he Watch
Copyright 2010 Dave McGee
The old man paid the cab driver, picked up his case and disappeared into the gloom of Euston railway station. Taking a paper from the news stand, he walked to the platform and found his carriage with the ease of one who had done so many times before. But as he grasped the handle he looked up at the cavernous roof of the station, booming and creaking under the assault of the most ferocious storm, and he shuddered. As he made his way towards the welcoming warmth of his first class compartment, a voice called out behind him ‘Evening Sir Archie, dreadful weather isn’t it?’ The passenger turned ‘It certainly is Ronnie, and how are you tonight?’ ‘I’m very well, sir. Would you like your cocoa now or should I wait a wee while?’ Sir Archie mused ‘Oh, I think I’ll settle in first.’ The old politician entered the compartment and prepared for the long night ahead. The journey to Scotland was one he regularly made, and, dire weather excepted, tonight was no different. The guard whistled for departure and Sir Archie took one final look at Euston, its soaked platforms eerily reflecting the flickering gaslight. Drawing the curtains he settled back in his armchair to read the paper. ‘WAR WITH GERMANY MORE CERTAIN’ Several times he took up the paper and tried to read but he could not concentrate and in no time at all he slumped into a fitful sleep. After some time there came a rap on the door. ‘Sir, it’s your cocoa.’ The attendant entered with the steaming beverage and biscuits and set down the tray; it was done with all the ceremony appropriate to premier service aboard one of the finest trains of the London Midland and Scottish Railway. Ronnie Wilson was 21 but seemed younger. His frail body bore all the hallmarks of poverty and neglect, an impression his smart uniform was unable totally to dispel. His skin was sallow, his teeth in poor condition, but it was his eyes that were most striking- sad grey eyes sunk deep in a haunted face. Sir Archibald Mackintosh was familiar with all the staff on the sleeper trains but Ronnie was his favourite. The elderly Member of Parliament’s constituency lay to the north of Glasgow and was home to wealthy landowners and farmers. But he knew too well that within the place they called The Second City of the Empire were vast areas of poverty and wretchedness. He studied the young man for a few moments and considered how fine he might have looked had circumstances willed it. ‘How are you doing, lad?’ ‘Och, no’ bad.’ the boy replied.’ ‘You look tired.’ observed the elder. They both laughed at the obviousness of this. Ronnie’s nights belonged to the railway company. ‘Are we at Crewe yet?’ Sir Archie asked. ‘No. In about thirty minutes I think.’ ‘What time is it?’ asked the old man, his own watch packed away in his overcoat on the overhead rack. ‘Just a second sir, I’ll find out. ’Sir Archie was bemused that the attendant had no timepiece; surely the company must equip its employees with these things. Ronnie re-appeared at the door of the compartment, gasping for breath. Triumphantly he held up a small alarm clock that he’d got from the guard’s van. He showed its face to the elderly man. ‘Will there be anything else, sir?’ A polite smile and shake of the head was his answer. Alone once more the old politician looked out of the window and reflected on the debate in parliament he’d taken part in this very evening. How could anyone sleep in times like this? He glanced at the newspaper lying on the chair. Wasn’t it now clear there would be another world conflict, more terrible even than the last?
