by Mandy Morton
‘You wouldn’t want to be stuck out there without a pie and a packet of crisps on a cold night, would you?’ muttered Hettie, as she folded the map and put it ready to take with them.
‘Speaking of pies,’ said Tilly, reaching for her list, ‘what do you think to this? I’ve allowed for elevenses, lunch, afternoon tea, dinner and supper, with a few extras for emergencies just in case Jam Makers Inn doesn’t do food.’
Hettie looked down the list, impressed enough to read it out loud, much to Tilly’s delight, and she listened as if hearing it for the first time. ‘Ham rolls, flapjack, egg and bacon tarts, fresh cream scones, cheese scones, iced fancies, beef and ale pie, salmon turnovers, crisps (2 x plain, 2 x Marmite), sausage rolls, cream horns and two bottles of fiery ginger beer. I see you’ve crossed out the cheese baps and Betty’s iced Christmas novelty biscuits – I think they should stay if you can fit them in. It’s a very long way to Cornwall, and you need building up.’
Tilly was thrilled with Hettie’s approval and wasted no time in pulling on her own wellingtons to trudge round to the front of the Butters’ shop to place her order. The rest of the day was spent in writing Christmas cards and sending notes to friends, informing them of their imminent departure. Tilly had exchanged their luncheon vouchers for a steak and kidney pie, and the two cats dined early, watching the evening news and an episode of Top Cat before turning in for an early night, hoping to wake refreshed for whatever the next few days would bring.
CHAPTER THREE
Bruiser was ready and waiting in the high street as Hettie and Tilly struggled with their luggage, slipping and sliding on snow that had become slushy and difficult to negotiate. Tilly’s tartan shopper had stalled with iced-up wheels, and Bruiser applied all his strength to hauling it into Scarlet’s sidecar along with the battered suitcase and Tilly herself. Hettie – who rarely rode pillion – climbed up behind Bruiser as a matter of necessity, and the three cats sped off to the town’s railway station, waved off by Betty and Beryl.
The Bodkin Moor Express stood silently on its rails as Hettie and Tilly approached platform two in hopeful expectation of departing promptly – but an abrupt and rather aggressive announcement from the tannoy system was just the start of a day splattered with difficulties. ‘The train now standing at platform two is the three minutes past seven service to Bodkin Moor, stopping at Much-Purring-on-the-Rug, Much-Purring-on-the-Mat, Southwool Junction, Biscuit Garden City, Crunch-on-the-Marsh, Bristle, Lost Whistle, Clotted Cream Parkway, Dark Moor Junction, Piddle-on-the-Cushion, Clawberry Fields, Pasty Tor, and Bodkin Moor. All passengers wishing to continue into Cornwall will have to get off there and make their own arrangements, on account of there being the wrong sort of snow. We would like to point out that this train is running late and, at the moment, it isn’t running at all because the driver has got himself snowed in and is digging his way out of Sheba Gardens as I speak – so you’ll all just have to wait as he’s got the key to the train.’
‘Bloody marvellous!’ said Hettie, pulling her collar up against the bitter icy wind blowing down the platform. ‘It’s going to be the best Christmas ever. I can’t wait for the cat flu and frostbite to set in.’
Tilly giggled. ‘At least we won’t starve. Betty and Beryl added some extras to our list. Would a sausage roll and a hot cup of tea help? They packed a flask for us, and it’s in the top of my shopper so I could put my paws on it easily. I’ve got the sausage rolls in my cardigan pockets, just in case we needed them quickly.’
Hettie marvelled at the way in which Tilly could turn a difficult situation into a positive treat, and stamped her feet patiently as the vacuum flask dispensed two hot, sweet, steaming cups of tea. The tea was just what was needed, and the sausage rolls – still warm from Tilly’s cardigan pockets – were a small bit of pastry heaven. The vacuum flask had been stowed away in the tartan shopper and the pastry crumbs picked clean from Hettie and Tilly’s greatcoats before the driver of the Bodkin Moor Express hoved into view, flustered and apologetic as he turned the key on the dormant train, bringing it instantly to life and allowing the passengers to settle themselves in their seats at last.
