The Last Day – Part 1 by Peter Davis

First published in issue 13 of The Tenterden Terrier Summer 1977
Reproduced with permission of present editor Mr P D Shaw

It began the same way as my previous visits to the Kent & East Sussex – at Charing Cross on a Friday evening; but this time it was New Year’s Day, 1954, and the next day was to be the line’s last. Therefore, it was with some sadness that I secured a seat in the first coach of the of the 4.20pm semi-fast to Hastings, before strolling forward to inspect the engine, a preliminary to any journey in those days. Of course, it was a “Schools”, quite nicely turned out in the current lined black and the train in red and cream, including a SE&CR “matchboard” coach in addition to the obligatory Maunsell restriction 0 stock. The matchboards occasionally appeared in Hastings trains, where the public often mistook them for pullman (sic) cars, to the advantage of the initiated, who invariably enjoyed a less crowded journey.

After a leisurely start, perhaps in deference to the greasy rails of the terminus, we rumbled across the Thames and paused briefly at Waterloo (East) and London Bridge before gathering speed through the dark suburbs. At Tonbridge, we swung on to the switchback of the Hastings branch and that splendid three cylinder chatter became more readily audible as the “Schools” capably tackled the sharp gradients. Eventually, we rushed into Robertsbridge at a more than prudent speed, coming to rest after some fairly dramatic braking with the engine all but over the level crossing.

As I alighted from the train, the 5.50pm for Tenterden stood quietly in the bay – as friendly a sight as any train could be. There was Terrier No. 32655, the ubiquitous L&SWR brake third, familiar faces on the footplate and the courteous guard, Bert Sharp, anxiously looking at his watch. I joined the twenty or so other passengers in the dimly lit coach, and we were off into the darkness of the Rother Valley.

The unlit platforms at Salehurst and Junction Road slid past and the clatter of the train was punctuated by the shrieking whistle of the Terrier as we coasted over the ungated crossings. Conversation in the compartment turned to closure, but somehow it seemed that no one took it very seriously, as if there might be a last minute reprieve.

Arrival at Northiam, my destination, was greeted by the bright platform lights, installed by the old Company just after the War and by the sturdy figure of Stationmaster Bill Rann, with lamp in hand. After he had waved away the train and called goodnight to the handful of passengers, I joined him in his tiny booking office to enquire about the plans for the next day. It had been rumoured that the line was going to be publicly executed in spectacular fashion.

“It’s going to be a busy day tomorrow”, said Bill, “the timetable is bound to go all to pieces and the Southern Region has also laid on a special excursion in honour of the occasion”. He offered me a handbill, crudely duplicated, setting out the time of the excursion, with the appropriate fares. It was issued from Orpington, which was presumably the office of the Area Passenger Manager in those days.

This was one of the earliest exploitations of nostalgia by BR and showed commendable enterprise at that time, although closures were then fairly infrequent and excited much comment in both the local and national press. Indeed, the Kent & East Sussex closure was reported by “Peterborough” in the Daily Telegraph and even featured a photograph of Terrier 32678 outside Rolvenden shed. It was at this time that the press coined the phrase “The Farmer’s Line” and one local paper even referred to the line as the “Tenterden Bumper” – a hangover, perhaps, from the days of the rough-riding back to back railbuses. I resolved to travel on the special if at all possible and left Bill to lock up the station, whilst I went off to spend the night with friends who lived nearby.

The next day dawned cold and foggy, but by the time I had left for the station, the sun had broken through and the wispy Rother Valley mist was dispersing fast. The 10.02am train from Tenterden arrived, headed by 32655 with driver, Nelson Wood and for the first time I saw more than one coach on a Kent & East Sussex train, as the L&SWR brake had been strengthened by a “Birdcage” brake, normally berthed at Rolvenden as a spare.

As soon as the train stopped, all the doors opened and a hoard of excited, camera clutching, raincoated enthusiasts leapt out and made for various vantage points to capture the scene for posterity. Bill Rann eventually persuaded everyone back on to the train and it moved off towards Bodiam, flanges protesting loudly on the sharp curve.

My thoughts turned to the subject of organising my own last trip, but only then I realised it was impossible to reach Headcorn before the special left at 3.40pm. However, Bill Rann advised that it might be possible to intercept that train at Biddenden, where it appeared that it must pass the 3.20pm Headcorn train