An idea of life in the house during the railways final operating years is conveyed in the following record of an interview with the daughter of the last Station Master:

On a late Saturday night in January 1968 a large crowd gathered in Alnwick Station to watch the last passenger train depart. As the 11.35 pulled out, bedecked with wreaths, the crowd sent up a farewell cheer. Among them was the Stationmaster, Alfred Middleton. Mr. Middleton was the eighth Stationmaster in an unbroken line dating back to 1850.
In November 1970, the Middleton family moved out of the Stationmaster's house. Almost a quarter of a century later, and to our great pleasure, Stuart and I moved in.
From that time to this, I have often wondered about the history of both this house - a nice dignified old house (truly, a top hat Stationmaster's!) - and the people for whom it was built. Except for the Stationmasters' names, we know for the most part, very little about them. We do have a few photographs: there's Stationmaster Carlisle, stage centre, very imposing indeed (substitute a crown for the top hat, and it could have been his own king, Edward VII). While in this other much later photograph, postwar, there's Stationmaster Reid, also stage centre but friendly-faced and smiling, the top hat long ago exchanged for a peaked cap.
But what really struck me is that while we know very little about the Stationmasters, we know even less about their wives. Not even their names. Not one. All those women who had made this house their home and the garden, their garden. Who were those women, and what had they been like? And their house? And their garden? I wanted to know.
Luckily for me, someone with an insider's knowledge very kindly agreed to share it. That someone was Nancy Middleton (Alfred's daughter). And it seemed to me as I opened the door to the Stationmaster's daughter, that I could fairly feel the very heart of the house gently expand.
We talked in what was, still is, the kitchen:-

MTM: First of all, thank you for coming and - welcome back!
NM: It's nice to be here again. It really does feel just like yesterday that I was last here.
MTM: All the better! We'll go straight to it, then, and begin by pinpointing dates.
NM: My father was the Alnwick Stationmaster from 1955 until 1968.
MTM: Can you remember when your parents first came here?
NM: Yes, indeed. It was the general practice before applying for a particular vacancy for the Stationmaster and his wife to view the Station, the house, and the local amenities. And if they had children, proximity to suitable schools would also be important. I remember well my parents visiting Alnwick when the Alnwick job was on the vacancy list (my father was then at Killingworth) and their favourable comments on their return. They already knew and liked Alnwick town from their day trips there on the train. My father then applied for the vacancy and was the successful applicant. And I know my mother was very happy with the move.
MTM: And with the house? What did she think of it?
NM: Oh, my mother loved this house! She immediately saw it as a good home.
MTM: Has the exterior changed much since her time?
NM: Very little. When we were here, there was a green wicket gate in the stone wall opposite the front door, but that has since been removed and blocked in with stone. And then there was an old wooden fence parallel to the main road, which has been replaced with a ranch-type fence. (In fact, the wooden fence we knew had clearly been put up as a replacement for the original one, one with iron railings - you can still see on the north wall where the rails had been cut off probably for the war effort.) Also, as we had a car, we added the garage and had Biddlestone chippings put down to make a driveway: those chippings have also since been replaced. At that time, there was also a clear path through the north garden, which was a well-used shortcut to the Station or onto the South Road.
But the biggest difference is that the old two-storied structure in the yard (scullery on the ground floor, bathroom on the top) has gone. I believe that whole structure had been added on to the house about 1887, at the time the new Station and branch to Cornhill was constructed. (MIM: This modification actually took place in 1904, when a bathroom was added above the original scullery.) And, of course, everything that we used to look out on in the Station goods yard, all the buildings and tracks, have gone.
MTM: And the garden, what was that like? When we moved into the house, I have to say it was looking a bit woeful.
NM: When we arrived, the copper beech tree, yews, and Philadelphus shrubs were all established. There was a tall conifer in front of the house, as well as two apple trees in the south garden. Between the wall and the garage, there were the foundations of quite a large greenhouse - of what era, I have no idea. (MTM: Revised plans made in 1904 do indeed include a greenhouse.) There was also a flower border flanking the front door of the house. And then my mother had marrows (a favourite family food) grown successfully in a large cold frame near the old flowering quince.
