The Péchot System and Morocco

In 1882, the young Captain Péchot conceived a system of portable railways to be used for military transport. The aim of his original plan was to attack the German Empire, formed a mere eleven years previously. The photo shows Péchot on one of his locomotives, the Péchot-Bourdon 0-4-4-0

The ‘worked example’ he used of his system in action was a plan to recapture the fortified city of Metz, a particularly emotive site. Metz was in the ‘lost provinces’ which France had been obliged to hand over to Germany. At the core of his plan was a prefabricated railway of 60cm gauge. This narrow gauge system could be laid with minimal preparation yet could convey serious tonnage. It would be possible for an attacking army to reach a convenient railhead, and then transport guns, ammunition and other necessaries to a suitable artillery park. Then, he reasoned, they could make short work of enemy fortifications. When the system was officially adopted, six long years later, the French Army wanted it for defence, not for attack as Péchot had wanted. Outside France, beginning in 1888 the Péchot system was used for attack. The story which follows is more than somewhat short in political correctness, but it is history and the tale should be told. When the Navy wished to impress a point upon some uppity local administration, a ship would draw up beside their coral strand, unload a freighter with guns and a prefabricated railway and send them into action. They had four such ‘kits’. Short 60cm lines also existed in Tunisia between Sousse and Kairouan, and in Algeria to connect out-of-the-way places such as the Ras-el-ma-Redjem-Djemouch and Marhoum, and other small extensions running west of Kralfallah and Tiaret respectively (south of Oran. The most impressive 60cm gauge network was built in Morocco. The map below shows Morocco in relation to Algeria, which the French colonised bit by bit during the 19th century, and Spain.

The reasons for choosing a narrow guage rather than standard or metre gauge were political. Unlike most North African territories, throughout the 19th century, Morocco had eluded the armies, navies and diplomacy of European countries. Spain was an exception: it had territory between in the Tangiers area adjoining the Straights of Gibraltar. For most Moroccans transport depended on ships, donkeys and camels. In 1887, a Belgian took a small demonstration railway to the Sultan and a French trade mission tried again in 1901. In 1908, a 50cm line was built out of Casablanca in the direction of Rabat, for the ‘protection of Europeans’ who got involved in a power struggle between claimants to the throne. No doubt for purely disinterested motives, Germany’s Kaiser Wilhelm II insisted on putting a halt to nationalistic interference in a free and sovereign State. A treaty was solemnly signed in 1911, binding all Great Powers. None were to build a railway on Moroccan soil for carriage of people or goods. No-one thought to include temporary and portable railways in the ban. Almost immediately, the French government saw a reason to build one. In that very year, a new pretender to the throne emerged and sought to capture Fez, in the foothills of the Atlas. The French wanted to mount a rescue for their civilians, but as they were starting from Casablanca, this was going to be a stretch. They planned a railway which, they explained was for purely military and not economic reasons from the coast up to Fez. The Péchot system – non-permanent of course – fitted their parameters. The French created a base which they called Port Lyautey (modern name Knitra) and started on their railway.The photo below shows an 0-6-0 'Joffre' class locomotive going over a wadi. For a temporary railway, it uses quite impressive civil engineering!The photo is courtesy of Jim Hawkesworth.

The plan was poorly received, both by the Moroccans and by Kaiser Wilhelm. Even the name of the new port set alarm bells ringing. Colonel, later Marshall Lyautey, terror of southern Algeria, was not widely loved by the locals. In addition, the new line was hardly a temporary railway. German agents and local observers saw building supplies arriving at Casablanca by the boatload. To create a way through the foothills of the Atlas mountains, even for the lightest of track, serious civil engineering was needed. It was obvious that 60cm gauge would soon be replaced with standard. I think I heard you asking, so here is a more detailed picture of the 'Joffre' locomotive, courtesy of Armley Museum.It is one supplied by Kerr, Stuart Ltd to the French government in 1916; of the 70 plus which were supplied by various makers, a number worked not on the Western Front but in Morocco.

