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The Heart of a Peak District Community
A Buxton short story by A. Matthews : "Just the ticket"
Peter stood on the railway station in
Southampton. It was during the winter months of 1965, and the snow blew
unceasingly into his face and eyes. The platform was rather deserted
for nine o’clock in the morning, but then, the weather conditions were
unusually harsh this year. Peter was not accustomed to standing around
in the cold. Nor did he like the idea of doing so. However, since his
train was due at any moment, he decided to put up with the freezing
conditions. |
The snow stung his eyes and face, yet there, in the distance just beyond the end of his platform, he could make out the shape of his train drawing ever closer to where he patiently waited. The whistle blew again, and the great steam engine hissed, rumbled and clanked its way along the line, to pull up a few yards past where Peter stood. The old engine puffed and screeched to a halt. The carriage lights were a welcome and warming sight. Peter reached out and opened the door closest to him, placed his suitcases inside, and stepped onboard to get out of the terribly cold weather that had threatened to freeze him onto that platform. Making his way into an empty compartment, he placed his cases onto the luggage rack, took off his coat, and proceeded to sit down and make himself comfortable for the journey ahead. He decided to buy himself a newspaper earlier, since there was a long way to go before he would reach the end of his journey, and his new home. A whistle signalled the departure of his train. He could hear the wheels of the engine slipping on the wet, icy rails. A small jolt, and the train slowly drew away from the station. Shortly, the train plunged into the darkness of a long tunnel. The carriage rocked gently to and fro. At least its warm in here, Peter thought to himself. Back out in the open again, and the train had picked up some speed as it edged its way around towards the outskirts of the city. There was no let up in the weather conditions outside, and since there was another eight hours, or so, of his journey to go, he didn't mind at all. It was warm and cosy where he sat. He'd brought a hot drink and something to eat for the trip ahead. That's all that mattered to him for now. He lifted and opened his paper. Same old news, he thought to himself. Nothing changes there. The train stopped now and then, to let passengers down, and to take new ones onboard. Peter was almost oblivious to these comings and goings. The carriage rocked gently, and with the warmth, Peter soon fell asleep. A loud shriek brought him directly back to wakefulness again. His heart was pounding in his chest. He wondered, for a minute or two, where he was. He sat in a cold sweat, though calmly trying his best to recall the dream he had just experienced moments earlier. He was not prone to having nightmares, nor any troubled dreams for that matter. But this dream was different, far too real to be dismissed without some thought. He dreamed that he was taking a train journey, not unlike his own, when there was a violent jolt, the sound of a very loud whistle, people were shouting and screaming. What had upset him the most, was that through his broken window, he could make out two dark sinister looking figures approaching him. But they were just too far away to make out exactly who they may be. He sat there and took another much needed drink of his hot coffee. It was almost one o’clock, and definitely time for something to eat. He took a bite at one of his sandwiches and began reading his newspaper once again. It helped to take his mind off the unsettling events of that dream. After another hour or so, the bright cheery face of the ticket collector caught Peters' attention, as the man entered his compartment. "Tickets, please sir!" Peter fumbled around in his coat pocket and produced his ticket. "Ha, Buxton. Right sir, change at Millers Dale. Your train for Buxton will be waiting when we reach the station." "Thank you!" said Peter. "Have we long to go before we reach Millers Dale?" "Not really, sir." Replied the ticket collector. With that, the ticket collector was gone again as quickly as he had appeared. Peter rubbed his hand over the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the world outside. He could make out the shapes of trees and long low rolling hills in the distance. Soon, the warmth of his carriage, and the rocking motion lulled him into sleep once more. After what seemed like hours, Peter sat bolt upright. A vivid Shriek had brought him back into wakefulness again. Sweat poured from his brow. His heart was pounding inside his chest. It took him some time to collect his wits about him. His head was thumping away with a massive headache. The dream was back, only this time it was more realistic than ever. What stood most clearly in his mind, were the two figures he had seen in the earlier dream. They were decidedly closer and had appeared threatening! What the hell is going on? Peter thought to himself. Perhaps it was the warmth of his carriage and the effects of the meal and the coffee, that were provoking the dreams. That must be it, he thought. Time to take a bit of a walk. Perhaps it would wear off some of the overwhelming feelings of tiredness. Peter got up from his seat, walked to his compartment door, opened it and walked along to the other carriages of his train. Someone