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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 8, Issue 10 (February 1, 1934)

The Singer

page 39

The Singer

“That'S a nice voice.” The porter looked at the man who was waiting on Greymouth platform for the late goods train, which had been held up through floods damaging Kokiri Bridge. His clothes proclaimed him a stranger to the Coast, so probably, he had never heard of Jim Johnson.

“Yes,” he replied. “It's a jolly good voice, and he's a jolly good sort, but a little—–.” He hesitated for a word to describe the singer's shortcoming, then shook his head as though it were beyond him.

“Bit queer, is he?” prompted the stranger.

“Well, I dunno. He's what I call queer, and yet—–” he broke off again. Apparently there was a story in it, and it was quite obvious that the stranger was not going to let the matter rest.

“Why, what did he do?” he insisted, and seeing there was no way of explaining the “queerness,” without telling the story, the porter settled himself on a crate of Brunner fire-bricks, lit his pipe, and started.

“When Jim Johnson—–that's him that was singing—–first came to Greymouth, he was a bit shy and quiet-like, but some of the boys at the sheds heard him singing. Not singing quietly as anyone is liable to do when in the right mood, but putting his heart into it. Some of the boys are great leg-pullers, and they kidded him that old Ben was an ex-music teacher and got him to go to him for lessons.”

“Did Ben know anything about singing?” asked the stranger.

“The only sound that meant music to Ben was the blast of the siren on his engine,” was the grinning reply. “However, Ben agreed quite seriously to teach him; free, of course. Ben would not play a dirty trick.

“Ben used to get him standing on a box up at the shed, bellowing as hard as he could. Told him he must strengthen the voice before he could expect to do any good. ‘Until you can drown the sound of No. 9's whistle,’ Ben told him, ‘I shan't be satisfied,’ and though Jim got pretty stiff in the throat at first it was surprising how he came on in power.”

“That must have had a bad effect on his tone,” the stranger interposed.

“Well, as to that, I can't say, not knowing much about music,” answered the porter; “but when he was singing a decent thing like ‘When the Red Red Robin Comes Bob Bob Bobin’ Along,’ he was well worth listening to. But he had a weakness for this high-toned stuff like ‘The Messiah,’ and ‘Mother Macree,’ and rather spoilt himself.

“Still it was the Messiah stuff—Oratorio—he calls it, that gave Ben his great idea. Old Ben persuaded him to enter for the local competitions, and although Greymouth is a small place there is some pretty hot stuff enters for the Comps.

“I forget the thing he put his name down for, but I know it was high-class. Every night. Ben had him bawling his head off, and he stationed men along the road to Cobden Bridge to test how far his voice carried.

“Poor old Jim; when the real training started he could hardly speak of mornings till about time for the express to go—that's 10.20” —he added for the benefit of the stranger.

“As the Comps. got closer, Ben found he couldn't tire him out so easily, and finally we got fed page 40 up as we had to stay till the practice finished to give Ben someone to share the joke with.”

“Did he enter the Competitions finally?” asked the stranger with a yawn. Obviously, the story was beginning to bore him.

“Yes, and that's the funny part. He did not actually win, but he got some jolly good praise from the Judge. He showed us what it said on his paper: ‘You have a wonderful natural voice and an instinct for music. The tone shows signs of forcing, due to faulty training.’ After the affair, the Judge saw him and told him if he ever came to live at Christchurch to see him about lessons. ‘I'd like to see what I can do with such a voice,’ he said.”

“Well,” commented the stranger; “that was great encouragement.”

“Yes, wasn't it? Strange to say, Jim was offered a temporary transfer to Christchurch a few days later, and though he was going with Mary O'Brien —daughter of old Watty, who used to drive the Hokitika 11.50—and was not keen on that account to leave Grey, he took the offer, as it might mean a bump up sooner or later. He was mad on the Railways—used to come down and look at the yards on Sundays—and his greatest ambition was to drive his own loco.

“Mary told us about him getting lessons from this Judge—Wilkins, his name was—but we thought nothing of it at the time.

“One day, however, Ben was having a look at a Christchurch “Times” that was left in the train, and blow me if Jim's photo wasn't in the illustrated part. Wilkins had coached him hard and put him against all the cracks in New Zealand; and he beat them! Had, I dunno how many, firsts, specials and a scholarship.

“Mary was a bit worried about that scholarship. It seems he could go to some place in Australia where they train big singers and get free teaching for a year. Mary didn't like this at all. ‘Fine chance I'll have,’ she says, ‘if he gets over there among all those fast women! Next thing you knows, he'll be going to Hollywood and getting a divorce before ever he's married at all at all.’ Mary's a bit Irish, as maybe you've guessed.”

“Did he take up the scholarship?” asked the stranger.

“We thought he would be sure to resign,” said the porter, who was not to be hurried in the telling of his story, “or at least ask for extended leave without pay, but a couple of days later, his relieving job being finished, he appeared on the express and said he was starting at the sheds again in the morning.

“We were astounded, as the papers had not finished talking about him, and were saying that his fortune was as good as made. Of course we asked him about it, and he said: ‘What! Leave the Railways, just when I might get promotion out of this relieving business? Never in your sweet life. I'm not the lad to let a hobby interfere with my job ‘”

“And did he do anything with his voice?” asked the stranger, who now appeared really interested.

“No; as I told you, he was wrapped up in Railways. Perhaps Mary was the deciding factor, for she said that her father and grandfather had been drivers, and both her brothers and most of her friends were railwaymen, and she was hanged if she would marry any but a railwayman,” ended the porter.

“And that's the whole story?” was the listener's comment. “Did he get his driver's certificate?”

“Well, he got his certificate, but he's never got an engine yet,” was the reply.

The stranger looked at his watch. “I don't think I will wait any longer. Good-night,” he said, and moved away.

Next day there was a great stir in the Department at Greymouth, and the men were called together to be addressed by the General Manager. The porter trembled when he saw that the General Manager was the stranger with whom he had wasted half an hour of good Government time and before whom he had smoked whilst on duty.

“There is one more small matter,” the Manager said, in concluding his address, which stressed the importance of railwaymen boosting the Railways in working hours and out. “Driver Johnson has been given the vacancy on No. 308, for in addition to being qualified, he takes extreme interest in the Railways.” The porter led the three hearty cheers that followed.

“Ben used to get him standing on one of the boxes up at the shed.”

“Ben used to get him standing on one of the boxes up at the shed.”