Colin M. Johnson's Fiction - Short Stories

"JUST A TOKEN"

by Colin M. Johnson


      The air was filled with pungent smoke and steam as young Roy Hudson and his mother hurried with two heavy suitcases through the crowded concourse at Invercraig Station.   Delays to the incoming express had allowed them barely a minute in which to change platforms and board the local train for the rest of their journey to the coast where they would eventually catch the island ferry.

      The voice of a station announcer warned that their train was about to depart, a connection which Mrs. Hudson felt they couldn't afford to miss, despite Roy's enthusiasm for running on ahead to see the steam engine which stood at the far end of the platform.

      "Quick, Roy," she cried, "In here!"

      But he was too far away to hear.   With mounting concern she hurried forward to the very front of the train before finally pulling open the door of an empty compartment and beckoning urgently.

      Roy sauntered back calmly, knowing there was no cause to panic.   The guard would hardly blow his whistle while two passengers were still trying to get on board.

      Mrs. Hudson collapsed thankfully onto the seat and pulled off her hat.

      "Phew!" she gasped.   "Just made it!"

      "Shall I put the luggage on the rack?" asked Roy, anxious to be helpful in case his enthusiasm for engines had strained their normally easy relationship.

      She nodded, too short of breath to say much.   "Just make sure it's safe.   Leave the big one.   We'll put it up later if anyone else gets in."

      Roy lifted the smaller case onto the rack as the guard blew a final whistle and the long train began to inch itself forward.

      "Oh, my goodness," sighed his mother again, "I do hate having to rush like that."

      "There was no need," Roy assured her.   "They must have known the main line was running late."

      "Anyway," she added more calmly, "we made it.   Where are you going to sit?"

      "All over the place," Roy replied eagerly.   "There's lots I need to see on both sides."

      "Well, don't make yourself sick," she cautioned him.   "You know what you're like on buses."

      "Yes, but this happens to be a train and I never get sick on trains.   Buses jerk about and keep stopping and starting, that's what I don't like.   Trains just rock you gently from side to side.   If rocking made me sick, you'd have discovered that when I was small."

      Mrs. Hudson was accustomed to such logical responses from her lively twelve-year-old.   "Well, don't say I didn't warn you," she added dutifully.   "What time do we get to the ferry, I wonder?"

      "Officially, four twenty-four," he replied.   "But we're already ten minutes late.   Hey, can we eat?   I'm starving."

      "Good idea," she agreed, and delved into a small carrier bag.   "Egg and tomato, how's that?   Mind you sit still while you're eating!"

      Asking a lad like Roy to keep still was quite futile.   He was seldom disobedient, but his enthusiasm for railways made him a very restless travelling companion.   They were off to stay for two weeks with Roy's aunt who owned a small cottage on one of the remote Scottish islands, though Mrs. Hudson feared her son might find the holiday an anti-climax after the journey, especially as there were no railways west of Kylehead.

      Having eaten, Mrs. Hudson began to doze, lulled by the rhythmic swaying of the train and the warm sunshine that streamed in through her carriage window.   There seemed little urgency about the train's leisurely progress through the barren Scottish countryside.

      Roy spent most of the time leaning out of windows on either side and looking back as the train curved around bends.   With eight coaches, he calculated it was nearly two hundred yards long.

      "Where are we now?" his mother asked a while later, aware that the train was slowing down.

      "Just coming into Colmoyne," Roy announced, crossing to the left window.

      "Don't lean out so far, Roy, you'll get smuts in your eyes."

      But he didn't hear.   "Looks like we're about to have company," he declared.   "There's loads more passengers on the platform."

      "I'm not surprised, with the Bank Holiday," his mother commented.   "Bound to be extra crowded."

      Brakes squealed and groaned as the train drew into the station.

      "I'll stand guard at the window," Roy decided.   "It'll help to deter intruders."

      But his mother had other ideas.   "You'd do better to choose a seat and sit in it," she said, "or you might find yourself standing all the way to the ferry."

      Roy obliged by sitting still for a few moments till they finally came to a standstill.   Then he leapt up again and popped his head out of the window.

      "Looks like we're in luck," he exclaimed.   "No-one can invade us here.   We've gone way past the end of the platform."

      A railway official saw Roy at the window and expressed concern.

      "Are ye wanting to get out, lad?"

