The London Clarets
'Nothing to Write
Home About' - our magazine
|
The London Clarets |
Home |
Trainspotting with Wayne Russell I caught up with Wayne on a cold evening on Preston station. I found it a little difficult to keep his attention, as each passing locomotive saw him scrambling for his notebook. As I bent down to pick it up, I asked him how this frequently ridiculed hobby appealed to him. "What, playing for Burnley reserves?" "No, trainspotting." "Well I've always loved trains," he said, "and when I've got nothing better to do I like to come down here and pass the time. Burnley's been great for that, of course." So had his hobby suffered since he turned professional? "Luckily for me, I've had nothing better to do for most of the time at Burnley, what with the Gaffer picking Marlon so often. That's the way I like it. Remember when he got himself sent off again and I had to come in against Liverpool in the cup? I was gutted. I'd an overnighter on Carlisle station lined up for the Friday. I thought we were going to get Shilts. Great, I thought, I can still go, but it turned out he had other commitments, and York National Railway Museum doesn't do refunds. He tried, but he couldn't afford to lose the money. Thankfully, Marlon was back for the replay, so it was Lime St Station instead of pre-match training for me." I asked him who his early role models had been, whether, for example, he'd looked up to Shilton as a kid. He frowned, but unfortunately, as he answered, the noise of a passing class 37 hauling mixed freight obliterated the words of this garrulous Welshman from my tape. As the train recedes, and we become audible again, I have asked him about the image trainspotting enjoys. "Trainspotting's not so much a hobby, it's more a way of life. It gives you such highs, things you'll never forget, like when I saw my last Deltic, 55015, and that was it, I'd done the set. Football doesn't come close. What moments have I had at Burnley to compare with that? So when the lads are all going out again for yet another night of ten pints of lager top and fish and chips three times, I tell them, no thanks, it's rendezvous in the buffet at seven o' clock. Don't they know that Preston station's great on a Friday night?" But cold, I would imagine. I went to get the coffees in. When I returned, Wayne was leaping about in wild celebration. He'd just done a Sprinter. When he'd calmed down a little, I asked him through chattering teeth how he coped with the cold. "What, sitting around on the bench at Burnley?" "No, on Preston station." "Well, it's the ideal preparation. I spend every Saturday afternoon sat outdoors, so it's easy to do the same here. I mean, Preston station's always cold, but I stay snug in my favourite parka." I hadn't liked to mention his attire, clad as he was in dog-eared trainers, greasy trousers and a dark blue parka with a furry hood, and, I suspected, bright orange insides. This was decorated with badges - mostly metallic pictures of Deltics and a couple of Welsh dragons. Before the extreme cold and the tedium of watching identical trains fail to arrive on time forced the interview's end, I asked Wayne what he thought the future might hold. "My hopes for the future?" he repeated, gazing into the distance, "I still need eleven class 47's, of course, and then in the summer I hope to get around and see one or two preserved Deltics in action. They're really my first love, you see, Deltics." "And in football?" "Oh, football. Well, I'm looking forward to York away next season. I'd like to carry on. I'm happy here, got plenty of time for my trains, it suits me. It's a great life, really. Who knows what's coming along further down the tracks? I have my dreams, like a move to Derby or Crewe." I left Wayne as it grew darker, declining his suggestion that we wait around for the mail trains. "That's the thing about trains," he said, as I boarded mine home. "Unlike people, they don't get your hopes up and then let you down." FirmoApril-May 1995 |