De Graafstroom is a 1:87 (HO, 3.5 mm/ft) finescale layout set in 1947, depicting a fictitious Cape gauge (1,067 mm, 3ft 6in) steam tramway running along the small South Holland river de Alblas, known upstream as the Graafstroom. It was built by Vincent de Bode with substantial help from Peter van der Kooij and Claude Moinier, and occupies an unusual territory between model railway, kinetic artwork, and personal family history.
Trains run to Proto 87-derived standards on 12.28 mm gauge hand-built track. A tjalk barge appears to sail slowly along the river without a ripple, sharing the water with a swan that glides lazily along the bank. A drawbridge lifts automatically as the boat approaches, and even a stork circles overhead. Behind all this, a gently curved, single-piece roller-blind painted backdrop and a second landscape module create an unusually deep and layered view.
The visible scenic area measures approximately 2.4 m by 1.12 m (about 7 ft 10 in by 3 ft 8 in), made up of two boards arranged one behind the other: the front carrying the river and tramway, the rear being pure landscape to extend the sense of space. At each end, hidden behind the backscene, is a flat area of roughly 50 cm square containing guide-wire loops that allow the barge to turn. At one end sits a single-track cassette “turntable” for turning a complete train; at the other is a connection for interchangeable train cassettes.
Origins, place and family
The project began with a remark from Iain Rice, who once described the Dutch landscape as “extremely characteristic.” Vincent did not immediately understand this; the Alblasserwaard had always felt ordinary to him. The comment made him look again, and he realised that what seemed normal was in fact highly distinctive: a carefully engineered, human-shaped landscape of dikes, ditches, subsiding peat, and ever-present water.
The personal anchor for the layout is a windmill in the Alblasserwaard west of Bleskensgraaf, where Vincent’s father grew up. It was the middle mill in a molengang—a row of three mills that historically worked together. Vincent’s father drew this mill many times, and those sketches fed into the long gestation of the layout.
The wider history matters. Before the year 1000, the area was largely wilderness, with trees, reeds, and water everywhere. Drainage ditches enabled agriculture, but drying peat caused the land to sink while sea levels rose. In 1277, Count Floris V established a polder board to organise dike-building and water control. For centuries, water was sluiced away at low tide into major rivers, but continued subsidence eventually made this inadequate. Between 1500 and 1600, windmills were introduced to pump water into a higher basin, or boezem, so that the “river” became a managed water body sitting above the land.
Around 1900, the polder board replaced the three mills with a steam pumping station. The first mill site became the pumping station; the second became the engineer’s house; the third became the stoker’s house. Vincent’s grandfather was appointed machinist there in 1910. The pumping station still stands today; the second mill has gone, the third survives. Its steam engine was replaced well before the Second World War by a diesel retained as backup.
For Vincent, this is not abstract history. His father grew up at the mill and hid there during the war with his brother and brother-in-law. His brother fished there; his sister learned to swim from the jetty. Their mother took a photograph in 1947 with grandparents, siblings, and Vincent still in his playpen. That year became the layout’s setting.
Why 1947 – and why a tram?
There was no room on the layout for the pumping station itself. Vincent considered many options, but compositionally, it would not fit. The mill also needed more space, but every model railway is full of compromises. The second key structure became the De Graafstroom dairy factory in Bleskensgraaf, where Vincent’s uncle Cor worked all his life. Cor later wrote De Graafstroom, 1908 to the present, which also explains the subsidence and water management of the area. Reconstructing the factory’s 1947 appearance from drawings and photographs became a major research exercise; it is a complex building with many dormers and windows.
Local sources were crucial. A book found in the village shop, Bleskensgraaf in Wartime, contained invaluable aerial photographs taken from the church tower after the 1945 bombing. Three houses from these images were modelled to suggest part of the village; the church itself had to be omitted for space.
Historically, there was never a railway along the Graafstroom; transport was by water, and farms faced the river, not the road. Vincent’s first thought was standard gauge to P87, but Gerard Tombroek suggested that a steam tram would be more appropriate. Vincent agreed, and the decision was made to model a fictitious Cape-gauge tramway (1,067 mm) using exact 12.28 mm track. To justify this, they invented the Zuid Hollandsche Tramweg Maatschappij (ZHTM), imagined as a company that had lost its stock during the war and reassembled a mixed fleet from across the country.
A sketch of the winding river, willow-lined dikes, mill, dairy, and tram became Vincent’s enduring design reference.
Baseboards, structure and working methods
The river dictated everything. Vincent would not accept any joints across the water, and the layout had to fit down narrow attic stairs. The maximum manageable module was roughly 240 × 55 × 30 cm.
The solution was a two-part scenic arrangement: a front board with river and tramway, and a rear board that is almost entirely landscape to create depth. The rear board is straight at the front and gently curved at the back to avoid a hard visual stop. A curved roller-blind backscene continues this line.