      "No, it's all right," Roy replied.   "Just looking!   I say, why are we so far forward?"

      "We're attaching more coaches at the back," he was told.   "For the holiday traffic and all.   It'll not take long."

      Roy crossed over to see if there was a better view from the other window.

      "What was all that about?" his mother enquired.

      "They're adding extra coaches," he said.   "Looks like three, maybe four, which means we'll be pulling eleven or twelve altogether.   I'll count them as we take the next bend.   It's a very heavy load for a Class Five!"

      "And what on earth is a class five?"

      "The engine," he informed her.   "A 4-6-0 Stanier Class Five.   I'll get the number at the next station."

      "You're not getting out of this train just to read engine numbers," she insisted.   "What would you do if the train suddenly moved off without you, leaving you stranded in the wilds of nowhere?   For all we know this could be the last train of the day.   Anyway, I'd have thought you had enough numbers by now."

      "Well, it isn't," Roy assured her.   "There's another one following later in the evening."

      "And if this train doesn't get a move on, it might well run into the back of us.   Anyway, the timetable's probably different for Bank Holidays."

      "If so," he reasoned, "they'd run more trains, not less, with crowds like this."

      A moment later there was a severe jolt as extra coaches were connected onto the back of the train.   Roy continued to watch from alternate windows until the guard's whistle blew and the train began very slowly to move again.   Wheels slipped and the engine stamped furiously before finally gaining a foothold as the heavy load was dragged out of the station.

      "Where's the next stop?" Mother asked.

      "We go past two minor halts," Roy revealed knowledgeably.   "Then we come to Auchtochy.   That's where the crossing occurs."

      "You don't mean the ferry?" she queried.

      "No!" he said scornfully.   "It's where we pass another train coming east.   We're both timed to arrive at Auchtochy at precisely the same moment.   Should be very interesting."

      "I'm sure," she nodded.   "But we passed lots of other trains on the main line.   Weren't they interesting too?"

      "Ah, but it's single track from here on," he explained.

      "Then how can there be another train coming the other way?"

      "Most stations have crossing loops.   Colmoyne's got sidings as well, since it's the junction with another line going north."

      "Perhaps that's where these extra crowds came from," she suggested.

      "Whoever they are, they're causing big delays," Roy said with a air of disapproval.   "Fifteen minutes late now!"   He darted to the right-hand window.   "Watch from this side and you'll see the other line curving away to the north.   From here on, we're on single track."

      "Yes, though I wish you hadn't told me about that train coming the other way," his mother observed.   "Now I'll keep expecting it to crash into us.   And we're in the very front carriage too!"

      "It can't crash into us!   They use tokens along this line."

      "I see.   And what's that supposed to achieve?"

      "There's a unique token for each section of line," Roy explained, wondering why mothers weren't taught such elementary facts at school.   "A driver's only allowed to proceed if he's carrying the right token.   If everyone sticks to the rules, the system can't go wrong."

      "Yes, I've heard that tale before," she retorted suspiciously.   "Accidents can still happen, even in the best of systems."

      "But if we did crash into the up train," Roy continued, "it couldn't be before Auchtochy.   There was a crash like that once, where both trains approached the crossing loop at the same time and one overshot the far end and clobbered the rear coach of the other train while it was still coming over the points.   So now there's a rule that a train has to stop well clear of the loop if the other one's approaching."

      "I just hope our driver knows the rules as thoroughly as you," she said.   "I'll feel a lot safer once we've passed this other train."

      The sound of the wheels jarred rhythmically as the train drummed over the points and entered the branch line.

      "Look, there's other line going away to the north!" Roy pointed.   "Now it's single track for the next eighteen miles, with an express racing towards us on the same rails!"

      His mother snapped nervously.   "Stop it, Roy!"

      "I can't stop it!" he grinned boyishly.   "That's the driver's job!"

      "Then let's hope he stays awake.   I'm going to try and have forty winks, so don't you get up to any mischief.   And if we do stop at a station before I wake up, no creeping out to look at the engine, is that clear?"

      Roy agreed, and concentrated on taking accurate timings at each milepost.

      Meanwhile, eighteen miles to the west at Auchtochy station, a telephone rang.   George Milwood the imperturbable station master went into his office to answer it.

      "Hallo, Auchtochy here, Station Master speaking," he began dutifully.   "Aye!   Right!   Thank you."