Tilly could hardly contain her excitement and found them a compartment close to the refreshment car, just in case they needed a top-up of supplies. Hettie struggled to fit the suitcase into the luggage rack above her head and decided to leave the tartan shopper where they could get at it. She didn’t need the tannoy system to remind her of how long the journey was, and the sausage roll would be a distant memory by the time they reached the first stop on their journey.
The Bodkin Express moved slowly out of the town’s station. No sooner had it begun to pick up speed than the brakes were applied, just in time to come to a shuddering halt alongside platform one at Much-Purring-on-the-Rug. Hettie sighed. ‘Why they need a station at Much-Purring I’ll never know. Bloody farm cats and posh folk pretending to live in the country at weekends, stomping about in their waxed jackets.’ Hettie brought her thoughts on rural life to an abrupt conclusion as their compartment was invaded by an unruly collection of kittens, bouncing excitedly off the seats while their mother – oblivious to anything except her Cat’s Own magazine – settled herself opposite Hettie and immersed herself in the latest celebrity gossip.
If it hadn’t been for Tilly’s swift action, the tartan shopper might well have spilt its contents all over the carriage floor when a rather thuggish looking kitten decided to use it as a springboard into the luggage rack. To make matters worse, if that was possible, the prettiest of the kittens launched into a rather off-key rendition of ‘Good King Wenceslas’, which started as a small, solitary wail before gathering pace to reach a horrific cacophony of sound as her siblings joined in one by one.
Hettie eyed up the communication cord, wondering if the shattering of her peace and quiet was reason enough to avoid the fine promised by the unnecessary halting of the train, but the train slowed and stopped before she could decide, allowing the mother, her magazine and her army of hooligans to alight at Much-Purring-on-the-Mat. When peace had been restored, she leapt up and rifled the tartan shopper’s pouch pocket for notepad and pen, and scribbled a notice which she fixed to the outside of the compartment, sliding the door shut with great satisfaction and slumping back in her seat. Several cats looking for seats stopped in the corridor, read the note and passed on down the train, leaving Hettie and Tilly to enjoy their privacy.
‘What did you write?’ asked Tilly, spreading herself out across the seat opposite Hettie and opening her copy of Cat of the Baskervilles.
‘“Cat flu! Enter at your own risk”,’ said Hettie, picking up her Daily Snout and setting about the crossword.
CHAPTER FOUR
The morning passed without further interruption. By one o’clock, Tilly had become deeply involved in the puzzling case that Holmes and Watson had taken on, and Hettie – having stalled at seven across – had turned her attention to the view from the window, watching the counties slip by cloaked in their snowy landscape.
Beryl’s flapjacks were polished off during a longer than planned stop at Crunch-on-the-Marsh, where a grossly overweight elderly cat had somehow become wedged between a luggage trolley and a large stack of fresh fish boxes. Hettie and Tilly watched from their carriage window, gleefully nibbling on their biscuits as the cat in question had to be surgically removed by a forklift truck and deposited in the station buffet while a legion of station personnel scampered about the platform collecting scattered fish. ‘Lunchtime!’ said Hettie, folding up her virtually unsolved crossword and eyeing up the tartan shopper.
Tilly responded immediately, as if she’d been looking for an excuse to abandon Holmes and Watson, who were suddenly far less exciting than the prospect of the Butters’ pastry. ‘How about one or two egg and bacon tarts, followed by an iced fancy?’ she suggested, locating a greaseproof paper parcel on which Betty had written ‘E. and B. T.s’.
‘Sounds good. Even better with a shared bag of crisps.’ Hettie mov
ed over to Tilly’s side of the carriage and laid out two festive paper napkins from a pack that Beryl had included in the shopper. ‘I wonder who’ll meet us off the train? Jam Makers Inn seems to be some way from the station, and this weather is getting worse as we move west. I can’t believe we’re doing this.’
Tilly had to agree as she glanced out of the window and realised that she could see nothing but a swirling blizzard which threatened to engulf the train. ‘It is getting a bit nasty out there,’ she said, wedging a whole savoury tart into her mouth. ‘And we haven’t even got to the moors yet. It’s just like that Agatha Crispy novel where the train gets stuck in the snow.’
