D'ye Ken Dodworth?

Yorkshire Vikings v Nottinghamshire Outlaws

Dodworth Miners Welfare v Oughtibridge War Memorial

Sowerby Bridge v Great Horton Park Chapel

A weekend of sport and classic diesel traction.

Starting off with my usual Friday train to work.

Except it was off at Hebden.

Where it was onto a Sprinter bound for sunny Blackpool.

Except it was off at Preston.

For the first thrash of the weekend.  These are loco hauled services that Northern are operating around the Cumbrian Coast, in order to provide more capacity for Sellafield workers, and to free up units as they are going through overhaul.

This particular diagram runs from Preston to Barrow, where we were relieved to arrive only +6 down, as 403 does not have the best reputation for reliability.

It was over to the island platform where sister loco 37 424 was awaiting, though it had been renumbered to commemorate some sort of bomber plane.

These locos date from the 1960s and are most renown for operating the West Highland line services from Glasgow to Oban/FortWilliam/Mallaig in the 1980s.  On privatisation, they were bought by British Nuclear Fuels owned Direct Rail Services to operate trains of nuclear waste, though have been replaced by more modern traction on those.  We growled around to Carlisle without incident.

Across to the south bays at Carlisle, where the station roof is covered in scaffold, making it a New Street style hellhole.

We were on a unit move down the Settle and Carlisle line.  This is a famously scenic route that British Rail tried to close in the 1980s as it goes through the middle of no where but has loads of tunnels and viaducts so is hellishly expensive to maintain.  In the end, its location in a number of marginal constituencies meant it was reprieved by then transport Secretary Michael Portillo, before he got into pastel knitware and continuity ignorance.

The lines most notable structure is Ribblehead viaduct, which crosses them barren waste of Batty moor.

We stayed onto Leeds where it was up to Headingley, though not for these.

Yorkshire Vikings 227-5 v Nottinghamshire Outlaws 179-8, NatWest t20 Blast

Instead it was to the adjacent cricket ground, to see Yorkshire be inspired by not having Ballance as captain, and instead a Bresnan led side posted their highest ever T20 score of 227 with Lyth getting 82.  In response, Notts never got going once Hayles was out, and ended on 179, despite the best efforts of Azeem Rafiq to drop every ball that came near him.

The next morning and Northern Rail were on strike.  This meant first trains were not until after 1000, so it was a Rochdale bound Yorkshire Tiger bus.

To get to Rochdale from Sowerby, the main route is along the Calder Valley through Hebden and Todmorden.  However, this route goes up over the moors, giving some cracking views of reservoirs and power lines.  Lots of power lines.

It heads up through Ripponden, where, in my period of abstinence, it appears pubs have become 'social houses'.  What utter wank.

We were off at Rochdale, and onto a Bolton bound bendy bus, which was more alliterative than it was comfortable.

From which it was a swift move at the rustic charm of Bury Interchange, onto Ramsbottom.

At 'Rammy', it was down to the station.

But this isn't some Greater Manchester PTE offering, this is the East Lancashire steam railway. 

But fortunately, today was kettle free, as it was day 2 of their annual diesel gala.  I flagged the spoon in its weathered 1970s garb.

Instead it was a pristine whistler.

Down to Bury, where a grid was mooching about, but dropped onto a Heyward service.

So it was another day of tractor haulage, watched on by the social elite of the North West.

A quick hop onto a teddy bear pair.

Back at Bury and a shove duff was in place. 

England's Rose no less.

But the 56 reappeared and we jumped on it.  This is one of the early ones but in the 1970s, BREL didn't have the capacity to build them so the first 30 were oddly built by Electoputere at Craiova, Romania, who somehow made British build quality look good.

We took this all the way to the terminus at Rawtenstall.

However, on the way back I jumped out at Irwell Vale.

The reason for this was to have a look around the sad remains of this ground.

This was the Ewood Bridge ground that was developed in the 1990s by Haslingden, which is a few miles north west of here.

The turnstyle was obligingly open.

Haslingden rose up from the Manchester league to the North West counties, and moved to the ground as their previous facilities had precluded them from promotion.  The ground was owned and developed by a local builder, and was a delightful location, with a decent stand and cover at one end.  

Haslingden went bust in 1998.  After ad hoc use by other teams, in 2000 Manchester league side Stand Athletic from Whitefield in south Bury, as they had also just got promotion to the NWCL, but needed a ground to play on.

However, the rise up the leagues and the expense of the ground was too much for them, and they returned to their old ground and the Manchester league.

With no resident team, the site became a repeat target for vandals, who obviously had a penchant for hiking, bearing in mind the grounds remote location. 

It is however, located next to the East Lancs, and I wanted to get a 'before and after' @nonleague_train shot as I have pictures from previous visits of games and trains. 

I exited through the rather forlorn players entrance.

The clubhouse and changing rooms were a very luxurious offering for this level, but have been stripped of anything of value.  A sad ending.

I was back to the station where Lady Di was on her way back.

It was erring towards midday so it was back to Bury for one last spin. 

And what better way than behind a Vac.

It was meant to be an instant return, but there was some faff with the points, which appear to be part of the only track circuit on the preserved rail network.

So we got to watch the following rat.

Before our Warship finally appeared.

At Bury at was down to the interchange, but this time for the tram.  I'm not sure which is worse, the actual content of the poetry or the top row alignment.

There was Western Region kinship today as I was joined by the Paddington station manager, looking for some solace after not running a train for the last two evening peaks.  He was very excited as this was his first ever tram.

