There were some weird goings on in Stanfax Tunnel, inexplicable, spooky, things. When it comes to railway maintenance and safety, weird things can’t go on being unexplained, and as I was the Electrical Engineer responsible for that patch of track, it was my job to find that explanation.
The electrification on this line was completed and energised in May this year, and within five days of going live I’d received no less than six incident reports from train crew, and all of them involved some sort of electrical fault.
At first glance, this was the depot’s responsibility, and I forwarded each incident report to the Traction Manager in the plainest English that I could politely use. My line was brand new, plain track, copper conduit throughout the tunnel, load tested, bank tested, resistance tested, you name it. The line was signed off by every expert in the region and cleared just days before the first services used it.
The trains though, they were 1980’s hand me downs with a fresh lick of purple paint. If there was a fault to be found, it could only be on the clapped out 319s they were running. In all fairness, the depot agreed with me, but they insisted that their kit checked out, but as the incidents continued, they reasoned that it must be the hardware in the tunnel itself.
Sometimes the lights would flicker, sometimes the whole tunnel would light up with the electrical blue of twenty five thousand volts arcing across the circuits, and in one instance, a train lost all power and coasted for about one hundred meters in the dark before powering up again. Either way, it was getting ridiculous, and to allay concerns I requested that the Network Management Train, Doctor Yellow, pass through the affected section of tunnel with a full diagnostic survey. As expected the line checked out immaculately and again, attention turned back to the ancient 319s, which at that time were the only electric units using the line. The diesels that operated most of the services were unaffected, which, unfortunately for me, indicated that the problem had to related to the electrics.
Things seemed to settle down though and a few weeks passed without incident; I thought that I had heard the last of the matter. The problem had been resolved maybe, or that they had just decided to suck it up until the new trains were in service, the first batch was due any day. Either way, I had enough going on to happily let this one go.
But then I received an angry phone call, all the way from the Director of Electrical Line Safety. There had been an incident in Stanfax Tunnel, no one hurt, no thanks to me, that much was made clear, and that this was now my number one priority.
Apparently, a class 333, borrowed from the neighbouring Airedale line, had been passing through the tunnel that very morning, the first of its type to do so, when it unexpectedly lost all power. The emergency brakes applied themselves, and, inexplicably, all of the doors opened, on both sides of the train; at the exact same place as the other reported problems. Had this happened on a service train, with commuters crammed in and resting against the doors, let’s just say we were bloody lucky.
For safety, all of the electric trains on the route were stopped immediately, and fortunately that was only a handful. Replacement buses were put on for the passengers where necessary, and I paid a visit to the depot where the trains are maintained to begin a thorough investigation before the press inevitably got involved.
It was good to put a name to a face, and after eight years exchanging emails and conference calls, I finally met Jon Johnson, Traction Manager at Harold’s Heath Maintenance Depot. To be honest, I was expecting a fight, but a kindlier grounded northern bloke you will not find, and not in the least bit confrontational; he was simply relieved that someone ‘upstairs’ was on the case and that the problem was been taken seriously.
‘Stripped it bare I have’ he told me, ‘you name it; I’ve had it off, cleaned it, checked it and had it replaced. These old things are a bit frayed at the edges I’ll grant you, but I can guarantee it’s absolutely one hundred percent electrically sound’.
He took me past a long line of stabled trains, all out of service while the investigation took place, and in to one of the small meeting rooms that lined the workshops. Six of the drivers and a few fitters were sat waiting for me with a desk full of diagrams and technical specifications, schematics, print outs, note pads, laptops and tablet devices. They’d done their homework, and so had I. I came well prepared to thrash this out and that’s exactly what we did.
I won’t labour the technical details, but we looked at everything and anything. If it was electrical, and even if it wasn’t, it had been tested, and they had the documents and reports to prove it. As did I; everything that could go wrong with the power supply I’d checked; every connection was brand new and working properly, the only thing left undone was to take a cab ride in to the tunnel and see the problem for myself, and as all electric trains were suspended from service, we had to make special arrangements.
