Thursday, 5 May 2011

SAOS: Chapter Eleven: Travelling Tales, or, The Man Who Was Saved by a Prayer.

      Chas and Nics sat in the carriage of the train to London, staring out the window at the scenery as it flashed by.

      "Did you see the duck waiting on the platform for the train?" asked Nics.

      "No," replied Chas. "Got to say though, it's pretty unusual to have a steam train still in service."

      "Perhaps there's a rally or special show or something."

      "Could be worse," he said, grinning as he thought of something.

      "What?"

      "We could be travelling to London in Thomas the Tank Engine."

      Nics shuddered.

      "You're right."

      They watched the scenery some more. In the distance Chas thought he could see a herd of cows practicing some intricate dance moves, like synchronised swimming, but it was too far away to be sure.

      He rubbed his eyes.

      "I could really do with a coffee. Fancy anything?"

      "Herbal tea if they've got it. Water otherwise. Thanks," said Nics.

      Chas staggered off down the length of the carriage, the swaying motion of the train bouncing him from side to side erratically.

      A sudden blast of the Hallelujah Chorus from behind her made Nics jump a mile out of her seat. It was cut off abruptly, and a man's voice said, very loudly:

      "Hello? I'm on the train."

      Nics sighed and dug through her bag for a magazine. Her fingers touched the locket for a moment, and she felt it carefully, making sure it hadn't fallen apart in the bottom of her bag. It hadn't.

      Chas came back carrying a paper bag. He took out a paper cup of coffee, and a bottle of water, with the words "Good Water" printed on the label in a curly ornate script.

      "No herbal tea," he said. "But they do have two Las Vegas showgirls dancing the cancan in the dining car."

      Nics twisted the bottle cap open, and a waft of eggy-smelling sulphur drifted through the carriage.

      "Chas, did you just fart?"

      He looked at her in surprise.

      "Weren't me, babes. Nasty smell though."

      She lifted the bottle to her mouth to take a drink, and recoiled dramatically. The smell was definitely coming off the water. She quickly put it down on the table, and screwed the lid back on tightly.

      "Reminds me of the smell of the water from the hot springs in Bath," said Chas. "Full of sulphur."

      "Enriched with minerals and naturally occurring Uranium," read Nics from the label on the bottle. "And they expect people to drink this!"

      Holding the bottle carefully by her fingertips, she walked down the length of the carriage back to the buffet car, leaving her bag on the seat behind her.

      "Uranium was thought to be good for your health back in Victorian times," said the elderly gentleman across the aisle from Chas. The gentleman was dressed in full army uniform, with a vast array of medals and ribbons weighing down his fragile looking chest. He was almost completely bald, but made up for it with a long and flowing white beard that touched the top of his medals.

      "I'm sorry?" asked Chas politely.

      "Uranium," he said. "They didn't know what to do with it, so of course it had to have been good for you if you drank it."

      Nics was back, holding a can of diet coke.

      "I threw the bottle of water out the window," she said. "Well, to be precise, I sneezed and it flew out of my hand through the open window. I hope no one gets hurt by it. Oh, and the Vegas showgirls are now doing their musical rendition of the seven minute Hamlet."

      "This gentleman," said Chas, indicating the retired soldier, "was just telling me how the Victorians thought Uranium was good for you."

      "They must've been mad," said Nics, shaking her head.

      "Pleased to meet you, miss," said the soldier-gentleman.

      Nics smiled at him. He reminded her of her grandfather.

      "Yes, the Victorians did lots of things that would be strange to us now," he continued. "But they'd be totally flummoxed by some of the things that go on nowadays. Why, when I were a lad, I remember that to get your driving license all you had to do was go down the registry office and pay a small fee. No test, no nothing, you had your license in your hand then and there. 'Course, the roads were a lot clearer then. Wouldn't want to drive now, the amount of traffic is just scary. That's why I take the train."

      "Are you going far today?" asked Nics politely.

      "Just into London," he said, "the regiment is meeting up for our annual get-together. Happens every year.

      "Although," he said with a sigh, "seems to be less and less of us each year. But that's the way it goes, I suppose. And I've had a good time of it, and a lot more than I could have had, if you get what I mean."

      Chas and Nics both looked at him, with identical expressions of puzzlement on their faces. Seeing this, the soldier-gentleman reached inside his collar and pulled out a chain, on the end of which was a thick silver medallion. It was oval shaped, and about the same size and the locket that lurked in the bottom of Nics' bag. But instead of being flat it had a very substantial and pronounced dimple in the centre of it.

      "My wife gave that to me," said the old soldier. "Back before she was my wife and back when I was first called up, in forty one. Neither of us knew when or if we'd see each other again, so she went and spent all the money she'd saved to buy her wedding dress on this. I remember well the day she gave it to me, she had come down to the train station with my mother to see me off to my training camp and off to wherever else I'd get sent.

      "The medal had the Lord's prayer engraved on the front, and a loving message from Mavis on the back. I always wore it over my heart, so I wouldn't forget her, and she'd always be close to me.

      "Well, it was that prayer and that medal that saved my life completely. I was in a foxhole somewhere in France when a shell landed just a few feet away from me and my mates. Shrapnel went everywhere, and not a man of us didn't end up catching some. But the bit of shrapnel that would've gone straight into my heart was blocked by this medal. I knew God was looking out for me that day.

      "'Course, it wasn't the only bit of shrapnel that headed my way. The surgeons had to dig another five pieces out of me, from various places, my arm, my side, my leg. And by the time I was back to fighting fitness the war was over completely. I married my Mavis just as soon as I possibly could after I got back home.

      "Forty seven years we were married," he said, staring into the past. "She was so beautiful." He stopped, overcome by memories.

      Nics smiled wistfully.

      "That's a lovely story, " she said.

      The door at the end of the carriage clattered open, and a heavy monstrosity of a wrought iron tea and coffee trolley started making its slow and laborious way down the aisle.

      On impulse, Chas dove into Nics bag, and pulled out the half of the locket with the picture in it. He handed it over to the gentleman-soldier.

      "You wouldn't happen to know anything about the uniform this lady is wearing, would you?" Chas asked.

      The old soldier sniffed, and carefully placed the medallion back inside his collar before taking a good long look.

      "Reminds me of my Mavis, she does," he said distantly. "But no, I don't recognise the uniform. Whitehall would know."

      Chas thanked him, and put the locket half away hurriedly as the tea trolley lumbered towards them.

      The soldier ordered a cup of tea, and two shortbread fingers. They came wrapped daintily up in a paper napkin.

      "None for me, thanks," said Nics, in response to the trolley lady's inquiring look.

      All three passengers fell into silence as the train chugged on through the English countryside.

No comments:

Post a Comment