The Pre-Grouper's Literary Corner

[sem34090]

May I also add that my annotations here shall be done in bold italics, with 'Letters' and 'Telegrams' will appear like this in order to possibly convey a type-written appearance. Posts written as though spoken will be written like this.

 

Eustace Missenden

West Norfolk Railway Co. Ltd

Achingham Town Station Offices

Station Road

Achingham

Norfolk

Mr O'Doolight,

 

Whilst we do, of course, hear of your current affairs with great regret, this company cannot, unfortunately take on your good self in employment.

The reasoning behind this, possibly harsh, decision by the board of directors is based on our previous experiences of products manufactured at your Paltry Circus works in South London, namely the platform structures at Wolfringham, the Yard Office here at Achingham and the signal box controlling access to the Bishop's Lyn tramway have proven to be somewhat unsatisfactory to the extent of being entirely unfit for purpose. The pyramid shape is decidedly unsuitable for use in railway buildings, and this is no more present than in the aforementioned signalbox. Indeed, the company is frequently finding complaints from signalmen relating to, as one has put it and I quote "Oi bang'd me 'ead, so Oi ded". The shape has also caused the entire roof of the 'box' to be made almost entirely of glass. This is most troublesome, as the building proves to be very well chilled in the winter and akin to a greenhouse in the summer season.

 

Other products sold by your company have also proven to be troublesome. A petrol-powered railcar supplied early this year has yet to see more than thirty minutes in passenger service due to complaints and mechanical failings.

 

Despite all of this, however, the company is willing to provide you with a permanent place of residence. The accommodation available to you is situated here in Achingham near to the locomotive workshops. The lavatorial facilities here were recently improved and resited to the new offices here on Station Road. As such you are more than welcome to take on the, now disused, wooden Urinal building  as your own.

 

Kindest Regards,

 

Eustace Missenden, Secondary Locomotive Draughtsman and Tea-Maker - West Norfolk Railway Company

Edited April 6, 2018 by sem34090

[sem34090]

Col. David Bradleigh
Kelsby Light Railway Co. Ltd
Hewe Manor
Manor Road 
Hewe
Telham 
Ely
Cambridgeshire

Mr O'Doolight,

We here at the Kelsby Light Railway would however be willing to take you on in assisting with the construction of a station at Elmtree Heath. With so many of the other railwaymen laughing at us and the GER breathing down our necks we could use all the help we can get. 

Yours sincerely, 

Col. David Bradleigh, CBE, 2nd. Baronet Bradleigh, CEO and CME of the Kelsby Light Railway Co. Ltd.

P.S: Also remind Mr. Missenden that he still owes me for the card game we played when I visited the WNR last month. 

 

Edited April 6, 2018 by sem34090

[sem34090]

Eustace Missenden
West Norfolk Railway Co. Ltd
Achingham Town Station Offices
Station Road
Achingham
Norfolk

 

Baronet Bradleigh,

 

I have been informed by my special agents operating throughout Cambridgeshire, Norfolk and the County-to-which-one-durst-not-go that you have been sending correspondence to and have been receiving the same from a Mr O'Doolight, a one-time resident of the London Borough of Paltry. Whilst I appreciate your requirements for a civil engineer, may I warn you that both Mr O'Doolight and his company are not to be trusted with the construction of railway buildings. The structures erected at Wolfringham are not only unfit for purpose on account of their shape, but on account of their poor construction from London Brick. The buildings have proven to be a liability for the company, and should you be determined to have pyramid structures erected at Elmtree Heath the West Norfolk company hereby offer you the structures free from all charges, besides those for removal. Indeed, the company may even be willing to pay these on the behalf of the KLR.

 

On the grounds that the following remains unrecorded besides in this letter, I hereby offer my draughtsmanship services to the Kelsby Light Railway, free from all charges. I wish this to remain unrecorded for fear of causing upset and inconvenience for my current employer (and his association with the Great Eastern company). Whilst I may struggle with structures for your company, I am more than willing to attempt their drawing up. I also offer my services to your locomotive department.

 

Kindest Regards,

 

Eustace Missenden

[sem34090]

Mr. T. Doolight

The Shepherds Port Grand Hotel

(Public Bar, oak settle to the left of the hearth)

 

By Hand

 

S. Penworthy, Esq.

Secretary to the Rt . Hon. The Lord Erstwhile

Aching Hall

Norfolk 

Dear Sir,

 

His Lordship directs me to convey his greetings to you, and to express his hopes that this epistle will find you in good health and gainful employ.

 

I am further to inform you that, sensible of the signal services that you have, in past times, rendered to the Aching Hall Estate, the West Norfolk Farmers Association, the Norfolk Fish Oil & Guano Company, Norfolk Oilfields Limited and the West Norfolk Railway Company, to the almost discernable benefit of the local populace and the general increase in the trade and prosperity of the District, his Lordship expresses the hope that these various undertakings may depend upon the retention of your services in the future and that, if you do not find yourself too inconvenienced by the request, you will kindly present yourself at Aching Hall at your earliest convenience in order to discuss a Scheme of Improvement that concerns the erection of such edifices of a triangular nature as it may please his Lordship to commission from the Metropolitan Pyramid Company.

 

In the meanwhile, it is his Lordship's most earnest hope that you will do him the honour of accepting the purse herewith in the hands of the bearer of this letter as an advance upon your anticipated expenses.

 

Your Hon. & Obediant servant,

 

Sedulousity Penworthy

[sem34090]

Col. David Bradleigh
Kelsby Light Railway Co. Ltd
Hewe Manor
Manor Road 
Hewe
Telham 
Ely
Cambridgeshire

Mr Missenden,

Thank you for that enlightening piece of information. Maybe it is a good thing that you intercepted my post, even if the thought of you doing so fills me with quiet rage. I am a man who likes his privacy and I feel that whom I converse with is, generally, none of your damn business. Such nosing doesn't help but remind me of my late wife (God rest her soul.)
My intention for the station at Elmtree Heath was more something of the Gothic persuasion. I was in London recently admiring W. H. Barlow's masterpiece at Saint Pancras and thought to myself that I would like something along that bent. 

Your offer of help us is gladly accepted my man. Don't fret as this will be kept purely between us. I'm in enough hot water with the Great Eastern for daring to try building a railway in their domain without their say to risk exacerbating the situation. Your draughtsmanship will be much appreciated. 
Take care my friend. 

Yours sincerely, 

Col. David Bradleigh, CBE, 2nd. Baronet Bradleigh, CEO and CME of the Kelsby Light Railway Co. Ltd.

P.S: Remember the game, Eustace. 
P.S.S: By the by, do you know of any good nannies I can hire? Thomas requires one. Young Caroline is getting to be quite a handful. My chest does swell with pride though; it seems my granddaughter knows what she likes, just like her grandfather. They grow up so fast. 