It took a few phone calls and form filling and faxing, but a return trip through the tunnel was soon authorised at short notice by the Control Centre, and then the discussion turned odd.
‘Maybe you’ll see the ghost while you’re in there too’. I looked across the table to see one of the drivers grinning mischievously
‘Not this again lads, we’re all professionals in here, we don’t do ghosts’ Jon’s eyes rolled right round his belief barren head as he tried to nip the discord in the bud, but it was too late, the genie was out of the proverbial worm can
‘Sommat amiss in that bore if you ask me’ another driver piped up.
‘No one asked you Ahmed!’ Jon was doing his best, but it was too late.
‘Aye, keep an eye out for Towelly’
‘Towelly?’ I said; my interest piqued. I knew I couldn’t officially put the problem down to supernatural interference, fun as that would be. Though I wasn’t naturally prone to flights of fancy, I knew only too well the tricks the mind could play, and how in the dim light of the damp tunnels, the light and draughts could fool you; I had stories of my own to tell, but though I’d never suggest anything but a scientific explanation.
I cut my own engineering teeth on the London Underground, and for ten years I worked the night shift down there, walking the tracks with nothing but a flash light to work by. I could be down there for hours by myself, tinkering in some electrical cabinet or other to locate a fault and repair it.
There were breezes that danced across your skin, tickling your hairs, shadows stretched and shrank at the whim of the torchlight, as if elasticated, but the real scare for me wasn’t the loneliness or the dark; you were never really alone. The best word to describe this fear, in the dark, was scurry, there were rats everywhere.
I’m a rational guy, a logical guy, I can focus on the task in hand, but even I had a crazy story to tell. Down in the tunnels near Kings Cross, I had been assigned to a conduit in need of replacement. I was prepping the connectors ready for the new section when I heard a whisper; a distinctly female voice spoke my name. When you’re on your own, underground, in a deep dark, empty tunnel, and when all of your co-workers are men, you take note of something like that. I paused; my breath bated, and listened for any repeat.
The first time I heard it, it was projected, as if a hushed voiced
called softly down the tunnel from some small distance, and it echoed gently
against the cast iron lining.
My neck hairs stood on end, muscles tensed; I shone the torch about me. Despite the curvature of the tunnel, anyone that near to me should have been visible, lit up by the halogen rig; but all I saw was the tall shadow of a lone rat scurrying by cast against the tunnel wall.
I waited about a minute in absolute silence before I relaxed; normal breathing resumed, but as I exhaled that long held breath, there was a scrape behind me; a foot on the loose stones, and I froze again, and heard my own name whispered, this time in to my ear.
A cold rotten breath chilled my face, and an icy hand touched upon my
shoulder, it was more than enough to get me running, and I sped down the track
wailing like a banshee.
It feels ridiculous now, and I don’t for a minute believe that whatever it was down there that night was supernatural; everyone in the Night Gang was accounted for, so there was no room for a prankster, but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t a physical explanation.
No matter how ridiculous these guy’s stories may have sounded to me, I know how easy it can be to believe.
‘Aye’ Another driver said, ‘Towelly’
‘Did you not hear about it last week? Young lass were in the toilet when the lights went out, said she saw someone in the mirror, a man with a towel pulled over his head’…
‘A man with a towel on his head?’ I tried not to laugh.
‘Not the first time neither,’ the same man said.
‘Come off it lads’ Jon said again, ‘that’s enough. Do you want a reputation for the place?’
‘We’ll come off it Jon’ said one of the drivers, ‘If you can say you’ve seen nowt either’
Jon blushed, but said nothing.
We took one of the old 319 units for a quick spin through the tunnel, and even at full speed, it was two minutes before we would reach the mid point.