When things quietened down around Fez, it might have seemed that the railway was no longer needed. On the contrary, the French set about extending their railway system along the coast. By 1912, 3000 tonnes of track, 20 locomotives and 150 assorted items of rolling stock, not to mention vast amounts of engineering stores and pre-fabricated bridges had been unloaded at Casablanca. By December 1912, they had reached Fort Lyautey/Knitra and were ready to complete the route to Fez. In 1913, they were pushing north towards Tangiers and south to Marrakech. An existing 50cm railway going in the Marrakesh direction was re-gauged. Orders for material included the Decauville 0-6-0 T (some of these 'Joffre' class were rebadged Kerr Stuart productions) and the Weidknecht 4-6-0T as well as the 0-4-4-0 Péchot-Bourdon locomotive. By 1916, a version of the Baldwin 4-6-0T, also well-known on the Western Front appeared. To my mind, the most wondrous locomotive of all was the 16 tonne 06-60 articulated tender ‘Série 6000’ that was ordered in 1912 and delivered in 1914. Soon on order were carriages, one hundred guards’ vans and 1200 wagons of various sorts, including 50 water tankers.

The photo above, courtesy of Jim Hawkesworth, shows the Decauville Série 6000 ‘Marocaine.’ This is remembered with affection but alas no examples survive. Originally, 32 were ordered. It is certain that 6 were used – for a while - between Marnia (Maghnia) and Taourirt pulling such prestigious services as the Great North Express. Not all of the other 26 examples ever came to Morocco; some may have served on the Western Front. They were known as ‘improved articulated Mallet type’ - two sets of cylinders, the exhaust steam of the first cylinders feeding the second. Because they were articulated, they could cope with lightly engineered track. Because there were six sets of driving axles, track distortion was reduced and they could put a lot (relatively speaking) of power on the track. If anyone finds a Marocaine secreted in a forgotten engine shed, those in the know will rejoice. Ironically, soon after the First World War began, the French Army realised that the Motherland needed locomotives and rolling stock; exports were paused for a time. In another twist, ‘Fort Lyautey’ became Port Lyautey using vessels which could navigate Wadi/River Sebou to the settlement. The photo, courtesy of Raymond Duton, shows the Station Restaurant at Kenitra/Port Lyautey and, yes, that is a Decauville 6000 waiting for the passengers to finish their lunches!.

The railway was here to stay. With the First World War, the treaty banning railways was considered no longer valid. Any pretence at a military railway was dropped; anyway, they reasoned, the locals would like the new trains. On 27th March 1916, Colonel Bursaux, director of Moroccan railways, was given permission to proceed by General Lyautey himself. Ad hoc cuttings and embankments were to be replaced with bridges and viaducts. Stations were to be upgraded. The permanent was wide enough to take standard or metre gauge. Here is a picture of Lyautey when he was Minister of War in the French wartime Cabinet, a post which abruptly ended early in 1917. He insisted that no matter how senior the civilian politicians, they could not be trusted with military secrets. (Photo author's collection)

With one eye on military narrow gauge and one on commercial gauges, Lyautey authorised lines stretching east towards Maghnia in Algeria and south into the Sahara. When the Armistice was signed on 11th November 1918, engineering supplies could move in freely. By 1920, the phrase ‘Protectorate of Morocco’ was in use. The network, until then administered by the Army, was transferred, sort of, to the civilians. The Protectorate was responsible for finances. Engineers from the Paris-Lyon-Marseille PLM, a French Grande Ligne provided the technical administration. As for the Moroccans – they provided financial support – but of course they benefitted from improved transport. The end As new links were started, prefabricated 60cm track was lifted, replaced with standard gauge, and re-laid in progressively more remote areas.The photo below shows a Decauville 1st/2nd class 'mixed' 60cm gauge carriage which was used at first on the lines between important towns and then on secondary routes as narrow gauge was replaced and relaid elsewhere. Courtesy Jim Hawkesworth.

There was also metre gauge, especially adjoining he border with Algeria. The process began in 1923 and by 1937, the last significant 60cm gauge branch had been lifted. At its apogee the 60cm network extended to 1300km, over 800 miles. On the whole, transport was good for the Moroccans though if it had been designed primarily for civilian purposes, it would have been better. General, then Marshal, Lyautey, is not remembered with affection. He tried to do a ‘Franco’ and take his troops into metropolitan France to quell an overly socialist government. Marshal Pétain managed to dissuade him. Port Lyautey is now called Knitra. Books Colonel Péchot: Tracks to the Trenches, Sarah Wright Birse Press 2014 Les Chemins de Fer de la France D’outre Mer Vol 2, Bejui, Raynaud, Vergez-Larrouy 1992 La Régordane especially Chapter 4 Le Maroc Decauville: Ce nom qui fit le tour du monde, Roger Bailly 1989 Eds Amatteis especially Chapter 6

