This is almost an erie echo, or the British equivilent of Casey Jones. Has anyone here ever read a book entitled " Scalded To Death by The Steam" by Katie Lyle? It's a haunting book that uses the once common popular songs and ballads of railroad disasters and traces the history behind them...songs like The Dying Engineer..Life Is A Railway To Heaven..stories full of courage that go back to what some deridingly call a romantic era...I think not...I think there was a more human touch in some aspects of life..
Station tribute for train crash hero
Alan Salter
Family unveils the plaqueTHE BRAVERY of a Stockport steam train driver half a century ago will now be remembered forever at the station where he died in a train crash.
A plaque to John Axon, from Edgeley, who remained at the controls of his runaway train as it careered towards Chapel-en-le-Frith has been unveiled by his grand-daughter Melanie at the station.
More than 100 friends and relatives watched as she was joined by David Creamer, grandson of John Creamer, from Adswood, who was the guard of another freight train who also died in the crash and is named on the plaque.
Relatives and former colleagues came forward after the Manchester Evening News published an appeal from train company Northern Rail, who manage the station and arranged the ceremony to mark the 50th anniversary of the crash.
John Axon
Driver Axon remained on his footplate while being scalded by boiling water from a fractured pipe, in a battle to regain control before it smashed into another goods train at the station.
He was posthumously awarded the George Cross, and was immortalised in Salford folk legend Ewan MacColl's Ballad of John Axon, broadcast on BBC radio in 1958 and later released as a record.
At Chapel's tiny station yesterday, the crowd observed a minute's silence in memory of the two men, disturbed only by a loudspeaker announcement of a train delay.
Afterwards the guests boarded a special "folk train" which travelled to Buxton while the Ballad of John Axon was played on board. The diesel train itself was then named after the hero.
Nothing is more fairly distributed than common sense: no one thinks he needs more of it than he already has.
Thanks for the most interesting entry you posted, Wallyworld. I have read the book you mention and found it quite well written and thorough. But it only reinforces the fact that railroading is, and always has been, a dangerous profession.
Strangely enough, however, the most dangerous job statistically, is tending bar. You could look it up.
When I was growing up the chivalry...., or, for lack of a better word, "bravery" was often came up when you spoke of railroad engineers. I once heard a audio recording which was amazing that they made of an interview with Sim Webb, Casey Jones fireman which related Caseys call to "Jump Sim!" as he focused on doing everything he could up to the last instant of the impact.... Casey knew what was about to happen. It sent chills down my back. Story after story...folks like these are still at the throttle, I think a memorial like this is overdue here...although I have heard some really good things about the Altoona Railroaders Memorial Museum...
THE WRECK OF THE SPORTSMAN
Far away on the banks of New River While the deep shades of twilight hung low, In the mountains of old West Virginia, On the line of the old C & O; Down the valley the old Forty-Seven Was winding her way 'long the stream. The drivers were rapidly pounding While the engine was trembling with steam. Haskell firmly held the throttle, Anderson's fire glowed with red, And they thought of no danger awaiting Down the line on a curve just ahead. In the dusk of a fair crimson sunset Near the path of the old Midland Trail, 'Twas there that the fast-flying Sportsman Was wrecked as she swung from the rail. 'Twas there in the dark shades of twilight, While the bright crimson sky was aglow, That Haskell and Anderson of the Sportsman Gave their lives to the old C & O. Just west of the station called Hawk's Nest The engine turned over the fill; The boys were found down near the river By the engine they loved, lying still. That night there were loved ones waiting In Huntington for those boys--in vain, For God, the Supreme Crew Caller, Had called them for another train. The years full of tears may be many, And sad broken hearts ever burn, While they think of the "Wreck of the Sportsman,"And the loved ones who'll never return.
Far away on the banks of New River While the deep shades of twilight hung low, In the mountains of old West Virginia, On the line of the old C & O; Down the valley the old Forty-Seven Was winding her way 'long the stream. The drivers were rapidly pounding While the engine was trembling with steam.
Haskell firmly held the throttle, Anderson's fire glowed with red, And they thought of no danger awaiting Down the line on a curve just ahead. In the dusk of a fair crimson sunset Near the path of the old Midland Trail, 'Twas there that the fast-flying Sportsman Was wrecked as she swung from the rail.
'Twas there in the dark shades of twilight, While the bright crimson sky was aglow, That Haskell and Anderson of the Sportsman Gave their lives to the old C & O. Just west of the station called Hawk's Nest The engine turned over the fill; The boys were found down near the river By the engine they loved, lying still.
That night there were loved ones waiting In Huntington for those boys--in vain, For God, the Supreme Crew Caller, Had called them for another train. The years full of tears may be many, And sad broken hearts ever burn, While they think of the "Wreck of the Sportsman,"And the loved ones who'll never return.
Our community is FREE to join. To participate you must either login or register for an account.