The express arrived at Crewe. The major junction hummed with activity, night and bad weather making little difference here. The mail still had to be dealt with whether or not passengers slept! The train’s locomotive was detached then rumbled off towards its shed. Two fresh locomotives, coupled together took over. The guard shot a glance at the steam engines and their crews. The loco driver returned a grim smile. ‘The shed master said we’d better have two on tonight if we have any chance of getting up Shap’. The guard knew exactly what he meant. The trip wasn’t going to be easy. Presently the train resumed its journey, heading North, through Preston, and Lancaster, and into much worse weather. At first the two powerful locomotives made light work of their heavy train but before long the weather began to take its toll. The driver of the lead engine peered out into the blackness of the night trying desperately not to miss any signal. He’d be glad when they were finally at Carlisle! The sleeping car attendant was rather surprised to see Sir Archibald anxiously pacing the corridor. The other passengers appeared to have settled down for the night. ‘More cocoa and biscuits, sir?’ he enquired. Sir Archie nodded and several minutes later Ronnie was back with the cocoa. After he’d put down the tray, he turned to the old man, ‘Are ye warm enough, sir? I’ve a blanket back by if yer in need o’ it. It’s snow outside the noo.’ The old man was touched. ‘Thank you, I’m quite warm. Now, I’ve something for you, lad. I’d like you to have this.’ He handed the young man a small felt purse. Ronnie took from it a silver pocket watch and chain. Clutching the timepiece, he stared at it for some time then replied ‘Och, I cannae, sir. No.’ The old man held his wrist gently and added, ‘Oh but I insist. I have other watches. I realise this is engraved with my name but if it doesn’t bother me then it shouldn’t bother you. Mind it’ll want winding.’ The boy held the watch, staring at it fixedly. His dark sleepless eyes seemed to register no emotion. But how he stared! Then, releasing his wrist from the old man’s grip he put his arms around Sir Archie’s shoulders and drew him tightly. During this display of affection the old man’s inflexible Victorian upbringing disposed him to remain stiff, but he could sense its genuineness. And he could tell the boy was trembling. In mock remonstration, he pushed Ronnie away from him, chiding ‘Go on with you. Now, I’m going to try to sleep, please see I’m not disturbed, if possible.’ ‘Yes sir, certainly, and thanks a million for the watch’ The door slid closed and the elderly man bowed his head to pray, as was his habit. He thought about the attendant, the lad whose young life had already been blighted by poverty and hardship. If there were to be another war Ronnie would almost certainly be called up; maybe that would be a better option for him. No! How could that possibly be? The boy was bright. How else had he achieved the position he had so soon in his career? With these thoughts, and others too complex to unravel the old man fell into a deep sleep. The train thundered ever northwards into the mountains of Westmorland and blizzard conditions, both firemen toiling to keep the fires fed with coal. The great bank that is Shap Fell lay ahead. Even on a fine day this is an ascent that demands the best an engine crew can give, but on this night snow was piling high, covering signals, track and structures. Both enginemen leant out of their cabs facing the stinging onslaught, vainly trying to make out signals in the appalling conditions. Finally the form of a semaphore could be seen obstinately set at STOP, but it was too late. The lead loco driver, his body frozen in horror applied the brakes fully, but there was nothing he could do to stop the loco behind him. He was powerless. The mighty express, 500 tons of steel and humanity rounded the curve and both crews realised the ghastly truth. There, directly before them was a stranded freight train, motionless and fatal.
‘What happened’ Sir Archie asked the nurse who was leaning over him. ‘You’ve had a terrible experience but you’re going to be all right.’ ‘Where am I?’ ‘Kendal infirmary’ The nurse fussed about for a few moments then left. The old man eased himself free of the sheets she had just tightened around him and gazed at the other beds. The room was dimly lit and quiet. He leant back on his pillow and shut his eyes. Seconds later he was once more asleep. How long he slept this time he knew not, and when he re-awoke the ward had quite a different atmosphere. There was noise, bustle, and normality. Sir Archibald had hardly sat up when a police constable approached him ‘Sir Archibald Mackintosh? I’m constable Ruddock. How are you sir? I’m pleased to say we’ve managed to secure your cases and private papers from the wreckage. I’ve taken care of it’ There was