MTM: My biggest problem with the garden (other than the fact that I don't know anything about gardening) is the noise, all that traffic! I often think how much sounds have changed over the centuries, what was normal at one time (the sound of carriage wheels, for example) gone at another. These days, it's cars. What was it like back then?
NM: Very busy! You couldn't really hear the trains so much as the coal wagons being shunted to the coal depot. And the shunters calling out directions to each other, as they coupled and uncoupled the wagons: 'right! Steady ... steady ... right!"
And then the Station staff- at least twenty-four in all, passenger and goods side (oh, it was busy, a busy little Station!) - were never very far away. We knew them all by name and were always exchanging friendly greetings over the garden wall, as well as information - if an engine had broken down or if some part were needed. And then everyone was especially alert on the days when Irish cattle came into the goods yard, as some agile beast would attempt to scale the wall or veer into the garden gate. After a late night crossing the Irish Sea, those tired cattle were kept in the wagons until morning. This would result in a disturbed night of clanking wagon chains. And then the morning air would fill with the bellowing of bewildered cattle, as they were diverted by drovers up to the cattle mart.
MTM: And the traffic on Wagonway Road?
NM: Oh, yes, it was quite heavy even then, as most of the shops in the town had their goods delivered by railway. Railway delivery lorries ('British Railways' written on both sides) came and went through the main goods yard. Among these goods were bamboo canes from China for Hardy's fishing rod factory, baskets of racing pigeons and, of course, the occasional horsebox. Once, when there was a small visiting circus, there were even elephants. (Ever after, we referred to the area where they had been unloaded as 'the elephant walk'.)
MTM: Elephants! I can imagine all of you were fairly hanging out the windows looking at that! Still, it can't always have been that exciting. Particularly as your family lived, as it were, 'over the shop'. Did that proximity ever intrude upon your family life?
NM: As a whole, the Station's proximity was a welcome adjunct, as both staff and passengers could and did call by for information at any time of day. But, yes, living so close to the Station did sometimes intrude: the Stationmaster's duties could extend to twenty-four hours. And as my father really lived for the Station, my mother was always trying to get him to take at least short breaks. Not easy.
MTM: I bet not! But I can well imagine your mother giving him a restorative cup of tea in this very kitchen. Can you tell me what you remember about this interior?
NM: I do remember the thick stone walls. And that the windows had small panes. Some of the downstairs' windows also had wooden shutters fastened with a metal bar. There were seven coal fireplaces back then, one in every room but one (a small bedroom), with at least three of the old mantelpieces still in place. The fireplaces were, in fact, the whole source of heat for the house; and the one in the kitchen heated the water. The doors were particularly strong - especially a very beautiful old kitchen door that had at one time been an outer door (the doorknobs, like the light switches, were all made of brass). Unusually, there were two sets of double doors: one at the front door, which locked with a central bolt (MTM: the bolthole in the floor is still visible.), and the other at the bottom of the staircase. I particularly remember the staircase, which is quite steep, and which divides at the top to take you onto slightly different levels. [Note from MTM: These steps are quite tricky to negotiate for the uninitiated; I was to notice that Nancy Middleton, thirty years later, took them all without the least hesitation - as if indeed, it were only yesterday].
MTM: Were the Stationmasters' houses already furnished?
NM: No, not at all. You brought your own furniture, including, in our case, my mother's much-loved girlhood piano. But then every move to a different house required new carpets and curtains. (During the war years, for example, we had to have 'black out' curtains.) You did have to be good at improvisation.
MTM: Women and improvisation: that certainly strikes a familiar note! Which brings me to my next topic: the Stationmaster's wife. About whom we know nothing, not even a single name. Can you tell me a little about the one you knew so well?
