When Ken came home he seemed delighted to find Tilly at work in the dining room, a forgotten cup of tea cooling on the sideboard and piles of papers everywhere.
‘You’ve made a start, then? Fantastic stuff!’ He plonked down the box he was carrying beside the other one, that Tilly was now using for rubbish.
‘Not there! Over there please, by the window, for anything not yet sorted.’
‘How’s it going, pet?’
‘Well, as you say, I’ve made a start.’ She put down the documents she was holding and gave him a hug. ‘I’m sorry about last night. Super sorry. It was unforgivable. And you were right, Dad. This is something worthwhile for me to do, and quite absorbing, really. I think it’ll be good for me. What time is it?’
‘Just gone four.’
‘Four! I’d have guessed it was about one-thirty.’
‘I’ll put the kettle on. Found anything interesting yet?’
‘This.’ She passed him the framed cutting and Ken sat down to read it.
‘That’s great! We could photocopy it, blow it up a bit, laminate and display that in the museum coach. When it’s done up.’
‘Yes, and I thought put it beside an account of the reopening. I found this too.’ She passed him a copy of the Society’s magazine from its early days in 1985, in which someone had written an article about his memories of travelling on the line as a child on a summer’s day in the 1920s. He’d liked the tunnel best, it seemed, and had indeed leaned out of the window grabbing at foliage as the train negotiated bends, just as the Dorset Herald journalist had predicted.
‘That’s perfect,’ Ken said, when he’d finished reading. ‘You should show it to Alan, too. Before he was born, his mother used to bring his brothers and sisters here on holidays. I think his uncle used to work on the railway. It had closed by the time Alan was born, and there’s some mystery – Alan never met his uncle and apparently his mother would never talk about him. I don’t know the detail.’
*
As if to prove her worth to Ken, Tilly threw her heart and soul over the next few days into the job of sorting out the archives and researching the history of the railway. She’d had an idea to build up a display board that accounted for the history of the old railway, and another showing the history of the Society and the restoration efforts. There were plenty of opportunities for ‘then and now’ photos and articles side by side.
In among the boxes Ken brought home were Lynford station’s logbooks, detailing every train that passed through and their timings. Someone had clearly been a bit of a stickler for detail, Tilly thought, as she piled up the logbooks in date order.
She’d also subscribed to websites that allowed you to view old newspapers online, and all were fully searchable. Searching for mentions of the railway in 1936, the year it closed, she’d come across various announcements, and had copied them to a folder on her laptop.
Announcement in the Dorset Herald, September 1936
The last day of operation of the beloved Michelhampton and Coombe Regis Railway is to be this Sunday, 20 September. The final service will depart Michelhampton at 11.05 a.m., and the last return service will depart Coombe Regis at 4.35 p.m. All trains will call at all intermediate stations.
Tickets may be bought in advance from any station, for those wishing to avail themselves of this last chance to travel on what must be one of the most scenic lines in the country. Its demise will be a great loss to the county.
Letter to the Dorset Herald – 28 September 1936
Sir
It is only a week since the closure of the Michelhampton and Coombe Regis Railway, but already our countryside feels too quiet, too still, lonely and unvisited. Can nothing be done to save the railway before the tracks are taken up and the assets sold off? Whilst I understand that the railway was not profitable for Southern Railway and that travelling between the towns and villages on its route is quicker by road, money and speed are not everything. The sublime scenery viewed from the railway’s open carriages is surely worth far more and is worth saving. Is there not some public-spirited individual, some far-sighted philanthropic gentleman, some railway-loving local businessman, who might buy the railway in its entirety, and run it as a tourist attraction, perhaps during the summer months only? Is there really no business model for this line, under which it could be saved for the nation? If I had the money myself, I’d come forward, but unfortunately I am not in that happy position. I write this letter in the hope that someone of suitable means will seriously consider the proposition.
