For The Love of Steam Locomotives

FOR THE LOVE OF STEAM LOCOMOTIVES - "LADY IN BLACK" GETS HER DAY IN THE LIMELIGHT

1939 FEATURE ARTICLE IN THE CANADIAN NATIONAL MAGAZINE, WRITTEN BY BRIAN HODGKINSON

     The vintage image published above, was taken from the August 1936 issue of "Canadian National Magazine," and shows the locomotive known as "a Lady in Black," leaving Toronto's Union Station with "The International Limited." The original photograph was taken by "Jaycocks." Those were the days.
     I found the neat story in the beat-up edition of the vintage magazine, that I purchased from a local thrift shop a few months back. The issue profiles the extensive 1939 Royal Visit to Canada, of King George and the Queen, (Queen Elizabeth's mother), and the contribution made by the Canadian National to facilitate the long-distance travel of the party. The magazine was sent to company employees, with a letter from Canadian National management, thanking them for their co-operation and service, to make the Royal Tour successful, and their stay in Canada comfortable.
     The magazine itself is admittedly in pretty rough shape, but the front graphics, in full color, showing the Royal train engine, and the signed letter, plus a few excellent advertisements, are well worth salvaging. As is the article entitled "Lady in Black," by writer Brian Hodgkinson. It's published on page two of the Canadian National Magazine. As a fellow quickly turning-on to Railroadiana (memorabilia) as an elder statesman, this story is the perfect lead-in for me, and reminds me of all the trains I watched as a kid, sitting up on the freight platform of the Bracebridge Train Station; and all those snaking trains I heard blasting their horns on the approach or departure from our hometown, through the four seasons. Ah, the romantic din of a rumbling train; especially the long freight trains, that shattered the solitude of a winter evening. It was remarkable, to a rural kid, with train fantasies, especially for a lad who thought about jumping into an open box-car one day, and riding the silver rails to destinations unknown. The train horns blasting at the rail crossings, identified key moments of every day, when I lived in the town built along both embankments of the Muskoka River, parallel to the silver rails of the Canadian National Railway, and the grand train station that once stood on Main Street, across from the former Albion Hotel.
     To me, this is a romantic, sentimental, nostalgic mainstay article for all of us who have a "thing" for vintage railway collectables; and who adore the stories about the good old days of steam locomotion.
     In the words of writer Brian Hodgkinson: "The mind of every man and woman is an invaluable storehouse of pictures - pictures of past, present and future. Some are more beautiful than others. Some are more exciting and appealing but no matter what the extent or variety of the collection, they are all priceless. What is more, they cannot be stolen, or taken away. Like you - I own one of those storehouses and so I'd like to relate the thoughts of the imaginative pictures of one, who all his life, has been deeply fascinated by trains and all that they stand for.
     "I often wonder if the average traveller, after settling comfortably in his car seat, has any idea of the countless number of things that must be in flawless condition, to make his trip safe and comfortable. I don't believe very many of us have. Seldom, I believe, does one realize the miles upon miles of track that have to be checked regularly - the switches that have to be kept in perfect working order - the semaphores in the operation of which, there is no room for inaccuracy - the dispatchers and staffs to whose lot falls the job of keeping all lines clear, in whose hands rest the lives of those who travel by rail. A romantic figure is the dispatcher, a man whose job it is to see that the cars of a rumbling freight train, for instance, aren't transformed into firewoood, because of erroneous or mistaken train orders. Does one ever think of those who man the signals - or the master mechanics - of the thousands of shop men, trainmen, brakemen, conductors, firemen, engineers? It's a lot to think about I know - when one only has room for the excitement and adventure of two months riding the cushions, as I did, you suddenly become aware of these things."
     Brian Hodgkinson writes, "I suppose there are a hundred different professions or walks of life that could be called fascinating but just now I'd like to put into words some of the thoughts, which have passed through my mind as I stood and watched the different pictures presented, almost kaleidoscopically by one of man's most fascinating industries - the railroad. It is a word token of admiration and appreciation for one of the greatest personalities ever created by the hand of man. And in this I am confident that I will be joined by every 'tallow pot,' who ever fired an engine, by every 'hogger' who ever tugged at a universal bar. They speak of Hollywood as the city of glamor - they mark the lion as having a stout heart - and they refer to the opera house as the house of the ultimate in thrilling voices! Three remarkable characteristics of which any woman would be terribly envious and justly proud, and yet I've met just such a person. Come with me, just for a few moments, over to the railway yards. I'd like to introduce you to a personality which I feel sure, after you have been made thoroughly acquainted, will place you in a profound state of admiration and respect. This is a personality that is known to exist, yet by the majority of people is simply taken for granted. To the men, who really know her, she is known as the "Lady in Black'.
