by Ellie Dean
‘Well, you’d have to be a very early bird to beat me in the mornings,’ he boasted. ‘I’ve already walked the dog and fed him and the cat.’
April finished the last bit of porridge and smiled at him. ‘It might be an idea to get dressed with the light on, though,’ she teased. ‘Your sweater’s on back to front and you’ve buttoned your shirt up all wrong.’
‘Ach, minor details,’ he said airily. His bright blue eyes regarded her from beneath his bushy brows. ‘I don’t know what you’ve let us both in for, but I’m hoping it will not prove too much for you. There’s bound to be some heavy lifting involved when the mail train comes in, and you’ll need to be careful you don’t strain yourself.’
‘I’m sure I’ll manage,’ she assured him. She finished the cup of tea and carried their dirty dishes to the sink where she began to wash them. ‘But I do think that once we know what we’re doing and can be left in charge, we should sort out some sort of roster.’
His bushy brows shot up. ‘This isn’t the navy,’ he protested.
‘It certainly isn’t,’ she replied with the ghost of a smile. ‘But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be organised.’ She set the last cup on the drainer and dried her hands. ‘Neither of us can spend all day and night at the station,’ she explained, ‘and you have the pub and your Home Guard duties to fulfil. I’ll have doctor and midwife appointments, and Stan’s allotment will also need to be tended. And then of course we’ll both want to visit Stan and keep an eye on Ethel. It would only be sensible to work out a proper schedule, don’t you think?’
‘Aye, you’re right, wee girl,’ he replied with a twinkle in his eyes, ‘but let’s see if the railway company will employ us first, shall we?’
April smiled and reached for her coat and gas-mask box as Ron hauled on his long poaching coat and squashed his cap over his hair. ‘I have to admit that I’m quite excited at the thought of running a station,’ she confided. ‘Trains have always fascinated me.’
‘Aye, me too.’
They shared a delighted grin, firmly closed the door on the cat, and then set off through the deserted, silent streets for the station, Harvey padding along beside them.
Eric Flint was already in the signal box. He checked his watch and stood poised to pull down one of the two large levers as a bell pinged repeatedly from a board above his head. ‘The bell warns me the train is approaching, and this lever has to be pulled down to guide it onto the right line,’ he said importantly. ‘If you don’t do that, it will go off on the branch line half a mile back and end up at the wrong station – and that won’t do at all.’
He pushed a smaller lever forward and there was a click as the signals changed and the metal flag dropped, then he made a great show of hauling down the big lever and pressing a button several times. ‘That bell is to confirm to the locomotive driver that the track is ready for the train,’ he said.
‘And if it isn’t?’ asked April.
‘Then you don’t press the button.’
‘But what if a tree’s fallen over the line or you need to contact the driver in an emergency?’ she persisted.
‘Then you put your thumb on that button and hold it there until he gives two pings back to let you know he understands. Of course you would have inspected the track first thing for any such occurrence, and if there was a tree on the line, you would ring through on the emergency line which is there.’ Looking a bit disgruntled by all the questions, he jabbed his thumb towards the old-fashioned telephone fixed to the wall before he clambered down the short flight of steps to the platform.
Stan and April glanced at one another, rolled their eyes, and then meekly followed him.
‘You’re lucky this is just a single track to deal with here,’ Eric continued rather pompously. ‘As long as you ensure the train doesn’t go off on the branch line, it’s simply a case of it coming in, stopping and going back again.’
Unfurling his little red flag, he stood to attention and solemnly waved it as the steam train slowly chuffed to a standstill within inches of the buffers. ‘All change. All change,’ he bellowed. ‘Cliffehaven, Cliffehaven, this is Cliffehaven. All change.’
April caught Ron’s eye and had to look away. Eric looked very silly in that over-large uniform, and his show of self-importance was so comical, it was difficult not to laugh.
‘Collect the tickets,’ Eric said as a few passengers alighted. ‘And make sure they’re valid. Some people try to use the same ticket twice.’ His suspicious gaze followed a group of chattering factory girls as they headed for the exit.
