Trembine Halt Read online

  Trembine Halt

  Ivan B

  Published: 2010

  Tag(s): "Novel" "Romance" ""Interpersonal Relationships" "Mental Health"

  This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publically performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was obtained of as strictly applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Published by barlebooks.net©2010

  Cover Photograph used with the permission of David Glasspool (www.kentrail.co.uk)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  Interviews

  Sarah sat in the old station waiting room and felt as miserable as the condition of the neglected Victorian room. Even though there was a roaring log fire she felt cold, cold in body and cold in soul as she waited to hear the verdict of a disciplinary panel on her driving. It all made her feel, and look, rather forlorn as this could be the end of her career; just a desolate figure in a desolate room. The room was a throw-back to the 1890s grand railway waiting rooms of old with a high ceiling, ornate plasterwork and a polished wooden floor. Except that after over four decades of pernicious neglect the decorations were much faded and the parget was in the last stages of crumbling away, whilst the polished floor had become a set of well-worn and much stained boards. Sarah herself looked a forlorn figure, clad in a denim blue boiler suit that had been tailored to her short thin figure, but still emblazoned with the obligatory motif of ‘Cargo-Haul’ in a gentle bright orange arc across her back and across the top of her left hand breast pocket. Her face was pale with slightly visible cheekbones above taut cheeks and with stunning blue eyes peering from under a thicket of fawn eyelashes. Laying down her back like a plaited ramrod, her long wiry fawn hair pointed to her tiny black steel-toecapped boots which she fidgeted in bleak anticipation. She heard a passenger train enter the station and rumble through at high speed, they always rumbled through as no passengers were allowed to visit this forsaken place. The station was actually called Grantham Yards and had been closed to passenger traffic since the late sixties and was now home to the headquarters of Cargo-Haul, mainly due to the proximity of the goods yards and the rock-bottom rent. The door to the inner room opened and a man’s head popped out and intoned in a deep voice, “We’re ready for you now Sarah,” as if the guillotine waited just around the corner.

  Sarah sighed and entered the inner room to discover her fate.

  Julia Flosse, teacher of physical education and maths, was also sitting and waiting for a call to enter a room for a visit not of her choosing. However, this was not a disciplinary interview, but a ‘restructuring,’ interview called by her head teacher. All day there had been a succession of people entering his room, starting with the heads of department and working steadily towards the probationary teachers. As a deputy head of department Julia was roughly mid-point in this exercise, but rumours were already rife and she had a knot in the pit of her stomach. She idly picked up the glossy annual governor’s report for the school and sniffed; it all looked so good on paper, but then that epitomised the current head teacher; it was all about an image that must be maintained at all costs. She tossed the report down and stood up to pace up and down the tiny corridor. Taller than a lot of men, and certainly more muscular, she somehow cut a figure that looked less like a school teacher and more like a market trader, especially as her hair was cut short in a style reminiscent of Egyptian mummies and her face having a remarkably bland appearance apart from the lively chocolate brown eyes that showed a spark of intelligent liveliness. Suddenly, and without anybody exiting the office, the lights outside changed from red to green and Julia pushed the door open wondering if the rumours of departmental amalgamation were true.

  The inner room Sara entered was used as an office by the Southern Area manager of Cargo-Haul, but that didn’t make it look any more friendly or decorous that the barren waiting room outside. Sarah sat down on a rickety wooden chair and faced her three judges across a tired and battered desk. Directly opposite was the tubby owner of the deep voice, her boss Mr Gladbury, a man of deep melancholy and woebegone looks. On his right was the Northern Area manager, a perky little man with a wrinkled happy face and a tongue like a razor blade. The third man, tall and thin with a face like an animated weasel, was a visiting manager from the East of England Rail Company, here to see that justice was done and seen to be done. Her boss opened the batting, “Can I just check a few details for the benefit of our guests?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer, but intoned on like he was reading an Edwardian obituary. “You’ve been with us for three years and have been an engine-driver for five years, before that you worked as a driver’s mate for three years.”

  Sarah stirred and gave a short affirmative reply in a quiet husky voice. Mr Gladbury glanced at his notes, “And you have been working the Grantham Yards to Norwich route for two years.”

  Sarah nodded, “There and back once a day.” Her gentle Kent accent belied the tension in her body.

  He gave the merest of smiles, “Then how come you have driven through the same red light three times; has it become invisible?”

  Sarah mustered her defence and spoke with barely suppressed patience; “That light is impossible to see against the low winter sun, it doesn’t have a backboard and at this time of year the curving track makes sure that the sun is only directly behind the signal for an instant. And before you ask the previous signal was green not yellow or double yellow so I had no pre-warning. And I might add the control centre did not give me the benefit of a radio call to warn me despite changing the signal after I passed the previous section."

  The Northern Area manager leaned forward, “Well why didn’t you follow the set procedure and slow down your approach to an indeterminate signal?”

