Sample

Amidst the thinning crowds at the top of the cliff two figures, a man and a woman, could be singled out in sharp relief, with the woman walking purposively towards the man.

The stocky figure of the man looked cosily enough clad in a thick and old donkey jacket, which had seen better days together with a flat cap, pulled well down over his forehead. His large hands seemed to hover tentatively in the region of his jacket pockets as if seeking something of great importance, before pulling out a packet of cigarettes.

The woman, shorter and thin, carried a flimsy umbrella, which snapped in a sudden gust of wind, as she grew nearer. She threw the battered umbrella to one side and her face tightened as the wind lashed her long auburn hair quickly from one side and then the other of her face. Her flimsy shoes were no match for the bumps and puddles on the pavements. She rested next to the canopy of the bandstand gritting her teeth with her eyes still firmly fixed on her father who had deserted his duties at the Bed and Breakfast establishment.

Eddie stood next to the path at the top of the cliffs, looking in the distance and seeing a purple haze hung in the air and the steelworks and chemical factories vomiting upwards a dark plume deep from within its stomach. He coughed and spluttered as the pungent aroma of pollution filled his nostrils and caused his head to spin. Eddie was late on this of all days and he had no excuse he thought except arthritis in both knees, the pressing demands of his daughter's Bed and Breakfast business and death knocking on his door.

He steadied himself by sitting on a wet bench looking down towards the pier in the distance and could see a solitary woman leaning against the rail of the pier and looking down at the sea. Further away he could see his friends walking swiftly towards the bridge. Still wheezing, he got up and walked as quickly as he could, promising himself another cigarette in reward when he had reached them.

Down past the pier the old men's eyes never even noticed the brown iron oxide pollution in the stream flowing like a trickle of soft toffee under the bridge. They gazed lovingly instead at the immaculate billiard green colour engine shed surrounded by the trees and greenery on the steep sloped valley as they turned the corner. Before the shed was the neatly assembled ticket office made out of old plywood standing only slightly bigger than a telephone kiosk.

A tightly rolled newspaper was in Tom's hand which he began to wave wildly as his air of dignified composure began to dissolve when his mind focused on one item covering the front page of the local newspaper. 'Bastard!' he yelled. 'He's not...'

'Quiet. Wait until we get inside the engine shed,' Arthur interrupted while tapping his hand on his friend's shoulder. It was difficult for Tom to hear the words coming from Arthur's mouth above the rustle of wind in the trees and the chorus of seagulls hovering above them.

'Kill the bastard!' Tom shouted.

'Just wait a minute until we get inside the engine shed for goodness sake!' said Arthur, this time raising his voice impatiently.

'Just look what's pinned on the side of the shed,' said Tom. ' The New Rushmoor Bay Resort. A rescue plan by local benefactor Vic Edwards. I can't read any more of this pile of shit!'

'Remember that the council haven't formally given their approval yet,' said Arthur.

'Don't be a complete prat! It's so short of cash it has no bloody choice. Vic Edwards will turn this into a resort from Hell. Even Colin knows that.'

Colin licked the last of his ice cream seemingly oblivious to the fate of the miniature railway. He offered no comment and the men expected none would be forthcoming. Although he was never very bright no one was under any illusions about the effects of the car accident ten years ago, which changed his life so dramatically. Before the accident he could hold down a job as a steelworker and cope with most of the stresses of life. After the accident he was like a very young boy once more. Unable to cope with the demands of a job his marriage soon failed and most of steelworker friends faded away.

Eddie and Ben worked alongside him in the smelting department of the large steelworks and were the only friend's who didn't desert him. Seeing ice cream on Colin's chin Ben walked over and wiped this gently away for him.

At this point Tom looked over. It was a painful reminder to him since his wife was even worse - not the same condition, but even more of a pitiful spectacle than Colin was. It was not like him to dwell on any subject with a depressing note for long. Tom then realised that Colin, unlike any of them, was remarkably good with children and always had a friendly smile as a conductor on the train, even if he didn't have much of a clue about anything else. He was normal and alive at those times, just as much as was his wife once was when ironing and baking he recollected.

Tom looked at Colin's big hands and darting eyes, always observing everything going on around him, though not able to make much sense of it. Colin always wanted food, particularly ice cream and chips - combining the two and dipping a chip into an ice cream before placing it in his mouth. Tom could see Ben keeping a careful eye on Colin and took some reassurance from this. It was only a week ago when Colin switched on the electric drill, then panicked before Ben pulled him away to safety. They did their best looking after Colin in the daytime and his widowed sister looked after him in the evenings. Nobody voiced it out aloud but Tom knew that everyone feared that it wouldn't be very long now before Colin would have to go into a home.