      He put the phone down and turned to his young assistant David.

      "Typical!" he said.   "The down train's not only late, she's taken on an extra load at the junction, so Gawd knows what time they'll reach this neck of the woods!   The Up should have left Kylehead a good ten minutes ago, so with a strong sou-wester, I'll settle for at least one of them getting here on time.   But on a Saturday in August, it's anybody's guess."

      "Aye," agreed David.

      "Lively place, this, on a Saturday," George observed drily.   "It's where the paleface meets the redskin.   Pale, eager holidaymakers heading west.   Solemn brown faces coming back east, while all along the coast there's frantic work in the laundries as they change hotel bed linen."

      "Aye," muttered David.

      "But does anything ever happen right here?" George continued.   "Does it heck!   I haven't clipped a single ticket all week.   I reckon my clippers would be rusty by now if I didn't use them once in a while to prune my roses!   But let's face it, David old son, who in his senses would choose to alight here?   I mean, what have WE got to entice the tourist, eh?"

      David grinned a smile of simple contentment.   "I don't know.   Good scenery.   And it's peaceful - I like it!"

      "You would," said George.   "It's a damned sight too peaceful for me, and no more scenic than hundreds of other parts of Bonnie Scotland.   We've got no special attractions here.   No salmon fishing, no winter sports!   This is hardly Fun City, old son, just lumps of rock and clumps of blooming heather.   Hate the sight of the stuff, I do."

      "Aye," David consoled him.

      "You know, David," George began, lighting his pipe.   "When they told me years ago I'd been appointed Station Master out here, I thought they was giving me promotion.   For years I'd dreamed of having a platform under my feet that I could rightly call my own.   But in my old age I'm beginning to think I've been had, do you know that?   In fact, it's reached the stage where I'm now beginning to have evil thoughts!"

      "How do you mean?" asked David pleasantly.

      "Just odd cynical notions I get from time to time.   Anything that might stir up a spot of excitement, like loosening a few yards of track to see if we can't have a minor derailment on our hands.   Nothing too spectacular, mind, don't get me wrong."

      "No," David assured him.

      "Just a few quiet amusements, something to put a bit of a spark into my day.   Not that I'm supposed to have notions like that.   I'm Station Master!   I've got a responsible post, with an important-looking uniform, and a beautiful station too if you can call this a station.   But what is a station, David?   A station's a place where passengers get on and off trains, that's what a station is.   But I reckon we could dig up both platforms to make a rockery for my garden and not a soul would notice.   Oh well, if the Down's going to be late it'll give us time for a cup of tea and a chat with Tubby and Bill."

      He was about to go and put the kettle on when the phone rang again.

      "Telephone!" said David helpfully.

      "Guess I spoke too soon," sighed George, as he went to answer it.   "It's getting quite hectic here all of a sudden!   Hallo?   Auchtochy!   Yes, how late?   What's Tubby been up to then, stopping to catch jack-rabbits with his bare hands?   Okay, understood!"

      "Don't tell me," David anticipated.   "The Up's late as well!"

      "Of course," he replied.   "Never mind, chance to put in another row of broad beans.   Call me if they decide to close this line altogether!"

      And with that George wandered away to devote loving care on a flourishing vegetable plot in an area once occupied by sidings.

      Meanwhile the train from Invercraig was getting nearer.

      "Don't get smuts in your eyes, Roy!" said a weary voice.

      "I thought you were asleep!" responded Roy.   "Besides, there's a cross-wind taking all the smoke the other way.   And we're doing barely twenty-five miles an hour!"

      "Yes," she admitted.   "The Scots don't seem to be in much of a hurry."

      "Oh, I don't know!" Roy argued.   "There's sixty miles to cover in just under three hours, so twenty miles an hour isn't bad, especially on a rising gradient with eleven full coaches.   The tractive effort of a Black Five's around 22,000 pounds at seventy-five percent pressure, and ours is having to pull nearly four-hundred tons of train."

      "Really?" smiled his mother.   "Remind me again what a black five is?"

      "Listen!" cried Roy dramatically.   "Do you hear anything?"

      His mother again visualised the ominous approaching train.

      "Only the sound of the engine," she said.   "I trust it's ours?"

      "That, Mother, is a Black Five.   Now it's three-sixteen, so if the Up train's in I expect they'll exchange tokens at this end of platform.   We don't know yet which side it'll be, but the crossing itself should take place in about four and a half minutes."