While April checked the tickets and answered all the passengers’ questions about Stan, Ron helped an elderly woman down from the train and carried her heavy case towards the exit. He then unloaded the tightly bound stacks of newspapers and the huge hessian sacks of mail from the guard’s van. These were collected by the newsagents who were now gathered on the platform, while the mail was carried off in the back of the Post Office truck.
April had finished collecting tickets and she smiled in amusement as Ron appeared through the smoke and steam armed with two enormous wooden crates filled with squawking chickens. They were labelled clearly and destined for the dairy where the owner was branching out into eggs and poultry to subsidise his milk round.
Once everything was unloaded and the train doors had been shut, Eric put the whistle to his lips and raised his flag. As if conducting the London Symphony Orchestra, he held it aloft, paused – and then waved it with an unnecessary flourish. The engine driver shook his head, winked at Ron and April and gave a long blast from the funnel before setting the train back down the line.
The next hour was spent listening to Eric, who made it very clear that although there were only six trains a day and the job might appear to be simple, it was in fact highly skilled and very important. Ron and April tried to keep a straight face, but it was almost impossible, and by the time he’d left the signal box to go and ring his superiors, they were aching from the need to burst out laughing.
They went and sat in the sunshine to drink their tea. ‘Good grief,’ spluttered April. ‘It’s more difficult to run the telephone exchange than this. Is this really all Stan does every day?’
Ron nodded. ‘But he keeps busy, what with the allotment and his garden.’
‘I think we’ll manage between us and still have lots of time to do other things, don’t you?’
He shrugged. ‘That all depends on what Eric’s got to say. The job’s not guaranteed, April.’
They watched the little man bustle towards them, his eagerness to share his news clearly exciting him. ‘Head Office has agreed to me training you both,’ he said as he plumped down on the bench and took the proffered mug of tea from Ron. ‘And my wife is happy to do her bit for the war effort by letting me stay on for another day just to get you settled in.’ He beamed with pleasure. ‘So that’s all sorted.’
‘And Stan will keep his job?’ asked Ron.
‘Oh yes, at least for the duration. But it’s keeping the line open for all the troop trains that’s the important thing.’
‘And the wages?’
‘They will be split between you. The company can’t afford to pay two people to man such a quiet station.’
‘That’s all right,’ said April. ‘We’ve already agreed to give our wages to Stan, anyway.’
Eric regarded them both. ‘It strikes me Stan’s a lucky man to have such good friends. There’s not many who’d do that.’
‘Maybe not,’ muttered Ron, ‘but Stan’s an institution in this town, and it’s our way of showing how much we appreciate all the things he’s done for us over the years.’ He finished the last drop of tea in his mug. ‘Well, April, it seems we’re about to embark on our new adventure, so how about refreshing that teapot so we can celebrate?’
Peggy’s thoughts had been with Stan since she’d woken that morning, and as she did her housework and then tried to keep Daisy amused with her toys in the garden, she fretted over the lack of
any news.
‘Fran did say she’d ring us if there was any change,’ said Cordelia from the depths of the old deckchair. ‘It’s a terrible worry, I know, but there’s absolutely nothing we can do to change things, and fretting over him won’t help at all.’
‘I do realise that.’ Distractedly, Peggy filled Daisy’s little bucket with sand and then tipped it out again. ‘But I can’t help thinking there must be something we can do.’
‘Ron and April are doing the most practical thing,’ said Cordelia. ‘He’d be devastated if he lost his home and his job because of this.’
‘And that’s another thing,’ sighed Peggy. ‘April shouldn’t be lifting heavy things and dealing with dirty trains in her condition. She’ll do herself a damage.’
‘Oh, I suspect she’s tougher than she looks,’ murmured Cordelia. ‘With a mother like that she’s had to be.’
‘I wonder if Mildred will come down to see Stan?’
‘I doubt it,’ said Cordelia with a sniff. ‘From what little April has told us, she’s far too taken up with her own concerns to worry about others.’
