A The Trains

T H E T R A I N S

The old man closed his eyes, not knowing whether it was for the last
time or or not, and as he drifted on a soft plain of white cloud he
could see them looking down at him...and they were crying.

Alan looked up at the guard in the peaked cap, and handed him the
platform ticket, it was punched on his machine. The guard looked down
at him and smiled and waved him through onto the Station.
Alan ran to the Cadbury's chocolate machine, put in his two pennies
and pulled excitedly on the grip bar. A large hand removed his and
opened the machine for him, reached down and gave him the chocolate.
Alan said nothing, took it and ran off down the station to the
bridge.
He had been in love with the trains ever since he could remember, he
had his G.W.R. and L.M.S. books with him for his train spotting
names.
He waited on the bridge. The train was standing at the platform, its
familiar steam spilling over the station. And then he heard the station
masters whistle and the green flag went up.
"All aboard," someone shouted.
Doors slammed and heads popped out of windows for those fond farewells
or those sad goodbye's. Then chuff, chuff, chuff, the great puffs of
steam belching out as the great nose of the train came slowly towards
the bridge.
Alan loved the warm steam engulfing him, especially in the winter,
there were no coal fires for him in those days, his mother couldn't
afford it, no- one could. Chuff, chuff, chuff, then he was swallowed
up, lost for a second in the warm mist that enveloped him.
After watching the train disappear into the distance he would run down
to the other platform to sit and wait for the next train. Maybe his
father would be on this one, he hadn't seen him for two years now, not
since the war broke out.
The Harlech Castle steamed into the station her green circular body
gleaming in the sunlight, people appearing out of the clouds of steam,
like ghostly figures from other worlds. He didn't recognise anyone, he
never did, they were strangers, no-one spoke in those days, not to
children anyway.
There were no toys for Alan but he had his trains, and they were real,
alive bursting with life. One day he would be an engine driver just
like those grown ups, one day. Why did growing up take so long,
everyone else in his world of trains had done it, why couldn't
he.
"Young man."
Alan spun round. An elderly lady stood there, her shopping bags
resting on the platform.
"Carry these for me to the trolley bus, and I'll give you thrupence."
Thrupence Alan thought, that's a bag of chips on the way home. He
picked up the bags and followed the lady. She walked rather fast, and
too briskly for Alan to keep up. "Mind those eggs." Eggs, he hadn't
seen eggs for ages, some people were lucky. He had heard of the black
market, but he only knew the one mum went to on Saturday
mornings.
He stood there and watched the trolley bus pull away, then he ran like
there was no tomorrow to the chip shop outside the station. His fingers
were numb from the cold and carrying the bags. He stood in line with
the grown ups, and when his turn came a large red face peered down at
him, "Yes Alan?"
"Two penneth of chips and a penny rissole please."
The red face grinned, it was a kind face, and for some reason he
always ended up with two rissoles, they would warm his hands, and his
tummy. He put the thrupence on the white marble slab, and heard the
ting of the till as the chips and rissoles, wrapped in left-over news,
were placed in his eager hands.
"Thank you mister."
He would walk home through the park, there were no cars or lorries in
the park, but at the playground, which looked down into the valley, he
could sit awhile and watch his trains chuff, chuff, chuffing their way
to new horizons.
Alan arrived home at five. His mother gave him bread and jam, he
wasn't very hungry, but he ate one slice. He went into the sitting room
with his uncle Cyril, who lived with them, he always sat in front of
the fire, his uncle Cyril. He was a quiet man who worked down the
mines, he dug for the coal that Alan's trains ran on.
Alan sat by him and watched the fire until it was bedtime. Sometimes
he could see faces glowing in the coals and sometimes he fell asleep by
the fire only to wake up in bed. That was a mystery to him, sleep, it
brought real things closer. He would be driving his own steam engine
with a hundred carriages behind. He would be pulling on the whistle
travelling faster than the Flying Scotsman, and that was fast. Then the
sleep would fade and the reality would become a dream, as his mother
woke him to get him ready for school.
The school bell rang at four. Alan never had to be home before five,
there was no use, the house was always empty. Oh the key was always
under the mat, but he didn't like empty houses, so he would go to the
station every night after school. Grown ups were lucky they could
travel on trains to work, to football matches, even to the seaside.
Trains could take you everywhere.
Alan had only been on a train once, and that was with his mother at
Christmas. She had promised him a train ride to go and see Mother
Goose, it must have been special for her too, because she had only been
that once as well. He remembered it all, even down to the big meringue
he had had with his ice cream, but only the once.
When would he grow up when.
He sat alone with his daydreams. The grown ups always seemed to be
rushing everywhere, they used to look at him wondering if he was lost
or not, he didn't know it then but they were the ones who were lost.
The trains never got lost they knew where they were going.
King George VI was Alan's favourite, besides, the King was the head of
all the country. The King had ridden on his favourite train, all the
carriages were new.
He remembered that day so well, a long time ago now. All the children
had had a day off from school because the King was coming to their
town.
Hundreds of people stood in the streets and on the station platform.
He wasn't allowed on the platform that day even though he had got his
platform ticket from the machine. I bet if the King knew he would give
him his penny back.
Alan ran down to the sidings, the engine always stopped by the bridge,
that meant he would see the King in the first carriage, from the
bridge. They had closed the bridge, but luckily for him someone had
forgotten the side gate. He squeezed through, climbed the steps, and
stood in the middle of the bridge. No-one had noticed, they were all