Edited April 6, 2018 by sem34090

[sem34090]

S. Penworthy, Esq.

Secretary to the Rt . Hon. The Lord Erstwhile

Aching Hall

Norfolk

 

Eustace Missenden
West Norfolk Railway Co. Ltd
Achingham Town Station Offices
Station Road
Achingham

Norfolk

Sir,

 

May I request, on behalf of all employees of the West Norfolk Railway's operations and engineering departments that Mr O'Doolight be no longer involved with this railway in any capacity. I appreciate that his Lordship has been of a Philanthropic mind of late, but inviting such un-called for working practices to return to the railway is really a step too far down the incorrect path. I gathered via your letter (which one of my special agents intercepted during its journey down the branch from Castle Aching to Achingham before transfer to the Great Eastern Station and onward transit to Liverpool Street.) that his Lordship has requested the apparent 'Services' of Mr O'Doolight once again and I therefore fear for both his Lordship's sanity and for the safety of the local populace.

 

I feel that the parish rectors would profit rather much from the influx of funerals. This may seem to be a rather extreme view, but one must remember what occurred at Flitching Junction in 1897, whilst this O'Doolight was still heavily influential in the railway's affairs. I seem to recall the casualty toll being well into double-figures.

 

Nevertheless I hope that his Lordship can find a place for Mr O'Doolight other than in the ancient priest-hole beneath Aching Hall.

 

Your Hon. & Obediant servant,

 

Eustace Missenden

[sem34090]

Baronet David Bradleigh
Kelsby Light Railway Co. Ltd
Hewe Manor
Manor Road 
Hewe
Telham 
Ely
Cambridgeshire

 

Eustace Missenden
West Norfolk Railway Co. Ltd
Achingham Town Station Offices
Station Road
Achingham

Norfolk

 

 

Sir,

 

I do apologise for the intercepting of your correspondence, but it is a matter of course for this company I am afraid. My agents monitor the correspondence of all high-ranking figures in the East Anglian railway world. I am sure you would be most entertained as to exactly what Lord Claud Hamilton has been 'getting up to', but I fear I would lose my position and all respect if I was to tell you.

 

I fear that I cannot 'remember the game' off hand, but am nonetheless delighted to accept the appointment to your company as a secondary draughtsman. As such I request that your exact requirements are passed to be by way of a telegram, or (as some in my other line of work choose to) by private message.

 

I await further correspondence!

 

Your Hon. & Obediant servant,

 

Eustace Missenden - Draughtsman (West Norfolk Railway, Kelsby Light Railway and Littlehampton, Goring & Worthing Railway)

 

Postscript: At great risk of putting the Parish 'Thread' off of its proper topic once more, may I recommend one of my agents to you as a Nanny for the children. You are to refer to her by the name of 'Mary Poppins', though I will tell you now that her true name is Julia Andrews. Julia will respond to either name, but her real name is only to be used in times of extreme emergency as I do not wish for her identity to be revealed for fear of my undercover operations being exposed.

[sem34090]

Eustace Missenden
West Norfolk Railway Co. Ltd
Achingham Town Station Offices
Station Road
Achingham

Norfolk

 

Baronet David Bradleigh

Kelsby Light Railway Co. Ltd
Hewe Manor
Manor Road 
Hewe
Telham 
Ely
Cambridgeshire

 

Mr. Missenden

 

Excellent news. I look forward to seeing your work. And Your news on Lord Hamilton's work... intrigues me. Bit early for that yet. Not even finished laying the permanent way yet. Only just got to Alnerwick. The two locomotives we have at this time will be fine for the time being. You will be kept informed however.

Yours sincerely, 

Col. David Bradleigh, CBE, 2nd. Baronet Bradleigh, CEO and CME of the Kelsby Light Railway Co. Ltd.

P.S: Excellent. You know where to send her. Much thanks from Thomas and Elizabeth.

[sem34090]

As an aside, and you strictly must not record my saying of this, I will say only that Lord Hamilton's business is an interesting affair, one which could damage both his personal relationships and his political/commercial ones.

 

I refuse to say any more on his subject, but those romantic letters did not appear to be addressed to his wife... but as my agents are not supposed to be viewing the mail at any rate I will not disclose further details. I also fear that the 'Men in Blue' are onto my little scheme now.

 

Miss 'Poppins' will be dispatched to you, the good Colonel, by air tomorrow morning. I would be grateful if you could report of her arrival. Also, please be aware that her singing may cause some unusual side effects and that she can seemingly master some aspects of witchcraft. Please also note that she is involved in a relationship with a local sweep who may appear from time-to-time. He is actually of noble origin, being the son of one of the other local gentry, and this can be told by his poor rendition of a generic 'working class' accent. He's a nice lad, but can also be liable to sing and dance. Please do not be alarmed if you see your children on the roof or covered in chimney-soot.

 

Good Day, Sir.

Certain difficulties, have, I fear, arisen.

Early, very early indeed, this morning, I accompanied Mr O’Doolight on one of his extended commutes. Having alighted from the last Up Stopper of yesterday evening at Liverpool Street, he retired to a nearby public house, where he spent some time “propping up the bar”, before returning to the station (where I joined him) to catch the very first Down Stopper of the day into Norfolk. The journey was long, uncomfortable, and exceptionally tedious, involving so many changes of train that I had lost count before midday, and why it was necessary to compass the entire coastline of the County, going round the sun to meet the moon so to speak, I can only speculate, but early this evening we arrived, at long, long last at Shepherd’s Port. Mr O’Doolight was, by this juncture, fully refreshed of mind and body, having slept soundly almost throughout, waking only briefly for each of the many changes of train, and once to purchase a large pie and a pint of ale at some isolated junction that was, fortuitously, equipped with a dining room. I, on the other hand, and as you might well understand, was exhausted of the very last drop of vitality, my entire being craving rest in an immobile bed.

As the train expired at the platform, if such it may be termed, Mr O’Doolight leapt down, simultaneously instructing me very firmly: “Stay there, I must collect my letters! Do not, on any account, let the train go without me!”. My soul sank to new, and previously unfathomed, depths, as I realised that he intended that we should repeat the entire cycle of rail-borne misery in reverse, and without pause.

When he returned a few minutes later, he was brandishing an already-opened letter, and a substantial sum in notes, and was very evidently in higher spirits than he has been for a long time. “Aha! I told you, I told you!” he announced, slapping the notes down upon the seat, “A first class return!”. I looked about, and my eyes confirmed what my backside was already telling me: that we remained in the same dreary, un-upholstered, third class cupboard in which we had arrived. “Well, we’d better get ourselves along to the next carriage then.”, I said, eagerly. “No, no, you don’t understand. It is I that am to make a return, of a first class kind, to my previous station in life!”. My bafflement was complete.

