There is far more to railways than the locomotives and rollingstock.
It is people that gives it all purpose.
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There was a time when being a railfan in the Philippines wasn't treated like you were an escaped criminal mastermind armed with nothing more dangerous than a camera and an unhealthy fascination with historical guff. Back then, the railway was a place of adventure, laughter and friendship. It was a time before certain local "railfans" decided gatekeeping was an Olympic sport, and before some security guards adopted the revolutionary policing technique of shouting first and thinking never.
Those were the days when a visit to a Philippine National Railways yard often started with a smile and a wave from the staff. More often than not, someone would wander over to ask where you were from, have a chat about your interest, and before long you'd be standing in places that today would probably trigger three incident reports and a small tactical response unit. The railway employees weren't just accommodating; many became genuine mates who shared the same pride in their railway that we all admired.
Weather? That was merely a minor inconvenience. Tropical sunshine that melted your shoes, monsoonal rain capable of floating a small village away, or humidity that made breathing feel like drinking soup—we photographed through it all. Somehow the more miserable the conditions became, the better the stories were afterwards. A successful day wasn't measured by comfort; it was measured by whether your camera survived and whether your socks ever dried again.
Every station had its own personality. Every depot had another corner waiting to be explored. Every yard seemed to hide another forgotten locomotive, another rusty wagon or another fascinating piece of railway history. Looking back, we probably walked enough kilometres around those yards to qualify for some obscure endurance medal, although sadly no medals were ever awarded for surviving mosquitoes the size of commuter trains.
The best part, though, was never the locomotives. As shocking as that admission may be to fellow foamers, it was the people. Rail employees who happily answered endless questions, station masters who tolerated our excitement, workshop staff who proudly showed off their latest repairs, and friends from Australia, the Philippines and around the world who somehow all spoke the universal language of pointing cameras at noisy diesel locomotives. It didn't matter where anyone came from. Once a locomotive horn sounded, everyone became family.
Naturally, no adventure was complete without someone getting hopelessly lost, someone forgetting where they left their Tanduay, someone being spectacularly late (locally referred to as Philippine time), or someone insisting they knew a shortcut that somehow added another six kilometres to the day's bollocking around. It became an unwritten rule that the more confident someone sounded, the less likely they actually knew where they were going.
Despite my always making detailed notes and maps before racking off to the Philippines, it seems next nobody believed the directions of a foreigner LOL.
Fortunately, railway tracks are remarkably good at helping one eventually work out one's location.
Sadly, time catches all of us. Some of those railway workers who welcomed us so warmly are no longer with us. Some of the friends who shared those countless adventures have also passed on. Looking through old photographs today often brings a smile before bringing a lump to the throat (amongst other areas). The locomotives are still there in many images, but it's the familiar faces standing beside them that now matter the most. Those snapshots captured far more than trains—they preserved moments in time that can never be recreated.
The railway itself has changed enormously over the years, and so has the atmosphere surrounding it. Somewhere along the journey, common sense has taken an extended holiday. A handful of self-appointed railway experts appeared whose greatest contribution to the hobby seemed to be manipulating and lying their way to suit personal agendas, while certain security guards discovered that glaring suspiciously at photographers was apparently listed under "essential duties".
One almost misses the days when the greatest danger was accidentally stepping into a puddle deep enough to contain its own ecosystem.
Thankfully, no amount of bureaucracy, inflated egos or overenthusiastic whistle-blowing can erase the memories of those earlier years. The laughter shared over Tanduay and Cornicks after a long day, the endless conversations about locomotives, the spontaneous invitations into workshops, the friendships built across cultures and generations, and the simple joy of wandering around one of the world's most fascinating railway systems remain far stronger than any unpleasant encounters that came later.
Looking back now, those weren't simply railway photography trips. They were adventures with extraordinary people who happened to love railways as much as I once did. We may have returned home soaked, sunburnt, mosquito-bitten and carrying enough dust to start our own quarry, but we also came home with friendships that lasted decades and memories that will last even longer. And if I had the chance to do it all again tomorrow... I'd probably remember to pack more water, more insect repellent... and perhaps a referee to deal with the modern-day ferals.
If you even find some moderate amount of enjoyment would you consider giving us even a little bit of a
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Above and below.
The late Phil Clark and his wife during the one time we were able time being in Manila together.
Sadly Phil was to pass away a few years later.
Photos: Brad Peadon
2011 PRHS Railfan Day.
Sadly two of our group have since passed away.
Photo: Brad Peadon
Above and two below.
Things were a wee bit moist during our time at Espana station.
This station, along with all others along the Metro Manila south line section, has been wiped out as part of the elevated thing they are building.
Photos: Brad Peadon
MrX hanging with some locals while awaiting another train at Espana.
Photo: Brad Peadon
Mrs Phil Clark at Espana station.
Photo: Brad Peadon
Above and two below
Our group takes off for another ride, seen here in DMR-08.
They will still nice and new at the time, the railcars not the fans, far removed from what they have become now.
Photos: Brad Peadon
A very young Mark Chua talking to Jen from the LRT1 during a ride on 1225.
Photo: Brad Peadon
The late Ben Exconde, a friend of numerous years, but has sadly been lost.
Photo: Brad Peadon
PRHS model railway night at the Mabini Mansion in Ermita.
Photo: Brad Peadon
Possibly the cutest cop in the whole country.
People of authority in the PNR were just nicer back then.
Photo: Brad Peadon
The lovely Ms Emma Papa from PNR is seen here at Tutuban station with MrX, Mark, and myself.
Photo: Brad Peadon
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