RIP Keith S**** H.T.A.T.P.A.S.

It saddens me to report the death of a long standing friend and contributor to this most sage society. If you’ve been following this site since the dawn of time, you will likely recognise the name Keith S****. Or to give him his fuller title: Keith S**** Honorary Technical Adviser. It was for reasons of state secrecy, he said, that he didn’t want his name published – but I think I can reveal now that his name was Keith Salad and he lived in Rochdale.

Keith spent a long career with the GPO, later sourcing trees from around the northern hemisphere for use as telegraph poles. There wasnโ€™t the tiniest mote of poleโ€‘worthy tree lore- nor so much as a whisper about telegraph poles – for which he wasnโ€™t already the keyโ€‘holder. Keith got in touch in our early days and his knowledge was such that I felt a little like someone in the presence of telegraph pole greatness.

Keith understood entirely that our society, whilst outwardly quietly serious, had more than an element of tongue-in-cheek about it. He was long retired and told me that he had one big quest left and that was to find a telegraph pole butt with his initials etched in from “back in the day”.

Keith was known for his charity work, also as a woodcarver and as a writer of poetry. It is our great honour and somehow fitting that his poem “God’s Poor Orphans” were the very last words in our book “Telegraph Pole Appreciation for Beginners”

If you follow this <link> it will take you to a search on our site with all references to Keith S**** H.T.A.T.P.A.S. Where you may also see a picture of a much younger Keith inspecting poles. R.I.P. Keith

More from the Cuckoo Line

Albert Einstein’s Special relativity indicates that a correspondent may experience relativistic time dilation when expecting the email and photographs they sent to be published within the same inertial frame of reference from the recipient’s standpoint. Or something.

This is the only way to explain the near three years that have elapsed since Matt Brown’s email(s) and photographs were transmitted to the TPAS HQ inbox. And, hand on heart, I’m not sure I even understood that first paragraph.

Matt and his family are regulars exploring ye Olde Cuckoo Line (click to see previous article on subject). Matt is also a car restorer and is rebuilding a GPO Morris van. Now, the photographs you see below are from a series of emails and so I will summarise them here. Most are serendipitous finds along said disused railway line and nearby woods down there in East Sussex. They are hunting for telegraphic artefacts for the making of their very own pre-1960’s garden pole. The yellow truck you see is a forest find GPO truck as once used by TV detectors et al. Other gems in these pics: An undated pole with a star shaped cut out where the date might be, A GPO crown transfer (presumably for the van restoration), a selection of spooky tunnels, culverts and iron railings and a couple of restored Morris van panels.

Not the best photographs in the world., arguably. And camera not in the steadiest hand in the world. With Dutch angles particularly on the tunnel shots. And arguably, not the highest resolution camera in the world. But we enthusiasts can find interest in pretty much anything. Thank you Matt. I imagine you must have finished that van by now.

A Nude Linesman in Oz

ย I can’t believe how long it’s taken me to get this post up on to the website. Jerry Deacon, who sent this to me, can’t believe how long it’s taken either. And Jerry, I’ve just realised is none other than (previously plugged on here) Kilgraney Sleepers (now railwaysleepers.com) – the place to go for old railway sleepers (the clue is in the name) but also old and new telegraph poles for ornamental and nerdic use. Nice plug for you there Jerry; I trust that this is adequate recompense for my tardiness.

Anyway, back in March. Jerry wrote to tell us that as an intrepid explorer he came across Hamelin Pool Telegraph Station (1884) near Shark Bay in Western Australia. There is a definite passion for telegraph poles in Oz. In October 1872 the Overland Telegraph line between Darwin and Adelaide was completed, and the Australian telegraph network became linked directly to Europe (termite attacks notwithstanding). Hamelin station was established as a repeater station that linked Western Australia into this same network. And this is the last of these stations still extant. Now, for some reason, it features, quite prominently, a nude linesman attending to the pole top apparatus. Why this should be is anyone’s guess and Jerry offers no explanation, nor does anything at the station itself. Though he did suggest Nude Pole of the Month as a possible new feature for these very pages. I’m going to pretend he never said that.

Poetic poles in Northumberland

Simon Rushton is a pole aficionado after my own heart. He clearly gets the poetry of their silent sentinel lives watching over us as we scud about our business beneath. Here are a selection of Simon’s photos from overlooked poles in Northumberland. Simon’s own beautiful words are best to describe them:

“Ancient beauty shivering on the edge of woodland in the winter snow at Howick, Northumberland. She’s a toothless wonder, poor thing, with just a couple of insulators left in place, but no doubt amazed to have a new lease of life carrying fibre. There she stands, blinking in the fading light, relieved not to be recycled as gate posts in the local fields quite yet.”

