Cheshire Railway Modellers

John Millington reports from a club 'somewhere in Cheshire'. The subjects dealt with are based on overheard conversations but the names and locations are changed to protect the innocent, OK, in truth the names are changed to protect John! The archived articles below are arranged in chronological order.

John is a professional author with articles published in several magazines.

Most of us had been to the Salchester Show the last weekend, so it was not surprising that during a lull in modelling we got round to discussing what makes a good exhibition layout.  Graham's comment that it was all to do with trackwork was met with disdain.
"Locomotives are the key.  Lots of them and plenty of movement," rejoined Adrian.  "That's what people want to see."
"That's only partly true," said Fred.  "Accurate locos are great crowd-pleasers.  But not ones that keep coming off the rails."  This was a little dig at Adrian.  It's quite an event if any of his get from one end of the layout to the other without manual intervention.  Only Adrian could build a loco with one driving wheel of a different spoke pattern from the other five … and not notice it!
"That just makes my point," Graham observed.  "You've got to have good track and reliable running.  And that requires care and takes time."  And he should know.  His station throat slip complex is a masterpiece.  We've never seen a loco stall when going through it, even at a crawl.
"But what about the setting?" asked Felicity.  "Perfect track on flat boards is pretty uninteresting.  What I like to see is a believable scenario and an appropriate landscape."
"What do you mean 'scenario'?" Dan asked.  He's not too knowledgeable is our Dan.
"It's the year and the season," Felicity responded.  "It's the part of the country, the traffic that the railway was built to carry and the people it served."  Felicity is very much into the 'people' side of railway modelling.
"That's very true," said Nigel.  The LMR layout he's building is set in the western Peak District in the spring of 1956.  And don't we all know it!  Nigel can go on and on about the western Peak District in the spring of 1956.  He's got the train register from Claygate South  Box, the Goods Agent's Journal from Whitedale, the Loco Roster from Tunlow, the meteorological records for Buxton, and photo albums galore.
"But a scenario stifles creativity and limits operation," observed Jim.  Jim's operations are noted for being extraordinarily creative.  He'll happily run a train of bogie oil tankers behind a Caley Single simply because they are all nice models.
In the end we decided that there were five ingredients to a successful layout intended for public viewing: believable scenario, realistic scenery, reliable running, prototypical operation and a stimulating presentation.  But it was also agreed that what you did in the privacy of your own railway room was your own affair, even running bogie tankers behind a Caley Single.
However, there was further agreement that what makes an exhibition successful was more than just quality layouts.  It was things like the signage, the way you were greeted at the pay desk, stewards who knew where the traders and toilets were, refreshments at reasonable prices and helpful exhibitors that really made a show enjoyable.  And the Salchester club had done well on all counts.
We'd had a useful discussion, but our 'lull' had merged into 'clear up time'.
"I hope you are actually going to build something next week," commented the chairman. "You need to put these ideas into practice."  Who would disagree with that?

The other week, Fred and his wife Jane were recounting their recent visit to the Skelham show.  They'd found it most unfriendly event.
"The exhibitors totally ignored us," Jane explained.  "They cowered behind the back scenes or just kept their eyes on their trains.  No conversation.  No eye contact.  No recognition that we were even there."
"It was as if the entire show was put on so that they could operate the layouts," Fred added.  "The visiting public was a irrelevance."
"For many of them, it's the only chance they get," Peter apologised on their behalf.  "Especially the larger club layouts.  They've got to concentrate on what they are doing."
"Didn't they have any familiarisation, training or rehearsal sessions?" Bill enquired, but nobody took up the point.
"I saw something similar at the Salchester embroidery show," Felicity commented.  "Stall holders who engaged the audience were making sales.  The reticent ones didn't.  I don't know how some of them sold enough to cover their expenses."
"But we're not selling anything," retorted Paul, "so the comparison's invalid."
"But we are in the selling business," Felicity insisted.  "At exhibitions, we're selling railway modelling as a wonderful hobby.  So we've got to be pro-active when dealing with our audience."
"Not all of us are outgoing types," Nigel complained.  "You can't expect me to talk to the public."  There was an outburst of laughter.  Nigel looked puzzled.  We all knew that as soon as someone, anybody, even a total stranger, mentioned anything about the Peak District or the 1950s, we could be sure that Nigel would launch forth on his favourite subject.  However, it was not so much a gentle conversation, more a one-sided torrent of information.
"Some years ago I saw a chap operating a very simple rural terminus at the Dewcliffe Show," said Bill.  "Low-level baseboard, minimal backscene, no proscenium. He explained in simple terms what was going on.  Talked about how real railwaymen ordered wagons in a train and shunted them with minimal to-ing a fro-ing.  He involved the audience by asking them what they thought was going to happen next and why, following prototype practice.  Held their attention far longer than some of the highly detailed layouts.  Many were reluctant to move on.  He really knew how to work an audience."
"But that's just showmanship," retorted Paul.
"Exactly," exclaimed Fred.  "What's wrong with that?  It's showmanship that distinguishes an excellent layout from a good one."
"Just pandering to the ignorant," Peter scoffed.
"Not everybody is an expert," observed Graham.  "It's understanding what audiences want.  Entertaining them.  Educating them.  Making them want to come back year after year."
"It shows that we're sensible, rational, articulate human beings not just a bunch of boring anoraks," Bill added.  "The hobby needs all the positive image it can get."
"That's what we want," commented the chairman.  "Lots of satisfied customers who'll come again next year.  They might even take up the hobby and join us."  And who could disagree with that?