      "That's good to know," his mother remarked contentedly.   "I wish sometimes you'd apply your enthusiasm to something more constructive than checking up on the railways.   I mean, it's nice to have a hobby, but what use is it?"

      "What use was I when I was three months old?" Roy asked simply.

      The good woman had no ready answer.

      "We're already slowing down," he added.

      Anyone travelling with Roy was likely to receive a running commentary on the obvious as well as sharing many remarkable facts and statistics he carried in his head.   "Now, which side will it be?   I can see the station, but the other train's not arrived.   Still, that means we've got plenty of time, so will it be all right for me to go and see the engine when we stop?"

      "If you're sure it won't leave without you," she consented.   "You'd better be right about waiting for this other train."

      "Why else would the signal ahead of us be set at danger?"

      "All right, but be careful.   Don't go touching anything you shouldn't!"

      "I won't!" he promised, and he looked out of the window onto a completely deserted platform.

      "Some contrast to Colmoyne Junction," he reported.   "There's only two men waiting, and they're both in railway uniform!"

      The two were Station Master George Milwood and his assistant David, who had dutifully positioned themselves on the down platform to supervise the arrival of the westbound train.

      "Here she comes," George observed to his colleague.   "Brace yourself for the stampede!   I wonder if they've brought my gooseberry cuttings.   They seem to be carrying half the population of Scotland, by the looks of it.   It's a wonder they got here at all!"

      The long train drifted gently into the station and stopped just short of the points at the western end.

      "Afternoon, Joe," George greeted the driver above the hiss of steam.   "What's this then, a football special?"

      "Not complaining, are you, George?" replied Joe good-heartedly.   "What's the matter, train not long enough for you?"

      "If that lot think they're all getting onto the ferry, they'll very likely sink it!   Any cargo for me, by any chance?   No gooseberry bushes?"

      "Not my department, George.   They don't encourage us to carry freight on the footplate.   If we have any plants for you, the guard'll likely chuck 'em out before we go."

      At that moment Roy stepped down from the first carriage.

      "Hey, George," David remarked.   "Looks like we have a customer!"

      "What?" exclaimed George.   "I don't believe it!   An alighting passenger of our very own.   Perhaps we should have him stuffed and mounted.   Welcome, son," he smiled as Roy approached.   "Are you actually getting off here?   If so, I'll run and fetch the red carpet!"

      "Only for a moment," Roy explained.   "I didn't get a chance to see the engine properly when we got on at Invercraig.   Where's the Up train?   I expected it to be here long ago."

      "So did we, but she's running late," said George, with a friendly glare at Driver Joe.   "Disgusting, I call it!   Can't rely on anyone to be punctual these days."

      "Are they likely to be long," Joe enquired.

      "You're anxious to be off then?" George teased, having long ceased to take railway matters seriously.   "Well, don't let us keep you!   Shame you missed Tubby and Bill, but I'm sure you'll bump into them on the way."

      "Okay, George," said Joe playfully.   "See you at the pearly gates!"

      He blew a short whistle, and released a little steam, expecting this would have scared Roy into climbing back on board.   But the boy remained calmly beside the engine.

      "Aren't you getting on, son?"

      "Not until the up train's safely alongside, and you've got possession of the token to proceed, no."

      Joe was impressed.   "Hey, he's no fool, this lad!   What's your name, son?"

      "Roy Hudson."

      "Well, Roy, I'm Joe!   Pleased to know you!   My coal-covered companion up here is Dick."

      "Hallo," Roy waved.   "I say, trains this long aren't normally found on this line, are they?"

      "Not in my experience," George intervened.   "I never realised the company owned this many coaches."

      "Six is about usual for us," said Joe.   "But being a holiday weekend, we've got double our normal capacity."

      "I counted eleven coaches," said Roy.   "Thirty-two tons apiece.   That's getting on for four-hundred tons when you include the weight of your passengers."

      "Aye," said Joe.   "The poor old girl's had a stiff climb.   It's as well the weather stayed dry or we'd never have made it through the glen."

      "What would you have done if you'd stalled?" asked Roy.

      "Persuaded little Dick here to get out and push!" said Joe.

      Despite the good-humoured banter, George Milwood was looking worried.

      "Eleven coaches, you say?"

      "See for yourself," replied Roy.

