- -
- 100%
- +
Chapter 4
Ted
It had become an annual event for the last few years: during the school’s October half-term break Ted’s sister Norah would arrive with her three children to stay for a few days. They lived in London and loved coming to the country. Norah’s husband couldn’t spare the time off work, so she’d bring the children by train, herself.
It meant Ted had to clear out the second bedroom so that Norah and her 5-year-old daughter Margot could sleep there, but he didn’t mind. It was always a delight to have company. The two boys, Peter aged 12, and Tom aged 10, would sleep downstairs in the parlour. It was a squash in the small house, especially when they all sat around Ted’s tiny table at mealtimes, but somehow it worked. Norah would take over cooking duties while she was there, and Ted relished the break from having to do it himself. Plus, she was a fabulous cook, and he always ate well when she was there – her pies, pastries, roasts and desserts were delicious.
Norah arrived on the 14.25 from Michelhampton, one sunny but chilly afternoon. As she alighted from the train amid a cloud of steam, Ted doffed his cap to her but otherwise stuck to his duties. It was most important to ensure the other passengers disembarked safely and that the train left on time, having taken on more water from the water tower. He knew that his sister understood that his duties came first, and indeed, he saw that she had herded the children together and sat them on a bench on the platform, with their luggage beside them, while they waited for him to be free.
At last the train was ready to leave; Ted checked all doors were closed, blew his whistle and waved his flag. He stood watching it until the last carriage was beyond the end of the platform, and then turned to Norah with a smile.
‘So good to see you! I trust the journey was pleasant?’
‘Ted!’ Norah placed her hands on his shoulders and kissed him on both cheeks. ‘Yes, it was. We were six minutes delayed reaching Michelhampton from London, but the Coombe Regis train was held for us.’
‘Bill must have made good time then, on the way here,’ Ted replied. ‘Come along then, scallywags. Let’s see if Uncle Ted has some biscuits hidden in the cupboard for you.’ He picked up Norah’s suitcase and holdall and led the way inside, followed by the three whooping children.
A few minutes later the children were sitting around the little kitchen table, each with a glass of orange squash and with a plate of biscuits in the middle. They were arguing at full volume about whether custard creams were nicer than Bourbons, or whether Garibaldi were the best biscuits of all. Ted was pleased he’d made the effort to buy a selection from the village shop. It wasn’t something he normally treated himself to, but having always assumed he’d have no children of his own, it was fun to spoil his nephews and niece. He took the cases upstairs and came down again to find Norah had put the kettle on for a cup of tea. He smiled to see her making herself at home. Really, she was the easiest guest in the world, even if she was accompanied by three boisterous children.
‘So, Ted, any news?’ Norah asked, as she took his brown pottery teapot down from its shelf and spooned tea into it.
It crossed his mind to tell her about Annie, about how he felt every time he saw her, about his crazy dreams that one day Annie would feel the same way about him. Ted had always confided in his big sister. But somehow, this felt too private. Norah would get the wrong idea, and would assume he was walking out with Annie, when he’d never even had a conversation with her. ‘Nothing new, no. We had a good summer season, plenty of day-trippers. The line’s quiet again now, though. Had a train through yesterday with not a single passenger on it, right through.’
‘Does that worry you?’
Ted shook his head. ‘Not really, no. The line makes money in the summer. It provides a good service for this area.’
‘But if it’s not making money all year round, I’d be worried the railway company might be thinking of … I don’t know … cutting back, or something? There’s a station near one of my friends, up in Yorkshire, that is unmanned now. You have to tell the guard if you want to get off there, and wave a flag if you’re at the station and want the train to stop to pick you up. Do tell me to stop fretting, but I’m worried for your job, Ted.’ She passed him a cup of tea and they went into the parlour to sit down.
‘Bless you, Norah, for worrying about me. But this line is a goods line too, and there’s plenty of trade still coming by rail. Lots of work for me here, managing the goods yard.’ He reached over and patted her knee. ‘My job’s safe enough, don’t you fret. Now then, what are your plans for the week?’
She smiled. ‘Margot wants to feed the ducks in Lynford’s pond, and see the witch-stool, so that’s all easy enough. The boys want you to show them how to operate the signals. They said you promised as much, last year. And I want to walk along the cliffs at Coombe Regis and have an ice cream sitting on the harbour wall.’
