Trackbed Tales by N M Scott

Author:N M Scott
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Book Guild
Published: 2016-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

The Railway Arms

What a freezing, deplorably dark and dismal evening it was that time last February when I entered my local pub. Was I glad to be out of the driving sleet lashing into my face. My hat, woolly scarf and Gabardine mackintosh were speckled with moist ice. I slung my damp clothes on the hook just inside the snug door, then, feeling more akin to an animated corpse, headed straight for the roaring fire blazing in the inglenook where a heap of logs crackled and spat sparks over the scorched rug. Sammy, the land lord’s black Labrador, was laid flat out absorbing the heat. I warmed my hands and backside in quick succession.

‘Pint of Bass,’ I called out to Chaz, the landlord. ‘Sharpish.’

‘On its way. Bloody Gannets lost two nil at Man U. Fault of Tontino the forward, should have been taken off half time. Limping, he were, for most of the match. The Reds was the better side.’

‘And make it a double whisky – Teacher’s,’ I added.

‘Righto.’

Thawing out in front of the fire, I realised for the first time I was in the presence of an old codger propped up in the corner. I sat down by the hearth, rubbing my hands, trying to restore circulation.

‘Evening. Wet, eh?’ he said, nodding in my direction.

‘Evening. Can’t stand this cold weather, roll on spring, that’s what I say. I’m a guard on the railway, just come off shift.’ I took out my pipe and tobacco pouch. Chaz brought over my order and walked back to the counter to continue polishing glasses. I downed my whisky in one, gulping as the heat spread agreeably through my stomach.

‘Railway, eh? Well, I myself travelled on the old branch before the electric units. I think it was a BR Standard Mogul that fronted the trains in my day.’

‘Your day?’

‘I’m an old fella. Remember Thurston at the junction? You know, the porter – got Peggy in the family way.’

‘Uh, afraid not.’

‘Remember that station master, Mr Hardy, used to work for the GWR for years. Liked his geraniums and gardening best. The winda boxes and tubs along the platform always looked a treat.’

‘No, not him either, I’m afraid, bit before my time. Pete Stanley is the name, glad to make your acquaintance. You evidently haven’t visited The Preserved Railway in a while. Flowers still bloom, you know.’

‘Couple of times, back in the sixties with the missus. Fred Larch, glad to make yours an’ all. Stanley, now I knew a Stanley once. Strangest thing, chubby, bowlerhatted fella, wore a bow tie, loud checked suit. Took ’im for a tout or a bookie, met him one evening travelling to Castleridge for the fireworks, on the 6.32 stopping service. Townie he were, been visiting his sister or summat.’

‘Really?’ I puffed avidly on my pipe, intrigued by the old codger’s reminiscences.

‘We gets yacking, see, me a yokel and ’im a townie, tells me he owns a model shop along Tarn Street, printed tin stuff mostly, but some garden railway locos too.

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