NM: My mother was born in County Durham. In appearance, she was tall, rather plump, and had the most beautiful thick curly hair. And she had a good sense of humour. And a very positive attitude about life, always.
MTM: What would a 'typical day' have been like for her?
NM: My mother would cook all meals from a bacon and egg breakfast to a family evening meal. And by modern house designs, the Station house was not easy for a housewife. The kitchen/cooking area was particularly difficult. There were all these steps to negotiate between the actual kitchen and the dining room, steps on different levels.
Fortunately, she was an excellent cook and enjoyed cooking. She had a variety of well -used favourite recipes, most of them being of Yorkshire origin: steamed fruit puddings, Scotch broth, Sirloin beef and Yorkshire pudding on Sundays.
MTM: And where did she do her shopping?
NM: Some of these goods were bought from small corner shops in Green Batt and others in Bondgate Without. But back then, of course, most groceries were delivered. My mother had a weekly delivery from 'The London and Newcastle' grocery shop in the town. [Note from the AVRS Chairman: 'My father managed the London and Newcastle Supply Stores at this time - Mrs Middleton may even have had butter wrapped in grease proof paper stamped by me!]
MTM: How about leisure time - assuming it existed! - what did your mother like to do?
NM: My mother enjoyed her leisure time, several crafts in particular - knitting, rug making, pottery, embroidery, reading autobiographies. And, of course, she loved playing her piano (a favourite song, I remember, was 'All in an April Evening'). But there was so much else to do - not least watching television, which was quite new back then.
MTM: When did you get your first television?
NM: In 1957. Everyone crowding around to watch - particularly when Hancock was on! And actually seeing well-known personalities in general, people we had only read about before.
MTM: You had mentioned a garage; did your mother drive?
NM: No. She walked or used the train. (When she was a girl, she had had a pony and trap.)
MTM: I suppose your mother's duties were mostly confined to home and family - or did they extend in any way into the life of the Station?
NM: My mother did have an 'official' role - when members of the staff retired, for example, or when she would extend hospitality to various visiting officials. But her visits to the actual Station, itself, weren't that frequent. And when she did go there, it would be for purely social reasons or to take the occasional train to Newcastle. (But I have to say I used to love going to Newcastle as least once a week! I'd catch the 12.50 on Fridays so that I'd have time to shop, then go to the theatre before catching the late train back.)
MTM: Sounds good to me! But, somehow, I'm not surprised your mother didn't travel more. Men and women's roles were still very strictly defined in the 1950s, and I take it that was true in your family as well. Or did the new-found independence many women discovered during the war years carry over in any way?
NM: My mother actually had charge of the budgeting, at least the domestic budgeting. (Other types of budgeting my parents would discuss together.) In addition, she was a qualified teacher and gave private tuition in the evening, particularly for the 11+ examination. She also did supply teaching in nearby schools - and thoroughly enjoyed it. And that did give her a degree of independence.
MTM: Full-time wife, full-time mother, part-time hostess, part-time job - this is beginning to sound familiar! And did she encourage you to have a career?
NM: Only in the sense that I was exposed to her career in teaching and found that I liked it, too. And so happily followed in her footsteps.
MTM: Your mother sounds a very intelligent woman. I wonder, even in that era, did your father ever talk about his work with her? Ever actually seek her opinion?
NM: My father would discuss some aspects of railway life with my mother, but it was essentially his domain. Some railway business, however, would inevitably affect everyone. For example, when the royal train went up the East Coast Main Line to
Scotland, my father was always given advance notice. And even though his was just a branch line, a certain vigilance - yes, that's the word, 'vigilance' - was expected. As well as secrecy. And that everything would go smoothly. With everyone - my father, the staff, and my mother - very aware of this.
MTM: It has been said that the life of the Stationmaster was actually quite a lonely life, lonely in the sense that Stationmasters were obvious officials (set apart by their uniform), as well as (most often) incomers. Would you say, from your experience, that the social life of the Stationmaster's wife paralleled in any way that isolation?