‘Might be too cold for that last one, at this time of year,’ Ted laughed.
‘I don’t care. If I’m at the seaside, I want an ice cream, any time of year. I suspect the children would be happy to have one too.’
‘Did someone say ice cream?’ yelled Peter, from the kitchen. ‘Yes please! When, where?’
*
It was Wednesday morning, halfway through Norah’s visit. She’d taken Margot off into the village, for some ‘girl time’ as she’d put it, to feed the ducks and look for squirrels in the park, and do all the things Ted supposed little girls liked to do. Peter and Tom were left in Ted’s charge, on strict instructions to behave, not fight each other, and do exactly as their uncle told them, or they’d miss out on the planned trip the next day to Coombe Regis.
‘Show us how to operate the signals, Uncle Ted? You promised us last year you would.’ Peter was jumping up and down with excitement, as soon as his mother and sister had left.
‘All right, then. We’ve got some time before the next train is due to come through. Now then, you see how there are two tracks running through this station?’
‘The up line and the down line?’ Tom said, looking at Ted for confirmation.
‘That’s right. But actually for most of this line, there’s only one track. This station is one of the passing places along the line. So if a train coming up from Coombe Regis is late, we have to hold the down train from Michelhampton here, because they can’t pass further along. So the signal must be set at stop until the up train has arrived and we know it’s safe.’
‘What if you’ve forgotten whether the up train’s been through or not? I mean, what if you were in the lav or something, when it came through?’ asked Tom.
‘Don’t be stupid. Why would he forget?’ said his brother, but Ted held up a hand.
‘It’s not a stupid question. You’re right, it’s essential that there’s only one train on the track from here to Coombe Regis at any one time, and also only one from here to Rayne’s Cross, the other passing place. And the train drivers need to be certain that the way ahead is clear. So we use tokens.’
‘Tokens?’ Peter looked confused.
‘There is an engraved token for each of the three sections of the line. The train driver cannot progress onto the line until he has the token for it in his possession. So the driver of the train that’s now coming up from Coombe Regis will hand me the token for that section of the line, and I’ll hand it on to the next down train. He can’t leave until he has the token.’
‘Clever!’ Peter’s eyes were shining. ‘Can I hand the token to the driver?’
‘I don’t see why not.’ Ted smiled. Such a little thing, but so exciting. He remembered being 12 himself, longing for the day when he could leave school and come to work on the railway himself. It was all he’d ever wanted to do. ‘We don’t always need the token system, strictly speaking, as often there’s only one train running up and down the line. Though we’ll generally use it anyway. In the summer when it’s busy we run more trains, and they need to be able to pass safely, so the token system is essential then.’
He led them along the side of the track to where the little signal box stood, and ushered them up the few steps inside it. There were four signal levers – one each for each track and each direction. And two points levers, to switch the points where the two tracks became one, just beyond the station in both directions. He showed them all these, and demonstrated how the levers worked – the way to grip them to release the lock and pull down hard until they slotted in place. ‘It’s important they click into position, so they can’t accidentally slip out.’
‘Cor, what would happen if one did slip out of position?’ Tom asked.
‘Could cause a crash, couldn’t it, Uncle Ted?’ said Peter, always wanting to be the one who knew the most.
‘It could. But it’s part of my job to make sure that all signals and points are in the correct positions before I leave the signal box. So look, we’ve got the 11.42 up train coming through soon. The points are set right, but we need to set the up signal to stop. Can you do that, Peter?’
The boy’s eyes shone as he leapt forward to the signal lever and got ready to pull it. Tom’s lower lip quivered, and Ted ruffled the younger boy’s hair. ‘Don’t fret. You’ll get to set the signal to go, when the train’s ready to leave.’ It did the trick, and Tom grinned happily.
Peter managed the signal with no problem. ‘Now then, we need to go back to the platform and get ready to swap the tokens over.’
‘Uncle Ted, can I stay here with the signals, ready to change it to clear?’ Tom was standing to attention, his hand on the signal lever.
‘If you like, but don’t touch anything else. I’ll give you a wave when it’s time to change the signal. All right?’
