The Ticket Collector

‘Find a job you enjoy doing, and you will never have to work a day in your life.’ – Mark Twain

“People these days are always so focused on their destination that they forget to enjoy the journey.” – Wilfred Perkins Senior, 1911.

There had been a Perkins working the mainline route for as long as there had been trains, that’s what Fred’s Pa always said.

“It’s in our blood, lad. Our hearts run on steam and coal dust. As long as there’s a tender as needs stoking, there’ll be a Perkins to do the job.”

It broke his heart, the day the last steam train retired. 40 years on the footplate, and suddenly the world had lost its damn mind. Now everything was diesel this and electric that. A driver could read a paper if he had half a mind to, with how automated everything had become.

Still, diesel trains were still trains, and Fred Jr. was still a Perkins, so as soon as he turned 15 he went to work for the railway. Made his way up through the ranks from tea boy to ticket collector, if you please. Would have been a driver, were it not for being colour blind. Sometimes Harry let him ride in the engine though, when the passengers were all dropped off for the night. He’d never be a millionaire on his salary, but he counted himself the richest of men just the same. He loved his job almost as much as his wife and kids.

Today was no different from any other, it was still dark when they set off for the first station. He poured himself a cuppa from a large thermos flask and opened his lunchbox, hoping for a biscuit or two to go with it. Anita usually made sure there was something sugary to get him through the morning.

Stuck to the lid was a pink heart-shaped post-it note. He smiled to see his wife’s sprawling handwriting:-

Good morning, my love. Hope you slept well. I’ve got a hairdresser’s appointment this afternoon, thought I’d try a shorter style for a change. So don’t be surprised if you don’t recognize me tonight! Have a nice day, sweetie. I miss you already, xxx

Soppy old Anita. They’d been married 3 decades and she still put these little love notes in his lunch every day. There was some of her famous homemade shortbread, too. Just the ticket.

The train whistle blew, heading into a tunnel. Fred chewed slowly and thought about the day ahead. A full schedule, all the way to the end of the line, then the non-stop back home again. Anita would probably be tucked up in bed when he got in – he’d have to remember to compliment her new hair in the morning.

The station platform was bustling with families saying tearful goodbyes and waving the passengers off. Fred straightened his hat, dusted crumbs from his lap and grabbed the ticket machine, hanging it around his neck. Time and trains wait for no man, he muttered as he left the guard van and prepared to make his first pass down the train.

In the First Class carriage a pale young woman struggled with a newfangled baby carriage. She looked flustered, a plump-faced baby balanced on one hip as she fought with the folding mechanism.

“Let me help with that, Miss,” Fred stepped in, finding the buttons that sent the pram folding in on itself like a concertina.

“Thank you!” She said gratefully.

“All part of the service,” he told her cheerfully. “Now which seat are you in? Let me help get you two settled in.”

“Um… 3b, I think.” She rummaged through her purse for her ticket.

“Oh, that’s a good one, perfectly positioned near to the disabled bathroom. There’s a changing table in there, for your littlun.”

She looked confused. “I don’t think I packed a nappy bag, I was in such a hurry to make the train.”

The baby cooed and curled her hair around its pudgy fingers.

Fred scratched his head. “I can have a look in lost property, we’ll figure something out, don’t you worry.”

“You’re so kind. I’m taking Alfie to visit my mother, he’s her first grandchild. She doesn’t know I’m coming, it was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I haven’t seen her in years.”

“Well, she’ll be made up to see you! This littl'un will steal her heart in an instant. Bonnie wee lad that he is.” He punched a hole in her ticket, handing it back. “I’ll be by in a bit to check on you both. Enjoy the ride, Ma’am.”

He moved along towards the couple entering the far end of the carriage. They were bickering loudly.

“I told you we didn’t need to drive that fast, Malcolm. You never listen. I feel a migraine coming on, after all your crazy racing.” She sat down in a window seat, fanning herself with a Lady’s Own magazine.

He scowled, trying to jam a set of matching Louis Vuitton suitcases into the gap between the chairs. “You overpacked, as always. Probably have to buy an extra seat for all your stuff.”

“I overpacked?! You brought your golf bag, for goodness’ sake! Who brings golf clubs on a city break?”

“I’m more likely to need them than you are to use that ridiculous hat you bought. Unless there’s a royal wedding I haven’t heard about.”

Fred approached them confidently. He was well used to dealing with grumpy toffs.

“Tickets please, Sir.” He held out an expectant hand.

Malcolm swatted it away. “Yes, yes, in a minute, man!” He snapped. “Give me a hand with this case, won’t you? It’s giving me the devil of a time.”

Fred winced as the man tried to kick the offending baggage into a gap clearly too small to accommodate it.

“If you’ll permit me, sir, I can take your luggage to the guard van, it’ll be safe in there and no danger to the other passengers.”

“Other passengers? This is First Class, man! Hardly anyone here.”

“Oh no, that won’t do at all. Somebody might steal it – my clothes are irreplaceable – Milan couture, you know. No, I won’t hear of it being out of my sight. You tell him, Malcolm.” She clutched at the black pearl necklace around her scrawny neck.

