by Richard Tearle
THE
MAN STANDING ON PLATFORM TWO
(Photo by the Author)
There
he stood, just as he always did day after day. The same spot, under the canopy,
close to the clock, midway between platform edge and the station building.
The
day was neither warm nor cold. Early autumn, no sun visible but no wind to blow
the clouds away.
A
short whistle heralded the approach of a goods train running through on the
middle line. The powerful locomotive had seen better days. Once she had been
proud and gleaming: now the rust on her running plate was untended and the
brown stains on her smokebox door had been caused by boiling water overspilling
through an unplugged leak. Her paintwork no longer gleamed black but was covered
in grease, grime and dirt. So thick was it that someone had cleaned away a
small patch of the grey covering in order that her yellow painted cabside
number could be recognised.
The
empty wagons clanked through obediently, chained like slaves to each other and
their master and then all was silent again.
The
woman was there again, across the tracks on Platform One. As usual, he wondered
whether he should smile at her and maybe even wave, but he did not want his
actions to be misconstrued. Perhaps one day he might mount the steps of the
iron footbridge and cross the lines to the other platform. But he knew he never
would.
He
stole a glance at his watch. A few minutes before the express was due. And
then his train would soon follow, having been held at the previous stop to
allow the more important service through. As if to confirm his thoughts, the
home and distant signals on the gantry to his left swung upwards.
The
man sighed to himself. Sometimes he wondered what the point of it all was. This
daily commute, the never changing routine of his life. Where did it get him?
Absolutely
nowhere.
He felt rather than heard the thrumming of the rails at first. He looked to the far end of the platform and, yes, there was the express. A short whistle, three tones combined into one discordant shriek and the backwards sloping front of the locomotive cleaving the air as it leaned into the gentle curve. It was past in seconds at a speed approaching ninety miles per hour. No ill tended machine this one! Gleaming in a colour he believed was called Brunswick Green it flashed by followed by a rake of chocolate and cream Pullman carriages, resplendent luxury with lamps on the lily white cloth covered tables. And then it was gone. Away to places unknown, Different sights. Through town and country alike. Through tunnels and under bridges, past roads and farms.
No
doubt the same faces would be seen, already seated or waiting at the doors to
alight. The old man with the flat cap and the walking stick. The pretty young
lass, the Teddy Boy in his Edwardian suit, slicked back hair and winkle picker
shoes.
Nothing
changed.
Which
is what was nagging at him all the time.
The
monotony, the lack of excitement. Not even any change to observe or delight in.
He needed something new in his life. Something different.
Something thrilling. But what?
Something thrilling. But what?
Something
had to change. But
how could he do that?
How
many times had he been through this conversation with himself?And how many
times had he ever come close to finding a solution to his frustration? His
life, he concluded, was so monotonous that he even asked those same question
every day!
The
signals arced lazily upwards again. The man on platform two sighed deeply.
His
train approached, slow and slowing more. Running tender first – even that was
the norm. The same shade of green as the express before it, but nowhere as
clean.
It
passed him before jerking to a halt. Yes, there was the old man, the young
woman and the Teddy Boy. In their allotted positions as ever.
And then he heard a loud voice from above him, declaring crossly, 'Oh no! Not again!' just before a giant hand descended from overhead, detached the de-railed tender of the model train and set it properly back in place on the tracks of the railway layout.
(photo by the author)
© Richard Tearle
Would I be right in saying Brunswick Green and Signal Orange?
It's been a long time!