‘Yes, sir!’ Tom saluted.
Now it was Peter’s turn to pout. ‘I didn’t get to change a signal all by myself, Uncle Ted. I only did it when you were with me. And as I’m the oldest I should have been given more responsibility, not him.’
Ted sighed. He never did quite understand the children’s fine-tuned sense of justice. It was so hard to ensure they were both happy. ‘Well, you can have another turn this afternoon. We’ll keep things fair.’ He led Peter back down to the platform to await the train. It was right on time, and Peter proudly handed over the token to Bill Perkins, the train driver.
‘Good lad. We’ll make a stationmaster of you yet, won’t we, Ted?’ said Bill, grinning.
There was only one person alighting from the train, and no one to pick up, so in no time at all Ted was waving his flag to allow the train to move. But the signal was still at stop. He waved again, and saw little Tom’s answering wave from the steps of the signal box. But still the signal didn’t change.
‘Why doesn’t he change the signal, the silly boy?’ muttered Peter. ‘Shall I go and see?’
‘Give him a chance,’ said Ted, watching the signal box carefully.
‘What’s the hold up?’ Bill leaned out of the cab to ask.
‘My younger nephew’s in charge of changing the signal.’
‘Ha ha! Maybe the poor little nipper can’t manage the heavy lever. You’d best go check on him, Ted, or the train’ll be late and we can’t have that!’
He had a point. Ted hurried up the platform and into the signal box where, sure enough, Tom was pulling on the lever with all his might, leaning all his weight into it and grunting with the effort. ‘I can’t make it change, Uncle Ted! It’s too heavy!’
‘Squeeze the handle, like I showed you, lad. That releases it.’
‘Nnghh!’ Tom did as he was told and the lever released easily, sending him flying backwards across the shed. With a whistle the train shunted forwards. ‘I did it!’
‘You did indeed, young Tom. Well done.’
Ted was sweating. That was the last time he’d let a child handle the signal levers alone. The train had been two minutes late leaving! He’d have to log that, in his notebooks that contained details of every train that passed through – but he wouldn’t log the reason why.
*
Norah and Margot were back at five o’clock. Margot had a bag of sweets in her hand from the village grocery shop, and Norah had a sherbet dip for each of the boys. ‘I hope you’ve been good for your uncle,’ she said, and Peter and Tom both nodded solemnly.
‘Well, off you go inside and play quietly now till teatime,’ Norah told the children, who ran off to the station garden. ‘You’re so good with the children, Teddy. You’d make an excellent father. I’ll put the kettle on for a cuppa.’
‘Thanks, Norah. There’s a train coming through shortly so I’m busy for a bit.’ It was the 17.21. Annie’s train. She’d be here soon, passing through the station, and he wanted to be ready for her, with his hair smoothed down, cap on straight, uniform brushed.
‘I’ll bring the tea through to you,’ Norah called, as she made her way to the little kitchen.
Ted busied himself around the station, emptying a litter bin, straightening chairs in the waiting room, stacking the pile of used magazines. The signal was already at stop, so there was nothing more to do. He went out to the platform and looked along the line – no sign of the train yet, but he didn’t expect to see it. Back in the ticket office he paced up and down until Norah brought through his cup of tea.
‘Here you are, then,’ she said, as she handed it to him.
It was at that moment that the station door opened and in came Annie, wearing her deep-green coat that had a pinched in waistline and a matching neat hat. She nodded to him, pulled out her ticket to show him as usual, and then walked through to the platform. It was a fine day so she sat on a bench on the platform rather than use the ladies’ waiting room that he’d just tidied up for her. His eyes followed her as always, and it was only when she’d taken a seat that he came back to himself, and realised he was holding his tea at an angle, spilling some over his boots.
‘Who is she?’ Norah asked, quietly.
‘Er, her name’s Annie Galbraith, I believe. She works in the National Provincial Bank in Lynford.’
‘You like her, don’t you?’
He turned to stare at his sister. ‘I … I barely know her.’
Norah smiled. ‘You don’t have to be well acquainted to know how you feel about her.’ She took a step closer to Ted and punched his arm, playfully. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d think my little brother is in love, at last!’
