All shifts are planned up to 2 months in advance. From left to right: Additional hours are always available. What happened an hour ago like? You will be working as part of a team to help support him on a 2:
Although urbanisation can potentially create challenges in terms of the demand it places on basic services, it creates various opportunities —it can reshape the lives of people and communities residing in these cities through economic transformation. CoJ sees urbanisation as a corner stone of economic growth and development. South African citizens will see a tangible symbol of this economic transformation rise in the heart of Johannesburg. The project will be managed and implemented by the Joburg Property Company, a dynamic entity mandated to develop Johannesburg's property assets to ensure the maximisation of both social and commercial opportunities for the Council.
Growing Towards a Brighter Future The current chamber was erected in the s. Not only does it therefore represent an era that has been overcome by a democratic transition, but the out-dated technology and lack of space has become a hindrance to the Council.
Since this building was erected, the number of Councillors has more than doubled to be representative of a truly democratic South Africa. By following an approved Office Space Optimisation strategy OSO for the new chamber, the Mayoral Committee believes that it will be able to uplift the residents and communities of this world-class African city in the following ways:.
The new chamber will therefore encapsulate much more than a political premises — it will be a venue that welcomes all to experience the hub of this progressive city. Local artists will be commissioned to create hand-crafted artworks that truly represent this inspiring African city — a city rich in cultureand wealthy in ambition. The Jabulani CBD was originally earmarked as the CBD of Soweto in the original planning of township but due to the restrictive policies of the time, remained only vacant land until JPC has contributed to the revitalisation of Soweto in a number of nodes across the former township including Orlando eKhaya, Kliptown and Dobsonville.
The Jabulani CBD is however a key node. The area boast excellent transport linkages, with a Metro Rail train station and a proposed BRT route. The development will include:. Inditex - 12 days ago - save job - more Join us and you'll become part of a crew, or a team, that works together to provide the best quick service, family restaurant experience — by far. Job Spotter - 27 days ago - save job - more Get new jobs for this search by email.
The A4 was one of Doncaster Plant's finest products. The third member of the class, No Silver King, rolled off the assembly line in November A Gateshead engine from new, No was transferred to Aberdeen Ferryhill in The building on the right is the BRSA Tappers Club, where many a pint was consigned to the River Tyne after being filtered through one's kidneys of course.
The high building behind the locos was the Diesel School. Just around the bend is the High Level Bridge, and the platform ends of Gateshead West can just be seen. A little way down the bank is the Station Bar - motto: Both sites are highly recommended.
The one good thing about moving to Cambois was that I kept my old mate, and we could sing and yodel as much as we wanted, so long as the windows were shut. With steam on its way out, the senior firemen were required to attend the Motive Power School at Gosforth Car sheds to learn about Otto Diesel's invention, including Electricity and Magnetism and how electric motors worked - or sometimes didn't, as the case might be. But it suited me fine - I had been interested in electronics and Radio since I was about ten years old.
Billy Welch would ask a question and if the answer was incorrect he would take us out to the loco and challenge us, one by one, to explain what he wanted to know. And so, for better or worse, after passing the exam I eventually became a Relief Driver.
This was all done in my own time, albeit with the welcome help of the Mutual Improvement Classes - or should that be Glasses? From left to right: Anyway, after returning from holiday, I took a stroll to the shed and found the devastation unbelievable; it looked as if the SAS had used the place for a practice session - the office had been gutted by fire and there wasn't a single pane off glass left unbroken.
An air of total desolation hung over the place, and so I turned around and headed for the BRSA Club intending to have a couple of pints, but felt so emotional I couldn't bring myself to go in. But then, I decided that life must go on, and finally caving into temptation I went and got ratassed!
Above-Right Class 37s await their next turn of duty at the back of Cambois Shed. Photo taken on 11th August Wouldn't you know it! After a fortnight's holiday in Devon, this routine was a whole new experience. Instead of a quick dash across the road to North Blyth, it was now a mile and a quarter walk to sign in for work.