Yours
Mr Walter Britten, Michelhampton
There was something so sad about that last one. Just a week after it closed people were already mourning its loss. In another snippet Tilly read about how the railway was broken up and its assets sold off at auction. Some railway carriages had been bought by local people and turned into garden sheds or summer houses. The Society had apparently bought several back and restored them, including the one used as a museum. She discovered that one of the steam engines that ran, the one that had been in continuous use on the gala weekend, was a replica. Built by Manning Wardle, the same company who had built the original engines, to the same design. They’d called it Coombe Wanderer, after one of the originals.
And what had happened to the people who’d worked on the railway, especially those such as stationmasters and their families, who’d lived in the station houses? Where had they moved to after the closure of the line?
*
The weekend after the gala, five days after Tilly’s night with Rob, was when Jo was finally able to visit. Tilly had not allowed herself to get too excited this time, in case something happened and Jo was not able to come. She didn’t want to risk being thrown into the depths of despair again, now that she was finally beginning to sort herself out. But everything went to plan, and by eight o’clock on Friday night Jo was sitting in Ken’s living room, a glass of wine in hand, while Tilly finished preparing dinner. She was aware that Ken was speaking in a low voice, probably bringing Jo up to date on Tilly’s behaviour and recent state of mind. That was OK. She’d be updating Jo herself soon. And she knew Ken was acting out of love and concern for her. What he would tell Jo about her failure to come home last Monday night she didn’t know. She still felt mortified by that.
*
On Saturday Tilly led Jo out on the long-planned walk along the cliffs. It was a blustery day, threatening rain, but Tilly was desperate to get out for some fresh air after too many days in the company of dusty boxes of papers in Ken’s dining room.
‘Rain can’t hurt us,’ Jo said, pulling on her mac. ‘At least it can’t hurt me. I’m a Yorkshire woman, remember? We’ll just get wet, and then when we get back we can make hot chocolate and sit by the fireside. Now come on, mate. You’ve been promising me this. I get so few chances to go out for a decent walk since having the kids.’
They set off westwards, following the cliff path as it rose and fell over the contours of the land. Tilly had not been this way since her first few days here – since the day she’d ended up walking home from Beremouth swigging from a bottle of wine.
They walked in silence for a while, but then at the high point of the cliff, Jo stopped to admire the view. The sky was every shade of grey, but the clouds were high enough that they could see the coastline stretching out in both directions.
‘It’s better on a sunny day,’ Tilly said, but Jo shook her head.
‘I like it like this. It’s more honest, somehow. It’s as though the land’s saying, this is how I feel today. I’m not in a good mood, and I’m letting you see it. I’m not pretending all’s well.’
‘That’s deep!’ Tilly laughed.
‘It’s rubbish. It’s my way of saying, come on, mate, tell your Aunty Jo how you’re feeling. Don’t hold back. Your dad said you’ve had some ups and downs.’
‘I have, yes.’ Tilly turned away and continued walking.
‘And? Anything I should know about?’
Life was always easier if she opened up to Jo, Tilly thought. ‘Yeah. I suppose I should tell you about last Monday night.’
‘Your dad said you didn’t come home?’
Tilly took a deep breath and told the full story.
When she’d finished Jo was silent for a moment. ‘Did he … take advantage of you? Oh, Tilly, is this your “me too” moment? After all you’ve been through …’
‘No, not at all. It was me. I instigated it, and although I’d drunk a lot, I did know what I was doing.’ Tilly shrugged. ‘He was cute, and you know, for a short time I forgot all my problems.’
‘You naughty girl!’ Jo said in mock horror. ‘But you don’t want to see him again?’
‘As a friend, only. Maybe. I don’t want a relationship.’
‘Fair enough. And how do you feel now about what you did?’
Tilly twisted her mouth. ‘I think my only regret is that I was too drunk and too caught up in the moment to think to text Dad. That was unforgivable.’
‘Yes. But he will forgive you, because your dad is amazing and lovely.’
It was a good job it was drizzling, so the moisture on her cheeks could be attributed to the rain, not tears. Yes, Ken was the best dad any woman could have. She was lucky, she knew.