We headed to Piccadilly, where we got onto an absolutely wedged Scarborough bound service, where we squashed into the wheelchair area with a Scottish hen do going to Leeds and two scouse families going to Flamingo land at Malton.  

I have never been so pleased to see Huddersfield.  

From here, it was the direct line to Barnsley.  This goes via Penistone, with an obvious photo opportunity for the unaware.

Into Barnsley, or fuckingBarnsley as everyone in Yorkshire seems to call it.  This photo is like a collage of everything great about the town; the discarded mobility scooter, the pink velour track suit, the union jack and an Avon cosmetics gazeebo. 

We went to clear the four guide pubs in the town, but two were Whetherspoons, another one only had Tetley Cask, and the last one, which was actually the Old Mill tap, only had two sticks on.  Even though I wasn't drinking, I was still disappointed.  It was back to the station, where the strike service was turning round in the station so it was a rare bang line move.

We were on for a one station hop up to Dodworth.  This used to be the centre for salt in Yorkshire, as it was on the crossroads of the route from Cheshire, and roads to LEeds and Sheffield.  It then became a pit village, but the pit is now a Toby Carvery.  Thatcher's Britain.

The least professional sign in South Yorkshire pointed the way.

Towards a very tidy entrance. 

Memories of glories past.  The complex is the former miners welfare ground.

Strangely, it was difficult to actually get to the football pitch, as it was located down a narrow alley between a bowling green and a tennis court. 

Eventually, the rather unassuming entrance was found.

Dodworth Miners Welfare 2 v Oughtibridge War Memorial 0, Pre-season Friendly

Dodworth had a previous existance as the miners team and in the 50s, 60s, and 70s, in the mid point of each decade, they had a few seasons in the Yorkshire league, before returning to the Sheffield local leagues.  By 2003, they were in the Sheffield and Hallam County Senior League, but had ceased to exist five years later.  Step forward to 2016, where a successful youth set up had progressed to adult status, and in their first season back in the Sheffield and Hallam, won last years division 2 north.

Oughtibridge is located north west of Sheffield, and being in the Don Valley, it grew up with mill and brewing industry, before steel became the prominent works.  The football club started in the 1920s when the ground was donated by the quite excellent sounding Silica Firebrick Company.  It is a quirky little ground with a series of odd covers, and tends to flood every few years.  The team have played in the Sheffield County league since the early 1990s, with spells in the premier though currently in Division 1.

The pitch sits at one end of a large expanse of playing fields, which also includes the cricket club, meaning it is a somewhat two sided ground, though as most clubs in the league are zero sided, that is not an issue. 

There is a substantial covered standing terrace on a grass bank, giving the ground the feeling of a Scottish junior club set up.

The rest of the ground was open.

I wasn't sure whether access to the rest of the ground was permitted, but I had a wander anyway.

I prodded at a pile of grass cuttings, but they started smouldering, so I walked off whistling.  Nothing to see here.

The terrace behind the goal was even more overgrown than that at Ewood Bridge earlier in the day.



Despite it being July and boiling hot, it was encouraging to see that obligingly, not only was there a home @keepers_towels

But the away keeper also had one.

The linesman attire was somewhat less stringent.

  
When I go through my photos when I put these reports together, I sometimes struggle to find many with good action shots.  This time, I have struggled to find any with the ball on the pitch.  Here's one with a ball near the pitch.

Here, I can't work out where the ball is, so let's pretend it is on the pitch.  

Goal!  Though it wasn't.  It went wide.

Only just off the pitch.

Although the ball is on the pitch, this is only as a result of it rebounding off the perimeter fence.

My traipse through the undergrowth unearthed three training balls which the home bench gladly accepted.  Who knew Mitre Deltas are grown in the ground, and don't come from trees.  Here I return another of my quarry.

For a pre-season friendly between Sheffield league sides, there was a fair crowd.

Al fresco boozing seemed to be the favoured vantage point.

I headed for the shade of the cover.

Hanging out with the cool kidz.

And the not so cool.  We'd been joined by Mike, who has moved up from Bristol and at 52, has now decided to become middle class and live in Ilkley.

I think this was a goal.  I've kind of made a commitment to start noticing things like goals being scored, but let's face it, are you really interested in what the score is?

Half time and another addition to the non-league I-spy book category of 'clubhouses tied to long defunct breweries'.

Second half and what do you know, a picture of the ball in play.  Granted it is just about to leave the earth's atmosphere, but still in play.

And so the game ended, 2-0 to Dodworth.

With the strikes meaning train services were finishing early, it was a mad dash back to the station to get the last train.

Fortunately it was a couple of minutes late so we just made it.

This took us back to fuckingBarnsley.

Where it was onto the last Leeds service of the day.

Where there was time for a quick drink at the Hop before heading onto the last Hebden service of the day.

And back into Sowerby for very early evening.

This meant there was still time for some more sporting activity.

Sowerby Bridge 244-4 v Great Horton Park Chapel 148-9

Sowerby Bridge were playing Great Horton Park Chapel and the hosts had put on 244, with the visitors 128-9 with eight overs left when we arrived.

With the batting side looking unlikely to get the required fifteen runs an over, and no fielding restrictions, we were witness to the fairly unusual spectacle of fifty balls with four slips, two silly mid-ons, a short leg, silly point, and a leg gully.  However, the most attacking field in the history of cricket wasn't taken advantage of as the bowlers resolutely bowled two foot outside off stump, so the game ended in a winning draw.

And so ended two days, three games, two sports, and 11 different locos.  I'm still deciding which was best.  Probably the 'penis' photo.