All Quiet on the Orient Express

by Magnus Mills

  “Found them?” she asked, with some concern in her voice.

  “No, we haven’t,” replied her father. “We’ll have to have another look when it’s light enough. Could you rustle up some breakfast for this one?”

  “Morning,” I said, with a polite smile, and she smiled back.

  “Eggs and coffee be alright?” she asked.

  “Yes, fine, thanks.”

  I followed the two of them inside to a warm kitchen with a large wooden table. I noticed Mr Parker left his boots on, so I did the same. Then we sat down and I was given breakfast. This was the first time I’d eaten at a table for some while; and I made the most of it, accepting the eggs and coffee with good grace. There wasn’t much talk, but after a while Mr Parker started up a conversation.

  “I see your motorbike’s quite an early model,” he remarked.

  “Yes,” I replied. “Pre-unit.”

  “Had it long?”

  “A couple of years, yes.”

  “You’ve hardly been out on it the last few days.”

  “No,” I said. “Suppose I haven’t.”

  “Been too busy with other things.”

  “Yes.”

  “You can put it in one of the sheds up here if you like.”

  “Oh…er…can I?”

  “If you like, yes. Then we can keep an eye on it for you.”

  “Well thanks anyway, but I’ll be going at the end of the week. Hardly seems worth your trouble.”

  “Alright, well, if you change your mind.”

  “Thanks.”

  He glanced out of the window. “Here’s Deakin.”

  For the last few moments I’d been aware of a rattling noise coming up the hill, and next thing a pick-up truck pulled into the yard. Looking out I saw the dairyman leave the vehicle, grab a pint of milk and run up the steps. There was a ‘clunk’ outside the door, and then he was running back down again. After he’d gone I recalled the conversation I’d had with him while painting the gate, about how he needed to ‘see Tommy about something’. I concluded that the matter can’t have been as important as he’d made out.

  “Met Deakin, have you?” asked Mr Parker.

  “Er…just once,” I replied. “Does he come up here every day?”

  “Most days, yes.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Well, you’re not usually up this early, are you?”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “You’re probably still asleep when he goes by.”

  At that moment another vehicle pulled up in the yard. This time it was a Post Office van. The driver bobbed up the steps, opened the kitchen door by four inches and slipped the post onto a shelf inside.

  “Thank you,” he said, in a sing-song voice, and was gone again in a flash.

  “I never realized it got so busy here,” I remarked.

  “Yes, there’s always something going on,” said Mr Parker.

  “Must be nice having your own postman.”

  “Don’t people have their own postmen in the south then?”

  “Well, yeah, but they don’t usually have their own van as well.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” he said. “They all go around on bicycles, don’t they? With big sacks.”

  “Some of them do, yes,” I replied. “But it’s more sort of house-to-house.”

  At that moment a telephone rang in the adjoining room, instantly causing Gail to spring from her seat.

  “I’ll get it,” she said, darting next door.

  A moment later she was back, “Dad, it’s for you.”

  Mr Parker went through and picked up the receiver, while Gail sat down again opposite me.

  A few moments passed in silence, and then I said, “School today?”

  “Yeah,” she replied. “There’s always school.”

  “It’s just I noticed you weren’t wearing your uniform.”

  “Oh,” she said. “No. I don’t put it on ‘til the last moment.”

  She glanced at a clock on the shelf, smiled at me and then disappeared into another room. By this time I’d more or less finished breakfast and so I decided to make a move. I was feeling very tired, and despite all the coffee couldn’t wait to get back to bed. However, it seemed appropriate to thank Mr Parker for his hospitality, so I got up from my seat and stood waiting by the door. I glanced at the items of mail lying on the shelf, and my eye was caught by a postcard depicting the Taj Mahal. It was very tempting to pick it up and read it, but just then Mr Parker came back into the kitchen.

  “Well, that’s a good bit of news,” he announced. “The boats have fetched up at Bryan Webb’s place.”

