by Diane Allen
‘It’s all right, Tobias, I’m not frightened.’ Polly watched as people made good their escape out of the last few carriages, with blood dripping from them, screaming and moaning in pain.
‘You look after the people out of these carriages. Get them away from the wreckage – take them up the line – while your grandfather, Bunce and I look at the rest of the carriages.’
Polly nodded and aided a young woman with a damaged leg, by lending her an arm to lean on, and telling the injured around her to follow her up the line to the station. She looked back as Tobias waited for the out-of-breath Edmund and Bunce, urging the passengers who could walk to follow Polly up the track to safety.
The three men walked down to where the express had overridden the carriages of the goods engine. They were amazed by the sight that met their eyes. The steam and coal fumes coming from the smashed engines assaulted their sense of smell. The carriages had risen in the air and screamed with steam from the engine pistons and boiler, and the cries of dying and injured people could be heard all around. A small fire was burning in the front engine, and Tobias looked around at the undamaged carriages with their gas lights still burning brightly and watched as people fled from them, following Polly up the line.
Bunce, Tobias and Edmund scrambled to pull people from the wreckage. They could hear moaning in the carriages and were aware that the situation was dangerous, as sparks flashed around them, raising the risk of fire. The scene surrounding them was horrendous; people with smashed legs and arms and cracked skulls were all trapped within the first three carriages, with the express-train driver not having stood a chance. He would be dead in his cabin, along with the stoker. The sweat poured off the three men as they passed the injured to one another, all aware of the fire that was spreading upwards from what had been the coalbox of the engine.
‘I’m going into the second carriage. I’m sure I heard a baby crying.’ Edmund looked at the flames starting to engulf it. ‘I’d not live with myself if I couldn’t save a baby.’
‘Don’t be daft, man. Let me go in there.’ Tobias pulled at the old man’s sleeve.
Edmund looked for a second at the lad standing in front of him. ‘Look after my Polly, if I don’t make it.’ And, with that, he pushed Tobias down onto the floor, pulled his overcoat over his head and climbed into the already alight carriage.
‘Edmund, Edmund, you silly old bugger!’ Tobias got up from his knees and he and Bunce watched as the man’s shape dashed down the carriage and disappeared into the smoke and flames. It seemed like a long time before they saw him moving towards the end of the second carriage, clutching a bundle. He stood on the step, holding the wailing baby out in his hands.
‘Here, take her, take her – I can’t believe she’s alive.’ Edmund passed the baby down to Tobias, who took her gently and passed her over to Bunce, before reaching up to help Edmund climb down. ‘Nay, there’s her mother yet.’ Edmund turned to go back into the carriage and, in that second, the gas from the carriage lanterns caught light. The gas pipes ruptured all along the carriages, exploding into flames, engulfing Edmund and the trapped passengers in a fireball that ripped along the length of the train.
Tobias and Bunce were thrown to the ground by the explosion. The baby in Bunce’s arms screamed, as if she knew that her mother had died. Polly was further up the line, and she screamed along with the baby as she watched the train exploding. Then there was a deadly hush amongst the injured passengers straggling along the railway line. Suddenly not caring for the woman on her arm, Polly ran as fast as she could back down the line, past the injured and the dying, daring to take on the heat of the burning carriages. From out of the dark and flames walked Tobias with a baby in his arms, and Bunce a few feet behind him. They looked battered, scared and hardly able to stagger the length of the rail.
‘Grandfather, Grandfather!’ Polly yelled at the burning train and tried to brush past Tobias and Bunce.
‘Polly, don’t go there – he didn’t stand a chance. He was trying to save this baby’s mother. He wouldn’t have known what had hit him.’ Bunce held her arms as she fought to try and find her grandfather.
‘Let me go. You can’t leave him in there.’ Polly screamed and tugged as Bunce held her tight.
‘He’s dead, Polly. Your grandfather’s dead and there’s nothing more we can do.’
17
The grey fingers of dawn crept over the scene of devastation, and with it came hoards of rescuers and onlookers to one of the worst train disasters that had ever happened on the Settle-to-Carlisle line.
