Locomotion
I think the most impressive thing about the Science Museum’s Locomotion site is that it is FREE.
I recently refused to visit The Bowes Museum with my wife because the entry fee is £20 — which struck me as elitist; i.e. it ain’t for everyone. A shame, given it was built as a Public Art Gallery. And a travesty, considering the collection was supposedly “gifted to benefit the people of Teesdale”. Funny kind of gift that comes with a £25‑a‑year surcharge — but such is the world.
Locomotion, by contrast, is exactly what a publicly funded museum should be: free to enter, free to wander, free to enjoy. And it’s fantastic.
Its location helps too. Shildon is the heart of the birth of the railways, so there’s no cultural‑appropriation baggage of the Parthenon Sculptures (née Elgin Marbles) or the Lindisfarne Gospels. Locomotion is a rare example of a museum that exists where it ought to exist. Hard to believe it even exists at all, really — so go while you still can. We went because my brother has the good sense to live round the corner. Your brother doesn’t, so you’ll have to take it from me: it’s worth the trip.
As a museum it’s simple in concept: build a massive shed (or two) and bung a load of massive trains in it.
It doesn’t need more than that. Getting up close and personal with these machines is a real treat — and as a photographer, that’s exactly what you need.
Trains like these are best observed “in the wild”, photographically speaking. I had a great time at last year’s North Yorkshire Moors Steam Gala - but Locomotion offers a completely different experience: intimacy. You walk right up to the engines. Touching distance. That proximity demands a different approach — one of detail, texture, and personal encounter.
Walking up close, touching distance, to an engine like the Deltic is a very special personal experience. Translating that to the still image requires an intimacy of detail.
It would have been great to get a full-frame face-on view of the Deltic, with its cream go-faster whiskers leering down on the observer - but although such can be framed, the lighting in the hall presents multifarous reflections and sheen that make the shot impossible. Even, I suspect, had I employed a polarising filter. Nevertheless I've used the top-half of the attempted shot as my lead image because it is just such a damned impressive machine. I used 'live view' on the camera's screen so I could hold the camera high above my head as if'n as though I were 8 feet tall (I am not) - otherwise looking up the cab windows were utterly obscured.I definitely did not get 'the shot' this subject demands, but when one treats camera-as-companion (as I do) sometimes it's okay to accept this particular view is just for me, for my eyes alone. Plus, Christine bought a postcard of the Deltic shot under much better lighting. That's the thing about photography in the modern world - why do it again?
Better to look for the intimate details others overlook. In one side‑view I focused on the fold‑out ladder steps, trying to capture the Deltic’s powder‑blue‑and‑cream scheme. I really needed a grey card (I didn’t have one), but I think I got close. Most online images show the Deltic as a much deeper blue than what my eyes saw. That’s photography for you: never “true”, always interpretation. There’s a lot of noise these days about authenticity in digital imaging, especially with assistive and generative aI, but it’s all built on the prevalent lie that photography ever had authenticity. It didn’t. It still doesn’t.
NER (BoBo class) No. 1 was another challenge. I got a head‑on shot that shows its long slope nicely, but the real charm is its Pushmi‑Pullyu design — impossible to capture in the cramped hall. Again, not a complaint about the museum, just a reminder that photography is inseparable from environment. You can’t (shouldn’t) separate subject from scene. I haven’t represented NER No. 1 “in itself”, but hopefully I’ve shown enough to say: go and have a look. Much of my photography is about offering “a reason to see”, more than showing everything.
I’m very happy with the maroon snowplough shot, though. The awful strip lights actually help — they give it a kind of science‑fiction apocalypse vibe.
I managed full‑frame views of No. 910 and Acecroft (in the workshop) at around 35mm and 24mm respectively. Not crazy wide, and even at close proximity the proportions on the 910 aren’t too un-natural. The reflections, for once, work in my favour, echoing its startling lined livery — which I’ve also drawn out in the close‑ups.
The rest of the images lean into graphic detail: simple shapes, bold colours, gorgeous springs and things. Maybe they need more “meaning” to be Proper Art, or maybe not. Chris and I were both struck by the sheer assault of colour in these halls — an unexpected aesthetic in a highly functional domain. Perhaps the APT‑E would have been more successful if they’d painted it with whiskers like the Deltic. Perhaps not. I’m not convinced the Deltic was a commercial success either, though it is undeniably a triumph of design.
Heritage locomotives are compelling not just for their size and power, but for their aesthetic — and Locomotion lets you get close enough to feel that. Intimate, even. That view inside the Black 5 firebox is something I don’t expect to see again, unless I could arrange to be so cremated...