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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 10, Issue 7 (October 1, 1935)

“On Time”

page 60

“On Time”

In contrast to the roaring elements outside, it was warm and cosy in the office of the railway station at Bunderoo. With each succeeding squall the driving hail slashed against the windows; drummed furiously on the iron roof, so that the two men seated beside the blazing fire found conversation difficult.

They smoked in silence, each engrossed in his own thoughts. Wisps of blue tobacco-smoke hung in curling wreaths round the green-shaded lamp on the desk.

“Swine of a night,” said Hawley, the road-ganger, moving his chair nearer the fire. “Don't fancy them poor devils’ ride out.”

“They should have been through by this,” replied young McKinnon, the clerk, as he glanced up at the clock. “Overdue!”

With a calloused thumb, Hawley rammed a fresh charge into his pipe.

“Bet Dan Carmichael's gettin’ worried about the rain. Wouldn't take much of this to rise the ‘Burra—that would finish his chances of gettin’ his wool through for the first sale. And just about finish Dan, too, I reckon.”

The bad luck of Dan Carmichael, owner of Yaraka Downs, was proverbial, yet never had another man staged a grander, gamer fight against long odds. Drought, fire and flood had visited him in turn, while he fought a continual battle against ill-health—the result of a malady contracted at the War. “A white man,” was the popular verdict, but unlucky—and none deserved it less.

“I'm clean bust, if I don't get my wool through in time for the first sale,” he had told them at the railway, when he ordered the wagons. “Wool's going to soar at the first bidding—I got that from good authority. And by gosh, I'll need it!”

Between the staggering gusts of wind, from far along the line came the faint cry of a whistle.

“That'll be the loco, on her way out for Carmichael's wool now,” said Hawley.

There seemed to be something unusual about the sound of the approaching engine. She should have been hitting it hard along that straight stretch. They looked at each other, as they missed the familiar beat of the exhaust.

“Funny,” said McKinnon, glancing up at the green of the signal-light, reflected on the rain-washed window. “Seems to be pulling up. Wonder what's wrong?”

He kicked back his chair and opened the door. The rain swirled in through the doorway. The light flared and danced in the wind. He stepped out on to the wet, glistening platform.

The engine, a huge black mass, its single white eye cutting a silver shaft through the rain-swept gloom, stopped some distance further along. McKinnon heard the quick patter of running feet.

“Something wrong, sure enough …”

Standing beside the window of his hut at the far end of the yard, Billy Day glanced out into the howling night and saw the gleam of the engine's headlight.

Not much chance of the weather clearing, he decided ruefully. Hard lines—and to-morrow his wedding day. He mentally mapped his programme for the next day. He had several things to attend to. Directly after the ceremony they would leave, in his old car, to catch the night-express for Sydney.

Mustn't be late…. His young, good-natured face broke into a smile at the thought. Billy Day, who always brought his train in on time, late for his own wedding! Day, whose punctuality had earned for him the sobriquet, “On The Minute Billy.”

No; it would never do to be late.

He thought about the girl who was to be his wife. Nancy, with her red-brown page 61 hair, the fine eyes and the generous, smiling mouth. Jolly good of Belton, who was going to run her in to Bunderoo, in time for the wedding. She had been working at Belton's place, up on the Queensland border, for a fair while….

There came a sudden hammering on the door. Hawley, in dripping oilskins, pushed his way inside.

“Bailey's been taken bad on the way in—went right out to it. His fireman brought the engine in. Don't know what's the trouble. They're 'phoning the doctor at Hurst.”

They stood silent for a time—both occupied with the same thought—Carmichael's wool.

“It's up to me, I suppose,” said Billy slowly.

“Pretty tough on you, Billy. But there's no one else. And you're on leave. What about to-morrow? Can you do it in the time?”

The railway line extended far beyond Bunderoo, but of late years it had been used only in such cases as the present; when there were goods to be taken out, or a wool-clip to be picked up.

“Who's with Bailey?” asked Billy. “What have they got?”

“Denny Marsh. An S-P.”

Billy thought about the long run over the plains. It was level-going all the way, except for that steep pinch beyond the 'Burra. The big S-P would make short work of the run. Denny was one of the best. The wagons would be already loaded, just waiting to be coupled up. He could do it easily—barring trouble. But it would be cutting things rather fine. Still, he owed it to Carmichael and the department. He reached for his overalls.

“I'll give it a fly.”

Standing beside the engine, Billy turned as McKinnon touched his arm.

“Perhaps I'd better ring Belton's place, Billy—just to let 'em know. There's been a lot of rain. You might be late.”

