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Here’s The full version of Train Travel Tale #47 Mimico.
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Mimico
The train track hugs the coast like a coddled infant as it skirts bays, coves, inlets and headlands. At some points, trains run so close to beaches that it is possible to watch people paddling, beach combing or throwing sticks for excited dogs to chase after into the surf.
As a spur line off the main Inter City route, I am surprised that it is still going after all these years, whittled as it is to just a train from Big Town to Home Town in the morning and from Home Town to Big Town in the late afternoon. But the line thrives in its small understated way. Passengers know each other by first name, can always get a seat and even chat with the Guard enquiring after loved ones and mutual acquaintances.
I was going home after a few days in Big Town where I work in a hotel. I’d also visited the dentist for my annual check-up. Got the all clear.
Not a lot goes on in Home Town. In fact nothing of note goes on, unless you count the ice cream van doing its rounds each Thursday. And that is only during the summer. I love the van’s Greensleeves jingle and nearly always treat myself to a 99.
The only other passengers sharing the carriage with me were an elderly couple sitting several rows in front.
The first stop on the line, Tiddle was soon reached. There was a human statue on the platform. The ability to stand still for hours at a time is a highly under rated skill in my opinion. As the train drew to a halt I noticed that it was The Statue of Liberty, my favorite statue.
A woman was standing on the platform. She unfurled an umbrella, even though rain wasn’t forecast and gingerly walked in a straight line, her face gripped with concentration as she carefully slid one foot directly in front of the other.
She would teeter and wobble, using the umbrella to help her balance. I was nervous for her, at one point hiding my face in my hands as she tottered violently for several seconds. Finally she stopped and flourished her brolly triumphantly to signal the success of her ground level high wire walking act.
She walked back to her starting point to repeat her actions. As the train pulled away and rounded the infamous Tiddle bend, I saw her teetering precariously once more. I worried for her.
A man appeared in the carriage. Rouge had been applied to his cheeks and liner daubed haphazardly around his eyes. A battered straw hat sat askew on his head. He was carrying a heavy load, invisible to the human eye. He came to a halt at row Row 45, opposite me, stood on the seat and heaved the invisible suitcase into the overhead shelf, jiggling with it to ensure it was safely stowed. Stepping down, he pulled out an imaginary cloth, pedantically dusted his seat with it and then sat, protecting the crease in his trousers as he did so.
He smiled at me and mopped his brow with the faux handkerchief to signify his labours. I noticed a piece of sweet corn stuck between his front teeth.
Once comfortable in the seat, he unfurled what appeared to be a newspaper. Of the transparent variety. He licked his right index finger to turn the pages and sighed with outrage at the information contained within.
My gaze returned to the sea, where I watched a small mackerel smack puttering its way towards Tiddle’s compact harbor.
My attention was drawn away from the mackerel smack, which had begun to list heavily, by a woman who had appeared at the entrance to the carriage. She too wore white foundation and poorly applied black eyeliner and was dragging rather theatrically, a large invisible load behind her. My neighbor peered over the top of his newspaper to watch.
As befits a gentleman I stood up.
“Would you like some help?” I said.
“Thank you, most kind.” She smiled. There was a pea stuck between her front teeth.
The imaginary suitcase was much heavier than it looked and I struggled to stow it in the overhead rack, jiggling with it repeatedly to ensure a secure stowing had indeed been effected. After I had managed to do so, I dabbed my forehead with a faux handkerchief. She nodded her thanks, sat and became engrossed in imaginary knitting; casting off and pearling like a good ‘un. I think it was a scarf or maybe the arm of a jumper or cardigan. I could not be sure.
I felt a twinge in my back as a result of my muscular chivalry. Been a martyr to my back since an early age.
I looked out to Sea and noticed that the spot where once a Smack puttered homeward, was now merely a glut of dead mackerel floating on the water’s surface. Gulls swarmed around this unexpected feast. The crew were now confined to Davey Jones Locket. Or is it Locker? I always get the two mixed up!
We pulled into Piddle Station, where another human statue was located on the platform. It was Napoleon. My favorite tyrant. The artiste bore an uncanny resemblance to the pudgy faced Corsican.
A woman boarded at Piddle. She spoke, “There, there Geoffrey, I’ll feed you in a minute.”
The woman wore rouge, eyeliner and also a shiny red clown’s nose. She carefully guided an imaginary pushchair down the aisle and spoke softly to its occupant, presumably Baby Geoffrey. Who was invisible.
She sat near the elderly couple and carefully picked up Invisible Baby Geoffrey, cooing to him, even bouncing the tot up and down, smiling as she did so. There was a baked bean stuck between her teeth. The old couple joined in and all three of them pulled strange faces and made gurgling noises at the fantasy infant.
“Do you mind if I feed him?” the woman asked.
“Not at all!” replied the old woman, although the old man flushed when it became apparent that Invisible Baby Geoffrey was still on the breast.
The old man looked at his wife and exclaimed, “Maureen look, the child carries the number of the beast!”
The skies blackened for a fleeting moment as Invisible, possibly satanic, Baby Geoffrey stared at me. If I could have seen his face no doubt I would have been very shaken.
