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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 3, Issue 3 (July 2, 1928)

[section]

One wintry day in 1920, when Mr. P. G. Telford governed the destinies of the railway portion of Waipukurau, Hawke's Bay, a very fair-haired, diminutive youth, 16 years of age, fresh from Head Office, stepped off the Napier-bound express (known to railwaymen as No. 612) and presented himself to the stationmaster.

“How do you do, sir; my name is Benton,” greeted the golden-haired one as he handed the man with the braid a letter. “I have to report for duty.”

The Railway portion of the Government Overseas Publicity Board's display at the recent Auckland Advertising Club's Exhibition.

The Railway portion of the Government Overseas Publicity Board's display at the recent Auckland Advertising Club's Exhibition.

“Well, my lad, how are you?” returned the S.M., proffering his delicately manicured hand. He adjusted his spectacles to a more rakish angle on his nose so that he could obtain a better view, over the top of his rimless, of the greenhorn it was now his duty to train.

Gordon Benton was distinctly nervous as he waited expectantly. “Just wait a moment, laddie, and make yourself at home,” said the S.M. as he attended to one of the multifarious duties of a sub-terminal Chief of Staff.

“Desert Gold,” to give the newcomer one of his many titles, was glad of the opportunity thus afforded him, of running his inexperienced eye over the station and its keepers.

It was a bitterly cold day and Benton, a little more at his ease now that the initial ordeal was over, lounged over to the huge “railway” fireplace and rested his slight shoulders against the mantelshelf, with that air of proprietorship so prevalent among second year Cadets.

In a short while the S.M. returned to deal with his new charge. After the usual routine, Benton retired to seek lodgings described on the time-table advertisement as “a home away from home.”

Precisely at 8.0 a.m. the following morning, he walked briskly into the station office and was soon being initiated into the mysteries of the inner workings of a busy station.

From that day, life held—for one young man, at least—a new appeal. Greedily he devoured all he could learn. He tinkered with the tablet, the telegraph and the tickets. He learned a lot about parcels, horses and dogs; sheep and cattle and hogs.

But hand in hand with experience walked trouble—with a capital T.

Many queer jobs fell to the lot of Gordon; but he had the patience of Job, and a keen sense of humour. Among other trials, messages, verbal and otherwise, destined for the yard staff, were committed to his care.

It all happened about 4.13 p.m. (He always was a shade doubtful about anything connected with 13, and in the light of succeeding events, he afterwards maintained that 13 had something to do with it.)

Unless his imagination had played him false, Benton heard a command. Yes, he had it right. “Two off behind one, on the Mail.” Ah! those fateful words!

Springing to action, like a dashing military officer, Gordon rushed out of the office to find the shunter. There he was, away up the other end of the yard. Like a young Limerick, the golden-haired one flew down the track and yelled his message into the ears of the shunter.

The latter looked at his watch, swore vehemently, and made record time to the engine shed. The “Mail” was due in ten minutes!

page 11

Walking jauntily back to the office, Benton was surprised to see the South signal arm fall. “By Jove,” he muttered, “she's pretty close.”

A whistle was heard, and the big iron monster thundered into the station, crowded as usual with its merry, chattering throng. The S.M. cast his kindly eye over the scene, rubbed his delicately manicured hands together (this signified his contentedness), and disappeared into the office.

Jim Manley, the personification of a 100% efficiency shunter, could be seen uncoupling the second and third carriages. Working frantically, he drew up the gangway and made his way through cars 1 and 2, shouting to the amazed and irate passengers: “This car comes off here!”

“The Shunter roared at the Driver.”

“The Shunter roared at the Driver.”

The surprised occupants of two packed carriages were thereupon transferred on to the platform, their luggage being unceremoniously deposited alongside them.

This unpleasant task completed, Shunter Manley whistled, raised his arm, and the big engine, a horse-box and two cars moved forward, the latter to be shunted to siding No. 2.

Brakes were applied, the carriages uncoupled; and the thirsty engine, with the Ug attached, continued on its way to the northern tank.

All this time, Gordon Benton, second year Cadet, was an interested spectator from the door of the parcels office.

Having had its fill, the Iron Horse was brought back on to the main line. Hose pipes and chains were connected, and shunter Manley, 100% efficiency, stood by.

It was a very indignant deputation which waited upon Stationmaster P. G. Telford, demanding seating accommodation. And then the bubble burst! Wee Gordon Benton's instinct was commendable. His sixth sense had generously given him an idea that all was Not well.

The S.M. spoke to the porter. The porter bawled at the shunter. The shunter roared at the driver. And then things began to happen. Cars 1 and 2 were speedily set back on to No. 612, fuming passengers regained their seats, the bell was rung, right of way given, the engine whistled, and train No. 612 plunged forward to continue its interrupted journey—nine minutes behind schedule time—and the girls in the refreshment room giggled.

For ten minutes the station was combed thoroughly. At last Cadet Gordon Benton was discovered emerging from the goods shed. He had sought sanctuary there until the crowd had dispersed. He knew that something had gone wrong; but just what it was he did not know.

It was a very dejected youth who answered the rapid questions of the S.M. “Who had given him the order for ‘two off behind one on the Mail’?”

Of course, the unfortunate occurrence had to be reported. Was not a fast express delayed nine minutes? And under the Scotland Yardlike investigation conducted from the District Traffic Manager's Office, Wellington, the curious facts were brought to light.

Letters passed swiftly between Wellington and Waipukurau, and finally the matter was closed—with unhappy results for the innocently guilty parties concerned.

It so happened that that particular time was the end of the period. Everybody was busy. Passenger bookings were heavy, returns had to be hurried, for the clutching hands of the Chief Accountants's Office were extended. This, to some extent was, perhaps, a slight excuse for the event just recorded.

Tom Morton was hard at it at the booking window, selling his wares and answering the same old questions of the same “dear old souls.”

Jack Deller furiously turned over the parcels return sheets, placing them in final order before being checked.

Keith Bethman patiently instructed Gordon Benton in the art of timber-note checking.

All was quiet, when four bells sounded their signal—two twos in quick succession. Subconciously, page 12 everybody was aware that No. 612 was on the way.

Deller mumbled as was his habit, as he sorted the stations into order, and Gordon Benton was conscious of the words “two behind one” forcing themselves into his preoccupied mind.

Simultaneously, Tom Morton listlessly answered one more of the numerous questions of a traveller, with: “On the Mail.” As a result, the overworked brain of Benton became active. He joined the two remarks together and hastened to give his “instructions” to the shunter, quite innocently adding another word. The words, so altered, were now: “Two off behind one, on the Mail.”

* * *

Various punishments were meted out to the blameless confrères of the light-hearted Cadet, who was exonerated on account of his junior position.

However, it was not long afterwards that a jocular staff farewelled the smiling Cadet, and a kindly S.M. extended his delicately manicured hand to the youth who had by this time become known over the whole section as “the Cadet who shunted the Mail.”

The waitresses in the “room” waved a fond good-bye, as train No. 612, with Cadet Gordon Benton as a passenger, disappeared round a bend, and was lost to view.

Advertising The Dominion's Resources And Attractions. Portion of the Government Overseas Publicity Board's Display at recent A. and P. Shows.

Advertising The Dominion's Resources And Attractions.
Portion of the Government Overseas Publicity Board's Display at recent A. and P. Shows.