‘I … no … what do you … I mean … well. She’s very beautiful.’ Ted spluttered as he glanced out to the platform where Annie still sat waiting patiently. She looked up, caught his eye and smiled. He was blushing furiously, he knew it, but it was time for him to be on the platform too. The train was due in one minute. ‘Ahem. We’ll talk about this later, Norah.’ He put down his cup of tea on the ticket-office counter, straightened his jacket and strode out to the platform just as the train pulled in. He dared not look at Annie as she climbed aboard the first-class carriage, and was for once thankful when all were aboard, he’d set the signal to clear, handed over the token and waved his flag.
Norah joined him on the platform as the train puffed away. She laid a hand on his arm. ‘I’m sorry if I embarrassed you. It’s just, when that woman walked in – and yes, she is very beautiful – I could see you were smitten. You’re my little brother, Ted. You can’t hide anything from me! Now then, I noticed she didn’t say anything to you. If that was due to my presence, I am sorry.’
Ted shook his head. ‘No, we don’t as a rule hold any conversations when she passes through.’ As a rule? Who was he kidding? He could count on one hand the number of words she’d ever spoken to him.
‘Well, I think you should rectify that,’ said Norah, with a smile and raised eyebrows. ‘Next time you see her, pay her some little compliment. I think she likes you, judging by that lovely smile she gave you. And smile back at her, for goodness’ sake! You stared at her today as though she had two heads!’
Had he really? And would it work, if he overcame his shyness and actually spoke to Annie? He only knew her name and where she worked by following her that day. He couldn’t very well do that again. Norah was right. It was time he struck up a conversation with Annie. He had nothing to lose. In a few days, when Norah and the children had left, he would try it.
Chapter 5
Tilly
The day after their visit to Lower Berecombe, Ken drove Tilly out to Lynford station. It was a cold but fine day, the smattering of frost that had covered everything overnight was beginning to melt. It was the kind of day, Tilly thought, as they drove along the country lanes between fields dotted with sheep, when in years gone by she’d have felt glad to be alive, joyful just to be a part of such a beautiful world. Maybe one day she’d feel like that again, but it seemed a long way off yet.
‘So if you look over there,’ Ken was saying, dragging her morbid thoughts back to the present, ‘there’s a little glimpse of the viaduct. It’s miles away but just there, see it?’
She looked where he was pointing and yes, way off in the distance she could see the arches of the viaduct spanning the valley. They were high up here, the road winding around the side of a hill before it dipped down to Lynford village. ‘Yes, I see it.’
‘I love that view,’ he said. ‘After your mum died, I used to come here, park just up that lane there, and walk up the hill from where there’s an even better view. Something about gazing into the distance helped put everything into perspective. It made me realise life went on, despite all that had happened to me. I always felt more – well, grounded I suppose – after going up there. Ah, pet. I’m probably talking rubbish, aren’t I? Maybe one day I should take you up there, for a walk. If you’d like to. It might help.’
‘Yes. I think I’d like to,’ Tilly said quietly. She’d never heard her father talk in this way before. He’d never opened up about his feelings after her mum died, or how he’d coped. She should do what she could to help him, but how could she do that when she couldn’t even help herself?
‘So, we’re nearly there,’ Ken said, as he drove down the hill, and through the little village. ‘Worth having a stroll around here too, when you get the chance. Some quaint old buildings. That café there’ – he pointed at an imposing building on a corner – ‘used to be a bank. And down there’s a path to the river Lyn, and there’s a little park and an old witch’s ducking stool that supposedly dates back to the sixteenth century. I reckon it’s a Victorian copy, myself. Anyway, it’s worth a look, and the café does a fantastic range of cakes. I miss the cakes your mum used to make.’
‘She was such a good baker,’ Tilly agreed.
Ken turned into a small car park beside the red brick station building. ‘So. Lynford station. Here we are! There are no steam trains running today – we only do school holidays and weekends from Easter to October. But the station’s open to visitors, and we have a little tea shop, selling cakes.’
Tilly climbed out of the car, and let her father show her proudly around. ‘They’d just begun opening to the public when we first moved here, and I got involved. I couldn’t help but join the society. Your mum laughed when I told her. “You’ve just retired from the railways,” she said, “and now you want to work for them again!” Ah, but this is different, I told her. This is fun. Old-fashioned station, steam trains, tinkering with bits of equipment. None of your automated systems we ended up with.’ Tilly smiled at the story. She could so easily imagine her mum teasing him about his railway obsession.