Polly sat in the kitchen of one of the railway workers’ houses at the junction. She felt numb. Her clothes were torn and her face and hands were filthy; but, most of all, her heart was broken. She looked out of the kitchen window, watching the firefighters and doctors rushing about. They were too late. Where had they been when her grandfather had tried to save the life of that young woman? Why hadn’t he let old Bunce climb into that carriage? He’d no family – why had it been her grandfather? But, most of all, why hadn’t Tobias tried harder to stop Edmund going back into the carriage in the first place? Polly’s thoughts went back to Tobias restraining her from running down to the burning wreckage. She thought about how he’d held her tightly, stopping her from searching for her grandfather and making her punch his strong arms. She’d told him she hated him for not letting her go. He should have looked after her grandfather. It should have been Tobias who went into the wreckage for the baby.
‘Looks like it’s going to snow. That’s all they need. What a terrible day this is, and it’s Christmas Eve.’ Mrs Price looked out of the window and then at the young orphaned lass who was in her care. ‘Are you all right, love? Do you need another cuppa? There’s nothing like sweet tea for a shock.’
Polly shook her head. She’d had more cups of tea than she cared to mention, and it wasn’t tea that she wanted, but a shoulder to cry on. Her world had been shattered and there was no one there for her.
‘Aye, it’s a sad day. All those folk on their way back up to Scotland for Christmas. And you, pet, what are you going to do without your grandfather? He was a good man, was Edmund; always talked to me, and was the same whenever you saw him. We often passed the time of day on an early summer morning when he delivered his milk.’ Bessie Price folded her arms and peered out of the kitchen window again.
Polly looked at the nosy woman, who was nearly breaking her neck to see who they were bringing down the hill on stretchers towards the wagons, ready to journey to the makeshift mortuary at Hawes. She wished Matt would come back for her, as he had promised, when he’d rushed onto the station platform with men from the dairy, after hearing the news. She guessed that he’d become involved in the search for their grandfather, but she didn’t hold out much hope of Matt finding anything of him remaining, as the heat had been so fierce.
‘There’s that Dawson lad, from the signal box. He’s being walked down the road with a policeman on either side. The poor bugger, I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes. My Jack says he’s not a bad lad, but still, he should have kept his mind on the job.’ Bessie gave a running commentary on the comings and goings. ‘Here’s your brother – he’s coming down the path now. He looks shattered. I’ll put the kettle on.’ She stood up and looked at the silent Polly, before reaching for the kettle as the back door opened.
Matt burst into the room, and Polly stood up as he reached his hand out to her. She crumpled into his arms as he wrapped them around her, and sobbed into his smoke-fumed jacket. She cried and cried, and then between the sobs she wiped the tears away and looked up at Matt as he caressed her hair, shaking his head in answer to the question he knew she was going to ask.
‘They haven’t got to that carriage yet, Pol, the flames are too fierce. They will find him – what’s left of him. He will get a decent burial, we’ll see to that. Don’t worry.’
Bessie Price stood still with her cups and saucers of tea and placed them down quickly, to mop her eyes as she watched the y
oung couple. ‘If there’s owt I can do, let me know. You can stop here as long as you want. Have your suppers while you wait on news.’ She blew her nose on her apron and watched as Matt looked out of the window while holding Polly.
‘He always was a stubborn old bugger. Why he couldn’t have taken his milk to the dairy, I don’t know,’ said Matt as he looked down at Polly.
‘’Cause he did what he wanted, and wouldn’t be bought by any man.’ Polly smiled and wiped her cheek free of tears. ‘I know one thing: my grandmother will be playing hell with him, if they are in heaven together. She’ll be giving him a right what-for.’
‘That’s it, love, think of the good times.’ Bessie patted Polly’s arm.
‘Tobias asked if you want to stop at Grouse Hall with him for a day or two, but I told him we were going home. I suppose the cows will need milking, and there’s the dogs and hens to feed. Somebody will have to do it.’ Matt looked at Polly.
