These much ignored pieces of rural and urban furniture finally have a website of their own.
This is not the site to visit for technical information pertaining to telegraph poles. You'll find nothing about 10KVa transformers, digital telephone networking or even so much as a single volt.
This is a website celebrating the glorious everyday mundanitude of these simple silent sentinels the world over.
|from the simple...||through the interesting...||to the hieroglyphics||and the alluring|
|click the thumbnails above to view the gallerys.||more poles...|
We don't care what the wires contain either. They all carry electricity in some way be it the sparky stuff which boils your kettle, or the thinner stuff with your voice in it when you're on the phone.
Join the army.
Travel the world.
Meet interesting, exotic people...
and kill them.
Or... if you're a Royal Signals Engineer, erect telegraph poles all across their land.
Ex R. Sigs squaddie, and even ex-er GPO Engineering apprentice, Johnny Marsden has sent me some photos from his life up an army telegraph pole. Johnny, who lives considerably less than a million miles from me and has a V8 landrover he'd like help with, tells me he particularly loved the pole work whilst in the services. He also says that he got to play with the full spectrum of PLOH & UG, from open copper to Fibre Optics*1.
Clockwise from top left:
1. All in a day's work for a TeleMech in Borneo;
2. A messy pole in Romania, but as a world travelled ex-R.Sigs squaddie Johnny says he has seen and worked on much worse.
3. Cyprus WSBA, jointing in 88mH Loading Coils to an SSAC as part of a ~14 mile mixed cable route that was Loaded & Balanced between Episkopi & Akrotiri.
*1 Will no doubt mean something to our Honorary Technical Advisor, Keith S****.
Coming across a sick, broken or otherwise ailing telegraph pole always brings out the Samaritan in me. This latest pole (see previous post) was no different. Into my workshop for a bit of TLC wherein the application of a modicum of sawing, wire-brushing, hammering and swearing noises means they're all better now.
I have to say though, I haven't got many of these brown ceramics and they're a bit of a bugger* to remove from their pegs. Despite my inventiveness with some sticky roofing felt which I used to supplement my grip together with a plumber's wrench tool. These had to be cleaned up in situ.
Anyway, when you can take your eyes off my amazing lawn in the bottom photograph (no chemicals added) you can see the finished arms wood replete with shiny telegraphic furniture. I have a cunning plan for making a desk ornament out of this one. Watch this space.
* for want of a better word
Place: The B5105, about 3 miles from Ruthin
Time: 09:47am, 19th May 2011
Just on our way back up from town after a shopping trip to stock up on Wham bars, Island Organic biscuits and Welsh tea when we came across these extemporaneous traffic lights.
(A bit) like someone out of an Andy McNab novel, I fair leapt out of our still moving car as the lights turned back to red. I knew what these guys were doing, and I knew what I had to do. They were about to take away the remains of the crashed pole I blogged about 4 posts ago. Time for a rescue mission...
Okay, Andy McNab might have had me machine-gunning Taliban henchmen as I abseiled out of a helicopter before making good an escape with my booty. My reality was almost the same except that I sauntered up and asked the workmen if I could have the bits that were lying splintered on the floor, and they said yes.
But I did have their incredulity to contend with. That someone would want to collect bits of knackered ancient telegraph pole and then go away and do something useful with it meant I must surely need certifying. That's correct gentlemen, totally barking. And they certainly didn't believe me when I said I was from The Telegraph Pole Appreciation Society. They do now.
Anyway, cheers Ged and co.
Here's a photo of what I recovered. And I've still got my eyes on the rest of those poles. More about this particular restoration shortly. Meanwhile, I have some Wham bars to wreck my filings on.
W e are only God's Poor Orphans
But we do our level best.
to keep you all connected and in touch.
In the winter wires are frozen
and we seldom get much rest,
But we don't complain; well, not very much.
We know we're in the service of our monarch
King or Queen.
It's an honour, not a job, so do you see.
That her majesty's the boss, the best boss ever been.
On that all God's Poor Orphans will agree.
We will keep the wires singing,
'Cos you know "It's good to talk"
Keep the tidings winging.
'Quicker to 'phone than to walk'
Greetings merry, news that's sad,
We'll convey them good or bad.
And know at last we did our job
We did it for honour not for a few bob.
We'll end our service with a contented sigh.
And depart for that great Telephone Exchange in the sky.
Poem by Society Honorary Technical Adviser, Keith S****