The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 6, Issue 4 (September 1, 1931.)

Gipsies of the Railroad — Trailing The Enemy Rust. — New Tracks for Old

Gipsies of the Railroad
Trailing The Enemy Rust.
New Tracks for Old
.

“In the dead vast and middle of the night.”—Shakespeare.

“In the dead vast and middle of the night.”—Shakespeare.

The railways have their gipsy bands, who travel far by caravan. Up hill and down dale their long road leads, now this way and now that, pausing where the wind blows freely over wide, empty lands, where streams wind through the green, and where sheep climb over the horizon and are swallowed by the sky. Wherever the smoking gipsy huts are resting there is a constant ring of iron and steel, strange lights and strange noises. Behind them, when they are gone, is left a double row of shining lengths of metal, in replacement of a worn-out irail.

The gipsy bands of the New Zealand Railways are the relaying gangs whose duty is to maintain the permanent way, replacing over many miles of track any weak links that the lynx-eyed engineers or inspectors have discerned, keeping the pathways of the country's trains firm and true and strong. Now they are in one place, now in another, but moved always by necessity and not by the gipsy whim. They follow hard on the heels of rust, age and decay, and hound down those enemies to their hiding places. And since rust itself is a gipsy thing, it leads them a gipsy life that no Romany knew.

There are limits to roaming, however, and system has divided New Zealand into railway districts. The Wanganui district, for instance, comprises that territory between New Plymouth and Paraparaumu, taking in also branch lines. Outside of this area another district begins, and so on. The platelayers, or relaying gangs as they are also called, must of course stay where their job is until completed, and so they take their huts with them. These are the small, rail cabins that are to be seen on many railway sidings at different stations, and which remain the homes of the platelayers, except on those occasions when a week-end trip to their real homes can be made.

Any faulty portions of the permanent way are condemned by qualified officers, who make periodical surveys of the track. Wagon loads of new rails and sleepers are then dispatched to the scene where the work is to be performed, and these materials are distributed at convenient intervals alongside the track. In due course the platelayers, comprising any number of men up to about fourteen, arrive at the nearest siding, and there they group their caravans. The men, with their materials, then go on trolleys to the nearest pile of new rails and sleepers and prepare for the change-over.

Preliminary work involves the straightening or curving of any crooked rails, and the adzing of the sleepers to take the necessary fastenings. When everything is ready, the schedule of trains is consulted, and a calculation is made as to how much time remains between the passage of one train over the spot and the arrival of the next one. According to the time available, a “break” in the old line is decided on—say four lengths, each of which is 42 feet long.

Speeding Up.

What follows is similar to the effect on the motion-picture screen of speeding up the camera. The bolts attaching the rails to the sleepers are unscrewed, the rails torn up, and the sleepers after them. The new sleepers are laid, the new rails super-added, the sleepers bored, the rails spiked firmly to the correct gauge, and the track packed up. Next comes the ballast train, which distributes ballast over the rails and sleepers, and this is spread out smoothly by a plough van at the rear of the train. (In passing, it is to be noted that this ballast plough was designed over forty years ago by the late Mr. J. Smith, of Christchurch, an officer of the New Zealand Railways Department who was awarded a bonus of £50 per annum. The system has been copied by other countries.) When the ballast has been laid, the lifting gang make their appearance, and by placing jacks under the sleepers they pack them up from underneath. The ballast train then smooths off the metal again with a rake.

The driver of an approaching train is prepared for what awaits him round the next curve, since intimation of the relaying work in progress on the track has been broadcast from the central train control office for all engine-drivers passing that way. Accordingly the driver slows down. If the gang has been unable to complete the “break” in time, a disc signal confronts the driver at a distance of 800 yards from the scene of operations, from whichever end he comes. Not only that, but there are three detonators waiting on the line at intervals of ten yards each before reaching the disc signal, so that the progress of the train is bound to be accompanied by warning explosions. Other detonators are situated each 100 yards over the remaining 800 yards. If the work has been finished there is no disc signal and no detonators, and the driver proceeds over the new line guided by instructions and permanent speed board, negotiating the re-laid track. A new “break” is made, and repeated by the relaying gang until the condemned portion has been replaced.

This work of replacement, performed with judgment between trains so as not to dislocate schedules, has been reduced to a fine art, and while it is in progress every care is taken in the interests of the travelling public, in regard to safety measures, from the time that the first break is made to the time when the final bolt is screwed and the line declared again safe and sound. Now the relaying gang is in one place and now in a spot perhaps many miles distant, snatching their moments as the trains go by, like pirates hurriedly depositing their silvery bars in gulleys and cuttings and covert places, before the unerring trains ferret them out.

400 Miles in 50 Minutes.

The first cousins to the platelaying gangs are the surfacemen, who follow up their work and add the finishing touches. When a new line is laid it at once falls into the zealous care of the surfacemen, who tend it as they tend daily every inch of railway line in New Zealand. These are the far-flung men that the travelling public see but in a flash, standing by the rails as the trains pass. But a great deal depends on their work, which is an important cog in the extraordinarily complete organisation that is the railway system of this country.

The permanent way, throughout the Dominion, is divided into sections of from 5 1/2 to 8 miles, to each of which there is a ganger and three surfacemen. Their daily
A Familiar Scene Along The Iron Way. (Rly. Publicity photo.) Typical huts occupied by permanent way men on the New Zealand Railways.

A Familiar Scene Along The Iron Way.
(Rly. Publicity photo.)
Typical huts occupied by permanent way men on the New Zealand Railways.

duty is to keep the line in good running order. They lift slacks—which means to lift up the rails that may have dropped below level—see that the curves are true to gauge and have a uniform cant, repair fences to prevent stock from wandering on to the line, and tighten up all bolts.

Water, because of the disturbing effect it has on the level of the line, is the enemy of all surfacemen, particularly in places like the Manawatu Gorge, where considerable quantities of water come down from the hills. It is when a slip occurs in the Gorge that work there becomes arduous, and instead of just water and grass to be removed there are tons of debris instead.

Two members of a gang of four live at either end of a section, and each morning they come together from opposite directions on their jiggers to the point where their work the day before ceased. Each gang working in similar fashion, the remarkable result is that the whole of the permanent way between Auckland and Wellington—426 miles—–is inspected daily between 7 a.m. and fifty minutes afterwards. On top of that, the men in charge of the gangs make a special inspection of their sections every Saturday. In addition, there are trips made by the inspectors of the permanent way and engineers, so that nothing is left to chance.