For Writers
By Writers
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For Writers
|
|
By Writers
|
Chapter 1. Arrival.
The tracks are no longer there. Nature is reclaiming her land, but you can still see the miniature valleys carved all those years ago. It is more than forty years since I first saw the glistening curves of polished metal dancing away into the distance. And the smell! I can remember it now; that mix of smoky coal, cinders and oil, with a hint of summer flowers thrown in for good measure. It was another world.
Grandfather came to meet us at the station that morning. He was at work, but as this took him along the line, no-one was to know that this wasn't where he was supposed to be. He was bigger than the engines themselves, standing there with the widest grin you ever did see. As the train eased itself out of the station, coughing and spluttering until it picked up speed, Granddad picked up the suitcases and stepped onto the tracks. With his long legs, it was easy for him to step from one sleeper to the next, but my mother and I found it more difficult. I probably managed better than she did, for I found that by jumping I could stay on the sleepers and avoid the cinders between them.
The house was about half a mile from the station, but it took a long time because Granddad and I kept having to wait for Mum.
"Come on! Hurry up!" he called, then added, "There'll be another train by yere soon!" Mum panicked, as usual, and tried to skip across the sleepers, but when that didn't work she decided to walk at the side of the track. It wasn't a lot easier. Granddad wasn't joking about the train. I heard a far off whistle, and looking ahead I could see in the distance the plumes of smoke from its funnel. It was not that close. There were several bends in the track, curving behind rising woodlands and a common, before the train would reach us.
"Hurry now!" Granddad called, and my mother raised her skirt a little to be able to step out more quickly. The whistle suddenly seemed a lot closer, and I turned round and called to her.
"Come on, Mum, quickly!" The train was out of sight round one of the bends, but I could hear it now. The steam seemed to be puffing out of the engine faster than before: it was speeding up.
"It's alright, don't panic!" Granddad called, "Just get off the track and stand back by the grass. The train won't touch you there, see." We all stood back near to the brambles that grew wildly in a hedge of their own making. The train rounded the final bend, and for a moment I was frightened. Granddad put an arm across my shoulder, and the fear went away.
"It's alright, boy. Do this all the time, they do. Nasty great noisy things that they are." I laughed, but the noise of it was blown away by the approaching monster. Not only was there smoke pouring from its funnel, but there was steam seemingly hissing from every part of it. And yet, if it was a monster, it was not at all to be feared, I saw now. As it came rushing past us, I looked towards my mother. She had her fingers in her ears to shut out the noise, but otherwise she was not afraid. I had thought that she would be, and I was briefly ashamed of myself for thinking such a thing. Then the carriages blurred past us, with their own personal racket that clacked away as the train sped down the track and round the bend beyond.
"Two minutes early," Granddad commented as he consulted his fob watch.
"Oh, Dad," my Mum scolded, "I'm surprised that you brought us along the line at all, if you knew another train was due so soon."
"Ach, Rose, never you mind about that," he said, dismissing her complaint with a wave of one enormous hand. "You know as well as I do that we will come to no harm as long as we use a bit of common sense."
"Yes, Mum; the trains aren't dangerous," I said, in support of my grand- father's argument. Or so I thought. Grandfather rounded on me as quick as a teased cat. He looked angry too.
"Not dangerous, boy? Not dangerous? Of course they're dangerous! You treat them with respect, or one of these days you'll wake up dead!" This was the first time I had seen my grandfather for a year, and within ten minutes of meeting, here I was being told off by him! I was not too happy about it, I can tell you, and I'm sorry to say that I sulked for the rest of the walk along the line. Mum and Granddad talked about all the usual things that a father and daughter-in-law might talk about, such as how she was managing bringing me up on my own, and how Grandma was, and so on. It was almost as though I didn't exist. I was referred to as "the boy" by my grandfather, as if I did not have a name. This was not a fine way to start a holiday, I can tell you.
Chapter 2. The House Below The Line.
"Here we are then," my grandfather said, suddenly. We had walked past the house, or at least, past the roof of the house, and had come to a section of wooden fencing. The top bar was missing from the first section, and Granddad was climbing over it even as he spoke.
A path of crazy paving sloped steeply down past a tin hut and through a garden neat with all sorts of flowers, a few of which I knew, such as roses and honeysuckle, but many more which I could not identify then or now. I smelled them as I walked down that path, and I remember that they were all sorts of colours except blue. Which was strange, because my Mum didn't like blue, but it had not occurred to me that other people might not like it as well.
The house was immediately below the railway line. It was built from solid Welsh stone, and it stood alone on the hillside. Grandma was standing at the door to greet us. She looked as if she was built as solidly as the house, and I imagined the door frame needing to take in a deep breath to make room for her. Her cheeks were as rosy as Mum's name, and she beamed at us both while keeping her arms folded across her chest.
"Come in you look as if you're in need of a good warm drink Charlie will take your suitcases up to your rooms did you have a good journey?" she said, just like that, except for the wonderful Welsh lilt in her voice. She clucked and fussed around my Mum and I while she guided us through the kitchen, past the pantry and the stairs, to the sitting room, where she plonked us down in large homely chairs and rushed back to the kitchen to make us something to drink.
"Make a mug of tea for me too, Gwen," called Granddad as he clomped up the stairs with our luggage.
"It's so good to see you, Rose," Grandma said, when the drinks had arrived. I drank in the smell
of sweet cocoa from my cup. It brought back memories of a holiday three years earlier. And for a moment I thought of my Dad.
"It's good to be back," Mum replied. Then there was silence. It was as if there was nothing else to be said, or that could be said. I remember that silence so clearly, and I know now why it happened. But I didn't know then.
"Was it a good journey?" Granddad returned from dumping the luggage, and broke the silence. Mum smiled up at him and nodded.
"Bit of a wait at Hereford, but not too bad," she said.
"We walked along the line, Gran," I said, not wanting to be left out of the conversation.
"Did you, boy?" she said, and I noticed the look she gave to Granddad. I don't think she was too pleased about it. Granddad just grinned at her. I have never seen anyone with such a wide grin. It started with a wrinkle under his nose and crept up his cheeks until it looked as if it would touch his ears.
"Quickest way," he explained, "Besides, there was only the Brecon train to come this afternoon, and we stayed well out of its way."
"It was good fun," I said, then remembered my telling off and looked at my grandfather half-expecting another one. This time he just beamed.
"Yes, I expect it would be, if you haven't spent the last million years walking those lines!" he laughed.
Conversation was a lot easier after that, but noticed that no-one mentioned Dad, which was a bit strange because he was their son. I hung around for a while, enjoying Granddad's laughter and Grandma's scolding whenever he said anything she didn't like. He knew quite a number of strange Welsh words that she didn't like, and he wouldn't translate them into English with me around.