End of the Line

Chapter 30. A Warm Welcome

Authors Note. This chapter contains the first of several letters that served as an inspiration for this novel. No attempt has been made to edit it.

Chapter Thirty

A Warm Welcome 

The two brothers and newly acquired brother in law shared space in a cabin on the lower deck of a decommissioned liner recently converted  to a troop transport. They left Halifax harbour to the cheers of a huge crowd on the 7th December 1939. The voyage was long. The hunt was on for the Graf Spee, and for safety reasons their convoy headed for turbulent northern waters. Many of the recruits had never been to sea before and most were unable to cope with the violent winter storms that plagued their passage. It was a sorry looking group of soldiers that disembarked at Gourock eleven days later.  

Just before midday, they were herded on to the quayside to board a waiting troop train. The process was quite slow, and they soon discovered that their capes offered little protection against the freezing sleet. By the time they boarded, Bill was chilled to the bone and having difficulty breathing in the acrid air. 

Eight soldiers shared one compartment on the train. The padded seats were quite comfortable. On the walls underneath the luggage racks hung picture frames that normally carried photos of the resorts that the railway serviced during peacetime. Now they contained messages urging the buttoning of lips, blackout instructions, and the rather ironic question "Is your journey really necessary?" One single yellow light bulb illuminated the compartment and there were blackout blinds on the windows. 

As the train pulled away from the dockside, the young Canadians strained to look at the unfamiliar landscape. Up the River Clyde could be seen barrage balloons protecting the shipyards from aerial assault. Huge clouds of industrial smoke hid the city of Glasgow from their gaze. The train turned southward in to Ayrshire. The troops were unaware of this. The Brits had removed all station signs in an attempt to confuse invading Germans. Progress was slow, with frequent stops to let goods trains through. At about 4.30, the train hissed to a stop in a large multi-platformed station. Glass canopies covered the platforms. Bill had a case of déjà vu. On the way to Liverpool, they had stopped in a similar station. He remembered watching the express trains thundering through. Could this be Preston? 

An army of women, some young and attractive, dressed in khaki smocks, their hair held up in turbaned headscarves lined the platform. They were each handling trolleys laden with refreshments. A cacophony of catcalls greeted the ladies as they approached the lowered carriage windows. They responded with smiles. The wares on offer were not to Canadian tastes: lukewarm tea that tasted like dishwater, unchilled soft drinks, and old spam sandwiches laced with HP sauce. At least they were free, a gift from grateful citizens. 

The troops were mostly oblivious to the poor quality of the refreshments, they were just glad of the chance to chat up the local talent. Bill was curious. 

"Is this Preston?" he asked one elderly lady. 

"Nae lad." She sounded a bit like Mrs Maclean. "Tha's a bit to go yit. Tha's only in Carlisle." 

Bill knew that Carlisle was just north of the Lakes, his birthplace. How unfortunate that he would be travelling through the region in darkness. 

Overnight the train moved through the industrial heart of England. Stops were frequent. Peeks through the blackout blinds revealed factory after factory illuminated by the glow from furnaces at full blast. Dawn found them in a more pastoral setting. As they passed through the small towns and villages, they could see waving crowds massing on the platforms and on the bridges spanning the rail line. Obviously, they were more than welcome.