  She gave a weak smile, “I did on Monday and Tuesday of the week in question, but when I slowed the train on Wednesday just in case the signal was red the signalman on duty gave me a rocket over the radio and told me that I’d be holding up the Ely express - again. He said the same thing to me on Thursday, except that he added a few more choice expletives. I did go through the red on the Friday, but - even though I was only going at a crawl - when I realised it was red I couldn’t stop in time, I only passed it by a few yards, less than the length of the engine.”

  The visiting East of England manager squirmed, “Blow what the signalman says, you’re responsible for driving the train and going through red lights is unacceptable, wholly unacceptable and you’ve been through this light once this year and twice last year.”

  Sarah bristled and snapped back, “And I submitted a report to your company that the light was near impossible to see the first time. I believe that you have a growing pile of similar reports, but despite knowing the problem, and the simple solution, your company has done nothing.”

  He shrugged, “Our drivers don’t have this problem.”

  She snapped back with pure venom for him and her own manager, “Your drivers have all the in-company the bells and whistles; we don’t have the same luxuries, even though we have asked. So the comparison is unreasonable.”

  Mr Gladbury leant forward, “Quite, quite, let’s not get into an argument.”

  He shuffled a few papers, “Taking account of the difficulties you have described we have decided to g
ive you a minor reprimand and dock half of one day’s wages. The reprimand will be placed on your record for three years, should you accumulate more that five minor reprimands at any one time you will be suspended from driving and placed on other duties.”

  He looked up from the papers, “Is that clear?”

  Sarah silently sighed with relief, she had expected to be suspended immediately. “Very clear and may I ask what action is being taken against the abusive signalman? Especially as I had no prior warning of a red light when the regulations state that if I do not have a preceding yellow he should inform me on the radio – immediately – that there is a red light in front of me, or is he above reprimand?”

  The visiting East of England manager turned red at the gills and snapped, “That is a matter for us, not you.”

  Sarah held her ground, now she knew her sentence she could pursue other matters. “I have reported him six times for using foul and abusive language and not once have I had the courtesy of even an acknowledgement from your company.”

  Mr Gladbury leant forward, “Look young lady, you are lucky that we didn’t dismiss you on the spot under the ‘three strikes and you’re out’ procedure, so don’t push your luck. I believe that the 9:05 is waiting for your attention and perhaps your efforts are best aimed in that direction.”

  Sarah stood up and turned to go, Mr Gladbury added humourlessly , “And watch out for signal No 347A won’t you, I believe it can be difficult to see.”

  Sarah swallowed back a retort and left the room. Mr Gladbury turned to the visiting manager, “But she has a point, your errant signalman is well known as being foul-mouthed and nasty and more than willing to bend the regulations to suit maximum throughput rather than a have regard for maximum safety.”

  The East of England manager shrugged and gave a twisted smile, “And he’s good at his job and a member of a strong union; it’s a matter of balance.”

  Mr Gladbury looked him in the eyes, “Balance or no balance get him sorted, if I hear one more complaint about his manner I’ll write to your board of directors, I’ve had enough. Sarah is a good safe driver, but your Mr Knowles managed to rattle her enough to try and cut corners and I won’t have my drivers endangered because you won’t take action.”

  The visiting manager stood up, “He does his job, he keeps the trains running and I’m leaving him alone.”

  Mr Gladbury wasn’t finished, “And Sarah is correct, she had no pre-warning of a red light; with the sort of heavy trains that she drives that is wholly unacceptable. He must – I repeat he must – take account of the sort of trains he is controlling before there is a serious foul up.”

  The visiting manager gave an inconsequential shrug and left the room, but everybody knew that the problem was not solved and there would be more grief to come.

  Julia entered the brightly painted head’s office that had specially chosen work displayed along a huge notice-board on one wall. Julia had doubts about that display as either the school was full of prodigies or adults must have had a hand in its preparation. Mr Prestonne her head teacher, a man resembling an over-smart used car salesman with the disposition of a depressed undertaker, waved her into a waiting armchair. He passed her a cup of tepid coffee, she helped herself to a dull biscuit. He glanced at the folder in front of him. “Well Julia I guess that you’ve been hearing some rumours about departmental amalgamation, let me start by saying that they are largely untrue. I’m keeping the same departments with the same structure, except that I’m moving physical education from science to mathematics, but this is more of a staff balancing exercise than anything else.”

  He stopped and stared at Julia and she waited for him to continue. He cleared his throat, “Personally I want you to continue to teach maths and PE, but you are no longer to be a deputy departmental head. I’ve decided that it’s time PE had its own head of department and I’ve appointed Michelle Proust to the post.”

  He paused for breath and Julia, much against the Head’s unwritten protocol, butted in with her rich Suffolk vowels. “Why Michelle? She’s only been with us for half a term whereas I’ve been here for five years and during that time the level of sport has risen considerably, or have you forgotten that last year we won the County championships for cricket and hockey and gained honours in three other sports. Plus my A level pass rate in Maths has risen from 65% when I took over to near 90% now.”

  Mr Prestonne scowled, “She’s better qualified than you as she has both a teaching degree and an MA.”