As he fairly bounced with excitement upon the bench, Mr O’Doolight pulled a further envelope from his pocket, smaller, and of far lesser quality than that which lay open beside him. “Now, what have we here?”. He squinted at the pencilled address, and I noticed that the letter bore no stamp. Concern rose instantly within me, for I have seen him receive notes of this kind before, and, although he believes me fully ignorant of their source, I am well aware that they come from a very furtive character named Mordant, to whom he forwards, when circumstances permit or require, either coded instructions or, small, carefully wrapped packets of gold coin. He split the envelope, fished out a mean sheet of paper and read attentively for a few moments, a few moments during which his countenance altered from vernal sunshine to bitterest winter blizzard. He crushed the sheet between his fingers, masticating it until his knuckles were white. Then he rose, and turned to me.

“It would not be favourable to you if you were to become involved in this matter. This communication,” he said, holding out the tiny ball of paper in his palm, “has conveyed to me intelligence of a vicious calumny against my reputation, perpetrated by a man whose position in life ought to have made him fit for better conduct.” He rotated his hand and allowed the paper to fall to the floor, where it bounced once and rolled under the seat. “It is something that even in the autumn of my years I cannot permit to go .....” here he hesitated, clearly scouring his mind for a suitable word. “........ unresolved.”

Now came my greatest surprise. He thumped hard on the partition between our compartment and the next, and within moments two familiar, and I have to say rightly feared, persons appeared on the platform, staring in at us, having evidently been within inches of us throughout. “What is it yer need guvnor?” Asked one. “Hassistance wiv this gentleman, is it?” Asked the other, turning his leering face toward me, and cracking his knuckles. These men I knew to be the McGibbon Twins, and how Mr O’Doolight came to be associated with such notable ruffians I cannot say, save perhaps that the location of his workshops at Paltry Circus places them in proximity to some of the foulest alleyways of the East End of London. “No, no, not this one.” His tone was that of a man attempting to placate a particularly vicious dog, a dog that he owned, but could barely call to heel. “No, no indeed. No. Now, are you... ahem ..... Er ...... equipped for business boys?”. There seemed to be a tiny hint of his late-father’s accent in his voice as he asked this, a distant thrill of the Galtees. The two taught faces tightened further, the two pairs of eyes narrowed, and the racketing gulls outside ceased their cries. From somewhere below the compartment came a metallic tick-ticking, followed by a pneumatic sigh. “Well, we have business to transact tonight alright. Let’s be about it!”.

He stuffed the letter and notes from the seat into his pocket, shoved his broad-brimmed hat vigorously down onto his head, and stepped from the train, slamming the door behind him, and twisting the handle firmly. I attempted to follow, but the lock was devilish stiff. The guard’s whistle shrilled and the train creaked into motion as I leant from the window. Looking back along the platform I could see Mr O’Doolight, walking between the two attack-dogs, into the twilight that was closing on whatever their grim business was.

I collapsed back onto the seat for a moment, then, remembering the paper, crouched down and retrieved it from among the other dusty detritus. Once unfolded, it was exceedingly difficult to read the words written on it. The hand was crabbed, and the soft pencil with which it had been written was smudged all about. I struck a Vesta, and even with the aid of that and strenuous efforts of eyesight, I could only make out one word, and that meant nothing to me, save that it was a village in Buckinghamshire: Missenden. 

[sem34090]

Mr O'Doolight had been issued with the following note:

 

O'Doolight

 

Collect notes - Castle Aching, Noon.

 

Return to Paltry by Seven o'clock. Leave companion, Earholmer, in compartment.

 

Agents will escort you to me from Paltry.

 

Missenden

Edited April 6, 2018 by sem34090

[sem34090]

A further short report, although I confess that it contains very little illuminating information, for the simple reason that I am in possession of next to none.

The train in which I was confined limped a few miles before halting at a wayside station, where with the aid of the guard I was able to open the door and climb down, an act which I regretted almost the moment the train departed, for I found myself in a most inhospitable spot. Darkness was rapidly closing-in, and the only light that I could see appeared to be a considerable distance off, on higher ground, while in the opposite direction I could sense, beyond a small thicket of trees, the open marsh and the sea. I was completely alone.

I will pass over the following six or seven hours, during which I explored, by blundering into, several water-filled ditches, a firmly locked religious shrine, two docile ovine, and the entire length of the railway line back to Shepherd's Port, largely in complete darkness due to the slim moon continually darting behind large clouds, and tell you simply that I awoke, not an hour ago, in Mr O'Doolight's old room at the Grand Hotel, badly troubled by an injury to my right knee, which I must have acquired during my tramp, although I cannot recall how.

Mr O'Doolight is nowhere to be found, and the old couple who serve as the hotel's entire complement of staff inform me that he has not used his room in many months, since they were prevailed open by the owner of the hotel to press for payment of long-outstanding bills. They are evidently as anxious for his return as I, because his residence was the only remaining reason for their winter employment, there typically being no casual visitors from September to April, and precious few at other times. The old couple can, or perhaps will, tell me nothing of the McGibbon Twins, denying all knowledge of them, while trying very hard to interest me in the antics of a seagull outside, but they are able to confirm that Mordant, or at least a person fitting his description, left post for Mr O'Doolight yesterday at about three in the afternoon, arriving and departing on a very powerful motor-bicycle.

Since there is no organised transport to be had in or out of Shepherd's Port except by the West Norfolk Railway, there not even being a carter, my conclusions thus far are confined to the following: first, that I have ahead of me a very long wait for the next train, it being the same evening service that I was trapped in yesterday; secondly, that whatever Mr O'Doolight and The McGibbon Twins were bent on almost certainly involved the use of a rowboat, there being many left lying on the shingle; and, thirdly, that since rowing a boat to Buckinghamshire would be a lengthy and strenuous exercise, beyond even the McGibbons, Missenden must be part of the address by which MrO'Doolight was intended to reach Mordant.

Accordingly, I have resolved that, after a decent luncheon, to which I am very much looking forward, I shall procure the services of a boatman familiar with the many creeks hereabouts, and set-off in pursuit of my friend and his dark companions. 

[sem34090]

N. Earholmer

 

In the East your sun will rise.

Beneath it there a strange surprise.

That will fill with dread your mind.

And make you run from humankind.

Between Lowestoft and Hull.

North West of Birchoverham Staithe.

The Western sunset you shall not see.

Meet. Or Meat?

 

Missenden

[sem34090]

A Note received from a man named only 'Q', or 'The Q'. I have kept this conversation to only one post.

 

My Dear Mr Missendon,

 For those who know an love dear Norfolk,

We know that we shall see,

The Sunset on the Sea,

for we are different folk,

 For at Sunny Hunny the sun doth set in the west

 For Norfolk is the Best.

We have  both east and west coasts you see.

 

Q

 

Message received. Understood.