Painting and building thirty five years on

We all end up with shelves of unbuilt kits, and, particularly for me as a builder of locomotives, unpainted prototypes. Unbuilt kits in my case are far too numerous and I recently decided to build the ones that I wished I had, get rid of the ones that had been superseded by better products and paint the prototype locomotives. In the photograph below, you see the most recent results from my resolution. Firstly, the kits: A very good friend called Jim Hawkesworth gave me three Kidner kits for three-ton Festiniog Railway slate wagons. These were of steel construction and built by Brown Marshalls in 1869. More were built at Boston Lodge. Although they survived in use until mid 20th century, they were a little large and many of the connected quarries found them difficult to deal with. More modern slate-wagons were smaller. The prototype had a tare of 19cwt and could carry a three ton load of cut slate.

The kit is very interesting. According to the instructions and the beautiful drawing, the kit dates from 1980. For the time, and even today, it is exceptional. It is mixed media, components being etches, white metal, wood and glass-filled nylon injection moulded wheelsets. Unusually for the time, the model is accurate and has exceptional detail in that every bolt or rivet used in its construction, both visibly and invisibly, are represented. Making it is a prickly exercise since most of the etches - where bolts or rivets are involved - are achieved using approximately two hundred 0.5mm lacepins. The etches are so well designed that every hole is counter-sunk on the head side of the rivet so that it does not stand too proud. Where hex-headed bolts of the time were used, they are represented with minute etched heads. The effort of doing all this soldering is not wasted because the fit of the parts is exquisite. The photo is of the first one I have completed. The other two kits await the healing of my numerous puncture wounds. The wagon awaits numbering, weathering but does nicely show its large size relative to a Hunslet Quarry Loco.

The locomotive is about thirty eight years old. It was the first iteration of a scale Alice class Hunslet model which was superseded by a more commercial product that had slip-eccentric valve-gear rather than Stephenson's valve-gear and, most significantly, doubling of the gas capacity. The photos below show two views of the model. Inspiration to build it came from a day trip to Wales with another good friend named Dave Provan. We visited the Bala Lake Railway where we spent the day in their workshop photographing and measuring their partially rebuilt Hunlet locommotive. To make the model, a lot of time was spent thinking it through, literally pondering how to get a quart into a pint pot, and how to keep the open cab clear of non-scale bits of pipe etc. The first improvement I made to the model prototype was about twenty years ago when I replaced a rectangular transverse gas tank with one over twice the size, fitted longitudinally below the cab floor. I built five with full Stephenson's valve gear, all cut out on an engraving machine in steel. I even case-hardened the links and die-block. Certainly this technique could not be extended to all my Hunslets in terms of profitability. The current commercial model looks identical. It has the same laser-cut frames and rods, the same etched platework and , most significantly, all the same lost-wax castings. However, between the frames, it is all much simpler; slip eccentric valvegear, a redesigned cylinder valve block at the front end, so no fiddling about for hours setting up the Stephenson's valve timing.

Recently, I took the locomotive off the shelf for a run, It ran beautifully for five mninutes and stopped. One of the four eccentrics had obviously slipped on the axle. I immediately started the long job of taking it to pieces, a long job because I had forgotten just how many finessed one-off ideas held it together. So it rested on its oily oven-tray for nearly a year and then in June, I took the plunge, took the front end to bits, verified one of the valves had shifted, re-adjusted the sheave and pinned it along with the others, put it together, this time using Loctite 574 rather than paper gaskets. Much to my satisfaction, it ran like the proverbial Swiss watch on the airline and crept along equally reliably. And so, into the paint-shop. Firstly, it had to be ultrasonically cleaned, then brushed over with acid, rinsed, dried, masked with tape where necessary, sprayed with Upol etch primer then red or grey Halford's primers and spray-painted using Halford's paints straight from the can. A great deal of time was taken masking, leaving only the yet to be painted hand-rails, fire-iron holders and some beadings, all with Humbrol gloss black. Should I line it? It should have a single reasonably wide orange line on top of the Oporto red body colour. It needs plates and I think fairly heavy weathering plus the addition of some recent lost-wax castings - two water gauges and a firehole door.