      "Then you'll still be over the points at the rear end, Joe.   Lucky you mentioned it, son.   David, you'd better set the signal to stop Tubby before the loop."

      "Okay!" said David, and he marched off obligingly.

      "Why do you need to do that?" asked Roy.   "This train's stationary."

      "Just a precaution," George explained.   "Suppose Tubby came panting into the loop at a steady fifty and found he couldn't stop before hitting Joe's rear coach over the points.   Nasty, eh?   Cause the kind of excitement that might lose a station master his respectability.   So, reluctantly, we make sure he stops outside the station, then brings her in nice and slow."

      "I must remember that," said Roy, nodding with keen interest.

      "Likewise we're not allowed to let two trains approach the loop at the same time," George went on.

      "Oh yes, I know that," Roy exclaimed.   "That came into the rule-book after the Pitlochry incident back in 1865."

      "By gum," said Joe.   "This lad knows his railways."

      "I'm afraid my mother regards it as a useless hobby," Roy confided.   "But then she's spent most of the journey fast asleep!"

      "Aye," said George.   "Typical of mothers, is that.   So I suppose you want to be an engine driver then, Roy?"

      "I don't know," he said thoughtfully.   "I've never ridden on a footplate, so I can't really tell.   And that's not a hint, in case you're wondering, because I know regulations forbid it."

      "Aye," said Joe, "well, there's generally a sound reason behind most of the rules."

      "Yes, like waiting for this eastbound train," said Roy.   "We'll have a job to hear it coming while we're all standing beside a hissing loco."

      "Hissing loco!   Is he swearing about my engine, George?"

      "I can still use my eyes," said George as he spotted a plume of black smoke behind low hills to the west.   "And here comes Tubby, tearing round the bend like a greyhound after a rabbit."

      "Pity he's got to stop," said Roy.   "I love watching firemen exchanging tokens at speed.   Have you got yours ready?   Can I see it?"

      "This, you mean?" said Joe, taking the large ringed artefact from his fireman.   "Here you are.   Dick's the one who normally reaches out for it!   Got a ten foot arm, has Dick!"

      "Has he ever dropped it?" asked Roy.

      "No, and he'll catch it if ever he does, eh George?"

      "True enough," grinned the old station master.

      "Tell me," asked Roy, "what will you do if the Up train turns out to be the same length as this one?   I mean, suppose both trains are longer than the passing loop?   What happens then?"

      "We all sit down and cry!" said George.   "But I can set your mind at rest there, son.   Tubby had only six on when he came through this morning, and we don't carry spares on this line."

      "So you've never had both trains longer than the loop?" Roy continued, his eye on the approaching train.

      "No," said George simply.   "Couldn't be done, not here.   Your train today's a rare exception.   But all we do is roll her gently forward, once Tubby's safely in the loop."

      "Ah," said Roy dubiously.   "Well, don't look now, but I think this could be your unlucky day.   Your six-coach train's got about twenty freight vans in front of the first coach."

      "What?" exclaimed George.   "You're kidding!"

      They all turned and stared in disbelief at the approaching train.

      "Hell's bells," breathed George, "the lad's right!   Lord alive, what silly fool came up with this stunt?"

      "I think," said Roy slowly, "that the next few minutes could prove very educational."

      "I don't know about educational," said the worried George.   "Damned annoying, I call it, and inconsiderate.   The stupid idiots - fancy Tubby agreeing to this!   He should have had more sense."

      "Hold on," said Joe, eager to defend a fellow-driver, "you can't blame Tubby.   He wasn't to know we were bringing eleven sixty-four-footers."

      "Who cares?   The point is, what in blazes do we do now?" asked George.

      "That's what I hoping to find out!" added Roy.

      The eastbound train drew to a halt beside the first signal.

      "Afternoon!" bellowed Tubby.   "Care to wave me through?"

      George walked slowly down the line toward the new arrival.

      "You've brought us something of a dilemma," George revealed.   "With all this extra freight, I don't see how you're going to tuck yourself into the loop.   Joe's still fouling the far end!"

      This wasn't a phenomenon Tubby had ever encountered before, and he wasn't yet ready to believe it.   "Let's check it out," he declared.   "I'll inch forward and see how much of a problem we've actually got."

      "Okay!" George agreed.   "But take it very gently."

