No one thought the boys would get away with it. No one from the headmaster upwards. The railway was sympathetic, and in the end went along with the lads wishes, but Walpole had visions of having to fight for it in the courts for years to come. But there we were, guests of the school, at the end of a school day, parading on the cricket field, there to witness the opening.
The new track had been laid a couple of weeks before, the replacement fencing gang soon caught up, but then came the debating, boys and railway volunteers insisting the ‘right of way’, long evidenced on old maps, must be levelled by using old wooden sleepers. Then the issue of the wooden kissing gates, wouldn’t they prevent bicycles being used? They would, but you can’t have it all.
In truth there was more to it than male enthusiasm for the view from the cricket ground. The reinstated short-cut gave easy access to the suburbia spreading ever outwards from the old market town, posh enough housing from which aspiring parents could send their offspring to the local private school. The day’s events had been preceded however, I was reliably informed, by a series of stern lectures from the headmaster himself on lineside safety and the placing of authentic looking noticing in apposite locations. Indeed, it wasn’t long after we’d arrived that my presence was spotted by the aforementioned. ‘Good afternoon, Headmaster.’
‘Arlington, here with your companion?’
‘Yes sir, she’s amongst the crowd, hoping to capture behind the scenes photos for The Countrywoman magazine.’
‘Might that involve some free publicity for us?’
‘Absolutely. The readers are your kind of parents?’
‘One would like to think so. After all, we’re being forced upmarket due to the taxes imposed by this government and the latest cost of living crisis.’
‘The kind of parents with the kind of boys impressed by a steam railway crossing the view from the boundary?’
‘We upgrade or die. Once the bursar was obsessed with mentioning IT on every page of the school brochure, now he slips-in the words traditional, conservation and heritage at every opportunity.’
‘Well, these days IT and heritage do rather complement each other, now speed is no longer of the essence.’
‘I’d never thought of it like that.’ As if on cue, a distant steam whistle could be heard. ‘So, what have you laid on for us?’
‘Well, I know what was planned, whether it will materialise I’m not at all sure. There is a strict weight restriction on the branch line river bridge leaving the town at the moment. And of course, as part of the deal with so called Great British Railways we had to cede control of signalling to Swindon of all places.’
‘Good lord! Still, I hear work on the bridge is proceeding apace.’
‘Indeed, managed to bounce the Environment Agency into action by having our own dredger on site inside three days. Ten days later the inspection of the base of the pillars was done. They were fine of course, but what wasn’t anticipated was the amount of silt we ended-up shifting out to sea. It seems by doing just that small section it has changing the course of the river downstream.’
‘My word!’
‘Yes, word has it that the draft that can reach the old town quay has increased considerably, the pleasure boaters are ecstatic...’ Suddenly it seemed the whole crowd before us were elated too, pupils and hangers-on. Cheering followed by applause, as the single coach with the little tank locomotive behind, hoved into view before coming to a halt just short of the new crossing.
‘It’s the real thing!’
‘Naturally, a genuine Great Western push-pull unit, a 14XX class loco preceded by an auto coach. Quite fragile these days, so normally only on static display, but for a special occasion, and a photo opportunity.’
‘Oh! You’ve done us proud.’
‘Do my eyes deceive me Headmaster, or are the girls as enthusiastic as the boys?’
‘I do believe you're right! I must be careful what I say, but that does seem a little suspicious to me.’
‘Boys and girls are different you mean?’
‘Yes, the girls have been a great source of concern of late.’
‘Really?’
‘We foolishly allowed a referendum over uniforms; the girls voted overwhelmingly for skirts! There are light refreshments to be had in the cricket pav, walk with me a moment my dear fellow, and I’ll explain all.’
‘You intrigue me strangely.’
‘Libraries become over time, great betrayers of the past. Is Ronald Searle a name to you?’
‘Of course, a true hero, survivor of the Japanese war camps.’
‘Exactly! The first thing you mention is the camps; the rest of his life cannot be fully appreciated unless you understand that.’
‘Agreed.’
‘A few years ago, a girl came across a volume of Searle’s collected cartoons in the library, the book circulated like wildfire, memes were unleashed. In the end I was forced to confiscate it. But I noticed it was a first edition, with a signed inscription by the author, enquiries were made, it turned out it had been donated by the boy who had solicited it, when he left the school.’
‘A valuable item.’
‘Indeed, so much so we put it in a display case in the hall alongside our other memorabilia. Alas, unintended consequences again. It has become something of a shrine.’
‘Dedicated to the goddess St. Trinian no doubt.’
‘Oh dear, I see Ms. Sparkwell has moved on to snapping the girls lounging with their elbows on the new fencing, I wonder if that’s wise?’
‘I can keep such pics out of the mag, if they turn out less than tasteful, sir.’
‘Would you? It’s just that, you can be sure every last one of those girls has made a close study of your companion’s podcast!’
The following day I was going about my early morning routine as usual, upstairs in the media room, pre-coffee as it were, when Sparkwell silently shimmered into the presence. With the absence of post on most days, she’d taken to delivering, on her silver salver, a bottle of the Crawford Park spa water, along with a gleaming clean glass containing a slice of fresh lemon. This meagre refreshment was intended to sustain me until eleven o’clock! Still, I appreciated the clink of glass on glass and the clunk of glass on silverware.
‘Frau Gruber has invited herself for morning coffee, sir?’
‘And what does she want?’
‘She did not confide in me, sir, merely enquired as to whether you were at home.’
We all assembled in the reception room at the appointed hour. After slightly perfunctory greetings, Charlie said; ‘Coffee?’
‘Wait a moment Charlotte, if you would. I’ll come straight to the point, Wieck is dead.’
‘Good lord.’
‘Blimey!’
‘Happened some time ago apparently. I was only told about it last week, a day before the funeral. Died at that awful flat of his, in a big old house just off from Worcester Shrub Hill station. Place used to be full of hippies as I remember. No accounting for taste.’
‘You were in the habit of visiting?’ I enquired.
‘Cover for Daddy, young niece being accompanied on visit to kindly uncle.’
‘Ken said once, the best assets are often quite unaware of what they are.’
‘Knock it off. The thing is, they’ve asked me to take over, as go-between, in whatever this business is you have with the security services, Barmy approves.’
‘I see.’
‘The message is, you’ll receive a package in the next few days, bundle of A4 paper. Once you’ve digested the documents, I’m to set up a meeting, somewhere neutral, somewhere secure. I’m told that if you’re content, you’ll hand over, whatever it is they can’t get their hands on.’
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