The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 7, Issue 1 (May 1, 1932.)
A Sherlock Holmes
A Sherlock Holmes.
Nearby are the ticket-selling windows, behind which are rows of multi-coloured pasteboards, marked “single,” “return” and “child,” numbered successively and strung up like tiny hams These are the open sesames to home and friends and far-away places. Next door the clerks are entering up the waybills for all manner of goods, destined for stations large and small over the rolling miles ahead. At Thorndon station there is a big influx of parcels at 4.45 p.m. daily, intended for the “Limited” Express, in fulfilment of orders received during the day by city firms. page 30 That is when trucks are filled up rapidly and formed into a caravan of tempting offerings that are later poured into the cavernous mouth of the “Limited's” van. Sometimes a parcel goes astray—perhaps a ham, some fruit or other edible goods, at Christmas time—and then the station-master is called upon to exercise the powers of a Sherlock Holmes. And sometimes the problem is anything but elementary, my dear Watson. Losses like this occur in the best of regulated circles, but the percentage is infinitesimal—perhaps one parcel will be lost out of the 10,000 handled each month.
But the schedule duties of a station-master do not end his day. He is often the friend and counsellor of his staff, and even family troubles find settlement in the quiet of his room.
All of which shows there is more to a stationmaster's job than parading in gold brocade and signalling a train's departure.