A Station In Life Read Free Page A

steamy halitus again with gathering
pace, shaking the ground with the businesslike rumble of freight under way.  I
watched the train until the sound of the locomotive had faded to a distant
thudding, then switched my gaze anxiously to the pigs.  Soon I was gazing even
more anxiously towards the woods beyond the sidings.  Mr Wheeler was nowhere to
be seen, and of this farmer Smethwick I was yet acquainted only with his ugly
reputation.

 
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    Chapter Two — Ominous stirrings
     
    With a salaried staff of
three and a wages staff of fourteen including platelayers, memorising all the
names in the staff manifest had taken me some while.  But having done so I now
knew which employee held each position in my station and was therefore able to
recall the name of any person I encountered by observing the variant of uniform
he was wearing.  This simple artifice had my staff wondering if they had acquired
a telepathic Stationmaster.  Tipping my top-hat I introduced myself to the
Senior porter whom, by the aforesaid means, I knew to be Humphrey Milsom.
    “I would think your name
is Milsom,” I declared.
    “Delighted to make your
acquaintance, sir,” the ageing porter responded courteously, raising a chubby,
silver eyebrow.
    After discussing a few
introductory trifles I braced myself and said: “Mr Milsom, doubtless there are
matters outstanding here at Upshott of which I should be cognisant but which
your former stationmaster seemed reluctant to enumerate.  Therefore I should
like to assemble everyone in the Booking Hall at ten minutes to noon for the
purpose of formal introductions.  Perhaps you would care to promulgate my
wish.”
    Mr Milsom stared at me
blankly as if I had addressed him in a foreign language.
    My vocabulary did, on
occasions, startle simple porters so I assumed this to be his difficulty. 
Naturally it was not my desire to confound anyone; my turn of phrase was merely
the result of having had, since childhood, an insatiable appetite for reading. 
However, on this occasion I did tease Mr Milsom by not re-phrasing my request. 
I considered it necessary to familiarise myself with the disposition of my
staff as quickly as possible so that I could adopt the best style of
authority.  To this end I preserved silence with a probing stare and awaited
the fellow’s reply.
    “Certainly, sir,” the
porter agreed eventually, like a slot machine in which the penny is weighed
before dropping.
    Humphrey Milsom was a
portly fellow, close to retirement and apprehensive of being cast aside by the
railway at the end of his long service.  This was not surprising because, in
the days before workers could afford to participate in pension schemes,
retirement was an unattainable luxury.  Humphrey, therefore, had resolved to
enjoy in full his closing days upon the railway before returning to the land.
    The porter’s company
cap, a peaked ‘pork pie’ affair, endowed him with a jolly visage rather like
that of an approachable uncle at a children’s party.  In reply to my request
for a noon mustering he stroked his argent moustache and advised me in a
smooth, songful voice:
    “I doubt you’ll catch
the platelayers at that time of day, sir.”
    “Mr Milsom,” I replied,
restraining a smile, “I believe I described the gathering as formal.  I shall
address the ganger and his men separately.  In my experience permanent way men
have a disconcerting effect upon such occasions.  In the meantime I would
appreciate a resumé of general affairs around the station, if you please.  I
observe that Platform Two has been partly excavated.”
    “Arr, it be a time of
great upheaval on the South Exmoor, Mr Jay.  Matter of fact we’ve a gang of
workmen arrivin’ on the 12.32pm.  Tis all for to do with raisin’ the height of
the platforms to an agreed national standard, as I understand it.  For to stop
passengers topplin’ over as they alights the trains, e see.”
    “These workmen are
coming to