Peggy thought how sad that was, and she just hoped Mildred wouldn’t expect to stay here if she did deign to put in an appearance, for she doubted she could keep a civil tongue in her head after the disgraceful way the woman had treated her daughter. She glanced at her watch. ‘I’ll do us both a sandwich for lunch and then go to the hospital,’ she said. ‘Visiting time’s at two, and I can’t stand the suspense any longer.’
Under normal circumstances, Stan avoided the hospital like the plague. Matron might be a fellow rose enthusiast, but she had all the tact and grace of a bull in a china shop when it came to ordering everybody about, and as for idling about in bed and being assaulted with needles, damp flannels and bedpans when there were more important things to do – it was against Stan’s nature.
However, he was feeling as weak as a kitten, and so tired he could hardly keep his eyes open. He lay propped up on pillows, the starched sheet and rough blanket virtually tying him to the bed as a machine beeped regularly and a drip fed drugs into the back of his hand. He ached from stem to stern, had a bump the size of an egg on the back of his head, and was finding it difficult to focus on the beloved figure who clung to his hand at his bedside and watched his every move.
He only had a vague memory of a terrible pain in his chest that had taken his breath away, and the sound of hushed voices and Ethel’s wailing. He supposed he came here in an ambulance, but several hours must have passed before he’d been able to comprehend what was happening, for he’d noted – even through the haze of medication – that Ethel had changed out of her wedding finery.
Stan looked at her now and felt a great rush of love. Her sweet face was drawn, her eyes dark with weariness and worry as she gazed at him intently. Had she been here all night? ‘Go home, Ethel, love,’ he said, squeezing her fingers. ‘You need to rest.’
‘I ain’t leaving you, Stan. Not until the doctor’s been to check you over again.’
Stan recognised that mulish look and knew it was pointless to argue even if he did have the energy. He closed his eyes, too exhausted to be able to think straight, let alone talk. It felt as if he was floating in a thick haze that muffled sound and distorted his senses, making his thoughts sluggish and his limbs heavy. Something important was trying to emerge from that fog of confusion and unreality, but try as he might, he couldn’t quite grasp what it was. The effort to identify it became too much and he let it slip away.
‘Hello, Ethel. How is he?’
‘He’s not right, Peggy. Not right at all.’ Ethel’s voice wavered. ‘I nearly lost him, you know.’
‘Have you been here all night on your own? Where’s Ruby?’
‘She went home earlier to get me a change of clothes, and then went off to work. There’s a rush on at the factory and she didn’t like to ask for time off, but she promised to be back later.’
Stan struggled to open his eyes. ‘Make her go home, Peggy,’ he managed.
‘I really think you should,’ said Peggy. ‘You won’t be doing him any good by making yourself sick. There’re nurses and doctors to look after Stan, and I’ll sit with him until Ruby gets here.’
‘I dunno. I promised Ruby I’d be ’ere, and I don’t like leaving ’im like this.’
Peggy’s tone revealed her impatience. ‘Ruby shouldn’t have gone to work, not at a time like this. I’m sure the factory could have spared her for a day or two.’
‘That’s as maybe, but I made her go. What with Stan laid up and me working much shorter shifts so I can be with him, we’re going to need the money.’
Stan realised suddenly what the important thing was that he hadn’t been able to grasp earlier, and emerged momentarily from his stupor. ‘The station,’ he gasped. ‘Who’s looking after the station?’
Peggy patted his hand. ‘It’s all right, Stan. Ron and April are up there now learning how to run the place until you’re better. And you won’t be out of pocket,’ she added hastily, ‘because you’ll still be getting the wages.’
‘The railway are paying all three of us?’ he asked in astonishment.
‘Well, no,’ Peggy admitted. ‘April and Ron’s combined wage is the same as you’ve been receiving, but they’re passing it straight to you so you’re not out of pocket.’
Stan was stunned at their generosity.
‘I ain’t takin’ no charity from the likes of ’er,’ snapped Ethel.
‘Then you’re a fool,’ said Peggy flatly. ‘If it wasn’t for her quick thinking there would have been no one to run the place and Stan would more than likely have lost his job – as well as that lovely cottage. So think on, Ethel, and wind your neck in.’