You're not supposed to be in here. So, out in the rain I went again and headed for the main block, pushed open the swing doors and stepped inside. Compared to North Blyth this was a five star hotel - well lit and warm, with two large notice cases containing all the dockets.
Beyond that was a pair of sliding glass office windows, and I could make out the figure of a man in a 'recumbent posture' in the corner, so I guessed that this was the running foreman's office. However, not wishing to disturb him, I decided to do a little exploring around the rest of the building, found the locker room with rows of steel cubicles and the mess room with enough seating to accommodate the Royal Artillery.
The kitchen was well equipped with two four-ring cookers, ovens and grills, three massive boilers quietly simmering away, and an assortment of pots and pans. This was luxury on a scale I'd never seen before, and it struck me that if the wife really did boot me out, I'd be able to hold out here indefinitely.
All I had to do was find the bathroom - but alas, there was no bathroom, though I did find the toilet, so I could always settle for that. I suddenly felt like the invisible man, and decided to wake up the foreman, who sat bolt upright, coughing and spluttering. Then stretching himself, he lit a fag, slid open the window and enquired - 'What can I do for you, bonny lad? But wait a minute…you're on holiday, you daft bugger! Fancy coming in to work on your holidays.
Don't know what the wife will say. I'll get away then,' I added half heartedly. Then as I passed the bike shed, my mate came through the gates in his car and shouted - 'Fred didja have a good holiday? As it turned out, when I returned to work two weeks later, no one in the corridors of power ever mentioned my extra holiday, and so I came to the conclusion that there was either a cover up, or else they were too dopey to know. Either way I enjoyed the extra fortnight off and hoped it would become a regular occurrence.
It was a proper 'drive it yourself' machine; one that a driver had some control of. I'm going to cry in a minute! It worked the Click on photo to visit John Grey Turner's Flickr photostream. In fact, the duty clerk gave me two wage packets with a flat weeks wages in each one, and I must admit to feeling guilty for a full twenty minutes afterwards, but I soon resolved to live with it.
After all, it wasn't my fault, I kept telling myself. Anyway, having turned up for my shift, I ascertained which locomotive my mate and I had been entrusted with from the running foreman, and went over to No 2 road where it was stabled. The foreman then had to decide where the loco was to be stabled - either in one or two road, and whether it should be left running or shut down.
He then rang the mess room to inform the relief men of his plan of action, and they would carry out his instructions to the letter, before returning to the mess room for another well-earned rest and a hot brew. What a way to earn a living! My mate eventually turned in, and found me ferreting about the loco, trying to make sense of what I was looking at. After a bit of banter about extended holidays and getting fat and idle, he began to show me around, but to my dismay started talking in a new language called 'Abbreviations'.
Suddenly, Signal Boxes became I. The chimneys just visible in the distance right are the Alcan Smelter flues and the Alcan Power Station at Lynemouth where they produce all their own power. A lucrative sideline at the Power Station is a Fishing Bait Farm, which is fed by the cooling seawater from the Heat Exchangers to produce rag worms for sea anglers at an astounding rate - a truly innovative venture.
Photo courtesy John Turner. Click here to visit John's Flickr collection of railway photographs. Above runs around the train to propel it into the loader.
Just down the bank behind the loader is another refuge from reality - the 'Seven Stars' public house - a favourite watering hole for the locals. Those were the days! This is West Blyth Empty Line departures. Above Permanent Way work at Thornaby in the s. At break time, a platelayer told the engine crew that he was going to the shop at Bedlington and did they want anything bringing back.
The driver asked if he'd get him twenty Woodbines. The 'platy' disappeared into the distance, returning forty minutes later, climbed up to the cab and gave the driver a warm paper bag containing two hot pasties - 'There you go mate.