      As Tubby's train began to edge forward, Mrs. Hudson's face appeared at her window.   "Roy?   Roy!   You'd best come back in now.   The other train's here beside us."

      "In a minute," Roy promised.   "I doubt if we'll be leaving just yet."

      Tubby's train slowed to a standstill with two coaches still over the western points.

      "He's not going to make it," Roy assured the others.

      "Looks as if you're right," agreed Joe.

      "So, what's the rule book say about this one?" Roy enquired.

      "Nothing helpful," said George.   "Something about shunting part of the train into a siding."

      "And your nearest siding," Roy reminded him, "is eleven miles away."

      "Fine, George!" said Joe, folding his arms and grinning.   "Well?   It's your station.   What would you like us to do?"

      George hadn't the faintest idea, but as Station Master he wanted to appear suitably authoritative.   "Right!" he determined.   "First thing is to wait here."

      "We're already doing that," replied Joe.

      "I'm going to phone Head Office," said George, "that's assuming anyone still works there on a Saturday afternoon."

      As he set off for his Station Master's Office, the anxious Mrs. Hudson started calling again to her son.   "Roy, I want you.   You mustn't keep bothering those men," she went on confidentially.   "While you're standing there chatting to the driver, you're delaying the entire train."

      "No, I'm not," he explained.   "We've got a problem.   Both trains are too long to pass one another."

      "Well, never you mind about that," she advised.   "If they've got a problem they won't want you in the way while they're sorting it out."

      "It doesn't sound as if it's ever happened before," Roy said.   "The Station Master's gone to phone Head Office."

      But in the privacy of his office, George was having a tough time.

      "Hallo?   George Milwood here," he began.   "Station Master at Auchtochy.   No, Auchtochy!"   He turned to David with his hand over the mouthpiece.   "Hell's bells, they've never even heard of us!   Hallo?   Yes, Auchtochy.   It's a railway station on a remote Scottish line half way between Colmoyne and Kylehead.   Now listen, I've got two trains here, both longer than my crossing loop.   Got that?   And we haven't any sidings, not any more.   Well don't blame me - it wasn't my idea to have them ripped out!   Where's your governor?   Well, I suggest you damn well go and find him!"

      "Everything okay?" asked David.   "What's their answer?"

      "I doubt if this idiot even understands the question.   He suggests I ring back later, which probably means Tuesday!   What does he expect us to do in the mean time, have the passengers play ring-a-ring-a-roses among the heather for three days?   Hallo? ...   No, A-U-C-H-T-O-C-H-Y! ...   Yes, and two trains, both too long for my crossing loop.   What would you like me to do?   No, we haven't got any blasted sidings, nor do I keep a stock of spare rails to go and build one!   What do you mean, it's not your problem?   Who do you suggest I phone, the Archbishop of Canterbury or the Samaritans?   Yes!   Yes, I am the Station Master here.   I see.   Well, thank you so much for your assistance!"

      George slammed down the phone.   "Assistance, my gooseberries!"

      "Well, what do they say?" asked David.

      "David, old son, you're too young to know!"

      "But did they come up with an answer?"

      "I might tell you later, when the nearest passenger is at least ten miles away.   Meanwhile, we'd better call a conference."

      He returned to the group who stood eagerly awaiting him by the engine.

      "Right, lads," he announced breathlessly.   "Only one answer, as I see it.   You'll each have to go back the way you came.   We'll ask the passengers to swap trains.   Shouldn't take more than about ten minutes."

      "Here, but hang on a minute, George," asked Tubby.   "What about my freight vans?   I'll get lynched if I take a thousand tons of fresh-caught fish back to the quayside."

      "And you can hardly load fresh fish into passenger compartments!" argued Joe.

      "Then offer me an alternative," George pleaded.

      "Well," Tubby said doubtfully.   "If Joe sets back a bit, I could leave my fish vans in the loop for him to take to Invercraig.   He could propel his passenger coaches and pull the vans behind him."

      "Have a heart, Tubby!" said Joe.   "This isn't a 9F we've got here.   We only just made it with this load as it is.   Besides, you'd never squeeze all of my passengers into six coaches, unless you'd like them to double up with the fish!"

      "Well, I'm sorry," said George, "but there is no other solution.   You obviously can't go forward, either of you, so it stands to reason you'll have to go back again!"

      "Is that what Head Office reckoned, George?" asked Joe.

      "No."