 

-. --- .-- / .-- --- ..- .-.. -.. / -.-- --- ..- / -.- .. -. -.. .-.. -.-- / .--. .-.. . .- ... . / -... ..- --. --. . .-. / --- ..-. ..-. / .- -. -.. / ... .- -.-- / -. --- / -- --- .-. . / --- ..-. / - .... .. ... .-.-.-

 

Missenden

 

 

 

-. ---

 

.-- .... -.-- / -. --- - ..--..

 

Missenden

 

-.-. --- ... / .. --..-- / .-- .- ... / -... --- .-. . -.. --..-- / .. .----. .-.. .-.. / -... ..- --. --. . .-. / --- ..-. / -. --- .-- / - .... --- ..- --. .... --..-- / - .. -- . / - --- / --. --- / .... --- -- . / ..-. .-. --- -- / .-- --- .-. -.- .-.-.- .-.-.- .-.-.-

 

 

.- .... --..-- / .. / ... . . .-.-.- / .. -. / - .... .- - / -.-. .- ... . --..-- / . -. .--- --- -.-- / -... ..- --. --. . .-. .. -. --. / --- ..-. ..-. / .- -. -.. / .... .- ...- . / .- / -. .. -.-. . / . ...- . -. .. -. --. .-.-.-

 

.... --- .-- / .-- .- ... / .-- --- .-. -.- / - --- -.. .- -.-- ..--..

 

Missenden

 

Eustace Missenden

West Norfolk Railway Co. Ltd
Achingham Town Station Offices
Station Road
Achingham

Norfolk

 

Baronet David Bradleigh

Kelsby Light Railway Co. Ltd
Hewe Manor
Manor Road 
Hewe
Telham 
Ely
Cambridgeshire

 

Eustace,

 

I recently received a string of Morse code dots and dashes in my post from you. While I am familiar with it from my time in His Majesty's Armed Forces I did not read it. I do believe this was intended for someone else. I will not pry into your business, but I feel you may wish to check the address on the envelope next time.

Yours sincerely, 

 

Your friend,
Col. David Bradleigh, CBE, 2nd. Baronet Bradleigh, CEO and CME of the Kelsby Light Railway Co. Ltd.

Edited April 6, 2018 by sem34090

[sem34090]

Matters become ever less clear to me.

Having permitted ample time for my luncheon to settle before embarking upon a swell, my constitution never having been of the most robust in relation to sea-travel, I was engaged in what promised to be an interminable negotiation with a wily old salt, who made great pretence of misunderstanding my "foreign" accent, regarding the hire of his services, when a boy came rushing up, completely out of breath, and pressed a folded paper into my hand, before collapsing at my feet. 

"Well, aren't he a reglar Pheidippides!" mused the sailor, taking a long draw on his pipe, before gently prodding the prostrate figure with the stem, which seemed to be his way of assuring himself of the little chap's wellbeing. "Seems he aren't totally expired though ...... you got a shillin', Sir?". "Why, er, yes, certainly, but I don't quite see ........". The sailor took the coin and immediately proffered it to the boy, who recovered as swiftly and surely as if he had swallowed an elixir, grabbed the silver, and disappeared in the direction from which he had come, running if anything faster than before.

"Well, what's it say then?" Asked the sailor impertinently, jabbing his pipe at the paper. "Mus' be something terrible vital, fer ''im to 'ave come run runnin'' all the way down 'ere from the village with it." "Indeed, indeed." I unfolded the note. "You know the boy then?"; "Well, t'would be summat terrible if I couldn't put a face to me own invalid son, would it not?". There was a long silence. "It's 'is legs see, lorst 'em both under one a they trackshun injins when he was barely this high." He added, levelling his hand about two feet from the ground. "Grew back though, which surprised the missus as much as it did the woman over yonder whose son's legs withered and disappeared overnight round the same time. Still The Good Lord moves in mysterious ways, eh Sir?". I scratched my ear, and considered the tale that he'd just imparted. The quiet acceptance by simple country folk of verifiable miracles which, in a city, would cause jubilation among more sophisticated men, remains a source of infinite wonder to me.

The paper proved to be a very strange note, addressed to me and signed ''Missenden', which settled one thing: Missenden was a person, not a place, and judging from what he wrote, probably a butcher. I read the note four times, and although I could make out each word clearly, it made no sense whatever. The sailor was becoming impatient through sheer curiosity, and could clearly discern my confusion. "'Ere, let me 'ave a look." He said, boldly taking the paper from me. He traced the words with his finger, mouthing them silently, then looked directly at me. ""Well, that's simple bouy! He is after haven' you goo to Mable Thorpe.". "Ah, yes, that's exactly what I was thinking myself." I said, not wishing to give him the pleasure of outwitting me. "Exactly that. I shall go directly.". A plan was already forming in my mind, and we parted, but not before he'd relieved me of two half-crowns, an ounce of tobacco, and my hip-flask, all of which he assured me would aid his invalid son's further recovery.

There can only be a limited number of women named Mabel Thorpe in a county the size of Norfolk, and I reason that the nearest Post Office will be a good place to start what will surely be a short search.

I have now obtained the hire of the hotel-keepers' (they share one, using it on alternate days) bicycle at what they tell me is a fair price, and am about to set-off for the nearest village. 

Edited April 6, 2018 by sem34090

[sem34090]

Mr Earholmer

 

You think you're so clever.

But have no idea whatsoever.

Mabel thorpe, Church Street.

There one will meet.

 

Missenden

[sem34090]

. ..- ... - .- -.-. . / -- .. ... ... . -. -.. . -. / .-- . ... - / -. --- .-. ..-. --- .-.. -.- / .-. .- .. .-.. .-- .- -.-- / -.-. --- .-.-.- / .-.. - -.. / .- -.-. .... .. -. --. .... .- -- / - --- .-- -. / ... - .- - .. --- -. / --- ..-. ..-. .. -.-. . ... / ... - .- - .. --- -. / .-. --- .- -.. / .- -.-. .... .. -. --. .... .- -- / -. --- .-. ..-. --- .-.. -.- / -... .- .-. --- -. . - / -.. .- ...- .. -.. / -... .-. .- -.. .-.. . .. --. .... / -.- . .-.. ... -... -.-- / .-.. .. --. .... - / .-. .- .. .-.. .-- .- -.-- / -.-. --- .-.-.- / .-.. - -.. / .... . .-- . / -- .- -. --- .-. / -- .- -. --- .-. / .-. --- .- -.. / .... . .-- . / - . .-.. .... .- -- / . .-.. -.-- / -.-. .- -- -... .-. .. -.. --. . ... .... .. .-. . / -... .- .-. --- -. . - / -... .-. .- -.. .-.. . .. --. .... / .. / .... .- ...- . / -... . . -. / .-. . -.-. . .. ...- .. -. --. / -.-- --- ..- .-. / -.-. --- .-. .-. . ... .--. --- -. -.. . -. -.-. . / --- ..-. / .-.. .- - . / .-- .. - .... / --. .-. . .- - / .--. .-.. . .- ... ..- .-. . --..-- / .- -. -.. / .- -- / --. .-. .- - . ..-. ..- .-.. / - --- / .-.. . .- .-. -. / - .... .- - / -.-- --- ..- / .... .- ...- . / -... . . -. / .-- .. .-. . - .- .--. .--. .. -. --. .-.-.- / -- .- -.-- / .. / . -. .-.. .. ... - / -.-- --- ..- / .. -. - --- / -- -.-- / --- .-- -. / .- --. . -. -.-. -.-- --..-- / .-- .... .. .-.. ... - / .- - / - .... . / ... .- -- . / - .. -- . / .--. .-. --- ...- .. -.. .. -. --. / -.-- --- ..- .-. / .-. .- .. .-.. .-- .- -.-- / -.-. --- -- .--. .- -. -.-- / .-- .. - .... / -.-. .- .-. .-. .. .- --. . / -.. . ... .. --. -. / ..-. .- -.-. .. .-.. .. - .. . ... ..--.. / -.- .. -. -.. / .-. . --. .- .-. -.. ... --..-- / -.-- --- ..- .-. / .- -.-. --.- ..- .- .. -. - .- -. -.-. . --..-- / . ..- ... - .- -.-. . / -- .. ... ... . -. -.. . -.

