This is the second in a series of articles by Martin. There are links to the others at the bottom of this page.

"In defiance of the rules, I spent many happy hours in the signal box at Llanbadarn Fawr with Harry Eccles, an extremely patient man with a host of tales to tell about his time on the railways.

He lived in Rock Cottage, between two streams, in an area called Mesopotamia. If I remember correctly, he started with loading cattle at Ellesmere and along the old Cambrian lines before settling at Llanbadarn, with Mr Pugh on the opposite shift.

The box was lit by pressure lamps and cooking was done on a coal stove, the fuel for this being supplied by passing a message to engine drivers, inviting them to drop off (literally) supplies in passing. Lumps of coal dropped from a passing engine bounced surprisingly far!

The box controlled the change-over from double to single line working as the track headed east, as well as controlling the level crossing. Opening and closing the gates was achieved by means of a huge wheel, rather like a ship's wheel, linked by rods and chains to transmit the manpower at the wheel to the gates.

I wasn't big enough to manage the wheel, or the big signal and points levers, but I was allowed to pull the pint-sized levers that controlled the wicket gates used by pedestrians to cross the track. At least, I was allowed to use them until it was pointed out that my sweaty palms were causing the polished metal tops of the levers to rust - that is why proper signalmen always threw the levers with a duster in their hands.

At the change from double to single track, a token had to be issued to permit the train to pass through. This is part of a complicated safety arrangement designed to ensure that only one train can be on single track at a time - it is only recently that I have come to understand it.

This key/tablet/token was clipped into a snowshoe shaped holder which would be put into a spring-loaded stand at the trackside, from which the fireman would hook it out with his arm as the train swept past. In theory, this should be done at 10mph, but with the bank ahead, train drivers used the gentler slope out of Aberystwyth to work up some momentum, so pick-up speed was probably nearer 30mph, resulting in a hearty crash as the holder slapped against the side of the engine less skilful firemen got bruised as they hooked the device off with their arms while leaning out of the cab.

The passing back of the return token Bow Street to Llanbadarn required the fireman to thread the holder onto a prong at the trackside. Easier at lower speeds and a real challenge when hanging out of the cab with a driver determined to get into Aber and complete his shift.

The loss of the token, or failure to pick it up, as sometimes happened, was a serious business. On up (eastward) journeys, the train would have to be stopped and the fireman obliged to hurry back down the track to collect it ignominiously, while curious passengers looked out of the window to see why the train had come to such a sudden halt and was delayed.

All these incidents had to be recorded in the signalman's book, with full details and timings shown. This book was subject to examination and signing off by inspectors who made unannounced visits to boxes up and down the line. Unannounced, but not always unexpected, as the railway jungle telegraph soon reported their presence on trains or appearance on stations or in boxes.

I recall being bundled out of the box after word had been received of an inspector being spotted in the area.

As well as the distinctive smell of the box, a mixture of coal fire, polish (everything shone), oil for the signal lamps, cooking and Woodbines, it had a distinctive sound. All communication between boxes was by a series of bell codes, which indicated direction of travel, location and train types. These sounds were augmented by the clash of levers as they were thrown, and the rumble of the gate mechanism as it swung to stop the road traffic.

Of course, there were those who were prepared to race the closing gates. No bells or lights in those days to warn of impending closure, merely Harry looking out of the window at approaching traffic and making a judgement, sometimes allowing blocks of traffic through as the train got closer and closer, but always safely achieved.

Less fortunate were those foolish souls who tried to squeeze through the closing gaps or whose impatience drove them to hurry through before the gates were fully open. A slight pause in the rate of opening could result in contact between gate and car and the gates were heavy! I recall on a couple of occasions the entire wire grille on one of the gates being peeled off.

From the elevated operating floor of the box, I had a good view of all sorts of activities. Looking towards Llanbadarn, I could see almost as far as my grandmothers, and then above and beyond that to the church and the cemetery spreading up the hill behind it.

Across to Pwllhobi, and then to the point where the track came into view at Fronfraith (?), upriver towards Devil's Bridge, with a watchful eye on the progress of the Little Train, across the fields, later University playing fields to the river, towards Penparcau, round to Pen Dinas, and finally down the tracks to Aber itself.

Early days, it was still possible to watch the movement of trains heading off down the South line to Carmarthen. The current station and its operations is a sad shadow of its former self.

I recall the Goods Yard, with the wagons being unloaded, coal trucks pulling away with deliveries, farming supplies, fertilisers and seeds, oil tankers and general busy-ness. The station building was always spacious and well-lit, with its buffet and Wymans news-stand, together with the Lein Fach booking office.

More working platforms than now, with Carmarthen lines across to the right, and Machynlleth tracks at the centre of the station, with gas-oil heater tanks between them.

I believe my mother worked as a telephonist before the war in the former tea-room after its conversion to telephone exchange. The museum which was there some years ago was fascinating - I came across posters advertising performances of Gilbert and Sullivan by Ardwyn Grammar School in which my mother would have played a part.

To a youngster, the railway appeared to be a living and thriving being, but clearly it was in decline. The increasing car ownership, providing flexibility, freedom and door-to-door travel, meant passenger trains became fewer, shorter and less used.

Gone were the days of special trains, crowded with people in for the day or longer. And yet, I have an impression of a railway system staffed by people determined to see it work, with a pride in their duties, many knowing each other for years and happy doing it.

There used to be the railwayman's club by the north side of the goods yard where they met. There is a whole other story of the social changes brought about by the coming of the railways, from a unified time of day, to increasing the demand for literacy in rural communities.

Other memories from sitting in the box: watching the workmen who were covering the brook which ran down the other side of the road as part of road improvements, attempting to race across the open Vale of Rheidol crossing as the train approached and failing. Surprisingly little damage was done to their blue Bedford van, considering the relative weights of the parties involved, but of course I couldnt be a witness because I wasn't supposed to be there!

Watching people walking down the Vale of Rheidol track to the river everybody did it, regardless of the warning signs. After all, it was perfectly safe when you knew the timetable. The remains of Tin Town, to the south of the narrow gauge track, also the marks of the siding laid in for the Eisteddfod (or was it the Royal Welsh Show) in 195_?"

Written by Martin Tither who now lives in Peterborough.

Read more of Martin's memories by clicking on the links below: