A Station In Life (19 page)

“We shall not nobble the
lion’s share, Humphrey,” I replied.  “We shall nobble the lot.  Indeed, we
shall furnish ourselves beyond surplus, a surplus for which I have plans.”

“But ’ow many bucketfuls
will Diggory ’ave to drag up the slope before we get it all?” Jack asked.  “A
wheelbarrow won’t be no good unless we ’aul it up on ropes.”

“What makes you assume
it is Diggory I shall expose to this perilous undertaking?” I asked, alarming
Jack.  “Having given the matter much thought I intend to exploit the efforts of
the Civil engineer’s crew.  The men are due here soon to clear out the
culverts.”

“Good luck with that,”
Humphrey chortled.  “Drainage men reckon all toppled goods be theirs by right. 
Spillage be a most jealously guarded perquisite.”

“Yes, well, labourers deluding
themselves with homespun privileges do not hoodwink the savvy stationmaster,” I
replied.  “And I have heard that the company engineer will not be accompanying
his gang upon this trip so I shall outrank everyone and have the coal fetched without
argument.  In a railway truck, to boot!  Furthermore, I shall have the coal
flushed at the water tower to decontaminate it.”

“Oho, I doubt you’ll get
those awkward blighters to go that far, sir,” Humphrey laughed openly.

“Oho, I think I will?” I
replied.  “We shall see how these company scavengers respond when I tell them
that I am acting upon instructions direct from Headquarters.”

“Well, sir, it be a bold
plan,” Humphrey observed lingeringly, not yet convinced of its prospect.

“Still, it can’t ’urt to
try,” Jack panted keenly.  “As every trapper knows, the best plan is always the
scariest one.”

“Then it is settled,” I
concluded, breaking up the meeting.  “I suggest you two begin your
rumour-mongering at once.”

Somewhat absent minded,
Diggory reported for work and attempted to assist with the 1.08pm Blodcaster
train.  Observing his colour, I reduced his duties and set him the task of
polishing my desk, refilling my ink pot, and cleaning my nibs.  After the
train’s departure I located Humphrey and had a brief word with him concerning
the engagement of a woman to clean and cook for me.  On my new salary of
ninety-five pounds per annum, boosted by rent free tenure of the station rooms,
I could now afford to take on a part-time domestic servant.

“I knows just the woman
e needs,” Humphrey chuckled.  “Young Miss Blake.  Her does for all sorts when
her aint behind the bar.”

“She is a barmaid?” I
queried him.

“Her father be the
landlord of The Pheasant,” Humphrey explained.  “I’ll have a word with him for
e, if e likes.  T’is a respectable public, Mr Jay, used by all them commercial
travellers, and Miss Blake be very reliable.”

“Please do,” I implored
the porter, for I knew of no one else to approach and was falling behind with
my personal requisites.

The day before the
engineer’s train was due I intercepted Humphrey on the platform and asked him
if our bogus predator was gaining credibility.  Before he could reply, Jack
joined us breathlessly and overtook the conversation.

“They’ve swallowed it
’ook, line and sinker at The Shunter, Mr Jay,” he gasped with a hollow grin. 
“And down the Coach House too.  I’ve been telling of a peculiar black phantom
with bloodstained claws that chased me through Upshott wood.  In the Lacy Arms,
a migrant fiddler reckoned it must be an escaped animal from darkest Africa,
but when I told ’im it wasn’t earthly he turned white.”

“Jack, itinerant
musicians are of no consequence here.  It is the locals we must frighten,” I
reminded him.

“Worry e not, Mr Jay,
for ’tis all in hand,” Humphrey assured me.  “Yesterday mornin’ I did a spot of
shoppin’ in the village and told the shopkeepers there be a rapacious gorilla
monster on the loose, and everyone had best stay indoors.”

“A gorilla monster?” I
squeaked unintentionally, wondering what manner of hoax I had spawned.

“Arr, the butcher wants
to go after it with his shotgun,” the porter alarmed me.  “But don’t e worry, I
changed his mind.  I reckons no one wants to be mauled by a wounded beast. 
Between e, me, and the fence post, Mr Jay, this be the most amusin’ prank I
ever partook of.  May I say, e be most welcome at Upshott, sir.  ’Tis a blessed
hoot havin’ a stationmaster like e.  Why, they’m a callin’ my gorilla monster the
‘Beast of Exmoor’.  I almost be afraid to venture out myself.”

I joined my two
colleagues in a hearty outburst of mirth and moved on.

The following day, the
Guard of the early Blodcaster train alighted and handed me a sealed envelope
marked for my personal attention.  My feet turned to lead as I retreated to my
office to open it, and the shock of its contents had me reaching for the salts,
for written upon an elaborate and unfamiliar variant of company letterhead was
a summons to attend a hearing at Headquarters just one week hence.  In addition
to existing complaints against me were two more, one made in Blodcaster, the other
in Upshott.  I had no idea what defence I might mount against these
accumulating allegations and thoughts of misconduct and its interpretation
exercised my mind all day, a day throughout which I carried the summons about
my person like a hidden scar.

I was clutching the
document when the engineer’s train arrived.  Hauled by Ondle, a small tank
engine of dishevelled external pipework and linkages, the train stopped just
beyond the ‘up’ platform and disgorged six men from a jury truck.  As the
labourers gathered their tools to repair a collapsed drainage ditch, I walked
over to them.

“Where is your chief?” I
asked, knowing that he had absconded to indulge a weakness.

Of the six muddy faces
before me, one eventually presumed to reply.

“Blodcaster,” he said,
suddenly animated.

“Well, no matter,” I
responded casually.  “I have instructions from Head office regarding a blocked
culvert at the foot of Widdlecombe bank.  The ditch on the south side is
obstructed with coal from a derailment and you are to recover it.  You shall
bring the coal here.”

The mud spattered faces,
various of size and elevation, had one thing in common.  They were all suspicious. 
To persuade them of my authenticity I waved my summons at them, giving them
sufficient time to see the boardroom logotype and header but not the
incriminating text below.  Determined that the document should serve at least
one constructive purpose before bringing my career to an end I was relieved that
the bluff worked.

“When you have recovered
all the coal you shall park it by the water tower,” I pressed my luck further. 
“And there you will flush it thoroughly to remove the mud.”

The men nodded miserably
and returned to their jury rig while I returned to my office with boosted self
esteem.  Minutes later I heard Ondle reconfiguring the works train to
incorporate a coal wagon.

Astonished by the
swiftness of the recovery, an hour or so later I was outside my office watching
Ondle detach the nicely filled coal truck alongside the water tower where the
men began flushing its muddy cargo.  Greatly impressed with myself, I summoned
Jack, Snimple, Diggory, and William to my office.

“William, I want you to
issue shovels,” I said.  “Diggory, have Mr Maynard find a horse and draw the
coal truck as far down the ‘lost’ siding as possible.  The ‘lost’ siding, I
should explain, was a scarcely used siding which nature had all but reclaimed. 
Snimple and Jack, you two begin shovelling instantly it is parked there.  I
want that coal discharged into the bushes, or anywhere out of sight of the
public, and certainly the gas house stoker.  Oh yes, and cover it tightly with
tarpaulin to maintain its volatility.  It will take months to use up.”

“What’s this all about,
Mr Jay?” William asked.

“I hope I am not
detaining you,” I dismissed him.

Only Diggory did I
detain for a word.

“Diggory, as you can
see, we have purloined some extra coal for the station house this winter, there
being a deficiency in the basic ration, but as is also evident we have greatly
overcompensated.  So I am giving everyone leave to help themselves.  This
instruction includes you, of course, so please feel free to take home however much
your mother requires.”

The young man thanked me
most solemnly and my gratification was complete.

“I suggest that you
obtain a very strong bag,” I concluded.  “Also, as long as you complete all
your duties in time, you may take the last train home each night to save the
walk.  Coal is heavy.”

A few days later I was
standing upon the platform anticipating the arrival of the afternoon Blodcaster
train when Rose Macrames entered the station, her face glowing with recognition
beneath a pale green bonnet matching a frilly dress and parasol.  She
approached me directly.

“How is my favourite
stationmaster?”

I returned her a droll
smile.

“I am afraid there is no
news of your parasol, Rose.  I fear that you may have seen the last of it,” I
said.

“I guessed as much,
Horace,” she sighed, caressing the frills of her replacement.  “But never mind. 
As you can see, this one suits me better.  Don’t you think?”

“Indeed it does,” I
nodded, concealing my ignorance of the original.

“I hope you don’t mind
me saying this, Horace, but I’ve been hearing malicious stories about you
around Blodcaster,” she blurted unexpectedly.  “But what people are saying
doesn’t correspond at all to the gentleman stationmaster I’ve come to know. 
Have you snubbed someone of influence?”

“What have you heard,
Rose?” I asked keenly.

“That you are ill
tempered and rude,” she replied.  “Yet strangely I can find no one who speaks
from experience.  It all seems to be hearsay.”

“Gossip is like wildfire,”
I complained.  “It usually begins with a careless or deliberate spark then
spreads until quelled by someone’s ruination.  On this occasion the calumny
would appear to be the work of a detractor who prefers to remain anonymous. 
But never mind.  Perhaps I will come face-to-face with my mysterious antagonist
at the hearing, for official complaints have been made and I am to be
officially reprimanded.  Quite possibly dismissed.”

Miss Macrames gasped.

“Horace, no!  This can’t
be right.  Let me speak up for you.  Yes, I will speak up for you.  We kindred
spirits must stick together, don’t you think?  Surely it’s plain to everyone
that you’re incapable of any nastiness.”

The Blodcaster train
clattered to our sides and squealed to a halt, whereupon I opened a carriage
door and watched my charming adherent settle herself inside a compartment. 
Sadly I was too on edge to appreciate this cosy moment.  I closed the door and
she opened a window.

“Horace,” she declared,
“I have friends in Blodcaster.  I’ll make it my business to identify this
scoundrel.”

Greatly amused, I tipped
my hat and left to attend to a lady needing assistance with a valise.  A few
seconds later, with the train departing, the Guard leaned from his cabin and
thrust a mail pouch into my hand.

“For you,
stationmaster,” he said, vanishing into a wall of steam.

I opened the pouch and
found a confidential letter advising me that my disciplinary hearing was
postponed until further notice, the Directors of the railway being preoccupied
with joint Board meetings at Waterloo.  This unexpected reprieve was delivered with
such ethereal swiftness that I wondered if by sharing my concerns with Rose I
had invoked divine intervention.

Six weeks elapsed before
the domestic from The Pheasant could take me on, during which time I had heard
nothing from the directors of the SER.  I believed they were so preoccupied
with the impending absorption into the LSWR that no time could be found to deal
with my alleged misdemeanours, though I had no doubt that I would be called to
account eventually.  Needless to say, Rose failed to unmask the malicious
rumourmonger of her home town.

By now I had become a
valued customer of The Shunter which, albeit a dim and grimy public house
frequented by labourers, was conveniently situated by the station entrance.  In
the shelter of its plain, red brick walls I had secured monopoly of a corner
table at which no one else now dared sit, and such was my relationship with the
proprietor that I had been invited to bring food from my own larder should the
house menu not suit.

This was a thoughtful
gesture, for it allowed me to make use of the gifts I received from patrons of
the railway, most of which were game meats.  If I wanted a pheasant for my
dinner, for example, I had only to deliver the bird to The Shunter an hour or
two in advance and in return for a nominal payment it would be plucked, pulled
and cooked by the time I was ready to eat.  As a result of this special
arrangement I felt awkward about hiring a domestic, for the engagement would
put an end to my patronage.

Much had happened on the
South Exmoor railway in recent weeks, its branchline ambience now giving way to
that of a mainline spur, with additional excitement caused by the commencement
of London & South Western excursion trains from the metropolis.  Traffic
had been increased still further by the construction of two new passing loops,
one at Widdlecombe, the other at Busy Linton, necessitating frequent permanent
way trains conveying ballast, sleepers, and lengths of rail manufactured to a
new Bessemer steel design.