We Passengers

Chapter 10

'We'll be stopping soon, love,’ I say to Trevor, even though I don't really know this for a fact - I was never much good with geography and my watch isn't much help as it stopped days ago and I only wear it now for show. Doesn't really matter as the only times I need to know are when to get up, when to go to work and when to go home again and, all of that’s easy enough with or without a wristwatch. Still, I like to wear it as Trevor gave it to me on my birthday last year and he said it cost him nearly a week's wages.

'I hope so,’ Abigail's mother says, even though nobody was talking to her and I give her a quick smile; after all, it doesn't cost anything, does it? Baby Abigail is quiet now but livid spots of red have popped up on her pale cheeks and she gasp whimpers now and then as though she keeps forgetting to breathe. I move a bit further away again, toward the window. Suddenly the carriage door opens and the conductor, the one that gave us all dirty looks when we were staring at the screaming woman, comes inside and looks around at us all one at a time.

'Just to let you know, ladies and gents, our scheduled stop at Staines station will be in about quarter of an hour. The company would appreciate you all disembarking promptly.’ I would appreciate the company making sure the tea and cake are ready, I think but don't say and, with a satisfied nod, the portly conductor disappears again back into the other carriage. There's not much to be said for Staines really; neither London or the countryside, it's just a little town that doesn't seem to know what it's supposed to be. I know that some passengers on this route have their tea and cake back at Waterloo but we were told that, because there are so many of these trains running at the moment there's not always the time and room for everyone so some of us get Staines instead of the stately grandeur of Waterloo station. I pull my coat closed and fasten the buttons in order to make sure I honour the company's request to get off the train quickly. I still have my hat on as taking it on and off is just too much trouble, what with all the hairpins and all that so now I'm ready, even though there's still about another ten minutes to go. As we approach Staines, I see a few houses scattered about here and there as though they've been picked up and dropped by some careless hand. But now there are streets; front streets with women gossiping in doorways and back streets with kids playing. Streets of shops, streets of limp washing on lines and streets where groups of people wearing black gather together in quiet conversation. The train starts to slow and, suddenly, the carriage is filled with rustling; the soldier tidying up his uniform and Abigail's mother - I really should have asked her name, I think - dragging a tatty brush through her hair; a noise I recognise even though I'm not looking at her. It's funny, the sounds that you recognise - Mum doesn't like Trevor smoking in the house and, after the first few days, he gave up even trying to sneak a fag as, even from the next room, Mum recognised the rasp and hiss of him lighting a match and would yell for him to take his filthy habits outside. Now there's a sound that I definitely recognise; the screaming woman has started up again and I wonder what she's so upset about this time; after all, we're about to stop and everyone likes a cup of tea and a chance to stretch their legs don't they? As the little station house comes into view, the train slows and then comes to a jolting stop and I see that the door to our carriage is perfectly aligned with the single door of the station, something I find pleasing although I can't really say why. As instructed by our conductor, we all quickly and quietly make our way to the door and stand like patient schoolchildren as we wait for it to be opened. Once inside the building, we're led to a large room containing a no-frills table on which is a tea urn and a couple of battenbergs and we all furtively eye the spread, nobody wanting to be the first to go and help themselves. Finally, the soldier scurries up and helps himself to tea and a piece of cake which he eats ravenously, even though he's just had my jam sandwich and, one by one, we all follow suit, queueing politely before taking our tea and cake and sitting down on the double rows of seats provided. The tea is stewed and cheap but, even so, I drink it quickly and then, noting that Trevor's hasn't been touched, grab myself a refill and get back to my seat just in time as a vicar appears and asks us to join him in prayer. Everyone’s always praying, these days. From what I can tell, it doesn’t seem to do much good but that never seems to put them off as they pray for the war to end, pray for improved rations and pray for the men to come back from war on their own two legs, rather than in boxes. Still, I happily join in anyway; having had my tea, I'm feeling much more cheerful, so much so that I decide that the odd prayer probably can't do any harm even if it doesn't do much good.