And there’s more: “Mystery survivors on the road from Hexham to Alston, Northumberland. The wires are ominously down in places but the remainder are soldiering on regardless. Here and there are fresh faces, newly creosoted – the matchstick brigade, lacking those gorgeous double and triple cross-members with insulators…”

Country Life and a virtuoso trumpet solo

Amongst the heavily thumbed magazines to be found in the waiting room at my rural GP surgery was always at least one copy of Country Life. This magazine, to me, represented the completely unobtainable. It featured houses the likes of which I would never afford. There were nuptial celebrations that clearly weren’t in the local working men’s club and a heady mix of horse-riding features, fine art sales and articles about Rolls Royce. Unobtainable – like that girl in the sixth form to my fourth year hormone rush.

How elevated must I feel now to find myself within it’s esteemed pages. 19th January issue. Hardly tomorrow’s chip paper. This serendipitous chain of events continued with my receiving a letter from Adrian Holmes from Barnes which is so glowing in praise and so beautifully written that I post it here verbatim:

Dear Martin –

Your book (which I saw featured in Country Life) is an absolute delight – by turns daft, erudite and laugh-out-loud funny. Thank you for the pleasure it gave me.

As a mark of my appreciation, hereโ€™s a photo I took while on holiday in Scotland in July 2005. The stretch of water in the distance is Upper Loch Torridon.

Regrettably, Google Streetview reveals the inevitable has happened – that jaunty line of beautifully weathered poles has since danced its way into oblivion.

Now in its place thereโ€™s just a drab line of freshly creosoted, boringly vertical spindlesย (thereโ€™s no other term), carrying one measly multicore cable. ย 

Actually, I tell a lie: by some miracle, original pole no. 3 in the photo is still hanging on in there. Yay!

Best wishes,
Adrian Holmes
Barnes
London

I confess to a tear upon reading Adrian’s words, and then a second tear as my heart swelled with this breathtaking view from Scotland.

A run of three armed telegraph poles alongside a rural lane in Upper Loch Torridon with loch in the middle distance and mountains in background

The full article from Country Life can be found right here. Country Living, 19th January

The GOOD, the NOT BAD & the WHAT FRESH HELL IS THIS?

TPAS staff retired the short distance to the seaside this week. Overdue R&R away from the rubble and brick dust that permeates our regular inland HQ. Newport (Trefdraeth) sits aside the mouth of the River Nevern (Afon Nyfer) in Pembrokeshire and is as charmingly gentrified as you can get in Wales. Think Kensington-on-Sea. The busily compact commercial centre is the ideal place to stock up on cinnamon candles, scented snowmen and gift-wrapped logs. And for the traditional gasp of “how much?” try ordering a pint and a small glass of house red in one of the hostelries.

Don’t get me started on the grand replacement of local populace by wealthy incomers, the high pampered dog to human ratio or the almost complete erosion of the Welsh language in the area. I said don’t get me started ! Think Cornwall and the Lake District but yn Cymraeg.

Anyway, not one to waste time not looking at telegraph poles here are my findings, pre-sorted, for your convenience into appropriate categories. Decide for yourself which is which.

Erection

I came this ‘ ‘ close to deleting an email I received this week with the subject line as above. I used to receive many such messages. Often accompanied by words like dysfunction, failure, problems etc. All the while extolling the virtues of some wonder pills guaranteed to make my wife happy. It’s well known in this household that a long trawl around a garden centre is far more likely to lighten Mrs TPAS’ countenance than anything I could swallow. I think. I hope!

Anyway, I have the curiosity of a small, hungry cat called Brian, and I noticed that this particular email also had a photo attached. So it is by the skin of all our teeth that I present to you this delicious telegraph pole courtesy of Euros Jones.

Euros is not one to waste words and the photo came with the simple caption:

Went through Aberangell last week and saw this pole being replaced.”

Aberangell is a village deep within the stunning gorgeousness of the Dovey hills, N.E. of Machynlleth. And just think what a coup it would have been had we also a photo of this old pole coming down and the new one going up as witnessed, alas uncaptured, by Euros. If I won the lottery I suppose I could always get them to re-enact it just for my not-at-all-obsessive benefit.

Anyway, I doff my cap firmly in Euros’ direction. He saw a pole being replaced and somehow managed to put his hands on the photo of it going up in the first place decades ago. I certainly couldn’t do that. And I don’t know many who could. Actually, I say I doff my cap, but truth is, the only headwear I ever wear is an Aberystwyth Town FC bobble hat. So next time I’m at the footy Euros, it’ll get doffed your way.

Black and white photo of a street scene in Aberangell, mid Wales, showing a GPO team putting up a four crossarm pole with great effort.