 

Bradleigh, Erstwhile

 

Earholmer, Mablethorpe. Nine O'Clock.

 

You know what to do.

 

Missenden

 

Edited April 6, 2018 by sem34090

[sem34090]

Eustace Missenden

West Norfolk Railway Co. Ltd
Achingham Town Station Offices
Station Road
Achingham

Norfolk

 

Baronet David Bradleigh

Kelsby Light Railway Co. Ltd
Hewe Manor
Manor Road 
Hewe
Telham 
Ely
Cambridgeshire

 

Eustace,

 

I genuinely have no idea what you are talking about. Please elaborate.

Yours sincerely, 

 

Your friend,
Col. David Bradleigh, CBE, 2nd. Baronet Bradleigh, CEO and CME of the Kelsby Light Railway Co. Ltd.

[sem34090]

Bradleigh

 

When Earholmer is near, you gain every bit of information that you can. He will be arriving at Mablethorpe near to nine O'clock. Erstwhile will be waiting for you

 

Eustace

 

And so I await further input!

[Penlan]

I expect I've mis-understood the ethos of this thread, especially as there seems to be a trend to doting the t's and dashing the i's, but as I can't (easily) see this has been done before, and perhaps it's not a 100 miles away from Gweek North Quay - post #267  http://www.rmweb.co.uk/community/index.php?/topic/74169-pre-grouping-layouts/page-11&do=findComment&comment=3117696
Then ......... 

 

CUCKOO VALLEY RAILWAY - Arthur Quiller-Couch

 

This century was still young and ardent when ruin fell upon the Cuckoo Valley.
Its head rested on the slope of a high and sombre moorland, scattered with granite and china-clay; and by the small town of Ponteglos, where it widened out into arable and grey pasture-land, the Cuckoo River grew deep enough to float up vessels of small tonnage from the coast at the spring tides. I have seen there the boom of a trading schooner brush the grasses on the river-bank as she came before a westerly wind, and the haymakers stop and almost crick their necks staring up at her top-sails. But between the moors and Ponteglos the valley wound for fourteen miles or so between secular woods, so steeply converging that for the most part no more room was left at the bottom of the V than the river itself filled.

 

The fisherman beside it trampled on pimpernels, sundew, watermint, and asphodels, or pushed between clumps of Osmunda Regalis that overtopped him by a couple of feet. If he took to wading, there was much ado to stand against the current. Only here and there it spread into a still black pool, greased with eddies ; and .beside such a pool, it was odds that he found a diminutive meadow, green and flat as a billiard-table, and edged with clumps of fern.   To think of Cuckoo Valley is to call up the smell of that fern as it wrapped at the bottom of the creel the day's catch of salmon-peal and trout.

 

The town of Tregarrick (which possessed a gaol, a workhouse, and a lunatic asylum, and called itself the centre of the Duchy) stood three miles back from the lip of this happy valley, whither on summer evenings its burghers rambled to eat cream and junket at the Dairy Farm by the river bank, and afterwards sit to watch the fish rise, while the youngsters and maidens played at hide-and-seek in the woods. But there came a day when the names of Watt and Stephenson waxed great in the land, and these slow citizens caught the railway frenzy. They took it, however, in their own fashion.  They never dreamed of connecting themselves with other towns and a larger world, but of aggrandisement by means of a railway that should run from Tregarrick to nowhere in particular, and bring the intervening wealth to their doors. They planned a railway that should join Tregarrick with Cuckoo Valley, and there divide into two branches, the one bringing ore and clay from the moors, the other fetching up sand and coal from the sea. Surveyors and engineers descended upon the woods; then a cloud of navvies. The days were filled with the crash of falling timber and the rush of emptied trucks. The stream was polluted, the fish died, the fairies were evicted from their rings beneath the oak, the morals of the junketing houses underwent change. The vale knew itself no longer; its smoke went up week by week with the noise of pick-axes and oaths. On August 13th, 1834, the Mayor of Tregarrick declared the new line open, and a locomotive was run along its rails to Dunford Bridge, at the foot of the moors. The engine was christened The Wonder of the Age; and I have before me a handbill of the festivities of that proud day, which tells me that the mayor himself rode in an open truck, "embellished with Union Jacks, lions and unicorns, and other loyal devices." And then Nature settled down to heal her wounds, and the Cuckoo Valley Railway to pay no dividend to its promoters.

 

It is now two years and more since, on an August day, I wound up my line by Dunford Bridge, and sauntered towards the Light Horseman Inn, two gunshots up the road. The time was four o'clock, or thereabouts, and a young couple sat on a bench by the inn-door, drinking cocoa out of one cup. Above their heads and along the house-front a vine-tree straggled, but its foliage was too thin to afford a speck of shade as they sat there in the eye of the westering sun. The man (aged about one-and twenty) wore the uncomfortable Sunday-best of a mechanic, with a shrivelled, but still enormous, bunch of Sweet-William in his button hole. The girl was dressed in a bright green gown and a white bonnet. Both were flushed and perspiring, and I still think they must have ordered hot cocoa in haste, and were repenting it at leisure. They lifted their eyes, and blushed with a yet warmer red as I passed into the porch. Two men were seated in the cool tap-room, each with a pasty and a mug of beer. A composition of sweat and coal-dust had caked their faces, and so deftly smoothed all distinction out of their features that it seemed at the moment natural and proper to take them for twins. Perhaps this was an error : perhaps, too, their appearance of extreme age was produced by the dark grey dust that overlaid so much of them as showed above the table. As twins, however, I remember them, and cannot shake off the impression that they had remained twins for an unusual number of years.