‘Half a minute’ the driver said, and my heart began to race at the thought of what might happen. I half hoped nothing would happen and I could put the fault back with the depot, but I also hoped this ghost would show make an appearance.
25, 24, 23, I counted down our approach; adjusted my balance and stared intently at the dark track ahead. 15, 14, 13, my scalp tightened. 3, 2, 1…
Right on schedule, the lights flickered
before they blacked out completely, and the motors cut out. The only sound was the train itself, rolling
smoothly along the steel rails. We
coasted like that for a few second only, and then the train powered up and we
continued as normal.
‘See?’ The driver said
‘That shouldn’t happen’ I said. ‘Aren’t the lights powered from the battery?’
‘Yup’
‘There’s something wrong here’ I said
‘That’s what we’ve been saying’
‘I can’t explain it’
‘We’ve been saying that as well’
The depot was right; the problem had to be in the tunnel itself, not
the trains. The trouble now was that I
would need to inspect the equipment up close, and that would mean turning off
the power, which meant the line would have to close, which meant I would have
to return in the middle of the night.
At short notice, I was granted an hour’s tunnel possession that night to carry out my initial inspection, and, on account of the power being off, given one of those old diesel rail buses, and a driver, called Harry. We entered the tunnel a few minutes before 1 am of the Sunday morning. I had no idea what I was looking for, so aside from a few of my basic tools and a high intensity flash light, I was travelling light. I’d hoped something obvious would present itself on the spot; everything else we’d tried had drawn a blank.
At our reduced speed it took about fifteen minutes to reach the affected area. And during that time, a cold wind seemed to blow through the draughty gaps in the battered old doors.
About halfway in, and without any warning, Harry brought the train to a screeching halt. I found myself thrown from my seat and against the driver’s console.
‘Sorry about that’ Harry said, ‘I thought I saw someone on the track’
Those hairs of mine stood on end again, and the driver and I exchanged
a worried look.
‘Gone now‘ he added
‘What did he look like?’ I said.
‘Couldn’t really see much‘ he said, ‘just an outline, a figure on the track…’
Harry and I peered out through the window on either side of the cab, and I shone my halogen light about the tunnel. There was no place in there for anyone to hide from its glare, but we saw no one, and we both returned to our seats.
‘We’re gonna have to report it’ I said, ‘potential trespasser, vandal maybe’
‘Down here though‘, Harry said, ‘at this time of night?’
‘I know, unlikely, but…’
‘Have they nothing better to do?’
‘Do you want to draw up to the affected spot‘ I said, turning our attention back to the immediate task. I pulled out my notes with the exact location ‘let’s get it over with‘
‘We are there‘ he said, ‘this is where the reports are coming from‘
‘This exact spot?’
‘To the exact chain’ he said. ‘What do you make of that?’
I didn’t want to procrastinate, there were better places to be at 1 am on Sunday morning. So, with a deep breath, I climbed down from the passenger compartment and on to the track. This was no different to any other tunnel, and I’d spent enough hours in them over the last thirty years to know.
Admittedly, I had no idea what I was looking for, but I shone my flashlight about the place, looking for anything that might have seemed out of place; everything looked fine. I walked down the length of the train, inspecting the contact wire as I went. No sign of damage, and nothing out of place. There was little more that I could do, and I turned back to face the train I arrived on.
At that moment I heard a cough from behind me, a deep dry asthmatic retching, as of someone clutching onto their last breath. But in the time it took to swing round and shine my light, it had stopped, and except for the driver and me, and the diesel train, with its reassuring engine ticking over, the tunnel was empty. Harry was stood by the train; I could see him clearly in the bright red glow of the tail lamp. If Harry had coughed, I could not have heard it over the engine. It must have been my imagination.
I had seen enough though, there was nothing out of the ordinary, and I walked back toward to train. The power problem would have to be referred back to the contractors that installed the kit. There was nothing more I could do.
