A Station In Life Read Free Page B

re-lay platform Two?” I queried him.
    “No, not exactly, sir. 
They be intendin’ to dig up this ’ere platform also.”
    Mr Milsom pointed
towards a pair of telegraph wires traversing the yard, and chortled.
    “While we be on the
subject of change, Mr Jay, the telegraph’s been installed for some months now
but still no one at Upshott knows how to operate the blessed thing.  The
apparatus chatters like teeth in December but it don’t mean a thing to anyone
here.  Head Office aint too pleased about it.  Between e, me, and the fence
post, Mr Jay, I reckons those wires were the last straw for old Mildenhew.  At
Headquarters they be after more enlightened stationmasters such as your good
self, sir, there bein’ so much change loomin’ on the horizon.”
    Mr Milsom’s cavalier
remark filled me with horror.  You see, I knew as little about telegraphic
codes as no doubt did he, but I had allowed Head office to assume otherwise. 
To conserve an air of authority I issued Mr Milsom a knowing nod and encouraged
him to share the company’s misconception, resolving to study the strange electrical
ciphers when I had time.
    “Arr, old Mr Mildenhew
were nothin’ short of perplexed by the telegraph,” Mr Milsom reflected
wistfully.  One mornin’, in sheer desperation, he took hold of the code book
and locked himself in the Telegraph room.  He spent the entire day fiddlin’
with the apparatus tryin’ to receive messages.”
    “And did he receive
one?” I asked, wondering if this method would suit me.
    “He received an electric
shock, but there be no way to write down such a thing so I don’t know the
details.  Between e, me, and the fence post, Mr Jay, the message that went
through him must have been as shocking as the current, for I heard him call it
out.  I had no idea telegraphic communications allowed such language.  But then
they tells I the electricity needs to be what they calls ‘high voltage’ to
force it down all those miles of wire.  T’aint natural if e asks I.  Medallin’
with nature, ’tis.  An electrical current comes all the way from Giddiford then
goes back again via Mr Mildenhew.  I just hope the poor gentleman’s still a
Christian.  Well, I suppose someone has to pay the price for makin’ the world
hurry up.  Though I reckons on this occasion Mr Mildenhew would have preferred
it slow.”
    Mr Milsom dealt me a
mawkish smile and grunted to indicate his satisfaction at now serving a
Stationmaster who was accomplished in telegraphy.
    “Now, sir, what else be
there?” he wheezed.  “Ah yes!  Word has it we’ll soon be biddin’ them disc
signals farewell.  We’m gunna get the semaphore type at last.”
    “Semaphore signals are
scarcely new,” I observed knowledgeably.
    “Tis all for to do with
our impendin’ absorption into the London and South Western,” he said proudly. 
“They wants to take over a working railway, not a museum of antiquity.”
    “Quite so, quite so. 
Now, Mr Milsom, is there anything else I should know?” I asked dismissively,
confident there was not, for a gusty wind had set the Waiting room sign
squeaking.  With my teeth on edge I was anxious to move away.
    “There be the
disappearing lamp oil,” Mr Milsom chirped brightly, as if the matter would
cheer me up.  “Course, Mr Turner will tell e all about that one.  Oh, and I
nearly forgot.  We’m got another cider war loomin’ betwixt the Highams and the
Alburys.  Tis a great thing if e be a ganger with a long thirst and a short
pocket but often as not these skirmishes turn nasty.  Between e, me, and the
fence post, Mr Jay, as Stationmaster of Upshott, e’ll find that out to your
cost.  The railway be the battle ground, e see.  Last season a torch were put
to a company horse-box.”
    “Good Lord!” I winced. 
“Were there any horses in it?”
    “Heaven forbid, no,
sir.  Only barrels of costards.  Twer a splendid growin’ season for apples and
we ran out of wagons to ship the