  He said ‘Bryan Webb’ as though I was supposed to know who he was.

  “Is that the bloke who goes round in a cardboard crown?” I asked.

  “Yes, you’ll have seen him in the Packhorse.”

  “Plays a lot of darts.”

  “Yes, that sounds like Bryan.”

  “Well, thanks for the breakfast,” I said. “Very nice.”

  He smiled. “Do you want to come over to Bryan’s and help bring the boats back?”

  “How long do you think it’ll take?” I asked.

  “A couple of hours should see us through.”

  After accepting breakfast it would have seemed churlish not to help, so I agreed. Next thing we were out in the yard heading for Mr Parker’s pick-up. We paused to look at the piece of equipment on the trailer. I could now see that it was a circular saw. All the parts were a dull yellow colour, apart from the huge blade, which was quite heavily rusted.

  “What do you think of that?” asked Mr Parker.

  “Looks useful,” I replied. “Fits on the back of a tractor, does it?”

  “That’s right,” he said. “Picked it up yesterday at the auction.” He rubbed a section of metal and the yellow brightened considerably. “Should clean up nicely.”

  “What about the rust?”

  “We’ll soon work that off. Now we’ll just get the trailer unloaded, then we can get going.”

  The circular saw looked far too big for the two of us to lift, but Mr Parker clearly had the matter in hand. He backed the truck over to the trailer, got them hooked together, then went to the big shed and slid open the doors. Next he reversed the whole outfit up the ramp. While he did all this I stood around uselessly, trying not to get in the way. A moment later he beeped his horn, so I walked up the ramp into the shed. The trailer was now neatly positioned under a chain-and-pulley hoist suspended from a roof girder. He’d already got out of the truck and was heaving the circular saw upwards single-handedly, so I rushed over to help. It hardly made any difference as he seemed to be considerably stronger than I was, and next thing the saw was hanging in the air three feet above the trailer.

  “Thank you,” said Mr Parker. “We’ll have to get it fixed onto the tractor sometime.”

  While he took a moment’s rest I cast a quick glance round the inside of the shed. Apart from a substantial-looking tractor nearby, there was a huge array of other equipment as well, including a collection of tyres and wheels, and some welding gear. Quite of lot of spare parts lay here and there too. From where I stood I could see what looked like the front section of a snow plough, the chassis and controls of a caterpillar vehicle, and a concrete mixer with a dismantled engine. Also a large pile of wooden planks. There was more stuff piled up at the back of the shed, and the whole place had a combined smell of lubricating oil, paint and grease. It reminded me more of a factory warehouse than an agricultural building.

  “Got some good tackle here,” I remarked.

  “Yes,” said Mr Parker. “It all comes in handy on occasion.”

  As the daylight streamed into the shed I saw something gleaming in the far corner. I tried to see what it was, but he was already on the move again.

  “Come on,” he said, getting into the pick-up. “We’d better be getting over to Bryan’s.”

  I joined him and we set off, leaving the shed doors
open. A minute later we arrived at the front gate and turned out onto the road. As we did so I again noticed how bright the green square looked. Mr Parker had fallen silent for the moment, so I decided to start up a conversation to pass the journey.

  “Do you ever go to the Packhorse yourself?” I asked.

  “Well, I do from time to time,” he said. “Generally try to avoid it though.”

  “Why’s that then?”

  “Well, I always seem to end up buying everyone else a drink.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “Costs a fortune some nights.”

  “Don’t they ever buy you one back then?”

  “Yes, I suppose they do,” he said, after giving the question some thought. “Still costs a fortune though.”

  Bryan Webb’s place turned out to be one of the properties we’d passed during our search of the previous night. It was situated on the opposite side of the lake to Mr Parker’s, and appeared to be some kind of farm. As we pulled into the front entrance a pervading smell of sheep confirmed this, although there was no sign of any actual animals. Bryan’s house was only a few yards from the water’s edge. It stood between a number of outbuildings on the one side, and a Dutch barn on the other, in which was parked a flatbed lorry. He emerged from the house when he heard us arrive, wearing his usual cardboard crown. Also a pair of rubber Wellington boots.

