This was perhaps my most memorable photographic experience. The time was early morning. The location was remote, quiet and peaceful with the rustle of leaves, the ripple of water in the stream, the creaking of girders warmed by the early morning sun and the occasional distant cowbell the only sounds to be heard. It was great
to be alone in that setting.
Then came the almost unrecognizable sound of a distant whistle, and minutes later, the roar and clatter of No. 236 on its way to Hempstead as the climactic act. Last came a feeling of sadness as the fading sound of a whistle meant that the drama had ended, and it was time for a long walk back to the car.