 

One addressed me. "Parties outside pretty comfortable ? " he asked. " They were drinking out of the same cup,"  I answered. He nodded. "Made man and wife this mornin'. I don't fairly know what's best to do. Lord knows I wouldn't hurry their soft, looks and diUy-dallyin' ; but did 'ee notice how much beverage was left in the cup ? "

" They was mated at Tregarrick, half-after nine this mornin'," observed the other twin, pulling out a great watch, " and we brought 'em down here in a truck for their honeymoon. The agreement was for an afternoon in the woods ; but by crum ! sir, they've sat there and held one another's hand for up'ards of an hour after the stated time to start. And we hav'nt the heart to tell 'em so." He walked across to the window and peered over the blind. " There's a mort of grounds in the cocoa that's sold here," he went on, after a look, " and 'tisn't the sort that does the stomach good, neither. For their own sakes, I'll give the word to start, and chance their  thankin' me some day later when they learn what things be made of".

 

The other twin arose, shook the crumbs off his trousers, and stretched himself. I guessed now that this newly-married pair had delayed traffic at the Dunford terminus of the Cuckoo Valley Railway for almost an hour and a half; and I determined to travel into Tregarrick by the same train. So we strolled out of the inn towards the line, the lovers following, arm-in-arm, some fifty paces behind. " How far is it to the station ? " I inquired. The twins stared at me. Presently we turned down a lane scored with dry ruts, passed an oak plantation, and came on a clearing where the train stood ready. The line did not finish : it ended in a heap of sand. There were eight trucks, seven of them laden with granite, and an engine, with a prodigiously long funnel, bearing the name The Wonder of the Age in brass letters along its boiler.

"Now," said one of the twins, while the other raked up the furnace, "you can ride in the empty truck with the lovers, or on the engine along with us—which you like."   I chose the engine. We climbed on board, gave a loud whistle, and jolted off. Far down, on our right, the river shone between the trees, and these trees, encroaching on the track, almost joined their branches above us. Ahead, the moss that grew upon the sleepers gave the line the appearance of a green glade, and the grasses, starred with golden-rod and mallow, grew tall to the very edge of the rails.

 

It seemed that in a few more years Nature would cover this scar of 1834, and score the return match against man. Rails, engine, officials, were already no better than ghosts : youth and progress lay in the pushing trees, the salmon leaping against the dam below, the young man and maid sitting with clasped hands and amatory looks in the hindmost truck.

 

At the end of three miles or so we gave an alarming whistle, and slowed down a bit. The trees were thinner here, and I saw that a highroad came down the hill, and cut across our track some fifty yards ahead. We  prepared to cross it cautiously.  Ho-o-oy! Stop ! "The brake was applied, and as we came to a standstill a party of men and women descended the hill towards us. "Tis Susan Wame's seventh goin' to be christen'd, by the look of it," said the enginedriver beside me ; " an', by crum ! we've got the Kimbly."

The procession advanced. In the midst walked a stout woman, carrying a baby in long clothes, and in front a man bearing in both hands a plate covered with a white cloth. He stepped up beside the train, and, almost before I had time to be astonished, a large yellow cake was thrust into my hands. Engine-driver and stoker were also presented with a cake a-piece, and then the newly-married pair, who took and ate with some shyness and giggling. " Is it a boy or a girl ? " asked the stoker, with his mouth full " A boy," the man answered ; " and I count it good luck that you men of modern ways should be the first we meet on our way to church. The child '11 be a go-ahead if there's truth in omens."  " You're right, neighbour. "We're the speediest men in this part of the universe, I d' believe. Here's luck to 'ee, Susan Wame ! " he piped out, addressing one of the women ; " an' if you want a name for your seventh, you may christen 'en after the engine here. The Wonder of the Age."

 

We waved our hats and jolted off again towards Tregarrick. At the end of the journey the railway officials declined to charge for the pleasure of my company. But after some dispute, they agreed to compromise by adjourning to the Railway Inn, and drinking prosperity to Susan Warne's seventh.

Edited April 7, 2018 by Penlan

[RedGemAlchemist]

Ooh boy. Writing tales about the KLR is... hard. I don't know whether most of the stories would be fine for in here as the story of the Kelsby Light Railway only really starts in 1903 and is ongoing. So I start with this one... which is actually set in 2009, but I think serves as a perfect bookend to all the other stories about the KLR. Writing as a transcript, and a bit Awdry. As much as I like doing stuff as the Baronets I love doing this sort of ideas more. 
(Trying to write in regional dialects is hard.)

 

 

Newcomer

 

It is a bright February morning in 2009 at Kelsby, and the sun is rising over the picturesque countryside of south-western Norfolk. Peter is the only engine actually working the yard at this time, moving coaches around ready for the first train. Bulldog and Wild Rover  sit in their sheds, and Bulldog is being prepared for the day ahead. The fourth shed, is empty. 

 

A small train pushed by Mastodon enters the yard, consisting of a works van and a Mogul new-build. It is painted in KLR green and blue, and is in a mix of NER, GCR and GER styling with a mid-sized boiler, a round-topped firebox which is slightly larger in diameter, a Gresley-styled cab and a tender similar to a GER T19. It is numbered 16 and bears the name Edward Bradleigh I. 

 

Bulldog: Yawns. Ah. E' must be the new bor. 

Mastodon: Yeh. Not as dwtty as ah thought he'd be, isn't it? Anyway, best be getting back to work. 

Mastodon leaves, leaving the new engine sat outside the empty shed with workmen checking it over. 
 

Edward Bradleigh I: H-hello?
Bulldog: Well, yu're a big bor ain't yu? Wer'nt 'specting summat quite yer size. 

Edward Bradleigh I: Um, thanks? I... think?

Bulldog: Sorry if Mas were a tad ruff wit yu. She ain't zackly the lartest tutch. That's the Welsh fer yu.

Edward Bradleigh I: It's fine. Better than her treating me like I'm made of glass like that diesel down at the works did. 
Bulldog: Yu mean Renny? Yeh, she's jes lark dat. Bess nart t'take heed f'it.

Edward Bradleigh I: You're No.1, aren't you?

Bulldog: Laughs. Well, ain't yu formal? Jes call me Bully. Erry'un else does. One t'my left's Rover. He's orf t'day. Mite runnin' rand the yard's Pete. E's the pilot. E's a bit small but I'd listen t'him. He's the oldest'f all the engines here.

Edward Bradleigh I: Thanks for the advice.

Peter rolls in from the yard, clanking and hissing a little as usual, and backs into the empty shed bay between Wild Rover and Edward Bradleigh I. 

 

Peter: First train's ready. Good. Can have a bit a sit darn now. See the new bor's 'ere Bully. Was yur name?

Edward Bradleigh I: ...Edward Bradleigh I.