‘You ain’t got no cause to speak to me like that. Not with my ’usband on ’is death bed.’
‘I’m not dying, Ethel,’ Stan rasped, ‘but if I hear any more talk like that against my April, I’ll tell the nurses not to let you visit again.’
Ethel’s eyes narrowed and her lips thinned. ‘So, you’d take ’er side, then?’
‘There are no sides, Ethel,’ he said wearily. ‘You’re both family and I love you. Please try and be a little charitable towards her – for my sake, if nothing else.’
Ethel clamped her lips together and folded her arms tightly. ‘Well, if that’s what you want, I suppose I’ll just have to put up with it,’ she said stiffly. ‘But I don’t like it, Stan. Not one little bit.’
The short exchange had drained the last of his energy. ‘Just go home, Ethel,’ he sighed.
‘That’s good advice, Ethel,’ said Peggy. ‘You both need to rest, and you don’t want him worrying about you, do you?’
‘I suppose not,’ she said with bad grace. ‘But you’ll stay with ’im for a bit, won’t you? I need to know someone’s keeping a close eye on ’im.’
‘Of course,’ said Peggy. ‘And Ethel – go straight home. April’s a good girl doing her very best in a bad situation. This isn’t the time to stir up trouble.’
‘If you say so.’
Stan felt Ethel’s lips brush his cheek and her hand sweep back the lick of hair that drooped over his forehead, and as her footsteps faded and the ward door swung behind her, he opened his eyes. ‘Thanks, Peg,’ he muttered. ‘I know she means well, but it’s difficult to relax with her watching my every breath.’
‘Well, you can relax now, Stan,’ she soothed. ‘I brought my knitting, so if you fancy a bit of a snooze, you carry on and don’t mind me.’
‘It’s kind of April and Ron to take over the station,’ he murmured. ‘You will thank them for me, won’t you?’
‘You’ll get the chance to do that yourself when they visit. Now close your eyes and stop worrying.’
Stan drifted off to sleep, content to have the quiet, understanding Peggy calmly knitting at his bedside. He was a lucky man to have such good friends, and all he could pray for now was that Ethel and April would find a way to rub along together.
&nbs
p; As there were no trains due for a couple of hours, and the hospital restricted visiting to two people per patient on Stan’s ward, Ron took Eric off to Stan’s allotment to admire his friend’s roses. It turned out that Eric was an avid gardener, and something of a self-proclaimed expert on roses, so Ron had steeled himself to withstand two hours of pontificating.
April had swept the platform, watered the vegetables in the large tubs and given the Nissen hut a good spring clean. Stan clearly spent a good deal of time in there, for there was a caddy of tea, a bottle of Camp Coffee, and a tin of biscuits stowed away alongside piles of books and magazines on gardening, and a collection of hand-tools which he was in the process of mending. Once it was neat and tidied to her satisfaction, she locked the hut and carried the illicit tin of biscuits to the cottage. She’d noticed earlier that Eric seemed to be averse to cleaning up after himself, and she didn’t want Ethel turning up and complaining.
The vast ginger tom was waiting for her on the doorstep, and she lifted the latch and went in, leaving the door open to let in the fresh air. The fire had gone out, the cat’s bowl was empty and the sink was full of dirty crockery. Flinging open the small windows, she appeased the cat’s hunger and then set to and started cleaning the cottage.
She took the embroidered tablecloth outside to shake the crumbs from it, polished the table and plumped the cushions of the two easy chairs. Having relaid the fire with kindling and screws of paper, she swept the floor and put the rubbish in the dustbin, before hurrying upstairs to make the spare bed Eric had used the night before.
She was just tackling the washing-up when she heard footsteps on the cinder path, and she turned from the sink to be confronted by a sour-faced Ethel.
‘I might have known it wouldn’t take you long to get yer feet under the bleedin’ table,’ Ethel snapped.
April refused to rise to the bait. ‘I came in to clean up and feed the cat,’ she said, calmly drying her hands.
‘Snooping, more like,’ Ethel snarled. ‘Well, you can sling yer ’ook.’