Headgear in the First World War

As a modeller of First World War scenes, you may have wondered whether French soldiers sported the képi (cylindrical peaked) hat or casque (the characteristic French helmet). The brief answer is that in 1914, the majority of infantry sported the képi. This was an improvement on the massive shako and the bicorne hat - massive headgear which made it impossoble to move without being seen. There were exceptions; mounted troops wore helmets as protection if they fell off their horses. See below.

Our thanks are due to Raymond Péchot, Péchot's grandson for allowing us to reproduce this photograph. All rights reserved. The képi is much in evidence in this picture of a naval gun taken in 1886. The officers and other ranks standing around the 240mm gun belong to the Gunners/Artillerie. They are wearing this form of peaked cap so typical of the French military. Other personnel come from the Marine Service. Prosper Péchot, see below, can be seen, mounted, at the centre of the picture. He is wearing the Artillerie version of the képi. The story behind the picture is interesting. The Marines in the picture are moving a large naval gun as part of an exercise performed every year in the 1880s. As the reach of the French Navy increased, so they wanted to be sure that they could land a force de frappe bristling with guns on any beach in the world. As guns got larger, however, they realised that muscle power alone was not enough to drag a naval gun up the hill at Fontainebleau. In 1885, they turned to Péchot to solve the problem which he duly did, with his system of portable railway. Equipment was all ready for the annual exercise in July 1886. The chocks in front of the nearer bogie hint at just how steep the gradient was. You will be relieved to know that the detachment reached their objective in good time for lunch! This would have been impossible without the Péchot system. The képi survived to the time of the First World War. An advertisement appearing in the magazine ‘Illustration’ - author's collection - in June 1916 shows officers of the French and British Army are shown mostly in peaked caps, though there are two ceremonial helmets to be seen.

Other illustrations from the same magazine show how the képi was a notice-board for regiment and rank. The barrel of the hat displays a useful code of identification. They had all earned citations (cit). Here is a lieutenant of the 4th Colonial Infantry,

a lieutenant of the 13th Infantry (headgear worn rather cheekily in the photo,

a lieutenant if the 9th Engineers

and a Captain in the 66th Infantry.

All illustrations are from the author's collection. Once the First World War started, even Top Brass began to notice various new aspects of the fighting. Losses among the infantry were horrendous. While waiting for the breakthrough (which never happened on the Western Front)the mounted regiments were also put into the trenches. It was noticed that though they suffered losses, these were not as tragic. In a Report of 17th February 1915, High Command noted: The overwhelming majority of our casualties sustained head wounds. In the majority of cases, they would have been protected by a metal helmet. This headgear would have, in the first case, protected them against shell-bursts and flying shrapnel which do not have great penetrating power. They would also have stopped the dangers of ricochet from spent bullets. Statistics bear out these observations. Our cavalry suffered far less than the Infantry. (Note: when fighting in the trenches, the cavalry kept their traditional helmets. The Infantry also tried by various shifts to protect their heads. Some attached their mess –tins to the top of their hats. A patriotic industrialist devised a calotte, a metal skull-cap to be worn under the képi. The design was trialled at the defence laboratory at Bourges. Unfortunately, a one-size-fits-all skullcap did not fit everyone but where they could be worn, they were effective against 60% of shrapnel and spent bullets. 700,000 of these calottes were distributed and research on a better design went ahead.

The result of this research was the casque or helmet, an improved version of the one already worn by mounted regiments. The design originated from the Crimean War, the so-called pot-hat of the sappers of Sebastopol, which was in turn taken from the head protection worn by light cavalry. The colour chosen was gun-metal grey, reminiscent of military equipment, especially the 75mm gun. A grade of steel which provided protection from flying bullets was chosen. It and the integrated visor/rim was punched from a single piece of metal. The crest of the cavalry helmet was reduced to a discreet ridge. This gave the helmet extra rigidity but also featured perforations for the better circulation of air. For comfort it was lined with an inner helmet of leather, a suede leather chin-strap held it in place. It was carefully designed not to interfere with movement, even under fire, the whole weighing well under 700 grams.