  Julia scoffed and rolled her eyes, “You mean a pass degree in General Education, an MA in Semantic Philosophy from some American University that nobody has ever heard of and a father who’s chairman of the Board of Governors.”

  Mr Prestonne’s eyes narrowed, “This is not a matter for negotiation young lady, I’ve had the changes cleared and endorsed by the governors.” He gave her a ‘Don’t interrupt again till hell freezes over stare, and continued; “To finish what I was saying, I also wish you to continue teaching ‘A’ level mathematics, but your PE schedule is to change and you’re taking over the sixth form gymnasium. We are aware that that would in effect reduce your teaching load, so humanities has asked for your assistance to teach RE to year 7 – I believe RE was your second teaching subject after RE?”

  “Third, Maths, PE and then RE.”

  “Quite.”

  He went to stand up to signify that the meeting was at an end, but Julie remained firmly seated. “I take it that under the Sutton agreement my reduction in status will not be reflected in my pay for two years.”

  He sat back and squirmed in his chair, “If you insist, but I don’t believe that you are a member of the union, so I’m not sure that the agreement applies to you. The matter’s complex and if you do think it applies you’ll have to seek clarification.”

  Julia took out a bright red union membership card and waved it at him, he sighed a long tremulous sigh and made a note on his clipboard. “Any thing else? Time is pressing and I’ve many more staff to see.”

  Julia leant back in the chair, “Who’s going to teach rugby to the lower school? Michelle hasn’t got a rugby teaching certificate so the pupils wouldn’t be insured if she taught them.”

  “We’re working on it.”

  “Does this mean that I won’t be in charge of the school cricket and hockey teams?”

  “Cricket yes, hockey no.”

  “Who do I report to about the sixth form gymnasium, Michelle or the head of sixth form?”

  Mr Prestonne pondered his answer, he clearly had no thought about this, but could see where Julia was coming from, namely Michelle’s lack of any gymnasium qualifications. “The head of sixth form , I believe that he is qualified in that area.”

  Once again he raised his buttocks from the chair, once again Julia remained firmly stuck to her seat. She knew that she’d probably not have a personal tête-à-tête with the Head again for some time. “Why me teaching RE to Year 7? Is this because the Head of Humanities thinks that I have particular skills in that area, or is it because none of her staff will teach that particular subject to our current Year 7?”

  He stood up, “It’s because you currently run the Christian Union and seem to have a way with that particular year that should not be left to waste. Now I really must get on.”

  Julia finally stood up and left his office. She’d made her point, twice, about Michelle’s inadequate qualifications and could do no more. Once she closed the door she glanced at the person waiting for their turn. Her face broke into a smile, “Becky! You’re next for the rack?”

  A small blonde woman nodded. Julia took the bright red union card out of her pocket and passed it over, “Thanks for the loan of this.”

  “Did you need it?”

  “The rat has demoted me and was going to argue the point about the Sutton agreement. We both know it applies to non-union staff, but he would have forced me to appeal to the County Council and wait months and months for an answer.”

  Becky grinned,
“Heard the grapevine rattling, have you really got Year 7 for RE?”

  Julia nodded as the light turned green, Becky shook her head, and muttered “Into the valley of death rode the six hundred” as she entered, leaving Julia to wonder if Becky was referring to entering the head’s office or Julia having the temerity to confront Year 7 with an RE lesson.

  Chapter 2

  Solitude and Isolation

  Sarah sat on her favourite platform bench drinking some coffee out of the top of her thermos flask watching both her breath as it made wisps of vapour in the cold January air and a shunting engine as it moved a line of double-bogie grey trucks containing milled rock. They would eventually form her 9:05, hauling rock chippings and mixed freight. She contemplated the morning and the day ahead. Yesterday had been the closest she had ever come to loosing her job and she loved her job. When she’d left school she’d tried a number of jobs, ending up at an antiseptic South London insurance office processing little bits of paper all day. Then, when she was twenty-five and bored out of her mind by insurance criteria and office tittle-tattle, she’d seen an advert from a freight company saying they wanted train drivers, male or female, and that they would provide the training. All her young life she had travelled with her father to various steam fares and had loved the sheer mechanicalness of most of the exhibits. She had applied, got the job and never looked back. She’d joined Cargo-Haul three years ago when they had taken over the company she had worked for. Up till then she’d worked the London route, but after the takeover she’d worked the Norwich route and much preferred the countryside and the conditions. Better than that she now had her own locomotive. Well of course she didn’t own it and it wasn’t really hers, but only she got to drive it, least that’s what she told herself knowing in her heart that the maintenance men and shunters also entered her cab. She studied her engine, a class 59 painted in gunmetal grey with ‘Cargo-Haul’ in Day-Glo orange written down the sides. It was a huge engine and one of the most powerful on the rail network and she drove it mostly because the other engine drivers in Cargo-Haul despised it because of its American origins. However, she loved it, and it had become her very own. She sat back and enjoyed the morning. She could, of course, have drunk her coffee in the mess room rather than alone on this bench, but she preferred to be alone, that was one of the attractions of this job, no tittle-tattle and no office politics just her, her engine and the route ahead.