had left a window open, and with it, an icy blast entered the corridor. This rid him of any feelings of tiredness he'd had. He looked at his watch. Three thirty, and it was slowly getting dark outside. His train pulled in and out of Derby station. Few people left or got onto the train. Peter had decided to return to his compartment. The train moved steadily along and up the Amber valley. The hills were getting more defined the closer they drew to his destination. Matlock came and went. The lights of the carriage shone out onto the surrounding snow. The houses made the scene outside look as though from a Christmas card. It's so beautiful, Peter thought. After a while, a voice sounded further along the carriage. "Millers Dale! Millers Dale, in two minutes!" Peter collected his things together, ready to alight when the time came. Moments later, Peters' train drew slowly to a halt. He opened the carriage door and stepped down onto the snow covered platform. A voice announced, "Through the underpass for the connection to Buxton! Just follow the signs." Peter looked up and down the long platform, but he was alone apart from the station porter and the guard of the train he had alighted from. Huge snow covered hills surrounded the station, with buttresses of limestone rearing up into the dark night sky like giant sentinels. "Can I help you with your baggage, sir?" Asked the porter, politely. "Ah yes, thank you." said Peter, in return. "Are you going to Buxton, sir?" Enquired the porter. The porter had already picked up Peters' baggage before he'd had time to reply. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I am." said Peter. "It's waiting in the bay platform. This way sir, if you please." Peter followed the porter along the brightly lit platform, and then down along the underpass towards where the train for Buxton lay waiting. Behind him, the train he had come here on, drew away slowly out of the station. Great puffs of smoke and steam rose into the air, as a whistle and the sound of the trains' wheels running over the points, broke the silence of the night air. The porter swiftly opened the carriage door, and took Peters' baggage onboard. "There you are, sir." The porter stepped back to allow Peter to board his train. "Thank you, porter." Peter held out his hand and proffered two shillings as a tip in gratitude of the porters' help. "Thank you ,sir." Said the porter, beaming from ear to ear. "Goodnight, sir. Safe journey!" After a moment or two, the train for Buxton moved away from Millers Dale station. It was a two car diesel set, and very cold too. Gone was the comfort and warmth of the train from Southampton. Never mind, Peter thought to himself. I'll soon be in Buxton. Time enough to get warm and comfortable again once I'm there. Within a few minutes, the train was moving along the approaches into Buxton. The snow fell unceasingly and draped the town in a great snowy overcoat. As the train curved around the line, the station came into view ahead, and Peter knew that he had arrived at last. Once his train had come to a halt, he gathered up his suitcases, opened the carriage door, and stepped down onto the station platform, the cold air and driving snow beating at his face once again. Moving towards the waiting room, Peter decided it would be best to first check how far away his accommodation was, before doing anything else. Hmm, he thought. According to the street plan he’d ordered and purchased some weeks ago, his flat wasn't that far from where he stood. However, in view of the weather conditions, he thought it wiser to take a taxi, than to get wet and any colder. Peter walked the short distance down station approach, and then across the road to the taxi rank opposite a rather grand looking building. He was lucky, a taxi stood as if waiting just for him. His luggage secure in the boot of the car, its driver moved off to Peter's instructions. "Terrible night sir?" The driver said, trying to make his passenger feel welcome. "Indeed it is." Replied Peter. "Have you come far sir?" Asked the driver. "Southampton!." He replied cheerfully. "That's a long way sir. I expect you'll be pleased to get indoors after such a long journey." "Very much so." Said Peter. The car made its way along the main street, empty except for the odd soul here and there. After passing beneath an imposing viaduct, they bore left passing under yet another bridge, to climb steadily up the hill in front of them. Within a moment or so, the taxi drew to a halt. "Here we are sir. That's your place just across the road. Give me a moment and I'll help you with your cases." "Thank you!" Said Peter, who was glad to be at his destination at last. A few minutes later, and Peter stood in his living-room, where a huge blazing fire greeted him like an old friend. A note was placed on the table. He recognised his landlady's handwriting. He opened the envelope, and read it out to himself. "I took the liberty to place a fire for you. The food you asked for is in the kitchen and there is plenty of hot water for your use. Please don't hesitate to phone me if there is anything I can help you with? " signed Mrs B. Peter was happy with how the day had developed. His suitcases unpacked and stowed away, he went about preparing himself something warm to eat. Twenty minutes later, he returned from the kitchen with some hot steaming vegetable soup, and walked into the small, but comfortable living-room. There was a small table