On the way back to the train; I noticed a large recess in the tunnel wall that I hadn’t registered before, perhaps a meter deep by three meters long. This was no surprise, most tunnels had recesses and portals built in to the sides for operational and maintenance reasons, or sometimes for construction purposes. Usually, they allowed refuge for anyone down on the track while a train passed by, though they were usually smaller than this one, and the tunnel lining looked to have been fitted with sturdy iron brackets, suggesting a wooden structure had been installed here at some point, but removed long ago.
I double checked the recessed area, in case the mystery trespasser was hiding there, but against the sheer brick wall, there simply wasn’t anywhere that someone could hide. We were most certainly alone down here.
I met with driver by the door.
‘Are we done?‘ he said.
‘Definitely‘ I said, ‘let’s get out of here, its fruitless‘
We climbed the short ladder that took us aboard and closed the door behind us. It was normal procedure to remove the door release key from the access panel and lock it out of use. The doors would not open without the key in the turned position, and it would stay in my back pocket now until we got to the depot.
‘Too right’ Harry said, ‘please tell me that was you coughing‘
‘No‘ I said, ‘you heard it too?‘
‘Yeah, right in my ear‘
I felt my stomach and knees weaken a little. ‘What’s the top speed on this thing?’
‘Not enough‘ Harry replied, and we threw ourselves in to our seats.
Harry nudged the power lever forward, but just before we could move, there was a thud, as if someone banged their fist against the outside of the cab, and the driver eased off the throttle.
It was coming from his side, to the driver’s right, beneath the cab window.
There was another thud, and we both looked over to the back corner. The position had moved.
‘Is that?’ I said, ‘someone knocking outside?’
‘Sounds like it’ and the tapping continued. Harry slid open the glass window and peered out. A blast of cold air barged in, and the rapping stopped. ‘There’s no one out there’.
But as soon he sat back in his seat, the banging started again, and now seemed to move backwards toward to the flimsy bus style passenger doors, they shook violently. Something seemed to be trying to get aboard, and the four leaf folding door offered little protection from anything determined enough to get through.
‘What are you waiting for?‘ I said, somewhat urgently, ‘step on it!’
To my surprise, Harry stood up and walked to the door. ‘Can’t go anywhere with someone on the track!‘ he said with a gulp, and that flimsy door rattled again with increased urgency as he inched his way toward it.
The flight instinct clutched me by the chest, but the driver was right. We were professionals; there was someone on the track, and we couldn’t leave until the tunnel was clear, not if we wanted to keep our jobs.
The right thing to do was to keep a cool head and thoroughly check the outside, and I stood up to join him by the door. The shaking stopped once we were by the door, and there was no sign of any one on the outside.
Somewhat reluctantly now, I took the access key from my back pocket, unlocked the panel, and inserted the turn key and give power to doors. The open button lit up with a bright green glow, and the train stalled.
With a stutter and a sputter, the sound of the engine died to nothing, and the lights blinked out. With my torch still in the cab, we were, but for a small green square of light by the doors, in absolute pitch black darkness. There was a crunching scraping sound on the ballast outside, footsteps.
‘The doors are still powered…’ Harry said, his voice failing him, as he tailed off and fumbled his way back to the cab. The engine roared back in to life, the lights flickered back on, and the vibration of the engine reassured me. We were on our way, the engine screeched as it toiled to meet its maximum speed just as we burst out of the tunnel and in to the Lancashire nightscape. Orange argon street lamps had never looked so beautiful.
I had no idea how I would write this up, and we exchanged no words until
we were approaching Harold’s Heath, where I looked forward to passing this
problem on to someone else, but before we arrived I had to ask the driver what
he knew of the large recess in the tunnel.
‘Must have been where the old signal box was‘ he said I could sense an epiphany within him, ‘That must be it; dead centre of the tunnel, constant smoke and steam and soot, they had to wear a wet towel on their face just to breath, must have been hell down there…‘
‘There’s no such thing as Ghosts’ I said, ‘especially not ones called Towelly’.
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