smugness in the officer’s behaviour that repelled the old man. ‘I’ll settle for thanking God and those who helped save me that I’m still alive’ observed the old Scot. The policeman was unabashed. ‘And I’ve got this for you.’ He produced from his inside pocket a silver watch and chain. ‘I think this is yours.’ The old man gasped and drew back from the watch, refusing to touch it. The policeman laid it on the bedside table. ‘Where did you get that?’ Sir Archie asked in a voice of dread. The officer was not pleased at the way his various endeavours were being received. ‘Well, fortunately for you we found it on the person of one of the crew. He must have stolen it from you on the train. I thought you’d be glad to get it back. I don’t see how it could have done him any good with your name on it’ Sir Archie’s throat was dry ‘And this crew member, how is he? Is he….?’ The old man could not continue. ‘Oh, he died from his injuries. The odd thing is he had the watch in his hand.’ The patient could not speak and waved the constable away. He didn’t even hear the protests of indignation from his unwelcome visitor. And when he was alone he wept. By now the sun was streaming in through the hospital window, testament to how mundane normality always succeeds even the most hellish of nights. The nurse returned, stoically ignoring her old patient’s red eyes and tear stained cheeks. ‘You’ve another visitor, if you can face it.’ she smiled, introducing a pleasant looking woman. Sir Archie remained silent as the woman sat awkwardly at his bedside. ‘I live at the farm, over where it happened’ she explained. There was a pause which seemed to last forever then Sir Archie asked, ‘How bad is it, how many?’ ‘Over a hundred, so far. Folk were covered in snow before they could be found and attended to.’ The old man sank back. ‘And did you find me?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Then I must thank you from the bottom of my heart.’ ‘Oh anyone would do what we did. And you know, what really saved you was that you were wrapped in a thick woollen first aid blanket. Nobody knows how that came about.’ ‘Did everyone else in my carriage perish’ asked the old man, slowly. ‘Yes, I’m pretty sure they did. The sleepers came off worst, what with the cold, you know’ ‘When did it happen?’ asked Sir Archie. ‘Oh, now that I can tell you. My husband gets up at four on the dot and I make him a cup of tea. We’d just got up when it happened. That’s how we got there so soon. Not long after four’ Sir Archie picked up his watch from the table to check the time. The watch was stopped and read 4.22. He clasped the watch to his chest and shut his eyes. The farmer’s wife quietly wished him well and withdrew. The old man’s mind was swimming. His body had survived marvellously the ordeal but he felt that his spirit was broken. The images of the night revisited him remorselessly; the watch, the policeman, the blanket and most of all Ronnie Wilson’s gaunt face and deep, sad eyes. All was unfairness and pain, suspicion and cruelty, horror and death. The old bachelor recalled the moment, literally only hours earlier when Ronnie had embraced him. Years of repression had forbidden the response he ached to return. For the most fleeting of moments he’d wanted to hug the young man till the breath left him. This was the young man he’d always wanted, and now he was dead, beyond words and hope. He began to shake uncontrollably.
‘Sir, sir, your cab is here. It’s nearly ten o’clock’ Sir Archibald forced open eyes that seemed glued down. It is that sensation of being awakened that is so unwelcome as to feel almost like pain. As his eyes grew accustomed to the light he could make out the lavish interior of the gentlemen’s club that was so familiar to him. He blinked confusedly at the brandy glass in his right hand, its bowl reflecting the flames of a welcome fire burning in the grate. Sir Archie looked up blankly at the waiter who was leaning over trying to rouse him. ‘Your cab Sir Archibald, for Euston station, it’s here. I took the liberty of ordering it to come a little early’ ‘Why’ asked the bewildered old gentleman. ‘Oh the weather sir, haven’t you heard? It’s dreadful enough here in town but we understand that it’s snowing in the north, very heavily. You did tell me how important it was that you catch your train tonight’ Sir Archibald paused trying to organise his thoughts. ‘Oh dear, I seem to have had a bad dream, too many brandies.’ Rather unsteadily the old man was escorted to the door of the club and his waiting cab. As the vehicle made its way through the rain soaked streets of London the old man called to the cabbie ‘Dreadful weather?’ The other grunted. ‘Have you done any trips to Euston tonight?’ The driver acknowledged that he had done several.Taking a deep breath the old man continued, ‘And are the trains running well enough under the circumstances?’ ‘Oh yes, as far as I know. What time’s your train leave?’ ‘Ten o’clock’ ‘Oh you’ll be there in plenty of time.’ As they pulled into Euston Station Sir Archie tried to banish the irrational thoughts engulfing him. He half hoped Ronnie Wilson would not be on the train and that his place had been taken by someone else. The old politician grabbed a newspaper and made his way onto the platform. There was no-one at the carriage door. Oh, that was good. He climbed aboard and made his way down the narrow corridor. ‘Evening Sir Archie, dreadful weather isn’t it?’ The old man’s heart beat wildly. And he suppressed an urge to rummage for his watch, the watch that was in his overcoat, that he’d forgotten to wind, that had stopped at 4.22 that afternoon.