To which he replied that it only rained twice, once for four days and then for three After a few weeks reading the 'Diesel Locomotivemans' Handbook' and working on the English Electric Type Three, I began to appreciate the design of this machine with its brilliant twelve-barrel, V-formation engine, fork and blade big ends it always sounded rude to me somehow along with the huge Dynamo hung on the crankshaft end.
The handbook called it a generator but I always understood that a machine producing direct current energy was a Dynamo, and so it remained as far as I was concerned. The thing I could never understand was how the loco was able to go faster and faster. The answer was quite simple and absolutely brilliant. These resistors were known as Field Diverts, and actually did the same sort of job as reducing the valve cut-off on a steam loco. The main difference being that it was done automatically, by an ingenious little circuit that monitored the voltage developed by the speedometer and compared that with a preset voltage, and when both voltages matched, another circuit was activated to switch the field diverts.
This occurred three times on the Type 3, enabling the loco to reach ninety miles per hour. And so my learning curve, instead of abating, looked like it would continue for a good while longer.
Learning to drive these grand machines was an absolute pleasure, but it got very boring when riding as secondman, and on the early turns and the night turns it was a constant battle to stay awake. It never seemed to matter how much sleep you got through the day, at night all my systems wanted to do was close down and sleep, but as soon as the sun came over the eastern hill, I'd be wide aw ake, and raring to go.
Above Another infamous 'lunatic driver' mishap, this one at Morpeth ground frame. The trap points can be seen to the rear of the loco, which, considering how far away from the loco they are, gives some idea of the speed he was travelling when the trap derailed him. The loco is just hanging on by the tyre rims, or else he would have rolled completely over into the field and spilled his tea.
That would have taught him not to fly around the place like a fighter pilot. Thanks to Ernies site for the photo. There's some great shots of 37s at Cambois. There were snowdrifts in every direction and I was tempted to dive back under the bedcovers again, but I had to sign on for work at I set off for Cambios Depot along the beach, since most of the snow had been cleared by an ebb tide, and so I made it to the Depot in good time.
Following the heavy overnight snow, most rail traffic in the Northeast had ground to a halt - the mainline was stopped as far south as Darlington and nothing moving as far as Edinburgh. I thought I'd cheer them up by telling them that all air-sea rescue helicopters had been put on standby - 'They're planning to rescue us at first light,' I said in jest, 'But because the forecast is so bad there's little hope of the choppers getting off the ground - even the seagulls are walking! An hour later, the locos were throbbing away and I returned to the office where the Area Manager's assistant was giving a grandstanding speech on how he was going to keep our stretch of the railway open to traffic.
It was imperative, he said, and as the sole person in charge, he proposed to run the snowplough between Berwick and Benton. We will use one of them. John was not best pleased and insisted on taking two locos in multiple, just in case. I'll take six if I have to! We saddled up, checked the locos, tested the brake, powered up at both ends, full tanks, and waited for the 'Tallyho! He returned ten minutes later and shouted - 'Howay Waggy lad, back to the block.
Both John and I thought the manager's optimism was very commendable, but we weren't sure how he was going to persuade any sane-minded platelayer to work in these conditions? And so with the three plucky platelayers in the back cab and the manager joining us at the front, we set off at He was truly scuppered, he said, but he didn't want anyone to worry about him because he had three crates of Brown Ale and the freezer was choc-a-bloc with grub, which probably made a lot of sense…to him, selfish ba-rd!
Anyway, after getting into the platform, the manager jumped down into the snow, wearing just his normal everyday suit and highly polished shoes, and made a start on supervising all the point clearing. Then after the task was completed he climbed back into the cab - 'Right chaps,' he announced in a triumphant fashion, 'We are right away for Berwick. Sure enough, the shocked manager jumped out of his skin!
As we set off, I had a chat with the platelayers in the rear cab, then returned to the front, where a raging argument was going on between John and the manager; as soon as I entered the cab, the atmosphere in there was as ice cold as the snow outside the window, which, by now was piling up on the nose end.