Arthur shook his head wearily at that moment when Colin carelessly dropped the train whistle on the floor, before Ben bent down to pick it up for him. It was the silver plated train whistle, inscribed Tim Weatherspoon 1931 Loxley Station master, hung around his neck on a thick piece of cord. Whenever he removed this from around his neck Arthur would remonstrate with him. Arthur cherished anything to do with the railway, particularly the Loxley train whistle. How Ben had been so foolish to entrust this to Colin's safe keeping Arthur could never understand. Everything should be safely locked up in a filing cabinet and well away from his irresponsible hands in his view. His mind focused on his precious watch and the worrying prospect that it would only be a matter of time before Colin claimed this as his own.

After Arthur had shouted at Colin, Tom was about to utter sharp words in Colin's direction, but then thought better of it, remembering that in some things Colin was supreme. None of the old men had much time for young children who at best were tolerated when riding on the line. Colin always had a friendly smile and seemed perfectly at ease in the company of children. One day both he and Arthur shouted angrily at Colin when he jumped off the moving train. They soon realised that he had seen a small child fall in the stream at the side of the track. Although the river was flowing fast he managed to scramble the young child to safety.

The dark rain filled clouds continued to release heavy rain, as the men entered the engine shed. The patched up canvas sheet was gently removed revealing the miniature steam locomotive in a blaze of green and chrome as the rain began to pound the tin roof.

A contented smile came to Arthur's face when he looked up at the old station sign LOXLEY and the clock above the doorway and the fading postcards sent to them from grateful holidaymakers. He reached for his handkerchief and standing on his toes reached up to wipe the dust from the station sign. Slowly and tenderly he moved his hand from left to right over the sign and groaned a little until his feet were once again firmly planted on the ground.

Arthur grimaced when he saw dirt had somehow got through his overalls and rested on his well- ironed shirt. He licked his finger before carefully running it over blemished part of the shirt and smiled when the muck was removed. Looking down at his immaculately ironed shirt a sense of pride came over him. At the Frigate pub or the social club on Harriet Street he knew that no one came close to being so well dressed and neat in his appearance.

His wife had been dead for the past three years but he knew she always wanted him to be the smartest man around when he ventured out in the evening. The only blemish was the tatty oil soaked cap he would take out each time from the metal cabinet in the shed.

Although Arthur's overalls were always pristine clean, a smile of anticipation came to Tom's face, knowing that in a few moments he would witness the sight of the strange object stuck on the top of his friend's head. He could never have worn anything so battered and discoloured, but it had special significance. John Tate, the engine driver of the Flying Star wore this very cap on the very last journey to Loxley many years previously. Arthur intended to wear the cap when they reinstated the line and saw it as a symbol of hope and good luck to continue to wear this every day when working on his beloved railway.

Arthur took a key from his pocket, inserted it into his locker and retrieved his cap, before placing his coat on one of the stout metal hooks and putting on his overalls. Tom looked over and smiled when seeing Arthur adjust the cap on his head. Only just visible was his neatly knotted blue tie, sticking out from his green overalls.

Arthur did not take off his old watch. Wiping the watch face gently - it was not very wet -he looked dubiously at the watch as if debating with himself whether it was safe to continue wearing it. The watch was recently repaired and a very special gift from his wife when they were both very young and he intended to take good care of it. He was not going to let Colin even set eyes on it he told himself. Although he couldn't help it, Colin had no compunction about borrowing anything he fancied nor about the state of the thing if and when he returned it. Deciding to place the watch for temporary safe keeping in the locker he waited a few moments while Colin was distracted, as he had expected to be by Ben offering some of his wine gums, before he could place the watch in its safe place.

Reflected in the glaze from the pristine chrome on the Flying Star the wrinkled and time ravaged faces of the old men were all too evident, Arthur thought. The Flying Star had never looked better than it did today and all the toil they had put into it meant it would run along the track just as well, as the day so many years ago, when it left the factory in Wakefield. He and his friends stood and worshipped in silence just as they did on so many days, both summer and winter, at perfection at few feet away from them. Steven's of Wakefield had certainly achieved perfection in producing this machine back in 1936 and its majestic beauty transfixed their eyes.

Arthur looked over towards Tom and grimaced at his thick black overcoat that was far too big for him, which he had bought for

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