Friday 5 October 2012

In a Waiting Room, 8th October 1952


It’s busy in here.  This fog’s a proper pea-souper.  It’s coming under the doors and down the chimney.  Usually with a fog like this I struggle to breathe but I don’t feel so bad today.  I haven’t coughed since the train either.  The train.  I was on the train.  So what am I doing in a waiting room again?  Where has George gone, I wonder.  Oh, I feel a bit sleepy.

Here’s some more people.  I’d better shuffle up and make room.  At least these seats are comfortable.  Must be first class.  Hang on, here’s some people with uniforms on.  He’s a driver, surely.  That’s not done, letting engine staff into a first class waiting room.  I’ll have to write a letter to the Stationmaster when I get home.  If I ever get home.  What on earth is going on?  Yet more people?  This really is a disgrace, and no-one here to give us any information.

Ah! Now here’s someone who looks like they’re going to take charge of the situation.  Those buttons on his waistcoat are awfully shiny.  That’s very reassuring.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention?  We are so sorry to keep you waiting, we weren’t expecting so many of you at once.  Please be assured that we will deal with each of you in order of your time of arrival.’
How does he know which one of us was here first?  Extraordinary.
‘Mrs Barnes?  This way please.’
Mrs Barnes and the man with shiny buttons disappeared into the fog.

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