Read Online The Necropolis Railway by Andrew Martin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Andrew Martin
Tags: Mystery
Ads: Link
first I thought there was something the matter with his face but this turned out to be his moustache.
'Sir Roger,' said the Governor in an under-breath.
The arrival of Sir Roger White-Chester had an electrifying effect on the shed. He came in shouting, 'Very good, very good!' and yet all the blokes in the shed had disappeared from view. He caught one poor bloke who was pushing a barrow-load of rags, though, and quizzed him about something before setting off again with his 'Very goods!' which echoed all about in what you'd have thought was an empty shed.
'What does any man who's up to the mark have to fear from talking to him?' I asked the Governor.
'Do you want me to introduce you?' he said.
It was fortunate - for I certainly did not want to be introduced - that White-Chester turned around at that moment and walked back towards daylight and his Bug. The aim, I supposed, was not that he would see others but that others would see him, and stop their slackness as a result.
At three o'clock or so I was sweeping the footplate of Bampton Thirty-One - which was like Twenty-Nine, only red - when Barney Rose came for it. I first spotted him coming through the shed towards me with the Governor and Mike, but when I looked again there was only Mike with him, and that toothy fellow leapt into the cab while Rose called out, 'Fancy a trip?'
'I'm sure I do,' I said, and straight away went bright red. This was very unexpected after all the surliness of earlier days. Alone of all the cleaners in the shed I didn't work in a gang, and I was desperate for company.
After we'd coupled up to two blank, black carriages and two passenger carriages, neither of which I got a proper look at, and finally got ourselves untangled from the Nine Elms sidings, I felt as if I'd been living in that shed around the clock for years. I had forgotten how blue the sky could be. As we rolled along the top of the black viaducts, we were level with the roofs of the houses, among which great factories squatted, like giants sitting down among pygmies.
Rose took it pretty easy on the footplate, never looking at the fire, not seeming too bothered about steam pressure, saying hardly anything to Mike. Seeing a fellow like Barney Rose at the regulator was like marvelling at a ship in a bottle: you couldn't understand how it had come about.
I realised that very likely I was only on this trip because the Governor had ordered it, but Rose was pretty friendly towards me, just as he had been on my first day - friendlier than he was towards Mike. He said that he couldn't believe anybody who came from Yorkshire was not a great hand with bat and ball. He wouldn't look me in the eye, though, I did notice that.
Mike was amiable too, but all wrong about the footplate. As he shovelled, he spilt coal everywhere - kept stumbling on the lumps like a drunk - and he just kept piling the stuff on, sending the steam pressure through the roof. He wasn't right in his looks, either, which is probably why I couldn't stop staring at him. With most people, you never see the teeth; with others you see nothing but. Mike was one of the others.
I left off staring with Rose's next remark: 'We're off up to the Necropolis station at Waterloo,' he said. 'What we've got on here are two hearse waggons and two passenger carriages, which will make up a funeral set for tomorrow.'
At last I was seeing the work of the half. 'Are there bodies inside the funeral carriages?' I said.
Rose grinned at that.
'We don't run the stiffs into the Necropolis station. We run them out. The trip is from the Necrop olis station to the Necropolis itself, which is at Brookwood in Surrey.' He knocked his pipe out on the regulator, sprinkling the baccy over his boots in his unparticular way as he asked: 'Now, Necropolis is a Greek word, and it means what, Mike?' He looked at his mate for the first time, who gave a sort of shrug. 'Boneyard, I expect,' said Mike.
'It's a terrible thing, this Board School
'Sir Roger,' said the Governor in an under-breath.
The arrival of Sir Roger White-Chester had an electrifying effect on the shed. He came in shouting, 'Very good, very good!' and yet all the blokes in the shed had disappeared from view. He caught one poor bloke who was pushing a barrow-load of rags, though, and quizzed him about something before setting off again with his 'Very goods!' which echoed all about in what you'd have thought was an empty shed.
'What does any man who's up to the mark have to fear from talking to him?' I asked the Governor.
'Do you want me to introduce you?' he said.
It was fortunate - for I certainly did not want to be introduced - that White-Chester turned around at that moment and walked back towards daylight and his Bug. The aim, I supposed, was not that he would see others but that others would see him, and stop their slackness as a result.
At three o'clock or so I was sweeping the footplate of Bampton Thirty-One - which was like Twenty-Nine, only red - when Barney Rose came for it. I first spotted him coming through the shed towards me with the Governor and Mike, but when I looked again there was only Mike with him, and that toothy fellow leapt into the cab while Rose called out, 'Fancy a trip?'
'I'm sure I do,' I said, and straight away went bright red. This was very unexpected after all the surliness of earlier days. Alone of all the cleaners in the shed I didn't work in a gang, and I was desperate for company.
After we'd coupled up to two blank, black carriages and two passenger carriages, neither of which I got a proper look at, and finally got ourselves untangled from the Nine Elms sidings, I felt as if I'd been living in that shed around the clock for years. I had forgotten how blue the sky could be. As we rolled along the top of the black viaducts, we were level with the roofs of the houses, among which great factories squatted, like giants sitting down among pygmies.
Rose took it pretty easy on the footplate, never looking at the fire, not seeming too bothered about steam pressure, saying hardly anything to Mike. Seeing a fellow like Barney Rose at the regulator was like marvelling at a ship in a bottle: you couldn't understand how it had come about.
I realised that very likely I was only on this trip because the Governor had ordered it, but Rose was pretty friendly towards me, just as he had been on my first day - friendlier than he was towards Mike. He said that he couldn't believe anybody who came from Yorkshire was not a great hand with bat and ball. He wouldn't look me in the eye, though, I did notice that.
Mike was amiable too, but all wrong about the footplate. As he shovelled, he spilt coal everywhere - kept stumbling on the lumps like a drunk - and he just kept piling the stuff on, sending the steam pressure through the roof. He wasn't right in his looks, either, which is probably why I couldn't stop staring at him. With most people, you never see the teeth; with others you see nothing but. Mike was one of the others.
I left off staring with Rose's next remark: 'We're off up to the Necropolis station at Waterloo,' he said. 'What we've got on here are two hearse waggons and two passenger carriages, which will make up a funeral set for tomorrow.'
At last I was seeing the work of the half. 'Are there bodies inside the funeral carriages?' I said.
Rose grinned at that.
'We don't run the stiffs into the Necropolis station. We run them out. The trip is from the Necrop olis station to the Necropolis itself, which is at Brookwood in Surrey.' He knocked his pipe out on the regulator, sprinkling the baccy over his boots in his unparticular way as he asked: 'Now, Necropolis is a Greek word, and it means what, Mike?' He looked at his mate for the first time, who gave a sort of shrug. 'Boneyard, I expect,' said Mike.
'It's a terrible thing, this Board School