in front of the cosy fire. Setting his food and drink upon it, he sat down in the armchair. He'd brought a small radio with him, which after choosing his favourite station on the dial, he listened to the music as he ate. He glanced around at his surroundings. The room was well furnished, and a few landscape pictures hung on the walls. His meal eaten and the coffee drunk, he settled back in his chair a began to doze off under the spell of the soft music and the warmth of the room. This is the life, he thought to himself, as his eyelids slowly flickered shut. He slipped into a dream state, one where the images appeared not only to be familiarto him, but also filled him with dread. The was snow all around him. He was sitting in a train that was gently rocking too and fro. He reached out a hand to clear the misted up window, so that he could better see what was in the world outside. His heart almost stopped as he saw two familiar figures walking towards him. His gaze was transfixed on them, since all that he could discern was their total blackness. Try as he could, he was unable make out any of their facial features. Fear swept over Peter in huge waves. He screamed out in alarm, and awoke suddenly to find himself in his cosy living-room chair by the fire. Great beads of sweat rolled down from his forehead. His heart pounding so heavily in his chest, so much that he swore he could hear it audibly above the sound of the traffic on the road outside. I've got to get a grip on myself, he thought. Peter wasn't used to having such vivid nightmares, or any at all for that matter. He tried to put some sort of reason into this terrifying dream. Those figures, they were definitely closer than in my earlier dream encounters with them. Were they some kind of omen? No, they can't be, he thought. Perhaps it would be best to try and forget these dreams. Peter fetched one of the many books that he had sent ahead of him. He settled down to read one of his favourite western authors. Ten forty-five chimed on the little clock , one that his father had given to him some years before his death. Peter decided to call it a day and retire to bed. Tomorrow was another day, one that would bring many new discoveries, weather permitting, of course. The day broke with sunlight streaming through a gap in the curtains. All considering, he had slept surprisingly well that night, and hadn't been troubled by that particular dream again. Outside, the weather was bright and cheerful, and even with snow everywhere, it beckoned Peter to come out and explore this bright new world. The days and weeks passed by as Peter busied himself with his freelance photographic work. Work that he had found extremely varied and interesting. Winter passed into Spring and then Summer. The frightening dreams experienced on his first day in travelling to Buxton, had slipped far from his mind. He'd made many friends since his arrival, and had taken to going out of an evening, and at weekends, for a drink or two, in one of the bright and cheerful local pubs. Life was good and things were definitely getting better for Peter. With time and the money that his work brought in, he'd decided to buy a small house on the edge of the town. It wasn't anything grand, although it was larger than he had in mind to buy at the time. Detached, it stood in pleasant gardens that had a pond, some mature trees and quite splendid driveway leading up to the front door. A lick of paint, and the house would look like a palace. Peter had also bought himself a Morris Mini. It was his pride and joy, bright blue with yellow racing stripes on it. The decorators hired by Peter had done a magnificent job. The interior looked homely, one that had a country feel about it. The furnishings were modern and in keeping with the lifestyle he was leading. The outside was in deep red brick with white paintwork for the doors and windows. He was very pleased with how it all appeared from the roadway at the end of his driveway. Not long after he had began his latest photo assignment, he'd met Lucy, tall slim, short wavy brown hair and very beautiful. As the days passed, they grew closer to each other, and after nearly a year, they decided that it was time for them to get married. They chose a church wedding, which turned out to be a grand affair, one with many friends and relatives to help them to celebrate the occasion. After returning from their honeymoon in Greece, Lucy added many feminine touches to their lovely home, something that brought a very special atmosphere into their lives together. They lived quite close to the town centre, and frequented Buxton's market each Saturday afternoon to browse and shop. They often took their lunch at the Old Hall Hotel before venturing up onto the market itself. Within their first year of marriage together, Lucy and Peter were expecting their first child. Lucy spent many hours searching the shops on Spring Gardens for clothes and other baby essentials. She often went there with a family friend, Patty, and together they would talk about the forthcoming baby, and other things that the future would bring to them. For Peter, he had managed to secure a top assignment with a publisher in London, and with it, it brought him and his family the promise of great financial security. He had taken an office suite in Manchester, and travelled to and from there every day in his car. The drive was nearly always pleasant, although the traffic for lorries had