Hello!
Here’s another Train Travel Tale for you to read. It will be in three parts. the BIG NEWS is that the title is a Spanish word!
Ole!
I hope you enjoy 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.