      "Well, what did they say?"

      "They suggested we put in a formal request for longer crossing loops.   Head Office can be very far-sighted in times of crisis."

      "But surely there's a precedent for this somewhere?"

      "Blessed if I know." said George.

      "Perhaps our young friend might know?" Joe suggested.   "He seems to know plenty about railway regulations and history."

      "What?" exclaimed George.   "A schoolboy?   He's barely out of rompers!"   But he soon yielded to the glare of his colleagues.   "Okay!   Any port in a storm!   Roy?   Roy!   Can I have a quiet word with you?"

      "Oh, Roy," said his mother, "what have you done now?   Have you been making a nuisance of yourself?"

      "It's all right, madam," George explained through the window.   "Please excuse me, but I just wondered if Roy might be able to help us.   You seem to know a good deal about railways, lad.   Any ideas about trains being too long for crossing loops?"

      "You mean you're actually stuck?"   Roy laughed in amazement.

      George looked embarrassed but had to admit this did effectively sum up their dilemma.   "Short of exchanging passengers and sending both trains back the way they came," he replied, "yes!   But I was thinking - something like this must have happened before.   Can you remember anything at all ..."

      "Well, there was a case in Ireland many years ago," said Roy.   "The same situation you've got here, but I'm pretty certain they used a siding.   Of course, I've often solved it on my model layout at home."

      "You mean, you know of a solution?" asked George excitedly.   "Why didn't you speak up sooner?"

      "I wanted to see how you tackled it here!   I was hoping I might learn something useful!"

      "Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you," George confessed, "but it looks like we're stumped, and the afternoon's rapidly wearing away, so can you briefly explain how you'd do it at home on your layout?   And don't tell me a large hand comes down and lifts things off the track, because I'm not in the mood."

      "Don't be daft!" said Roy instinctively.

      "Roy!" his mother admonished him.

      "No, I reckon I deserved that," the Station Master conceded.   "All right then, Roy, what's the answer?"

      "Simple, but it's best if I explain directly to the two drivers!"

      Roy leapt out and joined the group of adults beside the Black Five.

      "Right," he began, "first I need to check if we're on a level gradient here?"

      "Like a billiard table for eight hundred yards," said George.

      "Fine!   Then Mr. Tubby - sorry I don't know your other name - could you please reverse your train back until the two end coaches are beyond the points.   Then, after you've uncoupled them, you bring your shortened train back into the loop and stop."

      "I've got you," said Tubby.

      "I suggest you take Joe's token now," advised Roy.   "When the points become clear at the eastern end, go forward and keep going for at least half a mile.   Wait there, and the rest will become obvious.   Oh, and make sure you leave your token for Dick to collect before we leave."

      "Will do," said Tubby.   "Cheers, lads.   It looks like we may be back in business after all!"

      "Now, Joe!" Roy continued as Tubby hurried back to his engine.   "When Tubby's cleared the points ahead of you, ease forward to his two abandoned coaches and push them gently along until your rear coach is clear of the loop."

      "Okay, son!" said Joe.

      "Mr. Station Master!   Someone has to operate points at the far end."

      George saluted and stood to attention, then shouted across to the opposite platform.   "David?   Stand by to switch the points at the east end, will you, as soon as Joe's train's clear."

      "Right!"

      Soon Tubby's train began reversing slowly past them.

      "Frank!" cried George with a wave as a concerned face appeared at the guard's window.   "We need to detach your two rear coaches."

      "Only for a moment," added Roy.

      "I'd better introduce you," said George.   "This young lad's come to our rescue."

      "Glad someone's on the ball!" said Frank.   "Haven't come across so much kerfuffle since the war.   Hi, Roy, glad to know you."

      "Thank you," said Roy as he watched Tubby's train rumble slowly past.   "That's enough I think."

      "Okay, Frank," George ordered, "you can stop him now."

      Frank blew a whistle and Tubby's train squealed to a halt.

      "Now," George continued.   "You'd best stand clear, Roy, while we do the dangerous bit."

      After uncoupling two coaches from the end of Tubby's train, Frank blew his whistle again and waved Tubby forward.

      "Here, I say, what IS going on?" asked a bewildered passenger as his unattached coach drifted by.

      "Sorry about this, sir," George apologised.   "Nothing to worry about.   You'll be on your way very soon."

      "I should hope so - we're nearly thirty minutes late!"

