by Michael Kelly

Long before Route 44 became the speedway it is for cars and trucks whizzing through the heart of the village, most people entered and departed Norfolk deliberately, by way of the railroad. Passengers sharing comfortable parlor cars could hop on and off at 23 stations as the train meandered along steel rails on the Central New England Railway (reporting mark CNE), which was developed as a link on an east–west route between the Connecticut and Hudson Rivers. In CNE’s heyday, 12 passenger trains and several freight trains stopped in Norfolk everyday. For 57 years, locals could have a leisurely breakfast at home before boarding the 8 a.m. train. Three and a half hours later, they would arrive in New York for lunch, a round of shopping or business meetings. Catching the 3:30 p.m. train at Grand Central, they could be back in Norfolk for supper by 7 p.m.

In the 1860’s, Norfolk Bank President Egbert Butler recognized the economic advantages of bringing the railroad to Norfolk. Successfully rallying enthusiastic support, he raised capital despite logistical problems presented by Norfolk’s high, rugged, hilly terrain. Engineers insisted the most feasible way to bring trains into Norfolk was by laying tracks directly though the center of the village green, an audacious notion which, counterintuitively, was championed by virtually all of Norfolk’s citizenry . . . with one notable exception.

Reverend Joseph Eldridge, pastor of the Congregational Church on the Green for 40 years, was dismayed by the proposed defacement of his beloved green. Since the 1700s, it had been the hub and heart of Norfolk, a living symbol of its idealized New England heritage. Brimming with righteous indignation, Eldridge travelled to Hartford several times to petition the legislature for a rerouting of the tracks away from the green.

Reverend Eldridge’s entreaties prevailed. Tracks were laid, out of sight, behind houses on the east side of the green, and a tunnel was dug under Greenwoods Road to afford trains access to the station downtown. It’s difficult to imagine today how deep the tunnel had to be cut to allow hulking locomotives to pass under the road, while they tightly squeezed and wheezed past adjoining houses, which still stand today. Convenient as train service was, it also brought considerable noise, soot and consternation to those who lived and worked near the tracks. As trains approached the station, a shrill whistle blew, followed by loud clanging of a bronze bell. Billowing smoke from the steam engine filled the air, and cinder sparks threatened to set houses and fields on fire.

Isabella Eldridge, who had opened the Norfolk Library in 1889, was hardly pleased with the proximity of the railroad to her book-filled sanctuary. She bought and razed the adjacent Landon Brothers store and set about expanding and beautifying the library grounds. To embellish her vision, Miss Bella engaged prolific Norfolk architect Alfredo Taylor to design a decorative railing that would be an attractive focal point for the railroad while mitigating its inherent intrusiveness. It would also serve as a subtle, lasting honorific to her father, Reverend Eldridge, who had stoutheartedly saved the Green from ruination.

According to historian Ann Havemeyer, Taylor’s modest but dignified design “consists of two ashlar granite balustraded piers flanking a carved wooden railing, crowned by wrought iron lamps with curvilinear bases suggestive of the Arts & Crafts movement.” The deceptively simple railing, meant to keep pedestrians from falling on the tracks, mimics a gate. Three half-moons, shot through with pickets, drape down to create a sturdy swag underpinning for what was once a dramatic view of Haystack Mountain. On August 25, 1905, the electrified lamps were lit for the first time.

The automobile’s ascendency crippled the railroad. Passenger service to Norfolk was discontinued in 1927, with the exception of a special party train resurrected in 1934 to transport guests to the wedding of Barbara Childs and James Lawrence. In 1938, the last freight train lumbered through town.

After World War II, the tracks were removed, the tunnel filled in. Over the years, the lamps were lit intermittently, and Taylor’s artwork was taken for granted and neglected.

Taking note of the library’s recent campaign to restore its splendid terra cotta roof and to rejuvenate its tired landscaping, Norfolk’s Community Association, led by co-chair Joel Howard, decided to take on the task of restoring Taylor’s creation to its former stateliness. Howard dismantled the handmade lamps and took them to his barn, where he sanded, cleaned and painted them. He replaced the broken, multi-paned glass with durable Lexan and meticulously scrubbed decades of dirt and lichen from the railing before applying primer and two coats of paint. After a tricky wiring problem was resolved, Miss Bella’s decorative railing and lamps—expressive, unpretentious reminders of Norfolk’s bustling past as a railroad town—glow again, warmly welcoming pedestrians and the steady stream of vehicular traffic hastening by.

Photo by Michael Kelly.