There was a heated disagreement about loads the other week.  Bill insisted that on the club layout all visible loads should removable.
"Those coal wagons come into the yard full and must leave empty," he insisted, "otherwise it isn't prototypical."
"But we haven't got time to fiddle with lots of bits and pieces," rejoined Adrian.
"Did you see the children's layout at the Whirtleborough Show?" asked Felicity.  "Nothing special, just an oval of track, a central backscene, and a station with a siding on each side.  The kids were loading livestock, boxes and crates, taking them to the other station and unloading them.  They were having a whale of time."
"You mean loading and unloading was part of the fun," asked an incredulous Dan.
"Yes," Felicity replied.  "Lots of people don't realise that this is what happens in the real world.  It's good public education."
"We could make freight-handling a feature rather than a chore," Jim suggested.  Perhaps he thought that would justify bogie tank wagons being pulled by his Caley Single.
"That's what railways were built for," announced Graham, as if he were the only person with that insight.  "It's something that the builders and operators of model railways often ignore."
"Exactly," Fred responded.  "Each type of wagon should carry an appropriate load, just like the real thing."
"Wouldn't it be more like the real thing if each type of load had an appropriate wagon?" Graham enquired   "After all, it was the freight being offered that dictated the types and design of wagons."
"Which ever way round, it would need lots of loads," retorted Adrian.  "Cost a fortune."
"Not necessarily," advised Graham.  "As a rule-of-thumb and roughly speaking, only half the wagons are loaded at any one time.  If loads are passed quickly between fiddle yards, you don't need as many as there are wagons of each type.  As far as cost is concerned, many loads can be made from scrap, like bits of sprue, plastic off-cuts, remains of brass frets, lolly and rocket sticks.  That sort of thing.  You've just got to keep your eyes open and use a little lateral thinking."
"I've collected information about the loads that went through the western Peak District in the spring of 1956," Nigel volunteered.  Nigel has lot of information about the western Peak District in the spring of 1956.  And don't we all know it!
"But removable loads can't be properly chained or roped down," complained Fred.  "That's not prototypical."
"But it's a matter of compromise," Bill argued.  "Which is more noticeable - a load that comes into a goods yard and unrealistically leaves on the same wagon, or a few ropes missing?"
But before we came to blows, the Chairman steeped in.  With a knowing smile he offered a compromise.  Open wagons that might stop in the yard would have removable loads, while through traffic and covered vans would have theirs permanently in place.  Who could disagree with that?

“It had looked so good in the magazine article, but the shed was totally black,” he complained,  “and the station wasn’t much better.  Most disappointing.  It was like watching one of those tv plays where everything takes place at night.  More like listening to the radio.”

“But that’s how it was in 1948,” explained Paul.  For his age, he remembers such things surprisingly well.

“Exactly,” agreed Fred, who had a far better chance of recalling it because, unlike Paul, he had had at least been born before the year in question.  “All that dust, ash and soot made engine sheds particularly grimy places.”

“But things were really difficult to see,” Adrian insisted, “even though there was plenty of light.  It looked as thought they’d hurriedly sprayed the entire layout with coal-black paint.”  We all smiled, as Adrian is well known a modeller for whom impatience wins over finesse.