“You heard her! The case stays with us. Happy wife, happy life – am I right?” He handed Fred a folded five pound note and winked.

Fred shook his head indignantly. “I can’t take this, sir! But if nobody else comes for the seats opposite, your cases can go there. Now if I can just see your tickets…”

“Where are the blasted things, Julia?” Malcolm said gruffly, patting his jacket pockets.

“In the Hermes bag, back pocket,” Julia replied, too focused on her phone screen to look herself.

Fred sighed. Why was it always the First Class passengers that gave him the most trouble?

***

The rest of the carriages were thankfully quiet today. A teenager of indeterminate gender slumped in a corner, headphones blaring loud enough that Fred could hear the baseline thumping. He had to tap them on the shoulder to get their attention.

“Tickets, please…” he said.

They tossed their head, purple bangs parting just enough to reveal a shy pair of grey-green eyes.

“You’re going uptown?” Fred asked gently.

“Yeah, it’s my first time. I’ve never been so far from home before.” They seemed younger when they spoke, reminded him of his son James when he was a lad.

“Well, you’ll have a grand time, I’ll be bound. Won’t have time to be homesick at all.” He handed the ticket back with a smile. “If you need anything on the journey, though, just give me a shout. I’ll be up and down all day.”

Fred moved on, the swaying carriage barely causing him to stumble. Trains were like ships, he always said. Just gotta find your train legs. Green fields rushed by at a tremendous pace, the comforting rattatatta rattatatta of the wheels like a beloved friend.

A frail older lady sat alone at a table, her eyes watery.

“Hullo, Madam, are you alright?” he asked her, concern furrowing his brow.

“Oh! Oh, yes, yes I think so,” she said shakily. “Only I don’t quite remember where I am, or where I’m going to.”

Fred sat down opposite her, smiling reassuringly. “Well, let’s see if we can figure it out together, shall we?” He took the ticket clasped tightly in her hand, the skin so thin he could see her blue veins snaking beneath.

“Let’s see… ah yes, you’re going right to the end of the line. That’s good, I can help you off when we get there. Do you have anyone waiting to meet you?”

“I… I don’t know.” She dabbed her eyes on a lacey handkerchief. “It’s all so confusing, and I’m so tired.”

Fred patted her hand gently. “Well, no need to worry now, dear. How about I fetch you a nice cup of tea and then you can have a rest… I’m sure you’ll feel much better for a little nap.”

She sniffled and nodded. “I think I’d like that,” she said quietly. “Yes… some tea and a rest… I wish my Reggie was here.”

“Is that your husband, Missus?”

“Yes, my Reggie. Childhood sweethearts, we were.” She took out a crumpled photo from her handbag.

A dapper looking young couple in wedding attire stared up at him in sepia tones.

“My what a beauty you were! Reggie’s lucky, to be sure.”

She smiled. “I was the lucky one. Reggie was so good to me, so sweet natured. He could always make me laugh.” She sighed, folding the photo back up and shutting her purse. “He’s been gone so long, now. I barely remember the sound of his voice.”

“It’ll come back to you,” Fred reassured her. “You’ll hear him again, I know it.”

Her eyes were closing, her head listing to the side, leaning against the window.

“Sleep well, dear,” he said softly, punching her ticket and slipping it back into her bag.

***

After lunch he sat for a while, watching the clouds float over the British countryside, their shadows colouring the barley fields a deep golden brown. They passed over a river, and he waved to a couple of school children, catching minnows in a fishing net to take home in their glass jam jars. Fred wondered what Anita was doing now, what she’d had for her lunch. He’d been working long hours recently, hadn’t taken her out on the town for far too long. The old gal deserved an excuse to get her glad rags on, show off that new hair-do. He thought of Reggie and his blushing bride, now fast asleep in car J. Life was too short, too short by far. He resolved to call her after his shift, promise her a trip to Margate for the bank holiday weekend. Relive their honeymoon all over again. The memories made him blush – Anita in that white lace negligee, her auburn curls spread across the pillow. Her hair was greying now, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t make some new memories together.

He walked back through the carriages, pausing to hand a nappy and a pack of wipes to the lady with the baby. He was snuffling contentedly on his Mama’s chest, delicate eyelashes curling against his rosy cheeks.

Fred was relieved to see that Malcolm and Julia had quit their squabbling. Now they were eating Waitrose prawn sandwiches on whole wheat, and gossiping about their neighbours.

In the last carriage he saw a passenger he hadn’t noticed before – a young child. Couldn’t have been older than nine, a dark mop of wet hair and freckles across his sunburnt nose.

“Hullo, lad! Where’d you spring from, then?” Fred asked the boy.

“I dunno,” the kid replied. “I just woke up and I was here.”

Fred scratched his head. “Well, where’s your Ma and Pa then?”

“I’m all alone.” He didn’t seem scared, just a bit confused.

Fred sat down beside him. “Do you have a ticket? You need a ticket to ride this train.”