The manager hadn't a clue of our whereabouts - 'There is two foot of snow obscuring my view,' he said prissily, and ordered John to slow down. John steadfastly refused, arguing that if he did slow down - and we hit a drift - then we might not get out, which was fair enough. I knew for a fact that when the Rothbury goods was steam-hauled, John had been marooned up the Wannie line for more than twelve hours, so I could understand his point of view.
But the manager kept going on and on about how he didn't know where he was, until John's patience finally snapped - 'Look, it doesn't friggin' matter if you know where we are or not! I'm the driver, and its me that's to know where we are The stunned manager gaped in disbelief. I don't suppose anyone had ever spoken to him like that before, but it certainly did the trick; he pouted his lips in a sulky silence and slumped in the chair. John began cussing, then opened the controller till we were at maximum revs, but our speed was still falling rapidly.
I was about to ask him what the problem was, when we plunged into a mountainous snowdrift and within a few yards we'd lost all daylight in the cab, snow began sweeping above the doors and windows; the loco was straining to keep going - 'Flamin Nora,' I said to John - 'It'll be over the roof at this rate, ja think we can get throo?
But even at a crawl, we still managed to punch a big hole through the drift. Then magically, the bell rang on the AWS, which signalled a clear road and we burst out of the drift into daylight and began accelerating like the clappers towards Belford Cabin, where the snow was a little over two feet deep. He said he wished he'd had his camera, I told him I'd have settled for a mug of Bovril! Left This is the proper tool for the job, the only drawback being that it deposits half the cleared snow on the facing road - all part of the fun and frolics of ploughing!
There is a tale of a young station porter clearing a yd-long platform of snow, and at the very last shovelful the plough came along and buried him and the platform…not a very happy lad! Looking like something out of a sci-fi film, a snowplough team tackles the deep snow on the Rothbur branch in After Belford, the drifting snow had blown off the track into the fields and so we made better time to Berwick and crept into the platform at The manager promptly jumped down and began dishing out orders to the platelayers, telling them which points to clean out as if they needed telling while I went in search of the Station Master fo r some fish 'n' chip money.
I handed out the plateys' grub in the rear cab and then jumped in the front, gave John his rations and placed the manager's on the secondman's seat. Seconds later, a jubilant manager leaped into the cab, doing a fair impression of a swashbuckling Errol Flynn and plonked himself into the secondman's seat - 'Oooh, haddock and chips,' he shrilled, 'What a lovely smell! I set off across the the Border Bridge very slowly as I didn't want to dump a pile of frozen snow on anybody walking their dog below.
The ploughs were scraping it up with a clattering sound and shoving it inside the parapet of the bridge, but as soon as we cleared the opposite bank I o pened him up a bit and the snow was flying away from the ploughs in fine style. Soon we were approaching the crossing keeper's house at Spittle, which stood right next to the line, so I slowed to a pedestrian pace to avoid breaking any windows, and then we were away again.
It was a lovely clear night, without a cloud in the sky and in all directions the countryside looked like a Christmas card beneath the glow of the big moon.
The cab heaters were quite good at this end, and the interior was nice and warm, its cosy ambience having already lulled the manager into the land of nod in the secondman's seat. However, the icy conditions outside looked dire, but the screen remained clear, and I could see a long way ahead, with the greens shining like emeralds in the silvery surroundings. In John's view, the only way to get through was to ram it as we did before - 'When you get on the straight past Crag Mill, just get him up to around fifty.
We've already made a hole in that pile, so we should get through okay. Then, as we passed the box at Belford I notched the throttle up to fifty.
Ahead, the snowdrift looked suspiciously larger than I remembered it, or it could have been my eyes playing tricks in the moonlight. We were charging straight into it at 50mph and, just as we were about to hit, I pulled the controller wide open and plunged headlong into the snowdrift at 50mph. The manager clung to the driver's desk, shouting - 'Slow down, you fool!
That, for me, had to be the worst part of the whole day, yet there was a wonderful sense of triumph at getting the job done.