NM: That would depend entirely upon the personalities involved. It certainly didn't apply to my father, let alone my mother - both of them were much too busy!
MTM: And the other Stationmasters and their wives; was there a close bond between them?
NM: The Stationmasters knew each other, but there were almost no opportunities for their wives to meet.
MTM: I suppose then, in a sense, a Stationmaster's life was not unlike a military career - a lot of moving. And that your mother simply understood that, perhaps even liked it?
NM: That's true; that was part of her positive attitude. Very resilient. She accepted the challenge of a move to a different Station and district. And she loved meeting people and seeing as much as possible of Britain.
MTM: Clearly what we Yanks call British pluck! [Editor's note: Mary is American born].
NM: Indeed.
MTM: Something we'll both need to get through the next bit: that the Alnmouth - Alnwick branchline came to an end during your father's tenure. Can you describe the sequence of events leading up to it?
NM: When we came to Alnwick in 1955, no one guessed that any Station would be closed during the next decade. Then, during the 1960s, there was a general rumour concerning a Dr Beeching axing Stations running at a loss. And when Alnwick Station was threatened, not everyone agreed that it was warranted, that our branch line was losing money. Official confirmation that it would happen finally did come, however, which was very difficult for everyone. My mother was particularly sad because, like my father, she realised the implications of the loss of the railway to the town and its inhabitants. But while the goods station would remain open for ten more months, the passenger Station, itself, did formally close down on Monday, January 29th, 1968 - one week before my father retired.
MTM: Can you tell me about that January night when the last passenger train departed?
NM: No, because my mother and I didn't go. We just didn't want to have to witness such a sad event. My father went, of course. He had to be present; he was the Stationmaster.
MTM: Thank you, Nancy, for all your help. But I would like to ask one final question:
what was your mother's name?
NM: Elsie Middleton.

Postscript from Mary Manley
Stuart and I moved into the Old Station House in July 1994. With the help of the owners of the Station Estate, the house and garden are slowly being restored. Though neither Stuart nor I are gardeners, we are doing our best. Plants that had gone to seed have been removed, while in their place other plants are slowly being added: among them, old climbing roses, clematis, viburnum, wisteria. For some of the plants, it was too late: the two apple trees had long since gone. And the conifer, to our sorrow, had finally to be chopped down. (Mind you, he had a good end. For the last two years of his life, this once straight-backed sentinel also served as a living Christmas tree, the slight list hidden behind a spiral of dazzling white fairy lights.) There are, however, three principal survivors: the yews, the flowering quince, and the great copper beech - under which, I was to discover, generations of family pets have clearly been buried, among them in 1996, Jeebs.
As for the house, most of the fireplaces had not been regularly used during the intervening years, so that the damp in the walls took two years to dry out. Only two fireplaces were left out of the original seven, but both retain their surrounds. The original front and back doors have gone. The original brass fittings have gone. The scullery and bath have gone. Several of the shutters have gone but have been replaced, as well as many of the wooden floors. For the rest, the house is remarkably unchanged in structure.
And we like to think Elsie Middleton would have particularly approved of the 'new' kitchen where, in fact, the Aln Valley Railway Committee meets once a month in the hope of restoring the line that Alfred Middleton watched close.
Of any traces of other former residents, we have found two. The first, underneath a floorboard, is a drop earring, gold filigree. The second are two initials, evidently carved a long time ago in the stone gatepost, almost indecipherable now, black with age. The initials are JC. (I look again at that photograph of John Carlisle: are they his? Did he, one late night, the Station secured, take out his pocketknife, give in to an age-old impulse:"I mattered".)
So far, Old Station House has survived years and wars and ignominy. It has even survived the modern-day threat of developers to level it, along with the great copper beech. In the interim, the house has watched on, mute, while its long-time companions - the original station building and stables, the goods shed, the goods office, the signal box - have vanished. Both to protect and preserve it for future generations, attempts have been made to have the house listed, as has been its mighty ally, the Station. So far, those attempts have failed.