The boy looked in his pockets, pulling out a yoyo and a stick of bubble gum. No ticket, no money. How had he got passed the station turnstiles? He didn’t look like a fare dodger. It was a mystery.

“Well, where d’you live? Your parents will be worrying about you, we’d best make sure we get you home safe and sound.”

“12, Maple lane, Little Evesham,” the kid recited from memory. “We haven’t lived there long, but I like it. It’s got a swimming pool in the garden - not a paddling pool, an actual real-life swimming pool! I’m not s’posed to go near it unless there’s an adult, though. The water’s chilly, Mum never wants to come in with me. She says we’ll get it heated someday, but she says a lot of things and forgets. I don’t mind the cold, myself.”

“My, that does sound like fun. What’s your name? Maybe we can give your Mum a ring, see if she can come pick you up.”

“Charlie - Charlie Graham.” He held out a sticky hand for Fred to shake.

“Well I’m Mr. Perkins, but my friends call me Fred, and so can you. Don’t worry Charlie, we’ll get you home lickety-split to your parents. I bet they’re worried sick.”

“They’ll be mad at me,” Charlie's bottom lip wobbled. “They told me not to swim alone, but I didn’t listen. I knew it was forbidden, but I couldn’t resist. The water was so pretty and blue.”

Fred patted his hand. “I’m sure they’ll just be glad to see you’re safe. There’s always time to make things right, you’ll see. They’ll forgive you.”

Charlie cheered up a bit. “Will you tell them? Tell them I didn’t mean to be bad?”

“You can tell them yourself, kid. We’re nearly at the station.” Fred stood up, straightening his hat.

“You’re not coming with me?” the boy asked him.

“Me?” Fred said in surprise. “Oh, deary me, no. I’m in this for the long haul. All the way to the end of the line – time and trains wait for no man. But you tell those parents of yours I said hi, and not to be too hard on you. You’re a good kid. And mind you don’t go boarding my train again without a ticket, you wee rascal!”

The boy nodded, and stood up as the train pulled into the station. Fred waved him off from the doorway, before heading back to First Class ready for the next set of passengers. He met all kinds with his job, but never for very long. He sighed. Maybe it was about time to pack it in – spend more time with Anita now the kids were grown. There’d be grandkids along in a year or two, another generation of Perkins to share his love of the railway with.

The train jerked into motion, picking up speed as it headed out into the countryside once again. Another beautiful afternoon. He whistled as he picked up his ticket machine and went back to work.

***

There was a buzz of excitement on the ward as Anita entered that evening. The Graham boy had woken up – a miracle. She’d held Mrs. Graham in her arms several times over the last week as she sobbed over her child, hooked up to breathing machines and heart monitors. He’d been swimming in their new pool, hit his head on the bottom. Underwater no more than a few minutes before his mother found him, but the prognosis had been bleak. Anita certainly hadn’t expected to find him sitting up in his bed this afternoon.

“Oh, my goodness!” She said with a wide grin as she walked past his bed. “Charlie Graham! I’ve heard so much about you. I’m so happy you’re feeling better.”

Charlie’s Mum flashed Anita a smile that she recognized well – a smile of joy after great despair, of newfound appreciation for life.

“That’s Mrs. Perkins, Charlie,” she told the kid. “She’s been helping us while you were so poorly.”

Charlie looked up and beamed broadly. “I know who she is. Mr. Perkins helped me find my way back again! On his train, you know. Fred’s a ticket collector, but he said I couldn’t stay because I didn’t have a ticket. He was real nice to me, Mum. Let me try on his hat and everything.”

Anita’s heart quickened. “You met Fred?” She asked the boy, a hungry look crossing her face.

“Yeah. On the train, I just told you,” he said with frustration.

“He doesn’t mean anything by it, Anita. Probably just a dream,” Mrs. Graham soothed, shooting her son a warning glance to be quiet.

“But Fred is a ticket collector! Well, he was… he’d have retired this year, if it hadn’t been for the derailment last winter. He’s been in a coma ever since…”

She hurried over to her husband’s bedside, pressing his hand in her own. “Fred, wake up! Wake up! It’s time to come home.” But nothing happened, only the rattattatta rattattatta of the ventilator. Tears welled in her eyes, and she sat down beside him. She knew she should be glad he hadn’t died, like so many others in that fiery crash. Or like the young pregnant lady the nurses had been talking about earlier, dead before she even got to hold her son, the boy so perfect and beautiful, yet gone before his first breath. That wealthy couple the radio had spoken of this morning, who crashed their Bentley – took a corner too fast on their way to town. Or the teenager with cancer, so pale and gaunt in the newspaper photo, their last wish to raise money for all the other children still battling with the awful disease. So much death and sadness in the world, she shouldn’t complain.

After all, Fred was still here, and as long as his heart still beat in his chest, there was hope. She just had to keep the faith. Keep visiting, twice a day. Keep her spirits up.

She stroked his cheek, thinner these days, without all her shortbread to fatten him up. She wished she could look into his gentle brown eyes, closed now for so long.

“Hullo, Fred, love. Do you like my new hair-do?” She asked.