A pause as Bulldog and Peter take this in.
Bulldog: Gret old boots t'fill with that name.

Peter: Not 'arf. Mind'f we call yu Eddie?
Edward Bradleigh I: ...No, not really.

Peter: Good. Name's a bit'f a marful. Nah, if I 'member rart, yer takin' first couple express runs t'Telham, run yu in on yer first day, 'fore Tom - that's No.11, by-the-by, yu'll like 'im - takes over abart lunchtime. 
Edward Bradleigh I: I... think so?
Bulldog: Settle darn, Pete, yer stressin' the poor bor. Yu really 'spect him t'member errythin on 'is first day? Anyway, f'yer takin' the first train, that's yer's sittin' at the platform.
Edward Bradleigh I: Really? Oh, b*gger! I'd better be going or I'll be late! Late on my first day, faaaantastic! He leaves, continuing to fuss over the times and worrying about things.

 

Bulldog and Peter watch him leave, then Bulldog laughs.

Bulldog: Yep. E'll fit rart in 'ere.

Peter: Chuckle. Too rart yu are, mate. Seeing 'im like that 'minds me of old times. 'Member when Rover first arrived?
 

The two old engines sit there, reminiscing about old times, interrupted only by Edward Bradleigh I whistling to them as he leaves on his first ever run.

 

 

 

(Please forgive my terrible attempt at giving Bulldog and Peter Norfolk accents.)

Edited April 7, 2018 by RedGemAlchemist

[Compound2632]

Alex, the test of any literary thesis is whether it survives application to Henry James - vide A.D. Nuttall, Openings (OUP, 1992). How does What Maisie Knew fit into your analysis?

 

Then there's the whole question of audience: is writing about children for children or for adults? C.S. Lewis and Edith Nesbit might be considered here. Nesbit is particularly interesting as perhaps the first to write for children without a didactic moral purpose, and hence without condescension. And, just to give us a bit of cross-thread convergence, Strines has been mentioned as a location inspiring The Railway Children.

[Ravenser]

I expect I've mis-understood the ethos of this thread, especially as there seems to be a trend to doting the t's and dashing the i's, but as I can't (easily) see this has been done before, and perhaps it's not a 100 miles away from Gweek North Quay - post #267  http://www.rmweb.co.uk/community/index.php?/topic/74169-pre-grouping-layouts/page-11&do=findComment&comment=3117696

Then ......... 

 

CUCKOO VALLEY RAILWAY - Arthur Quiller-Couch

 

This century was still young and ardent when ruin fell upon the Cuckoo Valley.

Its head rested on the slope of a high and sombre moorland, scattered with granite and china-clay; and by the small town of Ponteglos, where it widened out into arable and grey pasture-land, the Cuckoo River grew deep enough to float up vessels of small tonnage from the coast at the spring tides. I have seen there the boom of a trading schooner brush the grasses on the river-bank as she came before a westerly wind, and the haymakers stop and almost crick their necks staring up at her top-sails. But between the moors and Ponteglos the valley wound for fourteen miles or so between secular woods, so steeply converging that for the most part no more room was left at the bottom of the V than the river itself filled.

 

The fisherman beside it trampled on pimpernels, sundew, watermint, and asphodels, or pushed between clumps of Osmunda Regalis that overtopped him by a couple of feet. If he took to wading, there was much ado to stand against the current. Only here and there it spread into a still black pool, greased with eddies ; and .beside such a pool, it was odds that he found a diminutive meadow, green and flat as a billiard-table, and edged with clumps of fern.   To think of Cuckoo Valley is to call up the smell of that fern as it wrapped at the bottom of the creel the day's catch of salmon-peal and trout.

 

The town of Tregarrick (which possessed a gaol, a workhouse, and a lunatic asylum, and called itself the centre of the Duchy) stood three miles back from the lip of this happy valley, whither on summer evenings its burghers rambled to eat cream and junket at the Dairy Farm by the river bank, and afterwards sit to watch the fish rise, while the youngsters and maidens played at hide-and-seek in the woods. But there came a day when the names of Watt and Stephenson waxed great in the land, and these slow citizens caught the railway frenzy. They took it, however, in their own fashion.  They never dreamed of connecting themselves with other towns and a larger world, but of aggrandisement by means of a railway that should run from Tregarrick to nowhere in particular, and bring the intervening wealth to their doors. They planned a railway that should join Tregarrick with Cuckoo Valley, and there divide into two branches, the one bringing ore and clay from the moors, the other fetching up sand and coal from the sea. Surveyors and engineers descended upon the woods; then a cloud of navvies. The days were filled with the crash of falling timber and the rush of emptied trucks. The stream was polluted, the fish died, the fairies were evicted from their rings beneath the oak, the morals of the junketing houses underwent change. The vale knew itself no longer; its smoke went up week by week with the noise of pick-axes and oaths. On August 13th, 1834, the Mayor of Tregarrick declared the new line open, and a locomotive was run along its rails to Dunford Bridge, at the foot of the moors. The engine was christened The Wonder of the Age; and I have before me a handbill of the festivities of that proud day, which tells me that the mayor himself rode in an open truck, "embellished with Union Jacks, lions and unicorns, and other loyal devices." And then Nature settled down to heal her wounds, and the Cuckoo Valley Railway to pay no dividend to its promoters.

 

It is now two years and more since, on an August day, I wound up my line by Dunford Bridge, and sauntered towards the Light Horseman Inn, two gunshots up the road. The time was four o'clock, or thereabouts, and a young couple sat on a bench by the inn-door, drinking cocoa out of one cup. Above their heads and along the house-front a vine-tree straggled, but its foliage was too thin to afford a speck of shade as they sat there in the eye of the westering sun. The man (aged about one-and twenty) wore the uncomfortable Sunday-best of a mechanic, with a shrivelled, but still enormous, bunch of Sweet-William in his button hole. The girl was dressed in a bright green gown and a white bonnet. Both were flushed and perspiring, and I still think they must have ordered hot cocoa in haste, and were repenting it at leisure. They lifted their eyes, and blushed with a yet warmer red as I passed into the porch. Two men were seated in the cool tap-room, each with a pasty and a mug of beer. A composition of sweat and coal-dust had caked their faces, and so deftly smoothed all distinction out of their features that it seemed at the moment natural and proper to take them for twins. Perhaps this was an error : perhaps, too, their appearance of extreme age was produced by the dark grey dust that overlaid so much of them as showed above the table. As twins, however, I remember them, and cannot shake off the impression that they had remained twins for an unusual number of years.