too busy with the arrangements on the platform. The band were shuffling
their instruments into some kind of order, there were flags everywhere
flapping in the cool breeze. A few white clouds floated overhead. Alan
looked up at them, they felt familiar to him somehow. He peered down
onto the tracks hoping no-one would spot him there alone, his tiny form
hidden by the great mass of iron.
Then before he knew it there were cheering voices. The band struck up
the National Anthem, followed by Land Of My Fathers, as the great train
with the King on board, came into the station and chuffed to a
standstill.
Alan was engulfed in great white clouds of steam, he couldn't see
anything, but he could hear the band. Slowly the steam cleared and he
looked down. People were all around the King, Alan could just make him
out. The steam was all gone now and Alan just stared in wonder at the
King. He reminded him of his dad a little, but that was silly, he could
have sworn the King was looking up at him.
As a whistle sounded the King moved off, hesitated, looked back and
waved in his direction. Alan looked round quickly there was no-one else
with him. He waved back madly, he was certain there was a smile on the
King's face, wait till I tell mum about this he thought to
himself.
He looked down at the train standing silently as it gave out a last
hiss of steam that seemed like a great sigh of joy.
Sundays meant no school but there was always Church. Alan believed in
God, but thought the difference between believing and going to Church,
interfered with his trains. Besides, he was sure God didn't really mind
as churches were always full these days and one empty seat didn't stop
him praying. Anyway most people only prayed when they wanted something.
Alan often had a private word with God, he could hear him anywhere even
down by the Canal where he would sit sometimes, when he wanted to be
away from people.
That was the only thing about trains he didn't like, they needed
people. One day he would have his own train. They cost a lot of money
though, he would have to save hard, no more penny toffee apples he
thought, then he could have his own train all to himself.
That Sunday had been different to most, he felt uneasy like something
was wrong, was this what the grown ups called worry, if so, he didn't
want to grow up yet. Maybe he had grown up. Sometimes he felt he was
the only one left alive. Sometimes he felt that he didn't exist, a
sense of not belonging, yet something was compelling him, willing him
then. It was time to go home for tea and his favourite radio program on
the wireless, would Dick Barton escape the explosion, would Jock be in
time, where was Snowy, was the accumulator fully charged? It always ran
out at the weekends, everyone knew that.
Alan made his way home and looked into the spare room, he didn't know
why he looked, or what he hoped to find, there was never anything
there, only the emptiness, the cob webs and spiders, yet look he did,
fingers crossed hoping for a surprise.
In the living room uncle Cyril sat by the fire. Along the wall the old
creased leather settee, a dark brown blanket draped over it, and Rex
the wire haired fox terrier huddled in the corner. His eye, the one
with the patch, opened as Alan entered the room, his short stumpy tail
wagged a couple of times. Alan sat beside him, they were good friends
Alan and Rex, inseparable really, they trusted each other, knew each
other. The only time Rex didn't go with him was to the station, Rex
didn't like the chuff, chuff, chuffing and all the noise, he was
content to sit in the garden chasing any stray cats that dared jump
over the garden fence.
Alan rubbed the dogs ears and tried in vain to smooth out his wiry
hair. Rex didn't mind that at all, he rather enjoyed it, except when
Alan brought out the comb, Rex would hide under the table on those
days.
The mornings were always cold. What sad memories of youth, mittens,
cardboard in your shoes, gas masks over your shoulder, air raid
shelters, ration books. What made him think of ration books, and the U
coupons for sweets?
He was lying on a bed now. Where was he? The clouds soft and white,
drifting, the crying faces looking down at him, then the mists
cleared...
His breath froze as he washed his face in the cold water from the jug
his mother had put out on his table the night before. She had put out
his best clothes that morning, all the school children were to be
dressed in their best bib and tucker, a V.I.P., whatever that was, was
visiting their school.
Who could be more important than the King he thought, it wasn't the
importance really, just a very great man of that period. The word
spread that General Montgomery was coming on St. David's day. Cor,
Monty himself.
Alan, along with every one else, was excited. They were each to
receive a Daffodil bulb, the national flower of Wales, from him. Alan
didn't really understand what it was all about, it was the war of
course.
There was talk about an evacuation, it was a big word, he couldn't
spell it, but he knew that it meant going away. More sad memories, name
labels pinned to your jacket, being taken away from your Mother and
your favourite station, and not knowing when you would see either of
them again. Mum's grew old but trains never did, they always stayed the
same.
Alan sat quietly, his back to the engine, he never thought one of his
trains would be taking him away, away from his mother into the country.
He stood at the window, crowds of people were milling around the
station. He looked into his mothers eyes, hers, like his, were swelled
with tears. Someone, he didn't know who, once said, 'Goodbye is the
birth of a teardrop. Hello the birth of a smile'. She held his hands
tightly and placed in them a half-a-crown. Where did she get all that
money from in those terrible days of war and conflict?
The train hissed in the distance, a whistle sounded and slowly the
carriage moved forward. His mother walked down the platform holding
onto his hand for those last few precious seconds. Her cheeks were wet
from the birth of those teardrops, and he too was crying. The train
moved faster, and suddenly her hands were gone, gone with all those
other sad people, disappeared in the clouds of steam. Seconds later
when the steam had cleared, the platform was empty, but for his mother,
she was still waving, he knew she would be. Then the bend in the
railway separated them for ever.
"Tickets please. Take your seat young man."
Alan sat down and dried his eyes on his handkerchief.

