How to get a job on our railways

It took only three hours to find a company to take me on. A recruitment consultant from Sky Blue, a company specialising in providing rail workers, told me there was "loads of work" for trackmen - general labourers who carry out a multitude of tasks. No interview or references were needed. I was not asked for a CV. Sky Blue offered to find work if I paid £170 for a twoday Personal Track Safety (PTS) course, and £133 for a medical assessment and drugs test.

I was booked on a two-day course run by Jarvis, starting the next day in Glasgow. Provided I passed a test, I would get a PTS certificate to prove I was competent in track safety. Then I could work on any of the country's railways.

The course is meant to be the keystone of basic safety. The reality was very different.

On the first morning, the tutor handed my two classmates and I a briefing stating that the course would last around 13 hours. My classmates had other ideas.

One, a commercial manager at Jarvis's Glasgow depot, was booked on a flight next day. "Make sure we're finished early tomorrow so I can get away," she warned the tutor.

Each time I asked the tutor to clarify a point, I got withering looks from the commercial manager. She lost no opportunity to make obvious her disdain for the "safety course for halfwits".

Under pressure from my classmates, both of whom had office jobs for Jarvis, the first day finished at 2pm. For office-based staff the information was largely irrelevant - but, for a prospective trackman preparing for working on the railways, it was vital.

We were told what to do if a train approached and how to react in an emergency. But I struggled to take it all in, as the rules were covered very quickly.

Alone among the pupils I made notes. I found myself reverting to shorthand but stopped in case my fellow pupils spotted the journalistic give-away.

Among the facts and figures were phrases that came back to haunt me. The tutor made clear the importance of the COSS - the Controller of Site Safety.

Reading from the handbook, he said: "The COSS is responsible for making sure a safe system of work is put in place, which will ensure you are not endangered." Before each job, the COSS would give a safety briefing.

That was the theory but it was worlds away from the slapdash working practices I would see on the tracks.

The second day lasted just two hours. In six hours we had raced through the fundamentals of railway safety - because a manager had to catch a flight.

After a mock test, the tutor handed us the real paper. Many of the questions were the same. Unsurprisingly, we all passed. I was now qualified to work on Britain's railways. Already I had seen safety undermined by staff - something I would see again and again.

Even the vital practical section of the course was compromised by the commercial manager's desperation to leave.

As the tutor showed us how to walk across tracks, she muttered: "This is a complete waste of time. I've got a holiday to take."

The tutor had emphasised the importance of each worker taking responsibility for his safety and raising any concerns with the COSS. But, as I would see, this was a fantasy.

Less than a week after the Potters Bar derailment, it was obvious the disaster had changed nothing. Safety was secondary to getting away from work early.

A week later, I was given my first job, with a gang working through the night on tracks near Milton Keynes. I waited at the agreed spot - but the gang never came.

A telephone call to a senior trackman revealed the problem: "We are not working for Sky Blue - they have not paid us for ages. The job's cancelled." Sky Blue later apologised and promised to pay a full night's rate (around £120) for my inconvenience. More importantly they gave me four days' work at a London depot.

30 May 2002

When I arrived, the Stonebridge Park depot near Wembley was empty. No one challenged me as I walked to the massive depot - the maintenance hub for the London-to-Glasgow route. The door was open so I walked in, past a wall of posters advocating safe working practices. Apparently security was not one of them.

Finally, I found someone who told me to wait for other trackmen to arrive. It was 7am - my shift was meant to start at 7.30am. We did not start work until 10am.

Vince, a friendly-faced senior trackman, recognised the new boy. He introduced me to Peter, the union rep ("The most important man in the building," he said, winking).

By 9am I'd been introduced to the five other workers, the "A-team" as they called themselves. We had the first of many tea breaks before loading the van.

Displaying none of the dynamism of their namesakes, the A-team took 15 minutes to load two strimmers and two scythes.