‘Why would I want to stay at Grouse Hall? He could have saved my grandfather, if he’d have shaped himself. I don’t think I ever want to talk to Tobias Middleton again.’ Polly grabbed her shawl from the back of the chair and glared at her brother. ‘Are we going home then? Get me away from this terrible place. No doubt someone will tell us if they find Grandfather, and I can’t stand another minute here, with everyone around me.’
‘Of course, if that’s what you want. I’ll take you home, do the few jobs and then perhaps return to see if they’ve found him.’ Matt looked at his sister. She was angry with the world, and she wasn’t going to be pacified with anything other than getting her own way.
‘Aye, I hope they find him for you, lass. You’ll feel better if you know there’s something of him in a coffin, when it comes to burying him.’ Bessie opened the back door to see them both out, satisfied that she’d done her best for the young lass and her brother, but also wishing they were gone, so that she could walk out to see the accident and hear the gossip herself.
The drive back up to Paradise passed in silence; both Matt and Polly had run out of words to say to one another. Old Clover plodded, as if she knew she’d lost her master. Silently, snow began to fall.
‘Bugger it, Polly, this is all we need.’ Matt drove Clover into the farmyard of Paradise and helped his sister down from the cart. ‘I’ll sort Clover and make sure she’s fed. Are you all right going into the house alone?’
Polly nodded. Paradise was home, with or without her grandfather and grandmother. It was all she knew, and all she wanted to know.
‘Right, I’ll feed the hens and dog, and then I’ll come in. The sheep are down in the bottom pastures already. Grandfather must have known it was looking likely to snow.’ Matt pulled on Clover’s harness and the old horse lifted her head in obedience.
Polly watched as Matt took Clover into the stable and then she walked up to the porch, opening the kitchen door that was never locked and welcoming the warmth from the dying fire as she entered the kitchen. The fire was barely alight from their early-morning attentions, and she stared for a moment at the chair that Edmund had always made his own. What she wouldn’t pay for him and her grandmother to be sitting there now, content in front of the fire. Why had she taken them for granted?
She removed the fire-guard and added a few dry kindling sticks from the hearthside, blowing gently on the fire to encourage the flames. Soon flames were licking up the chimney and she added coal to the fire, making it feel warm and welcoming again in the kitchen. She lit the paraffin lamps and put one on the kitchen table and another in the window. It was going to be dark soon tonight, and the sky was dark and heavy with snow. She looked out of the window and noticed that Matt had lit the storm lantern in the barn. He must be milking the cows early, in readiness for the snow, which was falling more heavily now. It was a good job he was here. She didn’t know how she would cope on her own. The house had suddenly become full of memories and ghosts, and she needed someone to be there for her.
Matt opened the kitchen door and walked in with a full bucket of milk in his hands. ‘I’ve milked the cows, and all’s done for the night. This snow’s coming down thick and fast. I’m going to get stuck here, if I don’t get back. You said you were all right in the house, didn’t you?’ He put the bucket down, spilling some milk on the stone flags of the kitchen in his haste. ‘I’ll have to get back to my grandmother – she’ll be bothering about me.’ He looked out of the window at the snowflakes, which were falling faster and faster.
‘But I thought you’d stay with . . . ’ Polly looked at her brother, as he made for the kitchen door.
‘You’ll be right. I’ll be back in the morning. Nowt will hurt you here. Besides, you must be jiggered. Get yourself to bed – it’ll be morning before you know it. I’ve got to go, Polly, because I’ve left my horse at the junction. If I don’t go now, I’ll not get there, because of the snow.’
Polly listened to her brother making excuses and hadn’t the strength to argue. He was right; she was jiggered, exhausted by the day.
‘You’ll come back tomorrow?’ she pleaded.
‘Aye, I promise, and I might have some news of Grandfather.’ Matt gave her a quick hug and then was out of the kitchen door, running down the snow-covered path to the main road and on up further, to Hawes Junction.
Polly stood in the kitchen. The rest of the house was silent, dark and empty. Shadows played on the wall and the steady tick of the grandfather clock echoed as she sat in the chair by the fire. She was alone. It would be Christmas Day in the morning, and she would probably have no one to share it with; most of her family were dead now, and the ones that were alive were uncaring. Matt couldn’t be relied upon; he’d not move from his grandmother’s side, not on Christmas Day. A tear ran down her cheek as she felt the warmth of the fire. Tonight she was a weak young lass, with no one. How things had changed in twenty-four hours.
