, treated like dirt, for their entire working lives.



[1] McKenna, The Railway Workers, p.35-36

[2] Ransom, P.J.G. ‘Platelayers,’ The Oxford Companion to British Railway History, (London, 1997), p.381

[3] McKenna, Frank, The Railway Workers, (London, 1976), p.35

[4] Kingsford, P.W., Victorian Railwaymen, (London, 1970), p.138

[5] McKenna, The Railway Workers, p.36

[6] McKenna, The Railway Workers, p.36