increased quite dramatically in the last six months. The railways, having been closed piecemeal some years earlier, meant that previous rail traffic was now being taken by road. Time passed very quickly, and soon, Lucy was close to giving birth to their first baby. In the evenings, they sat together and discussed as to whether it would be a boy or a girl. Peter felt the baby move and kick out when he placed his hand gently onto Lucy's stomach. "With a kick like that, Peter suggested, it has to be a boy!" They laughed out loudly, their joy was something to behold. That night, when they had been asleep for several hours, Peter awoke suddenly, a scream renting the silence of their bedroom. Beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead. His heart pounding like a sledgehammer, and the hair on his neck was standing on end. "What is it?" Lucy cried, trying very hard to calm him down. "Please, Peter. You're frightening me!" "Sorry, I'm ok my love." he said, trying not to make it sound too alarming. "It was only a nightmare. It'll pass off in a moment or so." Lucy cuddled up close to Peter for reassurance and comfort. When they got up the next morning, Lucy was determined to find out what her husband's nightmare was all about. Over breakfast she enquired, "Peter, What is this dream you were having? You half scared the life out of me when you screamed out!" Peter wasn't sure whether to tell Lucy about the dream or not. "It was something from many years ago, long before we met." he said, almost shamefully, "It began on my journey from Southampton to Buxton. I had been dozing off with the warmth of the carriage I was travelling in." Peter paused to take mental stock of the events of that, and his subsequent dreams. " I kept having the same dream over and over again. I would see two black figures coming towards me, and with each dream, they would be a little closer." He continued. "I couldn't see their faces, but they gave me a terrible sensation of foreboding and dread." Lucy said, "It must have been a frightening experience for you! You were in a terrible state last night. And the look on your face...well, it scared me!" "Sorry, darling! I didn't mean to frighten you." "That's all right my love," said Lucy, placing her arms around him and trying hard to reassure her husband. "Promise me that you'll go and see if the doctor can give you something to calm you down?" "Yes, I promise, darling" said Peter, as he kissed her tenderly Later that week, Peter kept his promise and visited their doctor, who was able to prescribe some treatment to calm him, and also help him sleep more soundly. Days swept by and soon the birth of their child was imminent. Lucy would spend her days leading up to the event in singing to herself. She was sure that it would have a positive effect on their child once it was born. Winter had arrived once more, and with it, the snows that are typical of the Derbyshire countryside at this time. The day of their baby's arrival was one of great happiness. Lucy had given birth to a beautiful baby girl. Together, Lucy and Peter had decided to name her, Lucinda. The season didn't seem so dull now that they had a child to share in their lives. Whilst Peter was at his work, mother and baby lived in harmony with the world around them. Traffic was unusually heavy that evening, and Peter wished that he had decided to take the train instead. The road was too busy, so much so, the traffic was scarcely moving at all. The fact is, all that snow and ice didn't make matters any better for anyone. The driving was bad, with icy patches everywhere. As soon as Peter drove into Whaley Bridge, the road ahead began to clear as most of the heavy vehicles took to the Long Hill route. Peter stayed on the A6 for the journey home to his wonderful wife and daughter. The heater was bearing up very well in his car. But all the same, he would be glad to be at home and put his feet up for the evening. Lucy was in a bright and cheerful mood. Lucinda had gone to sleep without any problems, and now Lucy could prepare her husband's dinner for the time he would arrive home. She looked in on their sleeping baby and whispered, "Daddy will be home soon..." A smile beaming across her face. Peter drove through Dove Holes and had to drive more carefully than would otherwise be necessary. The ice had made driving hazardous, but Peter knew how to handle this type of driving condition with ease. The radio was on and Peter felt decidedly good with the world around him. It was warm and cosy, and the music was soothing. Peter's eyelids dropped a few times, but he became sharply aware to the dangers of falling asleep. The drive into Buxton was a welcoming sight, the lights beckoning him home again. There was a sudden squeal of brakes and the sound of metal being torn asunder. Peter was momentarily aware of a high pitched whistling sound and then a hideous screaming filled his ears. The two figures bent over the body of the person slumped back in his seat. "Oh my god! Look at his face!" Peter sat there, his face drawn back in absolute horror. His eyes were wide open in fear, though quite lifeless. Snow blew in through the shattered windows. "What's this?" one of the figures said, as he stooped down to pick up a sliver of card. "It's his ticket! with today’s date on it, 16th Feb 1965" said the other, and added, " It says... Single from Southampton to Buxton." - End -
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