  “Thought it might be you,” he announced, before nodding in my direction. “I see you’ve got an assistant.”

  “Yes,” replied Mr Parker. “He’s been making himself useful the last couple of days.”

  “Smart boy wanted,” said Bryan, giving me a wink. “Your boats are along here.”

  He led us through a gate to the foreshore. There, pulled up on some shingle, lay the seven rowing boats, still attached to their mooring buoy.

  “That was a stroke of luck, you noticing them,” said Mr Parker.

  “I’ll say it was,” replied Bryan. “I wouldn’t normally go to the window at that time in the morning, but Deakin had left the wrong milk again and I was looking across the lake to see how far he’d got.”

  “What milk did you ask for then?”

  “Well, I prefer homogenized Wednesdays. When my uncle has his tea here.”

  “Oh yes, how is Rupert?”

  “He’s very well, thank you. Been coming over Wednesdays regular and doing a bit of fencing for me. Almost got it all done now.”

  “That’s good.”

  “So, anyway,” Bryan continued, “I saw Deakin coming down from your place, which meant he’d be going along to Pickthall’s next. Thought I’d give them a ring, ask them to intercept him, so to speak. I was just walking through to the phone when strike me pink there were all these boats bumping against my foreshore. I rushed out and got a rope on them and…well, there you are.”

  Telling this story seemed to take its toll out of Bryan and he sat down on one of the boats for a rest. Meanwhile Mr Parker wandered round giving each of them a brief examination. They were all tied one behind the other with a length of mooring line, and when he got to my boat from the day before he gave the knot I’d tied a little pull, as if checking to see if it held. Then he turned to Bryan.

  “Well,” he said. “We’d better see about getting the trailer through here. Looks like it’s going to take three or four journeys to get them all back.”

  A few minutes later we had the pick-up and trailer parked on the foreshore, and the three of us began loading the first boat. Only then did I discover that the vessels were designed strictly for floating, not carrying. They seemed to weigh about half a ton each. I knew from my own experience that it was easy sliding one of these boats ashore in shallow water. Lifting it bodily onto a trailer was another matter entirely. There was nothing to hold on to except the gunwales, and we had to get each one up a steep grassy bank from the shingle to where the vehicle was. They were a good fifteen feet long or more, and with room only for two at a time on the trailer, I could see a morning of struggle ahead of us. After a lot of cursing and sweating we managed to get the first one loaded, and then we all stood back to review the situation.

  “Wouldn’t it be easier just to row them all across?” I suggested.

  As soon as I spoke I realized what I’d let myself in for.

  Bryan looked at me expectantly, while Mr Parker peered across the lake towards the distant jetty.

  “Well, if you’re offering, that would be very kind,” he said at length. “Thank you.”

  “Be a nice run-out for you,” commented Bryan. “Expect you were hoping for another trip in a boat, weren’t you?”

  “Er…yes,” I replied. “Well, sort of.”

  “So you’ll do that for us, will you?” asked Mr Parker.

  “Course he will,” said Bryan. “Look at him. He can’t wait to get back out on the water.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “That’s fine by me.”

  And so it was ‘arranged’ that I would row the six remaining boats across the lake. To tell the truth I didn’t really mind because I’d quite enjoyed my excursion the day before, but I soon began wondering how long it would all take. The plan seemed to be that I would row one boat and take the rest in tow behind me. I had a feeling from the start that this wouldn’t work, but I went along with it all the same. The two of them helped me cast off and I began pulling the oars, only to find I was getting nowhere quickly. Coming ashore again I got my boots wet for the third time in two days, and we then decided I should try it with fewer boats in tow. After a bit of trial and error I ended up taking three across on the first trip.

  “Makes sense really,” said Bryan. “Three first journey, three second journey.”