A single design of casque was worn by the humblest to the most senior when in the field. Members of the various branches of the army carried a different device on the helmet. The infantry – as in the illustration - were distinguished by a stylised grenade, the Chasseurs, a hunting horn, Colonial troops an anchor, the Sappers a stylised breast-plate and helmet and the Artillery the crossed cannon device. Personally, I find the insignia both familiar and a little disturbing. In the British Army, the Sappers wear the grenade insignia. I also find the crossed cannons of the Artillery just a little reminiscent of the Confederate insignia and the fasces. But that is personal. My personal picture of Prosper Péchot’s benevolent face never includes that particular casque; indeed, he would never have worn it. Tradition was not dead. The képi, affectionately rather than respectfully known as the pioupiou, continued to be worn. It appeared straight and solemn on parade but when marching or off-duty, quite possibly at a jaunty angle as modelled by the cheeky young Lieutenant Blanc.

As a quick postscript, the système Péchot featured in the photograph above became very familiar to the casque-bearers of the Great War. From light, prefabricated track supporting a few specialist bogie-wagons, it evolved into THOUSANDS of kilometres of permanent way carrying munitions, engineering stores, food, water and forage for animals forward to the Front and spent ammunition to be recycled and the wounded back to base. Thanks are due to the Péchot family for allowing me to reproduce pictures from their family archive. Other illustrations are from the author's collection. Copyright Further Reading: WJK Davies - Light Railways In the First World War (out of print); Dr Christian Cénac - 60 centimetres pour ravitailler les Armées francaises pendant la premiere guerr mondiale (out of print) Sarah Wright - Colonel Péchot: Tracks To The Trenches Birse Press 2014

The Pechot Memorandum

As a young man, Prosper Péchot studied at the prestigious Ecole Polytechnique in Paris. Those who passed the entrance examination were already graduates of prestigious institutions with the equivalent of a degree in mathematics. He would have enjoyed the company of such luminaries as Lionel Penrose, Laurent Bartoldi and André Henriques if they had been around at the time. Unfortunately, he died in 1928, but here follows my little flight of fancy. While at Staff College, 1880 to 1882, he was given the standard puzzle of the day, how to regain the Lost Provinces of Alsace-Lorraine. These were conceded to the new German Reich in 1871 at the conclusion of the Franco-Prussian War. The city of Metz was considered the key to a successful campaign. It was well-defended with the finest fortifications of the period, massive structures proof against siege guns of the time. Prosper Péchot reasoned that if the present guns weren’t big enough, larger ones would have to be used. Such guns existed and had indeed been used. During the lamentable war, the French had brought naval guns up the Seine and positioned them around Paris. The Prussians never actually took Paris. It had surrendered in January 1871 after a grisly siege when cold, hunger and disease had each taken their toll.

If you want an idea of the area defended by these guns and how such guns were moved into position, look at a map of modern Paris. Although now surrounded by urban sprawl, its most distinctive feature is the péripherique road which encircles it. This was built over the defences of 1870. Though warfare is no longer actually waged, a drive can be a somewhat unnerving experience for a visitor. The map has other interesting features. The main motorway intersections are still called ‘Ports’ recalling the time they were defensive gates on the road to Orleans etc. It is pierced by a number of obliging rivers, twice by the Seine and once each by tributaries such as the Marne. It’s not too much of a stretch to call it the Isle de France! There was, however, all the difference in the world between transporting naval guns by ship and dragging them – and their heavy ammunition – overland to a convenient position within range of an enemy fortification. He envisaged guns whose barrels alone had a mass of 34 tonnes and a total daily passage of freight of over 2000 tonnes. Péchot had the solution and he had seen it at work, well, sort of. In the 1870s, Paul Decauville the French industrialist had developed a portable railway for use on farms and quarries. There is quite a difference between a barrow-load of sugar-beet and a large gun, but Péchot had resolve, imagination and a grasp of mathematics. The Péchot system was born.

He seized his pen and turned a College exercise into Memorandum which, hardly out of Staff College he sent straight to the top, to the Ministre de Guerre – ministry of Defence we might say. It was a snappy document. With a small preamble, in the paragraph entitled Description, he explained the purpose of his system. ‘A means must be found to carry components weighing up to 34 tonnes and a significant mass of smaller freight.’ Hoping that his readers shared his enthusiasm and would read on in excitement, ‘Trials indicate that a portable railway could do this.’ Trials had proved that an adapted version of the existing Decauville railway was suitable. Unfortunately, as it turned out, his readers did not share his enthusiasm and it was a long time before the système Péchot was adopted. His claims were justified, both by mathematical theory and experiments in the field. Paul Decauville helped with the latter though, sadly, in the end his efforts did not receive due recognition. We come back to the mathematics. The Decauville system was ideal for transporting carts carrying 0.5 of tonne, a relatively easy ‘push’ for a human or 1 tonne, well within the capabilities of a horse.