To keep things light, Vincent built a stiff frame from 3.5 mm okoumé plywood box tubes (50 × 50 mm), glued with epoxy thickened with wood shavings and reinforced at the corners with fibreglass. Cross slats of 18 × 18 mm support the top, and folding legs sit within the frame. The track height is 135 cm. The whole layout, including its plywood transport boxes, weighs only about 35 kg, and was designed so it could be moved in a plywood box on a roof rack rather than requiring van-sized transport.
Crucially, the team built a separate “rail module” first. From 3.5 mm ply, they cut the river shape and dike top, then glued vertical strips beneath (20 mm under the river, 23 mm under the dike) to form a rigid roadbed with space for wiring and mechanisms. Only when everything worked was this fixed into the mainframe. Despite being 2.4 m long, it was light enough to work on an ironing board, allowing easy height adjustment and access. Vincent already knew from Flintfield that seams running along the length of a layout are “not noticeable at all”, which helped justify a long, two-board arrangement with lengthwise joins rather than forcing awkward cross-joints near the water.
Track, turnouts and reliability
Cape gauge in 1:87 works out at 12.28 mm. The team adapted P87 standards and made their own gauges and templates. Rail came from Brian Harrap in a tiny 1.2 × 0.7 mm section, and sleepers were printed circuit board. A 0.5 mm brass gauge template was filed carefully to size. Code 40 rail was used for the hand-built pointwork.
After soldering with S39 flux, the module was hosed down outside—leading to a memorable water fight with Vincent’s son, Floor—before testing began. Early running was difficult; wagons derailed repeatedly. The team rolled stock down a sloping board to diagnose axle alignment, adjusting compensation beams until curves could be taken reliably. The homemade gauges worked, but Vincent was clear that they were “not as nice as” the bought P4 jigs, and that several inaccuracies later became apparent.
Turnouts are hand-operated but remotely actuated. Each switch blade has a 0.3 mm wire soldered to it, passing through slots in the baseboard into small tubes attached to a PCB slider. A 0.9 mm phosphor bronze spring provides both pressure and electrical switching, and a 1 mm push-pull wire operates the point from the front. The spring makes accidental damage almost impossible.
Locomotives, stock and couplings
Vincent began with brass tram loco kits from ’t Hollandsch Locaalspoor. The superstructure was straightforward soldering, but the chassis was far harder. Wheels from Branchlines were filed in a jig to achieve the correct tyre width and flange height (approximately 0.5 mm). Because they were not loco wheels, 1.2 mm crank pins were added.
The initial coupling-rod drive proved unreliable. After years of frustration, Vincent adopted a High Level SlimLiner gearbox with DriveStretcher, modifying it to create a compensated chassis. The DriveStretcher’s etched U-shape was split into two plates and linked with a bent 0.5 mm brass rod to allow flex. The driven axle sits in fixed bearings; the front axle runs in oversized slots. Coupling rods rotate but are not functional drive elements.
Current collection uses 0.3 mm phosphor bronze wipers on the wheel flange. As much lead as possible was added; the locos approached 100 g and then ran properly. At the last moment, Sven van der Hart supplied the correct number and works plates, and sound was later added after hearing it at an exhibition.
A short video explaining the loco compensation is embedded below.
Coaches are etched brass kits with modified, sprung bogies and filed-down wheels. Wagons are Jocadis plastic kits; balance irons were thinned and chamfered, and 0.5 mm holes drilled to accept stainless steel tube bearings cut from injection needles. Later, a simple 0.3 mm spring wire across the axle centre proved an elegant form of compensation.
Couplings are modified Alex Jacksons, changed from 0.3 mm to 0.2 mm guitar string, shortening them to about 30 mm instead of 60 mm and inverting the nose. Because the tram uses a central buffer with a cup coupling beneath, the AJs sit very low. Uncoupling is by permanent magnets raised and lowered by model aircraft servos, based on an idea by Gerco van Zetten.
Rolling stock drawings were taken from the book De Betuwsche Stoomtramweg Maatschappij (BSM), with additional vehicles borrowed conceptually from other companies, as happened in real life.
Water, movement and automation
The “water” is painted 3.5 mm ply finished with epoxy and PU yacht varnish. Guide wires for the barge were first 1.0 mm, later replaced with 0.3 mm to avoid interfering with the swan’s magnet. Slots were routed, the wire laid in, and the surface filled with epoxy.
The Artitec tjalk runs on two internal “tricycles.” The front cart is powered by a zoom-lens drive unit from a video camera with a battery supply; the rear simply rolls along. Steering occurs at the stern, as on a real vessel. To allow the carts to pivot sufficiently in the fiddle yard, much of the hull had to be hollowed out with a scroll saw. A PCB base carries the batteries. A Faller-style magnetic steering system guides the barge following a hidden wire, yet the mechanism is so well concealed, smooth, and silent that the illusion is highly convincing.
A short video showing the tjalk in motion is embedded below.
When the varnished river revealed too much of the hull underside, Vincent solved it by fitting thin blackened aluminium baffles in grooves along the keel so they slide over the water surface, hiding the mechanism even when the boat passes spectators at eye level.