  While we were messing around getting boats tied together and untied again, with their oars shipped correctly, I began to get the impression that neither Mr Parker nor Bryan Webb had the slightest idea about boating. I ended up doing most of the organization, and when I asked them to grab hold of the gunwales they didn’t know what I was talking about. Not that I gained any advantage from my superior knowledge, of course. After all, it was me who had to do the work of actually rowing the string of boats across the lake. Finally I left them behind on the shore and set out on my first journey. The weather was nice again, and although the voyage was very slow it was far from being unpleasant. In fact it turned out to be quite enjoyable, what with the impressive scenery and everything. I hadn’t had much sleep overnight, but out here on the water that didn’t seem to matter much. When I got halfway I paused for a rest. Then, as I lolled peacefully in the sunshine, I began pondering Bryan’s remark about my taking ‘another trip in a boat’. I realized he must have seen me out on the lake the previous day, and it struck me that there was very little you could do around here without somebody else knowing about it. As if to confirm this, a movement over at Mr Parker’s place caught my eye. I watched as he arrived home with the pick-up and trailer bearing the single boat we’d loaded. He didn’t bring it down to the jetty, however, and instead took it up towards the big shed, where I lost sight of him. I continued my break for a few more minutes before pressing on. I’d been half expecting him to come and meet me when I arrived, but after a fruitless wait near the shore I decided to tie the boats on to the jetty and go back for the other three. In doing so I quickly came to the conclusion that Bryan’s mathematics were up the creek. It wasn’t just a case of moving three boats on each journey, because I had to use one of them to get back over to the other side. Which meant I’d actually be moving four boats on the next trip. With this in mind I paced myself and took it nice and easy on the way back across. There was no sign of Bryan when I got there, so I gathered up the remaining boats and set off again without having a rest. This turned out to be a mistake. Midway across the lake I started to feel thoroughly worn out. My back was beginning to hurt, and my shoulders ached, not to mention the blisters on my hands. This ferrying of boats backwards and forwards might have started off as quite a pleasant task, but it had now turned into a relentless slog
. Still, I could hardly abandon the voyage at such a late stage. The end was almost in sight, so I had no choice but to keep on going. When I finally made it to the shore Mr Parker was standing waiting for me.

  “That’s all of them now, is it?” he asked, as I tied up.

  “Yep,” I replied. “That’s the lot.”

  “Good.”

  “Do you want them left tied to the jetty?”

  “No. I think we’ll pull them ashore while we’re both here.”

  “Oh,” I said. “OK.”

  Heaving the six boats ashore used the last of my energy, but it seemed Mr Parker still hadn’t finished with me.

  “Now then,” he said. “We’ve seen what you can do with a paintbrush. What are you like with a hammer and nails?”

  “Er…well, not too bad,” I replied. “‘Competent’ would be the right word, I suppose.”

  “So you can hit a nail straight, can you?”

  “Most times, yeah.”

  “Cos we’ve got another little job for you if you’re interested.”

  “What’s that then?”

  He indicated the jetty. “These planks need replacing.”

  “Oh yes,” I said. “I noticed that. They could give way at any moment.”

  “So you’re in full agreement that the job needs doing?”

  “Should be looked at fairly soon, yes.”

  “Well, we’ve got lots of planks up in the shed. They just need cutting down to size, that’s all. Have you ever operated a circular saw?”

  “No, I haven’t. Sorry.”

  “That’s alright,” he said. “We can soon give you a run-through. Are you interested then?”

  “Yeah, I don’t mind having a go at it,” I replied. “But I could do with a bit of a rest first.”

  “Alright. We’ll get you started tomorrow, if that’s OK.”

  “Right.”

  “By the way, there’s a caravan up in the top yard. You can use it if you wish.”

  “Oh, well, no,” I said. “Thanks anyway, but I’m quite happy in my tent.”

  “Plenty of hot water up there as well,” he added.

  “Is there?”

  “No end of it. You’ll be welcome to take as much as you like.”