“It’s all to do with the perception of colour,” Felicity suggested. “Colour changes with viewing distance.”

“Rubbish!” snorted Peter.  “Coal is always black.”

“Not all the time,” Felicity replied.  “When it’s in your hand, it is indeed black.  If it’s dust, then it’s matt black.  If it’s in lumps, then some of the faces catch the light and are shiny.  So that adds some white to the overall colour.”

“White coal?” exclaimed an incredulous Dan.  “Never heard of white coal!  Is it smokeless?”

“Reflected light gives it a just-off black shade,” Felicity continued.  “It’s not even dark grey.  But a distant pile of coal certainly isn’t pure black.  I usually add a tiny touch of khaki drab just to take the edge off.”

“There’s nothing so realistic as real coal in a loco’s tender,” Paul insisted.

“Except that it sticks out,” Felicity asserted.  “Its colour says ‘You’re close enough to touch me’ whereas the arm’s length plus that is normal viewing distance represents a hundred feet or more, especially in the smaller scales. There’s a visual conflict between the distance of the coal and the bunker or wagon it’s supposed to be in.”

“Sheds are still filthy places,” Paul insisted.  “If they are going to be modelled realistically they should be dark.”

“It’s not just a matter of scale distances,” said Graham.  “There’s another aspect.  Do you remember taking photographs with film?  To get a good photograph, like those in the article, you adjust the aperture and shutter speed to take into account the lighting conditions.  If the photo were underexposed, then you couldn’t get much detail.  Since our eyes work in real time, we can’t use the time exposures trick to harvest enough light from dull subjects to see the detail.  So I think you have to adjust the intensity of the colours we paint our models to match the sensitivity of our eyes at normal viewing distance.”

As he took Dan home after the meeting, the chairman had great difficulty explaining that white coal didn’t really exist, unless you were an artist.  And who would disagree with that?

“Some will totally ignore you,” he commented, “while others think you should stop the trains and give them your undivided attention for half an hour.”

We quickly divided the visiting public into six types. The appreciative made us feel good, even if they weren’t very knowledgeable.  We respected the truly knowledgeable.  They were often the most polite and encouraging, gently proffering, if we wanted it, information, suggestions and advice in ways that neither caused offence nor belittled the accomplishments of the builders and operators.

The inquisitive didn’t want to listen to the answers whereas the enquiring did most carefully.  The meddlesome were simply an annoyance, always trying to help by imparting unnecessary advice, straightening fencing that was intentionally built as broken, and spontaneously attempting to re-rail stock that had not come off the track.

And then there were the critical – the loud-mouthed, opinionated, self-appointed arbiters of accuracy and excellence.  Graham recounted an exchange he overheard at the Wraybury show.

“That locomotive never ran with a close-riveted tender,” announced one spectator, pleased that his eagle eye and encyclopaedic knowledge were being put to full and very public use.

“So what?” asked the owner.  “We don’t have a problem.”

“I do.  Tender’s wrong.”

“I’ve got a smooth-running railway in a believable landscape,” the owner responded  “It’s operated in a prototypical manner, a consistent level of detail with no major anachronisms.  Isn’t that good enough for you?”

“But that loco has an incorrect tender,” insisted the critic.  “I’ve studied the whole class.  I know what I’m talking about.  I’ve not come here to see rubbish masquerading as an accurate model of a railway.”

“If you don’t like it, then go to another layout,” retorted the operator, finding difficulty in containing himself.

 “I’ve not paid to come here just to be insulted,” was the swift retort.

“I’ll refund your admission,” said the exhibitor, “then I can insult you as much as I want.”  The critic was taken aback.  He was even more shocked when another visitor quietly pointed out a classic photo of the loco on a nearby display.  The tender attached to it was indeed close-riveted.

“Some folk are very appreciative of the effort that has gone into creating the layout,” Felicity responded.  “It’s great when they say ‘Thank you.  Very good layout,’ and ‘This is most interesting.’  It gives me a great buzz.”

“A few words of praise never came amiss,” observed the chairman.  “Perhaps we should all say something positive to the operators before we leave any layout.  Let’s try it at the next show we go to, shall we?”  And who could disagree with that?

John's Jottings archive is continued on the next page (click here).