We left the depot and headed to the cafe for another tea-break. As we sat in the car park, I was introduced to Ryan, the 22-year-old Controller of Site Safety.

But instead of talking safety, he started to describe ways to dodge the 12-hour shift pattern. "I do doubles - you can get away with it," he said. On a bad day, I calculated, that meant the man in charge of safety had not slept for up to 24 hours. Shortly after 10am we arrived at the site. Ryan gave me a short safety briefing, then assured me he was not working a double shift. Ryan warned me: "If you see a train, don't panic and never run. Stay calm." I asked if he had had any near misses. "Loads," he replied.

Our job was to cut back undergrowth around an electrical sub-station.

As we thrashed at the bushes, Vince pointed at the humming overhead lines and warned me to keep the scythe low.

"They say you have to keep it 9ft away from the lines, but you never know." I asked if the lines ever snapped. He replied: "Frequently. They don't do the maintenance properly. Never go near a cable."

As Vince spoke, one of my colleagues swung a chainsaw inches over a cable.

When I'd cut my patch, I asked for more work. Ryan looked surprised: "Just chill. Noone will check on us." Nearby I spotted John, a former BR employee, sunning himself behind a generator.

At noon we headed back to the depot. The work was done but a deal was struck to return to "finish off" after lunch. "Is it an all-day job?" Peter asked. Grinning, Ian replied: "It certainly is."

Vince asked if we should finish one more task. Peter, the union man, looked unhappy. "I'm not paid to work in my f****** lunch break," he said.

Back at the depot I headed back to the van, where Peter and Ryan were snoring soundly. The yard was packed with vans full of snoring trackmen - doubtless the result of those illegal double-shifts. A change of plan foiled the scheme to return to the site.

Instead the gang was split in two, with half heading back to "finish up" while John, Ian and I set off for the Royal Mail depot near Harlesden to do bush clearing. We left at 1pm, but it was an hour before we started working.

The sleepers on this stretch of line were rotting and splintered. I asked John if they were safe. "Of course not. But the system is old and the contractors are caning it for money."

Ian, our tough Glaswegian COSS, demanded I sign a form showing I had been given the safety briefing. Several minutes later he had still not given me the briefing and showed no signs of doing so. Plucking up courage, I asked for the briefing. He looked furious, saying: "Stay away from the f****** overhead cables. That's your f****** briefing."

John showed me a point across the tracks where "the Bosnians" jumped off freight trains from Europe. "We are always having to mend the fence. At night you see them streaming off it. You find all their stuff scattered across the tracks."

At 2.45pm John told me we were finished. "Don't tell anyone," he said, winking. We headed back to the depot so early we had to park in an isolated spot for 30 minutes.

31 May 2002

Back to the Royal Mail depot to continue clearing weeds entangled in signal cables. It's a job we could have finished yesterday if John had not called time at 2.45pm.

John and I were working with Ryan, Vince and Peter. We were working by two lines leading-from Euston to a maintenance depot. John was meant to be on lookout but spent much of his time telling me about his days as a professional footballer and petty thief.

Ryan continually complained about John, saying: "He should just be looking out for trains. He's useless. He's an idiot. He's nowhere near us and has his back to us."

Ryan pointed at John, deep in conversation with an old friend working close by. It was clear he was paying no attention to his duties.

Later I asked him how he hoped to spot trains when distracted, he whispered: "I can feel a train coming."

As I slashed at the bushes I noticed more rotting sleepers - and sections of bare electric cabling. I pointed them out to Ryan but he told me they were "probably" not live.

By 2.30pm we were done. As we wandered to the van - painted with the GTRM slogan "Safeguarding Standards in Railway Maintenance" - Ryan showed me his explosive detonators, used in a last resort to warn trains of an emergency.

He told me Bridgen, the contractors who employ him, had refused to take his old "dets". "They would not deal with them. I ended up chucking them in the bin. They could have gone off and hurt somebody," he said.