 

One addressed me. "Parties outside pretty comfortable ? " he asked. " They were drinking out of the same cup,"  I answered. He nodded. "Made man and wife this mornin'. I don't fairly know what's best to do. Lord knows I wouldn't hurry their soft, looks and diUy-dallyin' ; but did 'ee notice how much beverage was left in the cup ? "

" They was mated at Tregarrick, half-after nine this mornin'," observed the other twin, pulling out a great watch, " and we brought 'em down here in a truck for their honeymoon. The agreement was for an afternoon in the woods ; but by crum ! sir, they've sat there and held one another's hand for up'ards of an hour after the stated time to start. And we hav'nt the heart to tell 'em so." He walked across to the window and peered over the blind. " There's a mort of grounds in the cocoa that's sold here," he went on, after a look, " and 'tisn't the sort that does the stomach good, neither. For their own sakes, I'll give the word to start, and chance their  thankin' me some day later when they learn what things be made of".

 

The other twin arose, shook the crumbs off his trousers, and stretched himself. I guessed now that this newly-married pair had delayed traffic at the Dunford terminus of the Cuckoo Valley Railway for almost an hour and a half; and I determined to travel into Tregarrick by the same train. So we strolled out of the inn towards the line, the lovers following, arm-in-arm, some fifty paces behind. " How far is it to the station ? " I inquired. The twins stared at me. Presently we turned down a lane scored with dry ruts, passed an oak plantation, and came on a clearing where the train stood ready. The line did not finish : it ended in a heap of sand. There were eight trucks, seven of them laden with granite, and an engine, with a prodigiously long funnel, bearing the name The Wonder of the Age in brass letters along its boiler.

"Now," said one of the twins, while the other raked up the furnace, "you can ride in the empty truck with the lovers, or on the engine along with us—which you like."   I chose the engine. We climbed on board, gave a loud whistle, and jolted off. Far down, on our right, the river shone between the trees, and these trees, encroaching on the track, almost joined their branches above us. Ahead, the moss that grew upon the sleepers gave the line the appearance of a green glade, and the grasses, starred with golden-rod and mallow, grew tall to the very edge of the rails.

 

It seemed that in a few more years Nature would cover this scar of 1834, and score the return match against man. Rails, engine, officials, were already no better than ghosts : youth and progress lay in the pushing trees, the salmon leaping against the dam below, the young man and maid sitting with clasped hands and amatory looks in the hindmost truck.

 

At the end of three miles or so we gave an alarming whistle, and slowed down a bit. The trees were thinner here, and I saw that a highroad came down the hill, and cut across our track some fifty yards ahead. We  prepared to cross it cautiously.  Ho-o-oy! Stop ! "The brake was applied, and as we came to a standstill a party of men and women descended the hill towards us. "Tis Susan Wame's seventh goin' to be christen'd, by the look of it," said the enginedriver beside me ; " an', by crum ! we've got the Kimbly."

The procession advanced. In the midst walked a stout woman, carrying a baby in long clothes, and in front a man bearing in both hands a plate covered with a white cloth. He stepped up beside the train, and, almost before I had time to be astonished, a large yellow cake was thrust into my hands. Engine-driver and stoker were also presented with a cake a-piece, and then the newly-married pair, who took and ate with some shyness and giggling. " Is it a boy or a girl ? " asked the stoker, with his mouth full " A boy," the man answered ; " and I count it good luck that you men of modern ways should be the first we meet on our way to church. The child '11 be a go-ahead if there's truth in omens."  " You're right, neighbour. "We're the speediest men in this part of the universe, I d' believe. Here's luck to 'ee, Susan Wame ! " he piped out, addressing one of the women ; " an' if you want a name for your seventh, you may christen 'en after the engine here. The Wonder of the Age."

 

We waved our hats and jolted off again towards Tregarrick. At the end of the journey the railway officials declined to charge for the pleasure of my company. But after some dispute, they agreed to compromise by adjourning to the Railway Inn, and drinking prosperity to Susan Warne's seventh.

 

I believe that under the name of the "Cuckoo Valley" Quiller-Couch conceals the North Cornwall Minerals Rly of happy memory......

[runs as required]

I expect I've mis-understood the ethos of this thread, especially as there seems to be a trend to doting the t's and dashing the i's, but as I can't (easily) see this has been done before, and perhaps it's not a 100 miles away from Gweek North Quay - post #267  http://www.rmweb.co.uk/community/index.php?/topic/74169-pre-grouping-layouts/page-11&do=findComment&comment=3117696

Then ......... 

 

CUCKOO VALLEY RAILWAY - Arthur Quiller-Couch

 

This century was still young and ardent when ruin fell upon the Cuckoo Valley.

Its head rested on the slope of a high and sombre moorland, scattered with granite and china-clay; and by the small town of Ponteglos, where it widened out into arable and grey pasture-land, the Cuckoo River grew deep enough to float up vessels of small tonnage from the check some check upon some dry coast at the spring tides.......

We waved our hats and jolted off again towards Tregarrick. At the end of the journey the railway officials declined to charge for the pleasure of my company. But after some dispute, they agreed to compromise by adjourning to the Railway Inn, and drinking prosperity to Susan Warne's seventh.

 

For a really spicy Quiller-Couch Edrwardian short story can I recommend this link to:  Pipes in Arcady  (the first of 3 free pages of the short story)

About an antiquariun riding out to check upon some dry mediaeval pile of stones out along a branch off the Broad Gauge Cornwall Railway passing-by gathering of railwaymen dancing NAKED in a field.

I was pleased to find it in an old book of my late grandfather's when I was set to clear his belongs long long ago - marked with a pipe lighting spill !

dh

Edit

Very sorry - apparently, as Penlan notes below, the original link was self referencing (into morse code!) The above now seems to work

Edited April 9, 2018 by runs as required

[Compound2632]

I'll look more into audience when I get around to typing the essay proper up. Unfortunately I do have the limitations of the texts from my course so Nesbit isn't an option, and I'm a bit confused as to why What Maisie Knew might be relevant to this particular essay? I could certainly use it for my dissertation next year as a critical text (I'll be writing on domestic abuse in Gothic literature and its different forms, and it would be relevant there). Coming back to audience, however, if I did refer to it (which I will) I don't imagine I'd afford it much space, it's only a 2000 word essay and thus the main body really ought to be comparative, though I do imagine audience could be played up without it seeming irrelevant.

 

Please don't think I'm criticising your suggestions- I'm not- I'm just trying to fit them with my module in my head before exploring the ideas further! But I definitely think WMK would work better as a critical text next year. Another one to add to my reading list for my literature review to complete for this year's research module...

 

- Alex

 

That's all right. I was merely showing off my pretensions to high literary culture which are a bit second hand anyway as it's really Mrs Compound who is the Jamesian. I have read some James but a good long while ago - heavy going even then. I recall George Orwell claimed to have abolished use of the semi-colon in his writing; he was behind the times - Henry James got close to abolishing the full stop.

[RedGemAlchemist]

Would that be the novel where the entire first page of actual 'novel' text is virtually an entire sentence?

I believe it is. James' writing style is... unique to say the least.