‘He’s enjoying having you here,’ Jo said. ‘Have you talked to him, about everything that happened?’
‘Most of it. I told him about the other miscarriages. And about Ian and Naomi.’
‘That’s good. Have you heard from Ian?’
‘No. Only a text or two. And that’s the way I want it.’
‘Won’t you have to talk to him about … you know … getting a divorce?’
‘There are solicitors for that. I’ll engage one, soon. When I feel I can walk into a solicitor’s office and tell them what I need, without falling apart.’
‘Aw, mate. Anything I can do to help, you know I will. I’d come with you if it’d help.’
‘I know you would. And I-I appreciate it so much.’ Tilly turned her face into the wind and let it whip her hair around her face. ‘Shall we walk on? There’s a pub down the hill in the next village.’
*
The weekend with Jo passed all too quickly and in no time at all she’d gone, and Tilly was alone with Ken again. But she felt more relaxed and happier than she’d been for some time.
‘Done you good, having Jo here,’ Ken said as they ate dinner the night after Jo had left. ‘It’d be worth you finding some local friends, of your own age. Not just us oldies in the Society.’
Tilly nodded, thinking of Rob. A week had passed. Maybe in another week or two she’d suggest meeting up in the pub. For a drink, only. As a friend.
‘And you’re doing so well with the archives.’ Ken smiled. ‘Really pleased to see you getting stuck in. You know, I reckon if you took some of the photos and newspaper bits you’ve found, and went to see that Miss Pullen, I reckon she’d listen to you more than she does to us old men. Especially as you’ve already met her. You’ve got a bit of a connection already.’
‘But she pushed me out of the door as soon as I mentioned the railway. I’m not sure she’d be too happy if I went to see her on railway business.’ Tilly stared at her father.
He shrugged. ‘It’s the one thing we haven’t tried – sending a young woman to her. You have people skills. Well, better ones than the rest of us old codgers. You might get somewhere. If we just understood what her problem was – does she want more money, does she want some other land in compensation, does she not really understand what we are doing …’
It would be a challenge. And it would make a change from the archive work. Tilly nodded. ‘Well, I could give it a go, I suppose. Funny, isn’t it, how some people just don’t like change. There will always be people who’ll find something to complain about. Even before the railway was built there were people objecting to it. I even found a letter to The Times objecting to the railway being built in the 1890s. Maybe I should do a display board about objectors?’
Ken laughed. ‘Maybe you should, pet. For balance, eh?’
Letter to The Times, October 1893
Sir,
It is with the utmost horror that I write to your esteemed newspaper, having recently become acquainted with the plans to build a narrow-gauge railway through the sublime Dorset countryside, from Michelhampton down to the coast at Coombe Regis. As anyone who has travelled extensively through our green and pleasant land will know, Dorset is a county of extreme beauty where hills and valleys, streams and woodland jostle one another, competing to provide the most compelling vista. The railway will need to cut through or contour around those hills; bridge the valleys; forcing ugly scars across the countryside. Add to that the locomotives that will belch out dirty steam, blackening the hedgerows and frightening away the wildlife. The enterprise will bring nothing but a blight upon the landscape.
Coombe Regis is the most beautiful unspoilt village on the entire coastline. The reason it remains unspoilt, where so many of its neighbours have become built-up and over-developed, is because it is currently at least twenty-five miles from the nearest railway station and has only the roughest of road links. Travelling by carriage to Coombe Regis takes several uncomfortable hours. The best way to arrive is by boat, into its darling little port, but this is only possible when the weather is calm and the tide is high. It is the difficulties inherent in reaching the village that have allowed it to remain unspoilt.