     Allow me to introduce you to 6045 - Doesn't mean much to you does it? Well, 6045 happens to be an exceedingly distinguished member of the Six-thousand-No.; not the 'Four hundred,' the six thousand; the class of railway locomotives known as the Six-thousand series, and commonly recognized as among the world's largest of these living giants of the road. Glamorous? Every single inch of her from rear coupling to pony truck. Stout hearted - you ask? Just let your eyes rove over those cylinders and driving rods and that boiler - you'll think twice before saying no. And we spoke of the opera as the ultimate in voice thrill, did we? Have you ever lain atop the catwalk of a rolling box car and heard a three-chime locomotive whistle call to everything within a ten mile radius? If not, you don't really know the thrill you've missed, until your spine has tingled with an indescribable excitement, brought on by that soul-inspiring voice. And oddly enough, our lady in black is not unlike us humans. She has her likes and dislikes, her temperamental moods, and like most women of good taste, is extremely particular about her health and appearance. I suppose by this time, you think me more or less a sentimental fool, glorifying such a thing as a pile of steel on wheels, - which only has one purpose; that of drawing a string of cars to a particular destination. But I dare you sometime, when talking to a railway engineer or fireman, to refer to a locomotive as a pile of steel on wheels. Just watch his face flame with indignation - his eyes look at you with an expression that holds only pity for your ignorance. You see, a locomotive is to a hogger what an infant is to its mother. He may not show it, but down deep is kindled a love that will never be extinguished as long as he can yank a whistle-cord, and open a throttle. To go further than that - as long as he draws a single breath. It's because he knows his charge so intimately, I suppose. In his mind's eye is a photographic picture of every component part, every bearing. Yes, and of every rivet."
     The train loving writer, Brian Hodgkinson, continues his story, noting, "I spoke a moment ago of the likes and dislikes of our Lady in Black. Among other things, her big weakness is live steam. Keep up her steam pressure and she'll work till she falls to pieces. Plenty of good grease and oil is to her what bread is to humanity. And like a spirited race horse she thrives on good trackage. Have you seen an engineer or fireman with a wad of waste in one hand and an oil-can in the other, going over every moveable part of the engine? There probably isn't a single thing wrong with 6045 but that doesn't make a bit of difference. Tap, tap, tapping here, tightening a bolt there, a drop of oil on a bearing, a dirt spot disappearing in a clump of waste. I've often thought that many people would envy the attention and fuss that is made over a locomotive, before it is released from the roundhouse for a run. More time and more meticulous care is taken in the cleaning maintenance and grooming of these ladies in black, than is ever spent on a growing infant or a thoroughbred racehorse. I trust that the next time you settle down in a comfortable sleeping car seat, you will give a thought or two to the head-end - when rolling along on a ribbon of steel, in all her glory, and glamor; with the heart of a lioness, and a voice with all the thrills of the opera, is a lady who, even in her weakest moments, steals the hearts of men. Her name? I'm sorry. She prefers to remain anonymous; she is simply known as "The Lady in Black'."
     I can remember stopping in the middle of a game of road hockey, as did every one else in the Hunt's Hill gang, holding those broken sticks, when on those bitter winter evenings, one of several trains thundered through town. The horn was so loud, and the engine so dominant over all other sounds, emanating from the entire town, that it was almost impossible to focus on anything else, even scoring a goal. At times it seemed like the powerful train light would soon be visible at the end of our street, the engine having left the tracks, crossed the river, climbed the hill, and like the movie "The Polar Express," was going to run right up Alice Street, and stop to give us a free ride northward. You know, to restore our faith in Santa Claus. But it was just the echo from the deep river basin, bursting over the north hillside, that amplified the train's passage. That and the fact there was the familiar winter-time clickety-clack of the train wheels, on the contracted steel rails. They would make little sound in the hot days of summer, when the rails actually expanded and narrowed the gaps so to speak. At this time of year it was quite musical and some of us hummed to the beat. It was an intrusive reality, living close to the tracks and the train station. I didn't mind the regular interruptions through the day, and in school it was a blessing let me tell you, because it always reminded me of the big wide world out there, that these trains were networking with in transportation services; connecting with ships and planes headed around the globe with freight and passengers. It provided, as they say, food for thought. In this regard, I had an insatiable appetite.