‘But we’re not stuck in the snow,’ said Hettie, tugging the crisps open. On cue, the Bodkin Express lurched to an ungainly halt, sending the iced fancies flying across the carriage and scattering the crisps like confetti over the seats. ‘Well, that’s all we need.’ She rescued the iced fancies as Tilly did her best to scoop up the crisps. ‘What was the name of that last station we stopped at?’
‘I think it was Clotted Cream Parkway, which means that the next one must be Dark Moor Junction.’ Tilly consulted a timetable which someone had obligingly stuffed down the side of her seat. ‘We still have quite a long way to go and I can’t see a platform out of the window, so my guess is we’re stuck between stations.’
‘Is that a polite way of saying we’re in the middle of bloody nowhere?’ Hettie asked wearily. ‘I’d better go and see what’s happening.’ She slid the compartment door open, letting in a howling draught, and disappeared into the corridor. Tilly tidied away their half-finished lunch and waited for news.
It was some time before Hettie returned. Her wellingtons were covered in snow and her whiskers – which could never be described as tidy – sported droplets of ice; the look on her face told Tilly that all was not well, and she braced herself for bad news.
Pulling her greatcoat down from the luggage rack, Hettie draped it round her shoulders and began her sorry tale. ‘It would appear that the Bodkin Express has been the victim of an avalanche – or, to be more accurate, a giant snowball has tumbled down the hillside onto the track. In the words of the ticket inspector, who I assume by his accent is Cornish, “we’ll ’ave ta dig ’er out dreckly, on account of the weather getting worse.” I can’t help but think that sort of observation errs on the side of the obvious.’
Tilly giggled at her friend’s impersonation of a Cornish accent, in spite of the difficult situation they found themselves in. ‘Do you think we should go and help?’
‘Absolutely no point,’ Hettie replied, retrieving an abandoned iced fancy from the shopper. ‘I got out to have a look, and there’s about six of them taking it in turns with one spade and a saucepan from the buffet car. The snow is so deep out there that it would come up over your head. No, the best place for us is in our carriage, wrapped in our coats. We’ll just have to sit it out.’
It was another hour before the giant snowball was cleared from the track. Hettie and Tilly had burrowed into their greatcoats and fallen asleep, and it was the sudden lurch of the train that woke them. Disorientated at first, Hettie sat up with a start and took a moment or two to get her bearings. The blizzard had stopped and the landscape from the window was beautiful. Tilly yawned and stretched and stared at the wonderland before them. ‘Oooh! Isn’t it lovely? I’ve never seen so much snow, and look at the twinkly lights coming on in those houses.’
Hettie had to agree that the view from the train was spectacular, but she was becoming more and more concerned. ‘It’s starting to get dark. We must be running at least two hours late and we’ve no idea how long it’s going to take to get to Bodkin Moor. What if the cat from Jam Makers Inn can’t get to us? We’ll be stranded.’
Tilly shivered at the prospect, no longer as enthusiastic for a snowy adventure and wishing with all her heart that they were back in their cosy room in front of a roaring fire. The train slowed into Dark Moor Junction and barely gave the passengers time to get on or off before it gathered speed again, heading for Piddle-on-the-Cushion. Hettie decided that they needed a hot drink to cheer their spirits. ‘Time for afternoon tea, I think. See if you can locate something cakey from your shopper and I’ll try my luck in the buffet car. We need warming up before we’re faced with the delights of Bodkin Moor.’ Tilly instantly perked up and set about the greaseproof parcels as Hettie made her way next door to the restaurant carriage.
The purchase of two hot chocolates was never going to be a simple matter. Hettie had already accepted that, but what awaited her was beyond her wildest nightmares. The railway employee who ran the hot drinks and snacks kiosk wasn’t running anything at all; short-haired and tiger-striped, and resplendent in an equally striped uniform-issue waistcoat, he sat behind his counter with all his paws bandaged, weeping in an uncontrollable manner. Another member of staff, dressed in a rather grubby boiler suit, was doing his best to serve a straggling line of frozen passengers, who – like Hettie – were hopeful of a hot drink. Between sobs, the injured cat – Thomas, according to his name badge – was trying to instruct his deputy in the mysteries of the espresso machine, but ‘’Arry was ’aving trouble ’olding the mug straight’ as the frother did its job and spraying the cats at the front of the queue with scalding hot milk. The silver lining from Hettie’s point of view was that the scalded cats retreated to fill in accident report forms, leaving her next in line. She ordered two hot chocolates and stood back at a safe distance while the frother did its worst.