If the proposed railway is completed, I fear it will bring an influx of day-trippers to the town. Proponents argue that it will bring prosperity, but I predict the opposite. There are at present two hotels, each catering for twenty or so guests; and those intrepid souls who undertake the arduous journey to reach the village each summer remain there for weeks or even months at a time, spending plenty of money with local businesses. In contrast, if a rail route is in place hordes of people from the lower classes will descend upon the little town, bringing with them a picnic to consume while sitting on the harbour wall. They will buy nothing beyond a postcard or two from the local shops, and perhaps a jug of ale at most from one of the inns before returning by the evening train. Their presence will keep away the traditional, long-term visitors. Coombe Regis’s attraction lies in its remoteness, its peace and quiet, its solitude. As more and more people come to experience this, it will all be lost, and I for one will mourn its passing. Can nothing be done to halt this ill-advised enterprise before it is too late?
Yours, etc.
*
Tilly called on Ena Pullen the very next day. It was a half-hour drive to Ena’s farmhouse – the route took her beyond Lower Berecombe, then along the lanes she remembered walking, and finally up the track to the farmhouse. As Tilly parked her car on the weed-infested gravel in front of the house, she glanced back over the valley and realised that in the distance she could just about see the village of Lynford, its newer estates sprawling up the hillside. Was that the station building itself, just beyond a copse of trees? During the season from here the occasional puff of steam might be visible on the horizon.
To one side of the front door was a window, with a grubby net curtain obscuring the view. If Tilly had a view like this, she certainly wouldn’t put up net curtains. It wasn’t as though there were any nosy neighbours nearby. The nearest house was at least a mile away, back in Lower Berecombe. Tilly knocked on the door, wondering how she would be greeted this time.
Ena had an amused expression on her face as she opened the door. ‘Lost again, are you?’
Tilly plastered on her best smile. ‘Not this time. But I must thank you again for helping me out last time I called. I was … in a bad way then. Better now.’
‘Well, that’s good. What brings you here today, then?’
Tilly took a deep breath. This was it. Her next words would probably bring the door slamming in her face. ‘I’m working on the archives of the Michelhampton and Coombe Regis Railway and am trying to piece together the history of the railway, and those who worked for it. As your house is, er, near to the railway I wondered if you had any memories of it, or … anything …’ It sounded lame, even to herself, and Tilly stood in silence for an agonising few seconds waiting for Ena to tell her to go away.
Ena’s expression quickly changed. Her features hardened just as they had the last time Tilly had mentioned the railway. ‘I’ve had letters and telephone calls and all sorts from that railway society. All asking me to sell my land. I won’t sell, I tell you. So if you’ve come about that, you’d best go away.’
‘Well, I’m really more interested in the history—’
‘Oh, there’s plenty I could tell you, but I think you should find it all out for yourself. Why should I make it any easier for you? I hate that railway. But there are things that ought to come to light. Then they’ll realise why I won’t sell up.’
Tilly shuffled on the doorstep. It was clear Ena was not going to invite her inside on this occasion. ‘What things need to come to light?’
The old woman shook her head sadly. ‘Bad things happened there. Terrible things.’
‘What things, Miss Pullen? Do you remember them?’
‘Ah no. I’m old, dear, but not that old. The line had closed by the time I was born. But my mother, the things she said about it.’ Ena tutted her disapproval of whatever those things were.
‘Will you tell me? I may be able to research more …’
‘That railway,’ Ena said, ‘was the death of my father.’ She pinched her lips together.
‘Death? How?’ Tilly asked. It was the same thing Ena had said when Tilly was here before.
‘That’s for you to find out in your research. I don’t know the whole truth of it. But that’s what my mother always said. It killed him, that railway did, she said. I never knew him.’
‘That’s so sad, I’m sorry. Who was your father?’
‘A good man. An innocent man, with his life ahead of him.’
Tilly realised that was all she was going to get out of Ena on this occasion. ‘All right, I will see what I can find out. You know, there are boxes and boxes of old documents at Lynford station. I’ve been going through them. And then there’s more I can find out on the internet. Would you like me to come back and talk to you again, when or if I find out more?’
‘You might as well,’ Ena replied, and then she gently pushed the door closed, signalling the interview was at an end.