‘So, in here.’ He led her inside. ‘This is the old station. A ticket office that we’ve restored, ladies’ waiting room, and through there – that’s now the tearooms but would have been the stationmaster’s private rooms. He’d have lived here. There are two bedrooms upstairs.’
The station was nicely done up, with a collection of old tables and chairs in the tearooms and a modern kitchen behind. ‘Want to see upstairs?’ Ken asked. ‘It’s just used for storage now, but back when the railway was operational it’s where the stationmaster and his family would have slept.’
Tilly followed him dutifully upstairs. There was a worn-out carpet on the stairs, and peeling gloss paint on the walls. Someone had stuck photos of the restoration work up with Blu-tack. At the top was a tiny landing with two doors leading off. One was filled with boxes, stacked higgledy-piggledy across the floor. The other contained a single bed with a stained mattress, and more boxes, mostly containing papers and magazines. An electric fan heater stood on top of an old wooden crate.
‘Sometimes if a volunteer wants to work here late in the evening they might kip here, in a sleeping bag,’ Ken explained, as Tilly looked around. ‘Not often, though. There’s rumours of a ghost.’
‘A ghost?’
Ken chuckled. ‘Ah, it’s all rubbish. Just an old building creaking a bit at night. Someone died here once, but I don’t know any details. They say the ghost of that person haunts the building. Alan’ll tell you more about it, if you’re interested. He should be around here somewhere. I’ve never spent the night.’
Tilly shuddered. Nothing would entice her to sleep here, ghost or no ghost. Ena’s words – that railway was the death of my father – ran through her mind. Could this be what she was referring to?
She laid a hand on the nearest crate. ‘What’s in all the boxes?’
‘That’s our archive.’ Ken pulled a face. ‘There’s probably loads of great stuff in there. But who knows? It’s all in such a mess, and no one with any time to sort it out.’ He looked thoughtful for a moment, then turned to Tilly with a querying expression. ‘Don’t suppose you’d like to take it on, pet? Go through it, pull out the interesting bits, throw out the rubbish? You’re good at that kind of thing. We’ve got a website too, that needs someone to keep it up to date. Could be something to … get your teeth into. Help take your mind off … everything.’
Tilly glanced again into the bedrooms and the daunting piles of boxes and papers. ‘I don’t know. Not sure I could.’ Not sure? The way she felt now she was absolutely certain she wouldn’t be able to summon up the energy to root through loads of dusty boxes.
‘All I’m saying, love, is if you want to, there’s a project for you. This railway, it was the saving of me. Working on it after Margaret was gone was the only thing I was getting up for, each day. I just wonder if it could help you, too. You never know.’
*
Back downstairs, Ken led Tilly through the tearooms and into the ticket office. There were a number of tools strewn about and a barrier blocking off the ticket counter. A table had been set up on the opposite side of the room as a makeshift counter.
‘We had all this up and running, but it seems there’s some problem behind the ticket counter,’ Ken explained. ‘An old pipe in there must have corroded and is leaking. Took us ages to see where the water was coming from. Now we’re going to have to strip back all that original panelling, get at the problem, replace the pipe, dry it all out and replace the panelling.’ He shook his head, but he was grinning. ‘One problem after another, in these old buildings.’
Tilly smiled too, despite herself. His enthusiasm was catching, and it was good to see him happy. ‘You love it, don’t you, Dad?’
‘I do indeed, pet. You know me. Never happier than when I’ve got a bit of DIY or an engineering challenge in front of me. Ah. There’s Alan. Come on. I’ll introduce you.’
Tilly followed him out onto the station platform, where an old-fashioned luggage trolley, loaded with a couple of battered old leather suitcases, was artfully arranged beside a vintage bench and a restored Fry’s chocolate machine. A man who looked to be a few years older than her father approached. He was wearing blue overalls just like the ones Ken had worn yesterday. He had a shock of grey hair and kindly eyes. Tilly warmed to him instantly, despite not really feeling up to meeting new people.