The morning came all too soon and, with it, the reality of the previous day’s events. Polly pulled her patchwork quilt up around her chin and lay in her bed, thinking of the crash, and of her loss. It was a disaster. She’d never thought about losing her grandfather; in her mind, he was always going to be there. Now she was on her own and, by the look of the ledge of snow on the outside of her bedroom window, she would be alone all day. She wiped a tear away onto her already soaked pillow. Tears would not bring anyone back. She’d got to get herself together.
She pulled the covers back on her bed and shivered in the cold of the badly lit bedroom. Rummaging through her wardrobe, she pulled out a warm, clean skirt and top, which she pulled over her undergarments, and then proceeded to brush her hair. It smelt of smoke, and memories of the screams and of people’s desperate cries came flooding back to her. She’d wash her hair as soon as she could – wash the hurt out of her hair, just like she was going to throw out the clothes that lay in a pile next to her bed, where she had abandoned them in her tiredness.
She went to the window. All was white outside: the farmyard was a perfect blanket, and the dale lay still and at peace with itself. Smoke rose from the houses along The Street, and Polly thought of the people within them waking up and enjoying Christmas Day. Children would be opening presents from Father Christmas, and couples would be wishing one another well on this special day of the year. She wandered into her grandparents’ room and sat on the double bed they had shared all their life, picking up a photograph that they had both cherished, taken at the photographer’s in Hawes on their silver wedding anniversary. Polly rubbed her finger around the outline of their faces and whispered, ‘I love you – happy Christmas’, before putting it back in its place. It was funny, but she had never realized before that her grandmother had been quite a stunner when she was younger.
It was then that the small box caught her eye. It was wrapped in holly-covered paper and tied with a red ribbon with a tag on it. Polly picked it up and read the small brown label, recognizing her grandfather’s handwriting:
Happy Christmas, Polly,
Your grandmothe
r would want you to have this.
Love, Grandfather
She couldn’t stop the tears as she opened the box. Her grandfather wasn’t there, and hadn’t known when he’d wrapped it how much it would mean to her. No matter what it was in the box, she would treasure it forever. She held the label close to her heart and swallowed her tears as she carefully unwrapped the paper. Underneath was a velvet-covered ring box. She opened the lid and gazed upon her grandmother’s engagement ring. It shone and sparkled in the poor morning light. Her grandmother had always worn it, and as a child Polly had played with it, pretending that she was a princess. It had been the only piece of jewellery Ada had, besides her wedding ring, and that she had worn to her grave.
Polly placed the ring on her finger and looked at it. What was she going to do? She couldn’t manage on her own; even her grandparents had had one another. Her grandfather must have loved Ada, when he’d bought his bride-to-be the sparkling ring. She’d never be that lucky – never. As for Tobias, who knew what he thought of her? Surely he could have saved her grandfather. Could she ever forgive him, and would he ever forgive her for the hateful words she had spat at him in haste? She doubted it; all was lost.
‘Polly, Polly, are you here, lass?’ Len Brunskill looked up at the windows of Paradise, after trying the locked kitchen door. He shivered in the cold and waited for a reply.
Slowly the kitchen door opened and there Polly stood, waif-like.
‘Oh, you are here! Martha said I should come up and see if you were, but we expected you to be up Gayle, with Matt and his grandmother. You’ve not spent the night alone here on your own?’ Len walked up to her and opened the door wider and looked at the pale, ghost-like form.
Polly nodded her head.
‘Aye, lass, I’m so sorry. By God, you’re going to miss him – he was one in a million, was Edmund.’ Polly stood and wept in Len’s arms, as he held her tight in the cold light of the morning. ‘Come on, lass, let’s get something to eat in you, then I’ll see to the stock outside and then you are coming home with me. Martha wouldn’t have it any other way, and I owe it to your grandfather. He was the best friend any man could ever have, and I’m not going to let him down now.’ Polly sat as Len lit the fire and buttered some bread, covering it with jam while waiting for the kettle to boil.
