134: Royal train

As a non-executive director of the railway, it’s a pleasure to sit back and watch things happen. I may occasionally scratch backs and twist arms as you know, but I’m content to let others do the heavy lifting. However, on this occasion I felt a minor miracle was about to unfold, way beyond my humble abilities. A most unusual bank holiday special had appeared on everyone’s operating timetable. The royal train would leave Windsor with his majesty on-board (the Queen having diplomatically absented herself), travel non-stop to the Abbey station, have one of its diesels exchanged for a Manor class steam locomotive, then proceed to the end of the line at the old naval port.

But how was such a thing possible? And the expense! Well, someone has to open a reopened railway line, which it was, technically. Phase One had allowed the government to pay for the relaying of track and new signalling as far as the port, to which, the local operator was providing a service for the first time in over fifty years. The steam railway which had been restricted to the old, new line, now ran on new rails as far as the Abbey station. The King was killing two birds with one stone, since he was on his way to the naval college to unveil their tribute to his beloved parents.

But what raised it all to the level of the miraculous, was the fact that Mr and Mrs HRH were hot footing it on the very same day to a location just a few miles away across the bay. Now we all know, the throne and the heir to the throne must not travel together for security’s sake. But normal trains are a cheaper option than long car journeys or helicopters, so the juniors were to follow the royal train on the next available service, praying it ran to time! 

However, as the day approached, none of the above was on Charlie’s mind; ‘How am I supposed to be in two places at once, and with a change of costume?’

‘Er...’

‘You’re going to have to help me out.’

‘Really? I was planning on watching the entire day’s events from the comfort of the media room.’

‘I know that smug look, you’ve already worked it all out, probably deliberately set it up this way.’

‘Don’s chopper.’

‘I beg your pardon!’

‘Well, Don’s proprietor’s helicopter to be more precise. All you have to do is drive to the Park early on the day in question and be at our helipad with your knapsack containing your change of clothes.’

‘Never been in a helicopter before. Where do we land?’

‘On the railway’s harbour wall, plenty of space now.’

‘And at Royal Oak? The garden isn’t that big!’

‘One of your ex-marine residents has agree to train you to abseil down.’

‘Fuck off!’

‘No but seriously, in matey’s cliff top field next door.’

‘Why Don?’

‘Well Wainwright’s chopper will be full-time on normal tourist season duties and we have no leverage with the Royal Marines or Air Sea Rescue or the Air Ambulance come to that...

‘I meant what deal have you made with Don, what have you committed me to behind my back, again!’

‘Don gets aerial video of two royal events uploaded on to The Beacon’s website before any other media have woken up. There’s also the possibility of livestreaming, if I can manage to feed the Drones Club footage.’

‘There’s a real Drones Club?’

‘Actually, I think they call themselves the Drone Group of the heritage railway, run by a chap who used them before he retired from Network Rail.’

‘Blimey!’

‘They’re very good, the drones have learnt the route as the line was being relayed, or rather the computer which runs the drone. Learnt to avoid low bridges, no I don’t mean that, avoid high bridges, anyway one of them should appear to sit just above the locomotive’s tender. But all that is only if everything comes together, Barmy has been liaising on our behalf with Eltham, he’s promised to tilt a satellite in our direction, hence avoiding possible interference with official state security.’

‘What if it rains?’

‘Well, that’s the beauty of modern video, low light, poor weather, no problem.’

‘I mean us, the real people involved.’

‘You’ve got your porter’s cap.’

She chose to ignore that one; ‘And how come your Brenda is first in the line-up, after I’ve offered to take the royal baggage?’

‘Our local MP has been doing stirling work I’ll have you know, arbitrating over the minefield of demarcation disputes between rail unions, volunteers and the new paid workers doing train operations with heritage locos and rolling stock.’

‘Was that the real reason you greased so hard to get her elected, to stop the unions putting the kibosh on everything from day one?’

‘A minor consideration.’

‘I think we might have a case of Murphy’s Law.’

‘Not sure that’s politically correct anymore.’

‘Still real though, “anything that can go wrong, will go wrong”!’

But despite Charlie’s concerns, talking it through, gradually made the whole enterprise seem more plausible.

On the day, I’d barely got Charlie out the back door before the front doorbell rang. Looking at the hall monitor, I was surprised to see the face of Archie Layton, uninvited, and who to the best of my knowledge had never visited before.

‘Any chance of a quick word? On my way to the station for the HRH’s pick-up for Royal Oak.’

‘Come through to the kitchen, coffee’s on.’

‘There you go, passports returned. I’ve been given advice, to pass on to you.’ He said, looking distinctly nervous.

‘And that advice is?’

‘Let it go. Can of worms. Forget the whole thing.’

‘Why?’

‘Not sure I understand myself.’

‘Try.’

‘The Swiss have a myriad of rules to keep the world at bay. Things are a bit easier these days, but in the seventies, it was a whole lot worse. Those passport numbers are real and match the names. Swiss passports, for foreigners were almost impossible to get. To stay more than five minutes in the country you had to have a sponsor, housing was impossible, often had to get a friend to sell you land, build your own home as proof of assets, periods of residency etcetera. Total nightmare.’

‘Tell me about the money.’

‘Yes.’

‘Yes what?’

‘Yes, there are assets, cash deposits, property, investments maybe, held by the state, claimable in theory by the heirs and descendants of the couple named in the passports. That’s all I could be told.’

‘Thank you. I owe you.’

‘Makes you think, were it not for Nazi looters and the Jewish state, those records would be rotting away in various basements, rather than on digital databases.’

‘You'd better go, you don't want to be late for HRH.’

In time I settled in, with live images from the Don’s chopper on one screen and the drones on another. What The Beacon’s internet channel were doing with them I couldn’t see, but what with the royals doing their own media these days and posting quickly on Eltham’s platform, legacy media would be way behind. The BBC would realise they’d missed another event, reluctantly buying still images and thirty second clips, then finally posting thirty-six hours after the action.

All seemed to be running to schedule until HM actually stepped from the train. Without the benefit of audio, I could only imagine the dialogue, though I felt confident someone was recording it for the historical record. Charlie, with porter’s trolley on hand touched her forelock, the King seemed amused, then turned to a flunkey who produced some actual luggage! So, after the line-up and a look at the engine, Charlie had to follow the royal party pushing her unanticipated load. Once out of the station the King then made an unscheduled stop on the harbour wall to admire Captain Bob’s yacht, clearly, he’d been briefed. But not so the rest of the party, only lowly Charlie bringing up the rear, was able to answer his enquires. She had actually sailed in the damn thing after all. Finally, they moved on to the steam launch waiting to take His Majesty up stream. As he turned his back to step aboard, Charlie suddenly deserted her post and sprinted towards the helicopter which had already re-started its engines. It took me a moment to realise the drone hovering over the station, had never stopped tracking Charlie, and now using it’s zoom lens demonstrated to the world her undoubted fitness, made possible by her expertly tailored trousering! Don held open the door, she threw in her cap, her jacket and finally herself. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on your point of view, The Beacon’s camera now faced directly at the royal party as the launch was slowly coming around. First hysterical laughter, then as the camera rose skyward cheering broke out and much waving as they passed overhead towards the sea and the short hop across the bay. Thank goodness for a son who was not above talking to his father I reflected.