The train from London had been held up for the best part of an hour somewhere between Grantham and Retford. There was no information about what had happened or was being done about it. The passengers tried to peer into the pitch-black night outside but saw only their own anxious reflections. It was clear to those intending to travel on towards Harrogate that the last train on the little branch line would have gone long before they could get to York. Just before they at last arrived, an announcement told them to report to the information kiosk. Four people presented themselves there.
Callum and his wife Gill were on their way to a weekend break in Harrogate, Fiona was coming home to Knaresborough after an exhausting day visiting the blockbuster art exhibitions in London, and Don was returning from a short business trip to Brussels. The passengers who flooded out of York station had commandeered all the taxis, so the four were told they would have to wait until a suitable one returned to take them on to their destinations. They were directed to a waiting room where pleasantries were exchanged, alongside less pleasant observations about the train company. While the others stayed alert for any sign of progress, Gill buried her head in her book – the Rough Guide to Yorkshire. She was enjoying planning her and Callum’s sight-seeing itinerary to get the most out of their first visit to the home, so she read, of Betty’s and Stray FM.
The two men repeatedly looked up and down the now empty platforms. Fiona broke the painful silence. “I’m sure it won’t be long now.” “It had better not be,” said Don. “I’ve got to get ready to go off to a wedding very early tomorrow, so every minute counts. It’s always the same. Why don’t they keep a couple of taxis in reserve? But no, they just let them all be taken so we have to suffer.” Fiona felt the need to defend the anonymous railway minions. “I expect they do their best, but if there aren’t quite enough taxis to go round…” she stopped mid-sentence when she sensed that the others didn’t appreciate her point of view, or was it perhaps her rather squeaky voice? She’d become self-conscious about it after overhearing a comment in the staff-room one day, and had tried during the summer holidays to change it, but frightened herself with the results.
Callum made a pantomime of tearing at his hair, and launched into a story about a very long delay he and Gill had been involved in one time in Bristol. Fiona thought it was very funny the way he told it, and all the more so when, demonstrating how he’d shooed a stray dog out of Temple Meads station, he accidentally knocked over a stand full of leaflets advertising Yorkshire attractions. Don didn’t appreciate the funny side so much. “You had to stay overnight? I hope you insisted on the best hotel. Believe me, if we’re here another five minutes I shall be demanding that they lay on some food in the Royal rather than keeping us waiting in this scruffy hole.” “Best hotel? – well, that’s another story,” said Callum and began to tell it. It appeared that he’d kept the stranded travellers up all night exposing the horrors of some outrageously pretentious Bristol B&B.
His wife put aside her book. “Don’t exaggerate so, Callum. It was nowhere near as bad as you make out.” “Nowhere near the station either!” rejoined Callum, stretching his arms so wide to illustrate this that a button popped off his coat. “Take no notice,” Gill told the others, chasing the button as it rolled into a corner. “That hotel was hardly 500 metres away – well, 750, and if it had happened to be on the same side of the inner ring road that would have knocked 5 minutes easily off the walk.”
“But put up in a hotel? It won’t come to that tonight, surely?” said Fiona, thinking that it well might as there was no sign of the taxi. She actually quite fancied the idea, a nice change from her little flat above a vaping shop on Knaresborough High Street.
Don examined his watch. “We’ll see! I’m going to speak to the stationmaster in – check – three minutes”. He nearly fell over Gill who was on her knees retrieving the scattered leaflets and had found several advertising attractions which could possibly be incorporated in their weekend if they ever got to Harrogate. Some others she noticed would be applicable if they did end up staying in York at the train company’s expense. It was good to have a Plan B.
“Aha!” Callum was first to see a uniformed member of the station staff hurrying towards the waiting room. “The relief of Mafeking! Cheer up, one and all!” Don was a little disappointed that he might not after all have his expected confrontation with the stationmaster, but he would make sure that they got their rights, in full and without prejudice.
“There’s a taxi outside now, ladies and gentlemen, but I’m afraid only for three. Of course we expect another soon as, but if you can decide who’s going in this one…”.
“Only three?” said Gill. “ What model of taxi is it?” She did a quick calculation of the total volume of their bags and cases. “Granted we’ve got to fit the luggage in too, but even if it’s a saloon we should all be able to squeeze in.” “Definitely only three, madam; he’s already got one fare going to Whixley who’s agreed to share, especially since Virgin’s going to pay.” “How kind,” said Fiona. “Well, why don’t you three go ahead? and I’ll take the next one.”
They all demurred. Callum expressed the general feeling but not perhaps in the most appropriate way; “No, no! We don’t want a defenceless young lady like yourself left to the mercy of the dossers that hang about the station – or the attentions of a dodgy taxi driver, come to that!” “For goodness sake, Callum!” Gill put her hand on Fiona’s shoulder. “He talks rubbish, but you should go in this taxi. Go with this gentleman,” – indicating Don – “and we’ll wait.”
Don had other and, he considered, better ideas. “Absolutely not! You three go ahead and I’ll see to it that I’m properly compensated for the extra inconvenience.”
“But you need to get home urgently; I don’t,” said Gill. Her voice had risen a little higher as she attempted to assert herself. Callum’s reference to her as a ‘young’ lady had not escaped her notice and it had boosted her confidence. “I’m not in a hurry at all. And don’t worry about me, I’m sure I can look after myself.”
The others weren’t so sure, but this time Callum made an effort to restrain his over-colourful language. To Don he said, “Now look – you’ve got a wedding to get to. You get off now, and and we three’ll follow in a little while.”
Don never liked to give way, but he realised he’d better give up on this one, or the taxi might leave without any of them. “Good night then. And good luck.” He grabbed his cases and dashed out.
After a second taxi failed to arrive in the next half hour, the three remaining agreed to the company’s offer of very nice rooms for the night at the Royal Hotel, with unlimited room service. Over a nightcap in the lounge bar, Gill was able to quiz Fiona about the attractions of Knaresborough, and get her other recommendations for a productive weekend visit. Callum got up early to march twice round the city walls before breakfast, imagining he was an important Roman. At about the same time that the three sat down to a complimentary full Yorkshire breakfast, solid silver coffee pots and all, a furious Don rattled his suitcase into Bishop Monkton. The taxi driver had dropped him at Kirk Hammerton station, and only as he walked up the deserted country lane to where his car was parked on the verge had he realised that his man-bag, with keys, phone, wallet and everything useful, was still on the back seat of the cab.
Chris Short November 2016