Alan could see those faces again, crying, why were they crying, so sad
he wanted to speak to them but couldn't, the effort was too
great.
He didn't remember why, there seemed to be a huge gap somewhere,
almost as if it was a faded memory. What was happening to him?

The war was over in Europe, he remembered Churchill and the King and
Queen on the balcony of Buckingham Palace, he saw it on the Movietone
News.
Then there was a long sea journey, he didn't know where or why, but
what he did know in his heart was he wouldn't see his beloved trains
again.
He was growing up too quickly now into a modern world, of faster
moving things, and something about trains with no steam. That was
impossible how could trains go without coal, it had to be a lie from
the grown ups. But somewhere in the past, in the shrouds of time, he
could see vaguely the headlines, 'The End Of The Steam Engine'. The
electric train had arrived, and it would change the face of the country
for ever, Things would never be the same again.

Alan felt old, like he was drifting. What had happened to his youth,
why did he have to grow up, he didn't want to now anyway?
For a moment he opened his eyes, he could look down and see himself
lying there...still...almost lifeless. Friends and family were standing
around him. Someone was holding his hand, she had a beautiful face, a
face he had lived with nearly all of his life, no one could take that
away from him.
He didn't understand where he was, what was happening to him. Behind
him he heard the sound of hissing, Alan looked round. He was on his
platform, the King George VI steam engine was waiting for him, but this
time there were no people just Alan and the train.
It was new, gleaming, he walked towards it, each step taking him from
his loved ones and onto his destiny, his fate. He stepped onto the
great plate, held onto the rails and pulled himself into the engine
compartment. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. There
was a huge fire glowing, though there seemed to be no heat coming from
it. He tapped the pressure gauge, it was at maximum, Alan felt great
joy...great emotion. He leaned out of the hatchway, there was no one
there.
He pressed down on the control bar and slowly the train eased herself
forward, chuff, chuff, chuff. As the great steel wheels made their grip
on the tracks Alan felt a tremendous excitement surge through his body,
the realisation that he was alone on his very own train. He pulled hard
on the whistle and the engine let out one final hiss of steam, this
time for joy and happiness.
As the train disappeared into the clouds Alan looked back at his life.
He could see himself lying on the bed, and those people, the friends,
and the family, they were crying no longer.
The beautiful face smiled down at him, she turned and spoke to the
others softly, "He's gone now," she said. She placed her lips on his
and kissed him tenderly, "Goodbye Alan," she whispered.
Alan waved at the beautiful face, he was his own station master now,
his own time keeper. There were only two stops in life, one in and one
out. One day he would come back to his station, and the beautiful face
would join him.
And that gave birth to a smile.

THE END