Sails were made by shaping balsa, covering it with packing tape, then laying it on damp brown-dyed wrapping paper pressed into form and dried. The resin mast was replaced with shaped beech; rigging was secured with cyanoacrylate while held taut. A transport cassette protects the rigged barge.
The swan is pulled by a magnet on a hidden cart beneath the baseboard. To make its motion smooth, plastic film from old floppy disks was glued under the bird, dramatically improving glide; polishing the river surface later refined it further.
A short video of the swimming swan in operation is embedded below.
The drawbridge uses a Dave Rowe-inspired mechanism: a geared motor rotates an arm 180 degrees, stopping at microswitches at each end. A thin nylon thread lifts or lowers the bridge via a brass tube under the baseboard, giving a gentle start and stop.
Automation grew as conflicts emerged. Reed contacts triggered by the barge operate the bridge and timers. A voltage regulator and LiPo battery ensure constant boat speed, preventing premature bridge closure. Servos can physically block the swan cart if needed. A red/green indicator warns the operator whether it is safe to rotate the train turntable while the boat is in the hidden loop.
Scenery, trees and buildings
Meadows were built from corrugated card, newspaper and diluted PVA, then painted dark brown. An electrostatic applicator and fibres from Anita Decor created varied grass, with yellow “dandelion” areas added and fixed with matt varnish.
Willows define the scene. After many trials, the final method used bundles of 0.3 mm wire branches inserted through a 0.8 mm wire eyelet to form a trunk, soldered, then grouped and soldered again. Trunks received bark paste, were dipped in dilute PVA, flocked with 3–5 mm fibres, then fixed with hairspray and matt varnish. More than seventy were made. Poplars and a red beech were added as view blockers.
Weeping willows were made from ostrich feathers taken from a feather duster, glued to wire frameworks. A kitchen sieve held behind the branches prevented them from being blown away during airbrushing.
The mill was built from a card cone formed with internal battens and clamps, strengthened with inner discs and outer layers of card. After drying, doors and windows were cut, gesso applied, and N-scale stone sheet was used just under the roof. The thatched roof used hemp tufts glued from bottom to top, then trimmed and coloured with watercolour.
The dairy factory was built from plastic brick sheet on 1 mm card, with recessed windows and fine glazing bars. Ventilation ducts were turned from aluminium by Vincent’s friend Adri. The building was shortened to fit but retains its 1947 character.
Houses were built from foamboard and card, clad in plastic sheet, coloured with soft pencils. Roofs were made from paper strips shaped over tile profiles to create natural sag. Gutters were formed from drinks cans; downpipes from copper wire. Thatched roofs used hemp, with U-shaped wire staples to represent anti-lift rods seen locally.
Backscene, lighting and presentation
The roller-blind backscene avoids seams and follows the gentle curve of the rear board. It hangs from removable fibreglass rods via fishing line loops and homemade clips. Len de Vries painted distant willows, a mill, and a soft, cloudy sky, greatly enhancing depth.
The proscenium is a stiff box frame giving a viewing opening about 24 cm high and 190 cm wide. Lighting uses GU10 LED spots in simple wooden carriers; a large number of LED spots are used overall, and extra forward-facing lights were later added to avoid shadowing.
Hidden operation and fiddle yards
Both ends of the layout have hidden turning loops for the barge. The left end includes a cassette turntable driven by a small motor unit on rubber wheels; an electronic timer stops it after one rotation, but the operator must start it manually to avoid conflict with the boat. The right end uses interchangeable cassettes assembled by hand.
Interlocks and indicator lights were added so operators can see when the boat is occupying the same space as the train cassette.
Epilogue
Twenty years after the first idea, De Graafstroom stands as a long, collaborative, and deeply considered project. It is not a layout built around gimmicks; it is a landscape built around meaning, with movement added only where it serves that meaning.
The engineering is impressive, but always in the service of illusion. The barge moves like a real vessel because steering is at the stern. The swan drifts because friction was painstakingly managed. The bridge lifts smoothly because geometry was chosen for graceful motion. Trains run reliably because Vincent was willing to abandon ideas that did not work and adopt new ones that did.
Equally important is the honesty of the process. There were inaccurate jigs, stubborn derailments, and a genuine crisis when the varnished river destroyed the boat illusion. The solutions are wonderfully practical: floppy disk film under a swan, a sieve behind ostrich feathers, aluminium baffles sliding over water, and a 2.4 m rail module built balanced on an ironing board.
Above all, De Graafstroom is a biography in model form. The mill, the dairy, the dikes, the willows, the chosen year of 1947—none of this is decoration. The tramway exists so that the landscape can breathe, and the landscape exists because it is Vincent’s landscape, shaped by history, family, and memory.
More Information
- de Bode, Vincent. “De Graafstroom (1): Familiehistorie langs de Alblas.” Rail Magazine, no. 362, Mar. 2019, pp. 76-83.
- de Bode, Vincent. “De Graafstroom (2).” Rail Magazine, no. 363, Apr. 2019, pp. 68-73.
- de Bode, Vincent. “De Graafstroom.” Continental Modeller, vol. 41, no. 10, Oct. 2019, pp. 674-681.