      "Right," said Roy, "now if someone goes as changes those points, then Joe can come forward."

      "Very good," said George, "but mind you stand well clear.   Don't want any mishaps at this stage, and we certainly can't afford to lose our commander-in-chief!"

      "Okay!" said Roy.   "You do realise he'll be moving forward without his token?   Is that all right, or should I run back and fetch it?"

      "Sorry, Roy, I get a bit deaf at times," George admitted with a wink.   "Besides, as the man said, we are running late."

      Tubby's train, now two coaches shorter, fitted comfortably into the passing loop.   Once the end coach was clear of the western points, Joe began to ease his train forward towards the isolated coaches, freeing the other end of the loop and allowing Tubby to progress half a mile further east as instructed.

      Mrs. Hudson hadn't grasped the full significance of what was going on, but as soon as her train started to move she abandoned her compartment and stood on the platform where she could keep an eye on her son.   George, who seemed equally uncertain about the master plan, stared at the two coaches which stood abandoned a hundred yards to the west of his station.   He hoped it would eventually make sense.

      "Good," said Roy, running alongside the towering Black Five.   "Now, Joe, can you or Dick please attach those coaches to your front coupling, then haul them back into the station and detach them in the loop.   Tubby should have allowed you enough room to reverse right through till you can come forward again on the other track.   After that, there'll be nothing to stop us continuing our journey to Kylehead!"

      "Okay!" agreed Joe.

      Soon it became clear even to George.

      "Of course," he beamed, "then all Tubby has to do is to set back and collect his other two coaches.   Simple, really!"

      "But please remember to stop and pick me up," shouted Roy.   "I'll be waiting on the down platform!"

      With the front of his engine firmly coupled to Tubby's two coaches, Joe reversed his long train slowly back and left them safely in the passing loop.   He then continued backing his train eastwards, making sure Tubby had left him enough empty track to clear the eastern points.   Finally he come forward into the other loop and stopped level with Roy and his mother on the down platform.

      "Well done, Roy," he said.   "First rate job, that!   He's a clever lad, this son of yours, Mrs. Hudson."

      "At times," she admitted proudly.

      "I just wish we could find him some sort of reward," said George, "some small token of our appreciation."

      "Would his mother mind if Roy joined us on the footplate?" asked Joe.

      "If it's safe and he promises not to get dirty," Mother agreed.

      "But wouldn't that be against regulations?" Roy queried.

      "I told you," said George, "I'm getting a bit deaf in my old age.   And besides, a fat lot of use Head Office are with their wretched rules!"

      "Nevertheless," Roy decided.   "I think I'd better say no, thanks all the same.   I'll travel with Mum in the front coach."

      "You know," Mrs. Hudson volunteered, "I can think of one present you could give him, provided he promises not to run off with it.   You mentioned giving him a little token.   Why not make it a big one?   If you stand at the far end of the platform, Roy can grab the wretched thing as he goes by."

      "Lady, you're as clever as your son!" said George.   "Come on, Joe, I'll race you!"

      George darted with renewed energy down to the western end of the platform and waited for Joe to come steaming past.

      "Here, Roy - catch!" he yelled as the boy grasped the vital token.   "Be sure to drop in on the way back!"

      Roy promised a reunion, and waved his token trimphantly as the train puffed vigorously away toward the setting sun.   The Auchtochy station staff watched with a sense of anti-climax as Tubby reversed his train to collect the two remaining coaches before setting off with an impudent whistle in the direction of Invercraig.

      "Well, David old son?" said George, once both trains were out of sight.   "I'd say, in retrospect, I quite enjoyed that!"

      "Tell me one thing, George," asked David.   "What DID Head Office say on the phone?   You didn't half go a funny colour!"

      "David, old son, they simply said that if I couldn't figure out what to do, I might well be replaced by someone who could!"

      "But of course, you would have figured it out eventually, wouldn't you, George?"

      "I guess so.   After all, it was relatively simple!"

      "So simple, in fact, a child could have done it, eh, George?"

      "Some child, David!   Some child!"

      And the two trains whistled simultaneously from beyond the distant hills as if to echo their full agreement.

THE END


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Except where specifically noted, all music and stories on this web site are my own creations.   You may not use any of them for any purpose without written permission from me.     Copyright © 2003 Colin Johnson     All Rights Reserved.