Abby Ch. 05

Abby had completely forgotten about her mobile phone, and that evening after changing she turned it on, to see if there were any messages, there were a few, but the most important was from her deputy on the team, pleading with her to come back. 'That holding has gone ballistic, and we need you here now.' That resolved her diary for the immediate future. They wouldn't need her back there unless something important and profitable was brewing.

Mary knew that something had happened as soon as Abby came down for her meal. The brief interlude with James Comberford had cheered her up and enabled her to forget the terrible event of how her grandfather had died. This had returned as she changed in her room, and was uppermost on her mind. Abby just toyed with her food and replied absent-mindedly to Mary's questions. When Sam arrived and came to the bar for his drink, Mary just whispered out of the side of her mouth. "She knows." Sam was troubled. He knew what Mary meant, and he was aware that he ought to have told Abby. What he didn't know was how she knew. Now he had to somehow explain why he hadn't said anything. He lingered at the bar for a while, unwilling to face the girl. Eventually he had to go and see her, as the longer the delay, the greater the guilt. As he walked round into the lounge, Abby looked up, and smiled. The smile gave him hope that this interview would not be as difficult as he feared. Abby asked him to sit, and immediately told him that she had seen her grandfather's solicitor that day. The one question was answered, he hadn't known that Tregonney had a solicitor, how the girl had found out he couldn't fathom, but she was probably quicker mentally than him.

"I know how grandfather died, I'm a little hurt that you couldn't tell me yourself, but I can understand. What bothers me is why. Do you know?'

Sam was relieved to be let off so easily, but nonetheless felt he should apologise and explain. "Yes, I should have told you, and I fully intended to tell you this evening. I'm not very good with bad tidings, but you had a right to know, and I'm sorry that the information had to come from a stranger, it should have been me." He paused. "It was a bad day for all of us. Your grandfather used to come in here a couple of times a week for a drink. When a few days had gone past and he hadn't been seen, Alf Watson who was the landlord here then, asked Trevor Williams and me to go down and check on him. He wasn't at the station, no reason for him to be there, but you never know, so we walked on down the track to his house. We knocked and called but got no reply. I was going round the back to have a look, see if I could spot anything, and Trevor had wandered off over to the goods shed. Suddenly I heard him calling. He had found your grandfather. He had hung himself from one of the beams. He stayed there and I ran back here."

"Ran?" Abby interrupted.

Sam grinned. "I was a lot younger then. Alf phoned the police and ambulance, and that was that. They came and took him away. There was an inquest of course; they returned a verdict of Misadventure. I think Mr. Comberford had talked to the Coroner, to avoid a suicide verdict. They were going to bury him here but Alf reckoned that he should be buried back in Cornwall, where he was born. The undertakers agreed, but had to charge for the journey, and we all had a whip round for it. Mr. Comberford was very generous. They found out where he was born from the railway. Trevor went down, and as he said after, he was the only one there beside the Minister. I don't know exactly where it was, somewhere near Par I believe. I suppose I should have asked Trevor, but he died about fifteen years ago; so I reckon he can't tell us now!" All this came out in short stilted sentences, as if Sam was hurrying to explain all the circumstances as quickly as possible.

Abby had listened as Sam stumbled over the events. It had became obvious during the telling, that he, and presumably others in Combe, felt some guilt over the affair, as if they should have recognised the desperation that her grandfather felt, and in some way could have prevented the tragedy. Abby's understanding as Sam had recounted what he knew of her grandfather, and the events that one by one had assaulted him, brought her to the conclusion that he had taken his life because everything that he counted of importance had been taken from him.

She said as much to Sam, who nodded slowly, giving thought to what she had said. "Yes I reckon that just about sums it up. I would imagine that most people round here would have come to that conclusion. I'll tell you now that a lot of us felt ashamed, after all he was one of us, and he'd lived here for nigh on thirty years. We should have been closer to him."

Abby laid her hand on his arm. "I don't think that you or anyone else can be blamed. From what you have said, grandfather's attitude towards others would keep them at arm's length. He doesn't sound like the sort of person who would share his troubles with anyone. My mum was just the same, her running away was proof of that." Sam gave her a quick smile of thanks. Mary, who had strangely enough sat there silently, suggested that they all needed a drink, and without waiting for the reply rushed off to get them. She returned with glasses of whisky, her sovereign remedy for moments of sadness and emotion.

