Norman McKillop, an LNER driver discusses his experiences with the Gresley V4s.  His views make interesting reading, particularly about the locomotive's haulage capacity and water consumption.  Norman McKillop wrote under the pseudonym 'Toram Beg' while he was still employed by British Railways.

I wonder why so little has been written about the Bantam Cock. There were only two of these built, the last of the Gresleys. These miniature ‘Prairies’ were to all intents and purposes just wee brothers (or sisters) of the V2s and carried the classification V4.  They could go anywhere and do almost anything. That was perhaps why the ‘Bantam’ was sent to Scotland to be tried out on the “rocky mountain” stretches which are the West Highland railway. Before the ‘Bantam’ departed into the wild country, I put her through her paces on our difficult Edinburgh and Glasgow express trains. These trains serve a highly critical passenger traffic. Businessmen commute between the two cities and at both ends of the trip there are important connections which must be caught. The drivers on these trains are in trouble if they run late, possibly more so than any comparable run in Britain. It is a difficult road on which to maintain tim, a near fifty miles of what is called "level" track with a mile and a bit of incline at I in 41 dropping sheer into Queen Street station, Glasgow.  The "level" is full of subtle gradients that only a driver can appreciate properly.

The little ‘Bantam’ was given ten bogies to haul on the outward trip; a solidly loaded 325 tons, and with an inspector aboard we reached Glasgow on time. To me this was merely a period of getting acquainted. All the way I was putting questions to that little ‘Cock’ and she was answering them to my huge delight. The chief criticism which everyone made was the smallness of the tender capacity. Not coal capacity, it was the water which was the big trouble.

So the ‘Bantam’ and I concocted a plot.  We'd show 'em, and I'll swear she was smiling broadly when we left on our return trip. The amount of water left in the tank at the finish of our outward run had been nothing to enthuse over, "But just wait!", we were both murmuring.  "What do you think of her, Norman?", I was asked at Glasgow. "She's good," I said, "but let's give her a real test. Hang on another bogie carriage for the return trip and see how much water we use now that we know each other." There was a little jaw-dropping and goggling of the eyes, but the extra vehicle was tied on, and off we went.

Once we reached the top of the 1 in 41 out of Glasgow, the ‘Bantam’ settled down to show she was a dyed-in-the-wool Gresley. The throttle was kept wide open, and we played on that reverser as if it was tied to a gradient profile graph. During that trip there wasn't a single stretch of that subtle railway that wasn't matched with a reverser-quadrant number and the amazing amount of miles we covered with the pointer inside 15 per cent was good to see.

There was more to it than this, however. My mate knew my passion for "hot steam" when I was testing engines-and it was always provided.  On this occasion, neither I nor the ‘Bantam’ were giving away any minutes uselessly running too hard and so having to stand waiting time in stations; and the guard, a good lad, took no more than the one minute he was allowed at each stop. On the tightly timed sections (we had two stops) we were applying the brake at one end of the platform at 40 and coming to rest at the other end as if there was a sheet of velvet bringing us gently to a halt.  And the number of miles we "coasted" on that "level" road can't be told because nobody would believe it.

See the idea? The ‘Bantam’ was going to show 'em whether 3,500 gallons of water was enough to do anything she was asked to do.  At Waverley station, when the measuring stick was dropped into the tank (they wouldn't believe the tank gauge) it was confirmed that there really was half-a-tank of water left. That little engine was standing there as mild as milk listening to a thunderstruck official repeating over and over again, "It's simply not true."  I was the only one who saw her wink (maybe because I was the only one who winked at her!)

She's now in the role of "little old lady", toddling about somewhere in Scotland with a few carriages or wagons. When I hear her name mentioned I often wonder if she remembers a daft "Hielanman" who spoke her language, because he had a bee in his bonnet about the language she understood.