An Answer On a Postcard

Readers with a functioning memory will, of course, remember this story we ran 9 years ago: answers-on-a-postcard-please. To save you clicking and looking, I asked what the hell is this little salt pot thing I saw hanging beneath a power pole in a remote valley in mid Wales.

Well thanks be to Chris Morris from Newtown who was also wondering what these are and so took a pair of binoculars to find out. Turns out, they are Fault Passage Indicators. According to Chris they are completely wireless and detect faults by analysing the phase currents and their imbalance, by analysing the electromagnetic field(s).

For the really curious out there they are made by a company called Bowdens whose registered address is Spook Hill (I write this on Halloween – you couldn’t make this up).

This from their online catalogue of hard-core nerdy gadgets. I couldn’t find an “add to basket” button otherwise I’d have bought one and turned into a mug.

PATHFINDER 360 Alpha – Bowden Bros Ltd

Anyway, thanks Chris. I can now look to rebuild my life again after 9 years of restless, troubled nights not knowing what this thing was.

Pole of the Month – August 2021

I’m using this post to come out… as an enthusiastic e-biker. I have managed to wean myself off “turbo” mode now, finally – which is quite something given my great age and also the landscape around here.

Yesterday morning, 3rd August, on a 20 miler in to the hinterland (y Gwyll*1) around Bethania and Trefenter, Ceredigion, I came across this gorgeous remnant.

I had climbed from home in the well of the Aeron valley to the wildness that is to be found above 1,000 feet. Where the hedgerows give way to grassy banks and rosebay is supreme. Underneath, yellow rattles to brown, harebells nod and yarrow and tormentil snatch a peek at the sun.

This is one of only two of this type remaining on the run. The rest having long since been replaced, tidied up. The “D” plate suggests these are not long for this world either. The doby marks quite worn away with the bleaching wind in this remote place: GPO / 20L / ’58 Note the pair of intact telenduron terminators not to mention the ragged fleece of lichen.

The run of poles petered out shortly afterwards – presumably at Bancyllyn farm opposite Llyn Eiddwen (the source of the river Aeron) – I wasn’t paying attention at this point though – I was much too conscious of the sonic boom I was leaving behind from my great speed at this point.

According to folklore that I either read somewhere or have just made up thinking I’ve read it somewhere Llyn Eiddwen, is one of the portals to the fairy world. The other being the bottom of our garden. I didn’t see anything remotely fairyish here mind you, but then I refer you to my previous statement about sonic booms and going really fast etc. On my e-Bike. I’ve got one you know.

*1 as you may know if off the Welsh telly.

UK Patent #2522487

I’ve been rather lax in my updates of this good site lately. For which I apologise and for which I proffer excuses #3 & #12a. I realise that my tardiness in this respect has denied readers their regular ingestion of telegraphular intelligence but unless #12a *1 happens again, this neglect may or may not be repeated.

Now, Martin Cummins… There’s a man whose anorak is thicker than mine. Longer, stronger, more weatherproof, more anoracky, and with a rim of faux fur around the hood which serves no apparent purpose. Martin has dedicated almost his entire adult life to finding out what the little tubes are that stick up from the ground at the side of many telegraph poles.

My correspondence with Martin on this subject has been ongoing for many years and I feel it has reached zenith now as he introduces us to:

Front descriptive cover of UK Patent Application GB2522487 describing apparatus and method for measuring the depth of utility poles.

It’s funny how things seem so obvious once a UK patent application shows you how. But this doesn’t quite apply for me here. I’ve studied this document <read it in full here> and whilst, superficially it looks like it would be able to tell you how deep a pole was planted, I can just imagine that gauging pen snagging and snapping off at, if not the first, then the second, time you use it. This patent idea though does have the bonus in that it comes from God’s own country. I feel I ought to know the patentee.

A reminder of why we need “depthing tubes” in the first place came from John Scott to whom we are grateful. “These tubes have been fitted to the sides of poles since some silly pole installers decided due to digging and finding rock in their way, they would simply cut the butts off the poles and make it look like the poles were installed in the correct depth while some may have been installed less than a meter and thus endangering future engineers climbing the poles.”

Anyway, back to our original correspondent, Martin. I can’t help but wonder does he feel that life is complete – now that he’s found out what those little tubes are for what else is there? Such dogged determination needs a new purpose and I hope he finds it around the subject of telegraph poles.

Actually, here’s an idea. This conundrum Answers on a postcard please has been outstanding since 2012. Perhaps, Martin, you could dedicate the next part of your life to solving the “Saltpot Conjecture”. i.e. what the hell is one of these?

The world certainly needs tenacious folk like Martin Cummins. Anyway, he did also tell us about Basingstoke Museum, where they have an old GPO Maintenance Van, replete with everything to make you self-sufficient when lost in the Trossachs. It’s on my list of museums to visit before I die.

*1 #12a Abducted by aliens.