They had barely had time to taste their drinks, when cries from the bar caught the attention. Abby heard only one shout clearly, which was 'Come to drag your Old Man home then, Mavis.' followed by good-natured laughter. The commotion continued with a woman's voice reaching higher decibels than any of the others.

Abby heard Sam groan. "That's my missus, can't go anywhere without she's laying into someone for some infringement of the code according to Mavis." Abby expected a virago to come into the Lounge, instead appeared a very small elderly neat, lady, carrying a very large handbag, her face aglow with self-satisfaction.

"Hello, Mavis," called Mary, "how are you, not upsetting my customers I hope?"

Mavis shook her head. "Upsetting them, no, they enjoys a bit of shouting, that lot." Without pausing for breath she addressed Abby, "now you must be the young lady who has been bringing my Sam out every evening. If he weren't so old I might have suspected something, but his days of shenanigans are over. How are you? Sam said he knew who you were straight off, and for once he is right, I can see your mother in you well enough. It's really good to see you, can I call you Abby?"

Taken aback by this relentless barrage of words, Abby would realise in time that Mavis always talked like a machine gun. She stood up saying. "It's nice to meet you Mrs. Perry," extended her hand, which Mavis ignored, moving inside to reach up and plant a kiss on Abby's cheek.

"Now call me Mavis. Sam! You going to sit there all evening and not get me a chair, and I'll have a Port and Lemon." Sam moved a chair, which was only about twelve inches behind Mavis, six inches towards her, and she sank down without really looking to see if there was a chair at all, merely expecting that Sam had made sure there was. Sam made to go for her drink, when Mary stopped him.

"I'll go, Sam, I should check that Jack's o.k."

Mavis leaned forward and grasped Abby's hand. "I suspect that Sam has given you the bad news about your grandfather's death by now. But there's no more to come, so take the word of an old lady and don't worry about it, it all happened too many years ago." Abby decided not to explain that she hadn't heard this from Sam, sure that he would tell Mavis later. "I've been rummaging at home and I've found some old photographs, would you like to see them?"

Would Abby like to see them was obviously a rhetorical question, the answer very plain on her face, the eagerness showing. In any case Mavis had every intention of showing the photographs. She delved into the cavernous bag she had brought with her, producing a small package, wrapped around with a rubber band. The band was taken off and the first photograph thrust under Abby's nose. It was plainly years old, dog-eared with crease marks running across. She could recognise the place as the platform at Combe Lyney station, as it had once been. There were two figures in the photo, the first, who dominated the frame was a tall, sparse man, wearing an old-fashioned frock coat, and a small pillbox cap. He had been photographed striding towards the photographer and his body language said he wasn't too pleased to be the photographer's subject, looking as if he had more important business to attend and a photographer was getting in the way.

Abby knew that she was looking at her grandfather and the picture swam out of focus as her eyes misted over with tears. An arm came round her shoulders, and she sensed without looking that it was Mary, whilst Mavis took her hand again and patted it gently. Presently she was able to extract her hand in order to search for a tissue. Drying her eyes she thanked them for their kindness, and picking up the photo again examined it closely. It was too old, and the quality too poor to make out much of her Grandfather's features, but it was clear enough for her to see the trimmed moustache he wore, and deep hooded eyes. Poignantly she noticed the two small GWR badges, one on each lapel of the coat; now in her possession.

"Do you know when this was taken?" she asked Mavis, who shrugged her shoulders.

"No, I can't even remember how we came to have it, unless Sam knows."

Sam shook his head. "I can't say for certain, but I think it would have been early fifties. Why the photo was taken I can't say, but I seem to recollect that Reg Purvess left it in the bar, that's him on the left; he was the Signalman."

Mavis produced the second photo, which was another view taken along the platform. Steam swirled around the front of a small engine standing there with its train. The driver leaned out looking back along the platform. Abby would later realise that it was probably the fireman. Great Western engines were different insomuch that the driver was on the right-hand side, not the left. Her grandfather stood there with his back to the camera, Frock-coat and Pill-box cap on parade, also looking back down the platform, his left hand extended towards the engineman, not to shake his hand, but imperiously cautioning patience. In the distance toward the back of the train, doors were still open, and porters were loading a crate.