Decauville prefabricated rail looked like an adapted ladder with some rungs missing; such rail was quite adequate for the force with which each axle of these carts pressed down. If, however, such wagons were overloaded, the rail would distort. To ensure a better match, a/ the rail could be strengthened b/ the number of axles could be increased. What about c/ a judicious increase of each? We can imagine a ‘sweet spot’ where the two lines intersected on a graph. Firstly Péchot found the theoretical ‘sweet spot’ and then he experimented at Decauville’s factory. As we have seen, the patron helped, with specially made track and wagons. Péchot devised ‘a track using rail of 9.5 kilogrammes per metre.’ He supplied a drawing of a 5m prefabricated track panel supported by 8 improved sleepers to be coupled with Decauville-style fishplates. These could resist a force of 3 ½ tonnes ie support a mass of 3 ½ tonnes.

Secondly, in order to take serious loads, he proposed the use of bogies instead of simple wagons. Although not unknown, the bogie was an innovation in this context. If each load were supported supported by a suitable number of axles, load-bearing was vastly increased. Two axles (ie four wheels) could safely convey a mass of 5 tonnes, three axles for 9 tonnes. By using pivoting links, such axles could be multiplied, if not infinitely, many times at least. See picture above. There was another issue, that of the track gauge. At one extreme, was the prefabricated track used by Decauville and others. A gauge of 40 cm was convenient for transport over ploughed fields and inside factory settings whereas national French railways used Standard Gauge. Broader gauges such as those of the British Great Western Railway and the railways of Imperial Russia also existed. Theory suggested that 60cm gauge offered ‘the best of both.’ A rival system dreamed up by the Génie (Engineers) branch of the French army came to grief wherever their system arrived at the gate of a fort – too narrow. A railway of 60cm gauge could tolerate a turning circle of 20 metres – track panels of this radius were available. There is a theoretical minimum which was later explored by Lionel Penrose. His son, Roger, created mazes for railways; the train had to get from A to B without making any excessively sharp turns. The illustration shows ‘allowed’ and ‘forbidden’ routes on a railway.Forbidden are marked in red. Péchot had to devise many mazes of the sort shown below right and if Penrose puzzles had existed in those days he would have enjoyed them.

There was another design point where Péchot’s strong mathematics helped. He realised that his system needed a smooth transition between curved and straight track. He appreciated the Euler spiral. This puts into mathematical language what the eye can see. Its curvature of 1/r where r is the radius of the best-fitting circle at a given point, is proportional to the distance along that line. A graph shows this. At the origin, there is no curve – it’s a straight line. At the two ends of the spiral, the curve is infinitely tight. To get your curved and straight lines to meet up smoothly – otherwise your train will fall off the track – just calculate the correct value of r.

Sadly, Péchot-style track was used on an industrial scale during the first world war. This picture shows a British War Department railway in action in 1917.

As Hannah Fry would say, ‘mathematicians aren’t the ones who find it easy. They just enjoy how hard it is.’ Prosper Péchot would smile. Further Reading Roy Link: Albums of the First World War RAM Publishing Roger Penrose: Railway Mazes from ‘A lifetime of puzzles’ Ed, Demaine et al, Wellesley 2008 Professor Ian Stewart: ‘Casebook of Mathematical Mysteries’ Profile Books 2014 Sarah Wright: ‘Tracks To The Trenches: Colonel Péchot’ Birse Press 2014

We are back

After a gap of getting on for two years, and attending the first attending our first Garden Railway AGM in three years, we had our most successful show ever. Looking forward, we are looking towards a slimmed down Wrightscale, keeping going for at least the next couple of years. One of the reasons for the success of the Show was, after three years of slow progress through COVID and many personal changes, we were able to deliver eight out of ten Baldwin Gas Mechanicals. We have pictured one of these below, resplendent in its French Horizon Blue livery. This is the fourth batch we have built over the years. The cab windows are now glazed and the headlight and rear light are illuminated. We used 2mm warm white LEDs. They really do look like incandescent electric lamps. This batch of engines, like the last, completed about six yeards ago, are powered with 3V-12V COMO 62:1 gearhead motors. They drive through a final 1:1 bevel. These motors only draw 100mA under load and should give a few hours of running on the 12 AAA battery pack.