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The Purbeck Mineral & Mining Museum

MEMORIES                                                                                      Memories of Quintus and Creech

 

My favourite narrow-gauge railway is  the 2 ft. 8t in. gauge Furzebrook line situated in the Purbeck Hills, in Dorset . One of the reasons why I have always been so fond of this line is because of the delightful manner in which I first  discovered it. I was driving from Lulworth to Corfe Castle and, on reaching the top of Povington Hill, I had stopped to admire the magnificent view. It was  perfect summer's morning, with just enough breeze to cause a faint murmur in the pines. The deep blue sea sparkled and shimmered in the sunlight, while inland, the countryside stretched away for mile after mile until it gradually faded in the haze of the growing heat of the day

Suddenly, my attention was caught by a thin plume of steam rising from the valley not a mile away. Hurriedly I focused my field glasses on it. The steam was coming from a small saddle-tank which, even as I looked, started to move, and was soon lost to sight behind some trees. I pulled out my Ordnance Survey map and had a quick look; there, sure enough, was .marked the track of a tramway .. (Ordnance Survey maps are excellent, but I do wish they marked industrial narrow-gauge railways as{such, and not as tramways which are more often than not standard gauge.)..The map showed that the road I was on crossed the line near Grange Gate, so without more ado I set off. To attempt to drive at any speed would have been dangerous, for the road was very narrow, and after a short distance it started to descend very steeply down the thickly- wooded hillside. It was just as well that we were proceeding cautiously, for rounding a bend we came face to face with a set of peacocks, presumably out for a morning Constitutional from Creech Grange. Half a mile further on, the road skirted an oak wood, but according to the map the railway ran right through it. A rough track led off the road through the wood and, as we approached this spot, we slowed to a walking pace, and then promptly came to a stop-for there, standing in a clearing, and simmering gently, stood the small engine that I had first seen from the hilltop

What a picture it made resting so serenely in such beautiful surroundings. The saddle-tank was dappled by shafts of sunlight that

  pierced the thick foliage of the trees; brass and copper work gleamed and twinkled. From the tall chimney a thin grey smoke curled

gently upwards through the trees. The engine was Quintus, built in 1914 by Manning Wardle & Company. I had a most interesting 

and enjoyable talk with its driver, who obviously took much pride in his charge, for although the paintwork was getting a little worn,

Quintus had been cleaned until it shone. In fact, I never saw Quintus, or any other locomotive working on this line, except in a clean 

state. After this first meeting, it was not long before I got to know the line really well, and from then on hardly a year passed withou

my paying it a visit. Then, last summer, the news came that the Furzebrook line was to be closed, and its services replaced by lorries.

 

  My heart was heavy as I telephoned the owners to ask permission to pay a final visit and, as usual, my request was readily granted. 

My idea was to photograph Quintus in colour in the woods, and I drove straight to Creech Heath where I was surprised to find

Tertius being driven by Mr. Gover, who usually drove Quintus. Tertius is a sprightly 0-6-0 saddle-tank, built in 1880 by Manning 

Wardle & Company, but of rather ungainly appearance since it was rebuilt, particularly when compared with Quintus. "Where is 

Quintus?" I asked Mr. Gover. He looked at me as if surprised that I should have asked such a question, and with sinking heart

 I noticed his downcast expression. "She broke her back axle a little while ago." He spoke with a quiet voice, and then, pointing 

down the hill, continued "She is lying down there to the right-I don't think she is to be repaired." I walked straight down to where 

Quintus lay in a short siding with its back end propped up. After weeks in the open, the paintwork had become dull and shabby 

and the steelwork, once so bright, was now covered in rust. For a moment or so I gazed at Quintus, and then turned, and went 

back to the car to drive home. Why had I gone to look? I wish so much that I had not done so, for now I can never recall the picture 

of Quintus resting quietly in the woods without it being clouded by the remembrance of seeing it lying derelict and broken.

 


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