Sam was more informative now. "When trains arrived, your grandfather would be standing just outside the booking office, with his watch in his hand. He never said anything, but if the train was late, the driver knew that it would go into the report, and the look that he got from your grandfather would've ruined anyone's day. He waited until the train stopped, and woe betide the driver again, if he didn't stop it accurately and your grandfather had to walk to the guard's compartment. The guards were really of equal status to a stationmaster, so they would greet each other as Mister Tregonney, and Mister Metcalfe, or whoever it was, but Metcalfe was the usual guard on the passenger trains. Then your grandfather would take his walk down the platform, looking in all the compartments so that if a regular and important passenger was travelling, he could salute them and greet them properly. He arrived at the engine just seconds before it was due out, and always, but always would chide them for some misdemeanour, like improper use of the whistle, or black smoke. It didn't matter what, but they would always leave with a flea in their ear."

Abby was astounded. It was the use of the whistle that intrigued her. "And what was improper use of the whistle? The mind boggles with the possibilities."

Sam laughed. "Well you may not believe it, but the G.W.R. had a very strict code about whistling. I cannot tell you all the details, it would take a railwayman to do that, but an infringement of the code was considered seriously. I know that before any engine moved the driver had to give one short whistle; I think they called that a Crow or a pop, I am not too sure about that." Mavis was impatient to get on, so before Abby had really exhausted the subject of whistles, a third old photograph was placed in front of her. The Inn was the backdrop, its appearance little changed, with three people sitting on the bench in front. Her grandfather was still recognisable despite not wearing his cap and Frock coat, but the other two gave Abby's heart a sudden start, a small thin, woman looking incredibly frail and a young girl. She knew without asking that this was her mother and grandmother, she looked at Mavis who nodded her head, a sympathetic expression on her face.

"Yes Love, that's your mum and grandma." Abby smiled and said no more for a while, just looking at the photo, her eyes brimming with tears. Sam was about to say something, but his wife, given that sixth sense by years of being together, just looked at him before his mouth opened and shook her head. Her expression saying let the girl have a moment. Sam nodded.

Eventually Abby stirred and asked Mavis. "Do you think I could borrow these photographs for a while and have some copies made." She knew a computer specialist who could re-generate the photos.

Mavis waved her hands dismissively. "You don't need to borrow them, they're yours, keep them." Abby smiled her thanks, not being able to say too much at this moment for fear of breaking down with tears. Mary had left a little while ago, and now returned with a tray of tea. She believed that either Whisky or tea was needed for emotional moments. Her eyes watering, Abby nodded her head vigorously. Tea was exactly right.

With the tea half drunk, and her spirits restored, Abby broke the news that she would be returning to London the next day. Mary was disappointed that she would not be staying longer, and Mavis added her voice to the entreaties to stay. "I've only just met you, and it would be nice to get to know you better."

Abby put their minds at ease "I shall be coming back later in the year," she couldn't resist a little teasing, "but I have to get off some of the weight that Mary's cooking has put on me, and Mavis, I shall want to question Sam a little more, if you don't mind.".

"Mind?" Mavis snorted "I shan't mind, it will get him out from under my feet, and so you will be doing me a favour."

Sam himself seemed quite pleased with the idea. "But I shall be buying my round, do you hear?" Abby picked up her bag, the photographs, and made her goodnights; this time with kisses all round.

Mavis chuckled. "There you go Sam, young girls kissing you, bet you thought those days were long gone hey?" Sam assumed the shade of red that he had worn last night from the same treatment.

Abby packed most of her clothes that night, except for those she would be travelling in tomorrow. These few days had changed her more than any of the other breaks she had taken. Researching Industrial history was dry, and academic, it did not challenge her emotions. Now here was a history in which her family had been involved. The urge to delve further was overpowering, to research in detail the story of this little line and understand her grandfather's part in it. There were other reasons too, because she had learned a lot about her own family, and gained another extended family. In addition thoughts had started creeping into her mind about her future. The calm and beautiful valley was seductive, and ideas were surfacing of trying to combine a life here with her career in the city, which were very beguiling. She was amazed that in the space of these four days so much information had been revealed, but these were only cameos, odd scenes which did not and could not present the whole picture, she wanted to know more, it was personal now, not just historical statistics. In London she would find answers in the wealth of the Museums and Libraries. This would give her the skeleton, putting flesh on the bones could only be done here, and she would be coming back to do just that.

To be continued