’Arry triumphantly slammed the two mugs down on the counter, confident enough now to pass the time of day. ‘’E’s got the frostbite, yer see. ’E ’ad ta use ’is pan in the snow. We’re ’oping ’is claws don’t fall out. I’m on engines usually, see.’
Hettie did see very clearly and selected the perfect sympathetic face as she counted out the right money and retreated to the sanity of her compartment, where Tilly had laid out an afternoon tea fit to cheer any difficult journey. ‘I’ve chosen ham rolls and fresh cream scones,’ she said. ‘I’ve saved the big stuff till later in case we really do get stuck.’
Hettie approved of Tilly’s choice and entertained her with a re-enactment of the Thomas and ’Arry show as they made their way through the teatime spread. The hot chocolate was surprisingly good and, by the time the train finally pulled into Bodkin Moor Station, their spirits were high and they were ready to face whatever was to come. Which was just as well, under the circumstances.
CHAPTER FIVE
The platform at Bodkin Moor Station was deserted. It was the end of the line, and Hettie and Tilly were the only passengers to alight from the train, together with the driver and a handful of bedraggled railway staff. They shuffled past as Hettie struggled with the suitcase, leaving Tilly to slip and slide with the tartan shopper. It was dark now, and only the snow which had blown in onto the platform lit their way as they headed for the exit. They passed the ticket office, where a large grey cat sat reading his paper, oblivious to any arrivals or departures. Hettie hesitated, wondering whether to ask him if there had been anyone waiting to meet them, but he turned away to stoke a cheery fire, avoiding any possibility of conversation and treating her as completely invisible.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ she said, dragging the suitcase across the snow. ‘There’s bound to be a taxi or a bus out front even if there’s no one to meet us. The train staff must have some sort of transport to get them home.’
Hettie was wrong. The railway staff had melted away without a trace and the area normally used as a car park was several feet deep in drifted snow. The landscape was eerie and silent as they emerged from the station, and there was no hint of a footprint in the freshly fallen snow. In front of them was the vast expanse of Bodkin Moor – nothing for miles but the occasional rise of a hill, or, in the near distance, trees which stood like giant snow warriors, their branches contorted by the extreme weather for which the moor was so famous.
Tilly’s face said it all. ‘I’m so sorr
y I brought us here. I thought it would be an adventure, but you were right – it is a wild goose chase. Now we’re miles away from home, cold and with nowhere to go and, to make matters worse, I’ve probably ruined Christmas.’
Tilly’s sobs fractured the snowy silence as Hettie moved to comfort her, but a noise from behind them stopped her in her tracks – a grunt, followed by something slightly more intelligible. ‘You’ll be needin’ the waiting room, my ’ansomes. Nothing getting through tonight.’
Hettie turned to see the grey station cat, now cloaked against the cold and swinging an oil lantern as he beckoned them back into the station. They followed as he strode down the platform, and watched as he removed a large ring of keys from under his cloak and unlocked the door to a small room which had probably never seen better days. The decor was railway brown, there was a hard, no-nonsense bench pushed against the wall, and an aspidistra in a giant pot which crouched by a set of filthy windows in vain hope of some daylight. The only glimmer of comfort was a small fireplace blackened with age, its tile surround cracked and broken. The grate was empty, and the fall of soot suggested that it had been for some time.
The grey cat shuffled out of the waiting room without another word, leaving Hettie and Tilly to get used to their new surroundings. Tilly parked her tartan shopper in the corner of the room, which made things look instantly more cheerful. ‘At least we’re out of the snow and we’ve plenty of food to keep us going,’ she said, desperately trying to regain a positive outlook on their situation.
Hettie glanced at the empty grate and shivered. ‘We won’t last the night in these temperatures. I wonder if Bodkin Moor Station could run to a shovel of coal?’
