By Ron Wrigglesworth
Minute particles from the power saw leave a soft coating of powdered wood,like a frosting of cream icing sugar, over everything within a metre and a half of the bench. Fine pale coloured sawdust from pine wood is banked up in the corners of the screened bench the saw is bolted to. It and the surrounding area desperately need vacuuming.
The grooves in the raw concrete floor are ﬁlled with small nails, dust and slivers of timber, the remnants of recent projects, and they too could do with a clean.
Rain has blown in under the door and the piece of rubberised carpet used as a floor mat in front of the long workbench is moist. An odour of dampness pervades the inside of the corrugated iron shed. The building used to ﬂood every time it rained heavily, but a drain was installed around the two sides that are cut into the slope and it solved the problem.
On the bench, a thin paintbrush is standing in an empty glass coffee jar of turpentine. The smell of the essential oil ﬂoats on the air and mingles with the fragrance of fresh cut timber and the odour of eucalyptus oil on a cleaning rag.
Tools, paint tins and an assortment of bits and pieces cover the workbench. A plastic bag of red, blue, green, grey and multi-coloured rags sits in the corner.
This is a man’s place, a world of oil, paint, tools and timber.
The shed is divided into two distinct areas. The cluttered working area at the south end and the neat storage area at the north.
The northern area contains a six by four trailer with a heavy canvas top, a Triton saw bench with a bicycle leaning against its frame. Four free standing model railway layouts and two dioramas of varying scales and gauges, some complete and others under construction. Each with its own unique name.
The north wall of the building is solid shelving, stacked with wooden,
plastic or card board storage boxes. A couple of saddles sit on a rack attached to
one of the uprights. And more completed model railway layouts are stored in a
bespoke rack. A
It is a workshop, a private retreat, a man cave, a place for the realisation of ideas and dreams.
It is the “Train Shed”.
It is mine.