Where I Shouldn't Have Been
Many people, my family included, used the railway line as a public thoroughfare. Afterall, it was the easiest route to walk anywhere. The roads that existed were little more than dirt tracks. Fortuitously, Dad had been issued with a railway trike on which he travelled along the track during his work day. He also used it for his own sorties. The trike had three steel wheels in a triangular formation with the pony at the front. Dad propelled it along the track by pumping its handle backwards and forwards, pumping harder on the inclines.
Early one Saturday morning, Dad and I were on our way to Pop’s and Nana’s place. I was about five or six and sitting on the trike’s pony seat. We probably shouldn’t have been on the line although no regular trains were scheduled. Dad had worked hard to push us up the long up grade. Now, we were coasting along the down grade and enjoying our speed. The only thing, we could hear was the din made by the trike’s steel wheels on the steel track.
I looked backwards. I saw at the top of the rise, less than three hundred metres away, a massive black steam engine, a PB15. Its chimney belched a cloud of thick smoke from the coal it had consumed to feed its uphill climb. Its momentum on the downhill grade was increasing its speed fast. The train was bearing down on us. I frantically tugged at Dad’s shoulder. I couldn’t yell above the squeal of the trike’s noise. Besides, Dad was facing away from me. He angrily turned to whack me to sit down. Then he spotted the train coming up fast behind. Fortunately, the track was wide at this point. Dad, gathering all of his strength, threw us and the trike off the track just before the PB15’s cow catcher would catch us. By seconds, we escaped certain death. Even if the engine driver or fireman had seen us, they couldn’t have stopped the train over such a short distance. Of course, we didn’t tell anybody, especially not Mother.
Strangely, Mother didn’t forbid me to roam the railway line or anywhere else. She just cautioned me to watch for snakes. She only forbode me to explore the bottom corner of our house block, where the army’s showers and latrines had been. Thus, I viewed the railway tracks running adjacent to be an extension of our backyard. Hence, I explored these, and as I grew bigger, walked further along them. I observed everything about them: the rails’ lengths, width (gauge), ages and conditions, as well as the types of sleepers, hog backs or flatbacks, and the different dog spikes that held them together. I collected the coal thrown on the track sides to burn in our stove. I learnt that the engine drivers preferred certain grades of coal.
I knew the classes of engines that travelled the nearby lines. I also knew what times the trains came and jumped off the tracks to safety before they passed by. Nevertheless, the unscheduled ‘special’ trains were always a risk, particularly if I was crossing a railway bridge. The bridges were built with side platforms so people could escape from oncoming trains. These were small in diameter and provided an escapee with space for their body and a leeway of about fifty centimetres between them and a passing train. The person had no other alternative if they wished to survive. Jumping from the local bridges wasn’t an option. They were built high above running watercourses. Most people were also superstitiously scared of these and couldn’t swim.
One time, I was walking across the kilometre long bridge at Holmview when another of those frightening PB15 engines approached. I realised instantly I couldn’t reach the bridge’s other side. I looked at the fast flowing water below. I desperately surveyed the bridge for another option. Just ahead was a small platform. I hastily stowed myself there, breathing in to make myself smaller. I gripped the platform’s railing. Adrenalin surged through my veins. My heart beat loudly and rapidly. My body quivered with terror. I feared I’d die gruesomely or fall and drown. The engine’s chug and the mechanical grind of its wheels filled my ears. The rumble of fifteen carriages followed. I felt the rush of air from the train’s speed. Afterwards, I quickly scampered to solid ground before I collapsed. Of course, I kept my fright to myself. The specials caught me a few more times but this first one was the worst.
As I grew older, I willingly did errands that allowed me to stray from the house. Three times a week, we received a bread parcel from the Beenleigh baker on the afternoon train. There were three different routes I could walk to the station by. Down the road was the most boring. Through the paddocks and over the fences was the shortest and along the railway track the longest. Once, whilst practising my balance on the track’s rails, I spotted a crack in the rail on the curve. The rail was sheared into two pieces. I thought this was odd and hurried home to tell my father.
Initially, Dad didn’t believe me. However, since the cracked rail wasn’t far from home, he humoured me. He agreed with my opinion. Still, he waited until early the next morning to advise his supervisor, the ganger for that track section. I wondered about his sense of urgency. I supposed he knew no trains were scheduled to Beaudesert that night. Besides, he probably didn’t feel like returning to work that evening. The ganger advised the inspector immediately. The inspector arrived. He closed the line and cancelled all trains until the rail was replaced.
Me, a young boy, was a hero that day! I prevented a potential train derailment. Unfortunately, I didn’t earn any credit for being observant not even a kind word. Then again, I shouldn’t have been walking on the line.