On arrival at Morpeth, though, another big argument ensued - the manager wanted us to go down to Benton Quarry, whereas John and I were determined to call it a day. We won the argument, went back to the depot, and signed off at nine thirty pm…some thirteen hours after starting the shift. Above-Below During the final year of BR steam operation in , no less than Stanier 'Black 5s' and Class 8Fs survived in traffic, albeit in a deplorable state.
The loco is attached to a diesel brake tender to provide additional brake power for non-fitted and partially fitted goods trains, as described below This isn't as bad as it sounds unless the driver happened to be of a nervous disposition. In the days of the steam loco it would have been big valve and full gear, a bent back, and the best part of a ton of coal into his belly, but this was Child's play by comparison. With the Type Three's deep roar echoing around the countryside, it was just effortless on the second man's part and I began to feel totally redundant, carrying out only the most mundane of tasks like switching on the cooker to make a cup of tea He had a very keen sense of humour, but you very rarely heard him laugh, just a big broad grin that said it all.
Anyway, we were enjoying our brew when the fire bell started to clamour away, and though instinct told us that it wasn't a fire, we both knew I had to go in the engine room to check it out - which I did, and found nothing.
As we approached the run down Christon Bank, Cappy eased the controller, and the fire bell decided to stop ringing. I dropped to the floor, struggling to crawl out backwards on all fours, and then slammed the engine room door shut behind me. It's got a good hold! The last signal was two yellows, so we'll see how we go. If we do get inside, then all well and good. However, as Lady Luck would have it the signalman at Belford did have us routed for the loop and now it depended on how long the brake would hold off - without power the vacuum exhausters had stopped.
Slowly, as our speed dropped further, Cappy said quietly - 'I don't think we're going to clear the main Wag, the vacuum's going. I jumped off, ran back to see if we were foul of the main.
We had cleared it by a whisker, but as we were still on the track circuit the signalman couldn't clear his signals. Returning to the loco I found Cappy sitting nonchalantly on the fence. While waiting for the Fire Brigade, I wanted to get back into the cab and get my fag and sandwiches. Above-Below The towering chimneys of Blyth Power Stations dominate this view of and sister 37 reposing at Cambios Depot in the s. Anyway, it was the month of March, which was the crab season, and I was standing in for 'Grizzly' in the boat, hauling upwards of four hundred crab-pots in a morning's work.
After putting in a hard shift on the boat, I had my dinner and set off for the Depot humping two bags of crabs for my mate. I went marching up to him in the mess room and placed both bags at his feet - 'There you are mate,' I announced, 'two stone of crabs alive-alive-oh!
The day was partly rescued by one of the fitters, who'd heard us arguing the toss. Big George was his name, and he offered to take eight crabs, so long as they were cooked and ready for c leaning…trouble was, where could we cook the damn things? George came up with the solution We immediately set about emptying the boiling water out of an urn down the drain. The plan was to put the crabs in cold water and bring them gradually up to the boil.
This way, the crabs would go unconscious as the water temperature increased and not shed their claws, which often happened when dropped into boiling water. And so while the ten crabs were placed inside the boiler, Big George went to get ready for home, my mate went up the receptions to put an engine away and I went over the beach to release the remaining crabs back into the sea. If he finds out we'll all get the bloody sack! And its all your fault. I wish I'd never asked for any now.
I know this tale is hard to believe and belongs in a 'Carry On' film, but it is true. This fail-safe system is activated in the event of a train becoming divided en route. When this happens the brake will automatically be applied, and at the same time power will be suspended on the loco due to the action of an air pressure control switch. Of course, the main advantage of this system is that when the driver initiates a brake application on the locomotive, every individual wagon brake is applied too, making for a very efficient system indeed - well, most of the time.
I say that because during my time at Gateshead I recall two occasions when it didn't work! I'm trying to remember who was there while it's in my mind. I also met Jimmy Mitchison in the Metro Centre; he was asking after you. I told them all about your web site so some of them might follow it up.
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