3 thoughts on “Stockton Station

  1. I have many happy memories of this station, as a child I would go there with my sister or friend. I lived on Thomson Street near the gas works so it wasn’t far to the station. I used to go into it and play in the waiting rooms, I always thought they were very grand with their high ceilings and leather seats. I remember the chocolate machine ouside the waiting room, and you had to put a penny in the machine on the door to the toilet before you could use it. We used to play in the tunnel that connected the platforms and we also watched for the steam trains from the bridge that led to Eastborn. We had many holidays and many outings to the seaside from Stockton. I still cannot believe that the council let this grand and wonderful station go the way it has, its very sad.


  2. Wow, that brings back all those memories Bob. I remember family outings from Stockton to Whitby via the coastal rail track. It was a great treat to exit the tunnel through the cliffs before emerging onto the viaduct at Sandsend and a great view of the sea and beach. I was in England two years ago and walked that section of track from Whitby through Sandsend to Runswick Bay. The viaduct is of course long gone and the tunnel bricked up at both ends. We noted that the old coastal raiway station in Whitby has been made into flats and is named Beechings folley!!


  3. This entrance holds many memories. The excitement of crowds awaiting the Saturday Scarborough or “Butlins Filey” train, with the last minute rush for comics or books from W.H Smiths book stall, before the cry “ITS COMING” as it appears from the gas-works curve The hiss and roar of the trains arrival echoing through the portico. The earnest look as the carriages pass for an empty compartment, with the call “Its empty at the front!”. The thud of the doors and the whistle of the guard and the train is off to begin the Great holiday The smell of smoke and steam – Arriving on a “48” leave-pass to a deserted and frosty, cold dawn platform after going through a dim-lit subway, not even a porter in sight, only a ticket-collecter appearing from his coal-fired warm office. Not a soul in the streets and the hope of catching a Workmans bus home……


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