Once again we had finished too early to go back to the yard, so we sat in the van for half an hour.

3 June 2002

The World Cup and the Jubilee were in full swing but the crew had more pressing concerns. Tony, a barrel-chested Irishman with 35 years experience, was working with Ryan and me today. He told Ryan he wanted to be away for his "f****** dinner" and "no f*****" was "f****** stopping" him.

Before he left last Friday, Ian saw that we got "a flyer" today - an early finish. He told the supervisor we needed an entire day to paint railings bordering an electrical substation in Camden. It took two hours.

We dropped Tony at the train station at 11.30am - he certainly got his flyer.

Ryan drove back to the depot at a snail's pace - so we would not arrive back early. We parked in the yard and I drove him home in my car.

He told me he had a plan in case we were stopped by the supervisor. "Tell them we are off to lunch, and we'll be back later," he said, nudging me conspiratorially.

Ryan said he worked double-shifts "almost every day". By day he worked as a COSS ensuring safety standards. By night he worked grinding rails and making general repairs. In between he grabbed some sleep.

He said: "I usually get four hours after my day shift. Then I head out for the night and get back home at 4am to get 2 hours more."

I asked if others did the same. "Yeah, everybody at Bridgen," he replied. On an average week he said he made £680 after tax.

Ryan was only 22, but in three years on British railways he had saved enough to return to his native South Africa.

4 June 2002

Ryan had heard we had another "flyer" today - a ditch on the trackside in Harrow 15 miles away needed clearing.

"It's a shit job. But it's easy, and we're out of the way. They won't know what we're doing."

He tore open an envelope and showed me his last week's wage slip. It showed several double-shifts.

I asked him how his employers, Bridgen Enterprises, could sanction such a blatant breach of the rules.

"It's illegal, but everybody's at it," he said. I asked him what was the most number of hours he had worked in one week.

"About 130. I made more than £1,000 after tax that week. I just worked back-to-back shifts. I'd sleep on the way from one to another."

By 9.15am we had reached the ditch. Finally at 10am we started. By 11am the job was done. But we faced a problem. What to do until lunch at noon? After dropping Tony at the station near his home at 11.15am we meandered back to the depot. But it was still too early, so we drove to a parking spot close to the Ace cafe on the North Circular.

Unfortunately one of the supervisors was there.

Ryan was not amused. "I didn't want him to see us. They'll say we were skiving." As if?

We drove towards the Royal Mail depot. The security guard opened the gates.

We looked for a quiet spot to wait until the lunch break, free from prying eyes.

But Ryan spotted more supervisors and spun the van around. We drove very slowly, chatting as we went.

Ryan told me he never travelled by rail: "Not safe mate!" he said. "I've been to Edinburgh twice - by rented car. I work on the railways - I've seen the state they're in. No way would I travel by train."

He laughed: "I could make a fortune if I sold my stories to the newspapers."

As we passed through the gates of the depot, Ryan caught sight of the supervisor who spotted us earlier.

Ryan stopped to offer him a lift. The supervisor eyed us suspiciously. "I saw you two. Not hiding until dinner break, were you?"

Ryan dropped the supervisor off, then turned to me and said: "You've got to know how to lie mate!"

We slipped out of the depot at noon, pretending we were going to lunch.

Tony and Ryan had thought of a way around the problem of the book they must sign on arriving at and leaving work. Tony said he would sign both when he got into work at 6am next day.

Having received a full day's pay (at bank holiday rates) for one hour's work, we headed home.

In four days I had seen every rule and regulation flouted as my colleagues put shortcuts and "flyers" ahead of safety.

I saw the lookout wander hundreds of yards from his position, often standing with his back turned to the line or gossiping with friends.

Ryan, the COSS, even described him as "so useless he's a f****** liability", but 20 years his junior there was little he could do about it. But then Ryan, and many of his colleagues, were suffering from exhaustion after working 20-hour days of illegal double-shifts.