Luckily, things settled down and the train rumbled along. The clouds were darkening further out to Sea and the terrain turned rockier and harsher. Inland was the old quarry and the ancient stone circle near Squelch where local legend tells of human sacrifices being carried out as recently as last Wednesday.
We drew into Widdle station to be greeted by the ghoulish apparition of another human statue, a dust ridden headless spectral with rusted chains sprouting around its legs and dripping from its arms. It was a very impressive display, the best one yet. I wondered where the performer’s head was in the costume and how he or she kept cool in hot weather.
A teenage girl, wearing rouge, eye liner and a clown’s nose stood on the platform. She was holding a dog lead. With no dog attached. The lead busied itself around the ghoul’s plinth.
She greeted the elderly couple as they left the train. The man was still red faced from his dalliance with a breast and a potential satan whilst the woman bent down and petted the lead saying, “Hello Bobby, you do look well!” They walked toward the station exit with Invisible Bobby dragging its owner along.
The train guard appeared shortly after departing Widdle. He was a tall powerfully built man, his hams in particular were a sight, dressed in an ill-fitting liveried suit. He checked the imaginary ticket of my neighbor and handed it back with a smile.
I decided to hold out an imaginary ticket for inspection.
“Sorry sir, this ticket is no good.”
“Why not?” I asked. I had a real ticket in my pocket and wished I had not been so cocky now. My neighbor rattled his translucent newspaper with purposeful indignation at my fare dodging antics.
“This takes you only as far as Piddle, two stops back. I’m afraid you’re going to have to pay a penalty fare.”
“How much?”
“Thirty pounds.”
I thought this a bit steep but looking at his stern features and enormous hams I knew there was little point in arguing. But I had an idea………
“Thanks very much sir, here’s your ticket.” The Guard handed me an invisible ticket along with a crisp real ten pound note as change for the two imaginary twenty pound notes I had handed him.
One born every minute I mused.
The Guard moved on and stopped to talk to the knitting woman, still furiously casting off. They spent a few moments in conversation before she held her design up against The Guard’s thick set arms. Perhaps her bogus knitting was for him? The color certainly suited him. But alas I never found out. It still rankles.
A voice, Ghostly, almost ghastly to the human ear then filled the Carriage. We all turned our heads to see the evil being that uttered these sounds. The voice was accompanied by the sound of heavy chains rattling their miserable tone. A smell of rotting flesh pervaded. The wraith’s voice grew louder as it neared and spelled out its doom laden message, “Hot drinks…….snacks…….. beverages……….peanuts?”
It was the headless Ghoul from Widdle station, mimicking the act of pushing a heavy trolley. The Ghoul had donned a vivid red waistcoat which bore the title “Andy – Customer Service Assistant.”
My neighbor stopped him, “Tea please Andy, Everything OK?”
“Fine thanks, El Mystico. Running around like a headless chicken this morning.” He went about his business with relish, pouring imaginary liquid into a nonexistent cup, although how he saw, being headless was beyond me.
“Milk and sugar?”
“Yes please.”
“Be careful it is very hot.”
El Mystico blew into his tea to cool it before taking a sip.
On the Ghoul trundled on, calling out in that beastly voice if anyone else wanted comestibles, the heavy chains scuffing the floor.
My bladder nearly gave out with the excitement, so I traipsed to the toilet in the adjoining carriage. A Charlie Chaplin lookalike doffed his tattered bowler and waddled up to me in that famous comic gait. He offered a cheeky grin before tripping over some invisible object only to be saved by hooking the armrest of a nearby seat with his walking cane. He repeated this several times until it became a tad tiresome.
The toilet was being vacated by a man painted silver, sporting a Tricorn hat and wearing Eighteenth Century costume. I had no idea who he was depicting, but the cubicle reeked of cigarette smoke and he had not flushed his ablutions. I gave him a beady stare as I stepped over the prone Charlie Chaplin and returned to my seat.
The train rumbled through the stations of Tinkledrop, Bladderton and Tapper, where the mother and Invisible, possibly satan, Baby Geoffrey alighted. Andy, the Headless Ghoul Customer Service Assistant adopted a pose on each station platform presumably hoping he could earn a bob or two from passers by.
It was in the Tapper tunnel, now less than five minutes from home that I caught my reflection in the carriage window. My face had rouge and eyeliner roughly applied and cabbage had become stuck between my teeth. Feeling liberated from the strictures of the Oral World, I stood and pretended to climb a rope and then, despite my back injury, aped shuffling along a wall, towards the woman to enquire if she needed help with her luggage again.
“Thank you, most kind,” She said. We smiled at each other revealing the trapped vegetable matter between our teeth. I watched her stow her invisible knitting away.
“That’s coming along nicely.”
“Thank you, most kind.” She failed to tell me for whom the finished garment was intended. It still rankles.
The train pulled into our destination. Mimehead Station.
I walked to the Station car park. I don’t own a car, but in the world of The Mimico all that matters is imagination and a reasonably believable body position.
So, I fired up the Lamborghini and sped off to buy an ice cream from the van, humming Greensleeves as I drove.
I Hope You Enjoyed The Story – here is a musical interlude
