Tuesday, January 12, 2016
Looking at my watch I notice that I have just missed the
5.10 train. Of all days, I am wet through standing on the Summerville platform,
the wind howling along the tracks all the way to the coast. I am alone, except for an old drunk swearing
into his tattered mac; most probably his anger rising from an empty swig of a papered
bottle.
5.25pm and my
pacing begins. Except now the station is filling with people for the Stirling
line. The drunk has disappeared replaced by tired white-collar workers. I walk
along the edge, close to the tracks, my head down as I pass the newly arrived
commuters. Most have fingers on the pulse of their mobile phones or there’s one
guy, a good looking Colin Firth- type, talking to his beloved; throwing his
head back now and again, laughing as if he is happy. I imagine him going home
to a talk blonde, a woman of impeccable stature and means, re-heating a lamb
curry on the stove. Lucky her! Since Marcus left, my meals are made by
Weight Watchers. I usually throw the packet in the microwave, sometimes adding
some grated cheese or added peas and broccoli. That ABC program Checkout is right, they
do look like emaciated meals when they come out. Usually I’m too tired to
cook after a long day at Martin Sawyers. Oh yes, the notorious criminal lawyer
who represents the bad John Does of this world, especially when they're trying to avoid illuminated cell blocks at night. One of
the John Does gives me a wink when he comes into the office. How can that be bad?
I don’t mind the attention, the eye-candy.
Finally the 5.30pm arrives,
offloading people for the inner-city car parks or for those heading to the
Oxford Street bars and cafes. My quiet
contemplation is interrupted. A woman standing beside me yells and points
towards the middle carriage of the train. A man runs to the driver, screaming.
Tens of people are milling beside the middle carriage and I can hear the
shouting above my earphones.
I take a few
photographs of what is happening. A young man who was ready to leave the train has
caught his foot in the gap between the train and platform. He’s just sitting
there. There’s panic in the air, and people yelling, ‘Don’t let the train
leave!’
In seconds, the
train driver arrives with an assistant. They try to lift the man up from
underneath his armpits, but they can’t budge him. The train crew methodically
call to several passengers to assist, waving them over and pointing towards the
windows of the carriage. A rather tall man is standing next to me, conducting
the scene. ‘I’ve seen this sort of thing
before in Singapore,’ he says. ‘Best way is to use soap. Get some soap!’ he
shouts.
‘I want to know
what’s going on. What is he saying?’ I raise my head above the melee of people
gathered near the carriage, but see little.
‘He’s asking them to stand
alongside, to push their weight away from the man, but I can’t see that
working.’
‘What are they
doing now?’
‘The driver’s
asking everyone to get off.’
I move away and take more photos. Just as
well, the know-all’s constant yelling is beyond favour and subsequently I find
a space further along the platform and use my iphone on zoom. This is such an
incredible moment. It’s as if there is one combined understanding to free this
man. No one is arguing, and with quick decisive action about fifty people including
bystanders and rail staff physically rock the train. One of the staff lowers
his arm to the count of three, 'One, two, three, push,’ he orders.
The train tilts and moves from its suspension; manpower force holding it for a few seconds.
The man frees his
leg.
We all clamber back
onto the train.
We pull away from
the platform.
The tall fellow has
further things to say to me as I find one remaining seat.
‘I thought it was always
a bit of a joke “to mind the gap”, but I think we all will from now on,’ he
laughs, leaning into his own reverie.
2nd Draft
Inspiration taken from a true story.
2nd Draft
Inspiration taken from a true story.
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