We Passengers

Part 2 - Chapter 19

Of course I noticed the young woman straight away. Not because she was young - God knows too many of my passengers are - but because I could tell that, like many, she hadn't yet accepted what was happening. We get so many of those that it becomes easy to spot; they get on board all cheerful like they're on the way to the seaside or something but, every now and again they'll get that haunted look as though they're losing the battle to try and keep the truth away. Pretty girl this one - don't get me wrong, I don't mean any offense, I mean - I'm old enough to be her Dad but, you can't help noticing can you? The wife reckons this job isn't good for me; wants me to retire and put my feet up but I tell her no, tell her that it would be wrong to not do my bit with all our lads overseas getting blown to bits by the jerries, coming back in boxes or with bits of them missing. No, I shall carry on working this train for as long as they want me to and, the way things are going, I don't see anything changing anytime soon. Worried about all the diseases she is, my Mabel, says she's scared that I'm going to pick something up from one of the passengers and pass it on to one of the Grand-babbies and I suppose she's got a point. It's the cholera that she's worried about of course, everywhere it is these days - everywhere you go, you see people with the grey skin and you just know they're not long for the world. Crying shame it is; fella in the pub says its from all the dead bodies piling up in London and I tell him we're doing our bit, such as it is. It's a duty though, this job and I like to think that I do it well - not just keeping order and telling the passengers when to get on and off and where to go but also, like today, offering a bit of comfort where I can. There's not much I can do for the ones down below but I can at least give a kind word and a hanky to the others. Like the woman in carriage three just now, the one whose husband - Lance Logan (I knew his Dad back in the day) was killed in Ypres. Quiet as a mouse she was at first; just sitting on her own and minding her own business then, all of a sudden she was off - scared the life out of me she did; she didn't seem the type. Always the way though; the ones you think won't give you any trouble. They sit there quietly and then something - who knows what - sets them off and, suddenly, you've got an hysteric on your hands. Far cry from my old life, this is; my life before retirement I mean. I spent thirty years on the London to Brighton line and, back then, the only people crying were the babbies and, even then, they soon stopped when their Mums and Dads started telling them about the seaside and the ice cream that they'd be having there. Good days they were, families off on their holidays and the odd canoodling couple off on a dirty weekend by the sea; everyone smiling and excited. Course you'd get the odd bunch of lads getting a bit lairy after too much ale but they usually weren't much bother - a stern word and a threat to chuck them out at Norwood and they'd soon toe the line. Course there were perks too like the free train rides and I'm happy to say that I made the most of those over the years; Mabel and myself had our honeymoon in Brighton as I'd imagine lots of the folk on this train did. Always popular, Brighton and close enough that you don't feel too far from home. Then, when the kids came, there were day trips and, once, a long weekend when we were feeling a bit flush. We stayed at a B&B that said it had a sea view which, we discovered, it did - if you stood on the edge of the bath and looked out of the very top of the window, you could just about make out a sliver of blue. Laughed about that for weeks we did; every time she had a bad day at work or with the kids, Mabel'd shake her head and say, “Not like having a sea view is it Harold?” She's been on this train of course. Just the once, with her younger brother and we don't talk about it but she knows what it's like; I see it in her face every time I walk out the door in the morning. When I get home, I'll tell her about Lance Logan's wife and how we left her behind at the station cafe. Knowing Mabel, she'll want to go round and see her, check she's alright, even though she doesn't know her from Adam - or Eve, I suppose in her case. Doesn't happen often that, leaving someone behind. Normally a cup of tea and a bit of cake helps them to pull themselves together and back on the train they go. Course, I don't touch the stuff - the nasty cheap cake and the stewed tea at the station. While the passengers are helping themselves from the refreshment table, I'll have the tea from my flask and a bit of Mabel's cake and I'm glad of it. I dunno how she does it though; despite the rations, my Mabel always somehow manages to have a bit of cake or a biscuit for me and, last week, when the kids came round on the Sunday, she even managed a bit of beef for the roast. Course we don't see the kids as much as we'd like but, then, who does? Got their own lives now, haven't they? Wendy with her own kiddies and Jack with…..well, who'd have thought I'd ever be glad about a thing like that?