I've just started to enjoy myself when the conductor rudely blows his whistle from the platform and the vicar, looking alarmed, hurries through the rest of his prayer, speaking quickly so that the last words all blend into one as he rushes out, ‘foreverandeveramen.’ I've always thought there's something childish about the word “forever” in that only a child can believe that anything can just go on and on without end but, it's a big favourite among the clergy who are always telling you that everything from marriage to eternal life is forever. As he hasn't touched it, I quickly chug Trevor's tea and then immediately regret it as I realise that I'm now bound to need the loo before we get to Surrey and the thought of using the one on the train makes me cringe.

'Tell them to wait, I'll only be two ticks,’ I tell Trevor and then I hurry through the station to the little outhouse at the back and do the necessary - it's freezing cold and none too clean but I'm still relieved (literally) to not have to do it on the train. After doing the necessary, I run as fast as I can back through the station and onto the platform. I needn't have worried though; when I get to the platform, the conductor is still ushering people onto the train, helping those who are struggling with the big step up and lifting the smaller of the children up into the carriage.

'Phew,’ I gasp as I finally get into the carriage and take my seat again and then I feel silly as everybody ignores me as, really, phew is just as childish as forever when you think about it. I've barely got myself sat down and my coat unbuttoned when the whistle goes again - God, he does love his whistle, that conductor - and the train once again starts rumbling along the track. As we leave the little station house behind, I think about what the vicar said; not the prayer, like everybody else I've heard The Lord's Prayer so many times that the words don't even register, but the thing he said beforehand.

'The sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life," he said, and I turn the words over and over in my mind the way a child will hold a piece of plasticine in its hands, trying to make sense of it. In a world where nothing is certain, how can he be so sure, I wonder, not for the first time. He can't, of course and, for a moment, it makes me angry that he's telling people something that he can't possibly know to be fact.

'Of course he can,’ Trevor says, ‘it's called faith and it's what all of us good Catholics are taught, practically before we can even talk.’ This makes me glad that I don't come from a religious family; after all, isn't it a bit silly to believe something just because somebody else believes it? I suddenly feel desperately glad to get away from the station house and everything associated with it; particularly the tenseness that I realise I've been feeling ever since we stopped there.

The station and, for that matter, Staines, is behind us now and my anger at the vicar's words fades away like the smoke from the train's boiler, getting thinner and thinner until suddenly it's just not there anymore and I start to relax again. By the time I start to see fields and trees again, I've even managed to convince myself that the man meant well; that he was just trying to comfort people; to do his bit and I feel a bit guilty for being cross with him. Still, we can't help what we feel, for all the good it does and I decide that I'm not going to let it spoil things. As we pass through some farmland, I spot a little stream with a pretty stone bridge arched over it and I feel a sudden longing to make the train stop so that I can go and stand on the bridge and just let everything stop for a while but, of course, I know that I can't do that. Patting my pocket to make sure the piece of cake I sneaked out of the station house is still there, I smile to myself; it's only a cheap battenberg after all and, it's not like they'll miss it anyway. Any minute now, they'll have another train pulling up and another bunch of passengers being herded into that room which was ours but, only for a little while. Glancing behind me, I see that the soldier is already sleeping again and I wonder if this is what he missed while he was away; just being able to eat and sleep in peace without worrying that somebody with a gun or a knife was going to sneak up on him and do away with him while he's so preoccupied. I try to remember what life was like before the war and, at first I can't do it; simply can't remember a time before bombs, young men dying and having to beg the butcher for an extra half ounce of mutton. Then, as the train passes through a bright yellow field of r**e, it reminds me of a dress I used to have. It's too small for me now, of course, that dress but, before I had to, reluctantly, hand it on to Nancy, it was once my favourite thing in the whole world. Primrose yellow with a full skirt and neat broderie piping around the neckline, the fabric alone cost me a week's wages and Mum helped me to make it from a pattern I cut from a magazine. I still remember how it felt, the first time I put it on and swished up and down the house until Mum begged me to stop for the sake of her nerves as she worried that I'd knock over one of her precious vases. I remember taking it off and putting it carefully in the wardrobe as I vowed to save it for a special occasion; an occasion that it deserved. As it was, that's exactly what happened as, the first time that I ever wore that dress was the night that I first met Trevor.