Neil
Western Thunderer
Early on any Saturday morning, outside a school sports hall or leisure centre somewhere in this country a ritual is enacted. It may not be exactly the same as the one a weekend ago in a different town, but the basic elements will all be there. From a flock of estate cars, hatchbacks, hired vans and people carriers, geometric but not necessarily even or identical pieces of wood are carried into the hall by men (for it is predominantly men) who in the main have the summers of their youth well in the past. It’s a scene reminiscent of leaf cutter ants carrying large flat shaped pieces of leaves to the nest, returning empty before picking up another bit and heading inside again.
There have been times when I’ve witnessed the parade of baseboard sections into the exhibition hall, unburdened by any need to take part. I find it fascinating to try and mentally assemble the bits in my mind before they take shape on the floor. Best of all are those sections where the buildings are separate and all one sees is the board, ballasted track and the rudiments of the landform. Each and every piece is laden with so much potential to be amazing, that in comparison the assembled whole can be a bit of a let down.
A mid day trip to town, and the stationers shelves are full of gaudily titled model railway magazines, but has the one we wait for arrived yet? As our awaited magazine has a cover full of classic British restraint it takes a little longer to pick it out from the multicoloured cacophony of the other titles. Unlike the clockwork regularity of the others, the arrival may coincide with the published date, but then again it may not. If we’re of the over organised mindset that has led to the stereotyping of our hobby this is seen as a bad thing, but if we can get past this mental hurdle and enjoy the heightened anticipation it all adds to the experience. The sometime mismatch of promise and appearance is, we believe, something to do with its handcrafted composition and can only add to the notion that it’s carefully tailored to our tastes.
MRJ amongst all the magazines is the one that features layouts part way through construction almost as often as those that are complete. In fact it may even feature more. I might have slightly strange tastes in model railways but I often find the part started far more satisfying to see and read about than the fully finished. Well put together track, perhaps ballasted (perhaps not), a few key structures and some sharply observed stock and the mind is free to fill in the blanks in the manner in which one hopes it will be executed with that shade of weathered paint on the warehouse doors and windows that takes you back to one of the golden memories of youth, or the way in which a siding peters out suggesting a quieter less intensively used railway where every asset wasn’t sweated.
Late that evening as darkness covers a city as architecturally magnificent as the sports hall is dull, a man in a shed thinks about getting to grips with turning wheels on the lathe he’s had for some time, but turns to his mug of tea instead while he dreams about the day when the parallel ribbons of rail will encircle his garden.
Just why is it that I find these half started projects so much more inspiring than the finished thing? I’m sure that it’s to do with the possibilities that they hold. It’s said that the best thing about youth is that the entire world is open to you. Having just reached adulthood you have the ability to choose which path you want to take (they all stretch out ahead of you) and these choices are unconstrained by responsibilities. Layouts too reach this stage of early adulthood, where all the basic structure is in place but where many of the choices are yet to be finalised. I tend to work this way, those that have followed Morfa’s progress both here and ‘the other place’ will know that there have been several upheavals, as I work slowly towards filling in the blank spaces. I know that others have (or would have us believe) that the first piece of wood isn’t cut until every last aspect of the design is fully resolved, but like religion, wasps, green vegetables or football I can’t see the point in that. Last week in Hay I spotted one of those cheesy tin signs with a self help slogan on it. The sign read ‘happiness is a journey not a destination’; I quite like that.
There have been times when I’ve witnessed the parade of baseboard sections into the exhibition hall, unburdened by any need to take part. I find it fascinating to try and mentally assemble the bits in my mind before they take shape on the floor. Best of all are those sections where the buildings are separate and all one sees is the board, ballasted track and the rudiments of the landform. Each and every piece is laden with so much potential to be amazing, that in comparison the assembled whole can be a bit of a let down.
A mid day trip to town, and the stationers shelves are full of gaudily titled model railway magazines, but has the one we wait for arrived yet? As our awaited magazine has a cover full of classic British restraint it takes a little longer to pick it out from the multicoloured cacophony of the other titles. Unlike the clockwork regularity of the others, the arrival may coincide with the published date, but then again it may not. If we’re of the over organised mindset that has led to the stereotyping of our hobby this is seen as a bad thing, but if we can get past this mental hurdle and enjoy the heightened anticipation it all adds to the experience. The sometime mismatch of promise and appearance is, we believe, something to do with its handcrafted composition and can only add to the notion that it’s carefully tailored to our tastes.
MRJ amongst all the magazines is the one that features layouts part way through construction almost as often as those that are complete. In fact it may even feature more. I might have slightly strange tastes in model railways but I often find the part started far more satisfying to see and read about than the fully finished. Well put together track, perhaps ballasted (perhaps not), a few key structures and some sharply observed stock and the mind is free to fill in the blanks in the manner in which one hopes it will be executed with that shade of weathered paint on the warehouse doors and windows that takes you back to one of the golden memories of youth, or the way in which a siding peters out suggesting a quieter less intensively used railway where every asset wasn’t sweated.
Late that evening as darkness covers a city as architecturally magnificent as the sports hall is dull, a man in a shed thinks about getting to grips with turning wheels on the lathe he’s had for some time, but turns to his mug of tea instead while he dreams about the day when the parallel ribbons of rail will encircle his garden.
Just why is it that I find these half started projects so much more inspiring than the finished thing? I’m sure that it’s to do with the possibilities that they hold. It’s said that the best thing about youth is that the entire world is open to you. Having just reached adulthood you have the ability to choose which path you want to take (they all stretch out ahead of you) and these choices are unconstrained by responsibilities. Layouts too reach this stage of early adulthood, where all the basic structure is in place but where many of the choices are yet to be finalised. I tend to work this way, those that have followed Morfa’s progress both here and ‘the other place’ will know that there have been several upheavals, as I work slowly towards filling in the blank spaces. I know that others have (or would have us believe) that the first piece of wood isn’t cut until every last aspect of the design is fully resolved, but like religion, wasps, green vegetables or football I can’t see the point in that. Last week in Hay I spotted one of those cheesy tin signs with a self help slogan on it. The sign read ‘happiness is a journey not a destination’; I quite like that.