“Don't,” said Billy. “I'll be back on time … or bust.”

He swung himself to the footplate of the big S-P and fed her the steam. They raced into the howling night, the big wheels hammering a merry tune. The driving rain dulled the beam of the headlight, so that it picked out the road only a few yards ahead.

“What about the 'Burra, Billy?” yelled Denny, kicking closed the firebox door.

Billy opened the throttle a shade; the big drivers spun faster; the S-P wagged her tail to the thrust of her pistons.

“She's a dirty gutter when she's in the mood, Denny. But if they haven't been getting a lot of rain in the back, we'll be right enough.”

The storm grew in violence as the hours slipped by. The staggering gusts seemed to rock the engine. Icy rain pelted the front glasses of the cab like driven shot, and hissed on the hot cylinders ahead.

Then without warning they struck water; water that was just touching the rails. Billy swore and eased back the regulator. It was going to be slow work. He daren't give her the steam, for fear of spreading the road behind him.

Twenty miles to the 'Burra, and probably water all the way. By Jove, they must have been getting it in the back country. One consolation, spread as it was over a wide area, the water would not be deep. The only place that might be dangerous—just over the 'Burra.

It was slow going, but he might get back in time for his wedding, provided McKinnon secured another driver to take the train on from Bunderoo—but McKinnon wouldn't know about this.

Had he been sure that there was no obstacle ahead, he might have opened up a bit, and risked spreading the road.

If they couldn't connect with the afternoon goods at the Junction, it was all up with Carmichael's wool. It would be held overnight, and, in consequence, miss the first sale.

An hour and a half later they crawled across the 'Burra bridge, with the water lapping the deck-planks. When dawn was breaking over the rain-soaked plains, they stopped at the end of the line, turned the engine and coupled up the wagons.

Although they were hours late, they still had a fighting chance. But, on topping the rise above the river, Billy knew that all hope was gone. He stopped, and they stepped down from the engine. Denny waved a bare arm towards the yellow flood.

“This is where we chuck in the sponge, Billy. Look at 'er racin’ down. The bridge is under, but we might get over that if it wasn't for the dip at this end. She'd drown our fire and scald us alive in the doin’”

Billy's eyes blazed as he clutched Denny's arm.

“Draw the fire, Denny! We'll ease her off and let her rip down the grade. We'll be hitting the high spots when we strike that water. That'll carry us through the dip, over the bridge and on into the shallow water beyond. It's risky, but the engine's heavy and should hold the rails. How about it? Game?”

Denny cocked his cap over one eye.

“Sure, Mike!”

Denny drew the fire, while Billy hunted for dry sticks. Then he hopped to the footplate and used all that remained of the steam.

They rattled down the grade, gaining momentum in every yard. The S-P rocked and raced faster and faster as the heavy wagons drove them down. The flood loomed closer; its roar was in their ears.

Crash! The water rose in a solid sheet. They flung up their arms to ward off the blinding steam. The water frothed around them.

page 62

They were out of the dip, and on to the bridge! It rocked; seemed to be going…. They were across!

They sat still, when they stopped far across in the shallow water, looked at each other and burst into laughter.

Billy's overalls, soaked in oil, helped to start the fire again. Then the agonising wait for steam, while Time crept relentlessly on.

Once more they were under way, with the wheels cascading water from both sides of the engine. Almost clear of the water, Billy smiled grimly, knowing that he had spread twenty miles of road behind him.

At last the dry rails showed ahead, but it seemed hopeless now. Billy hung his watch on the water-gauge and opened the throttle wide. Denny peeled off his shirt, and the black smoke from the funnel testified to his efforts.

The S-P got into her stride. The wind clipped the wrack from the funnel's mouth and hurled it along each side of the flying loco. They tore past the old station at Buckley's Crossing, at better than a mile a minute gait; round the curve beyond the Spinifex with all the wheels screeching.

Billy stole a glance at the gauge—nearly two hundred pounds of steam, and a dead-level road, straight as a die, all the way to Bunderoo.

“Late for your wedding! Late for your wedding!” the pounding wheels seemed to mock.

“Not beaten yet,” muttered Billy, “not by a darn sight. But I hope to Heaven they have another driver waiting to take over at Bunderoo.”

Faster and faster the thud of the exhaust. They were lifting the ballast now; must be hitting over seventy,
A view of Wanganui on the world-famed Wanganui River, North Island, New Zealand. (Rly. Publicity photo.)

A view of Wanganui on the world-famed Wanganui River, North Island, New Zealand. (Rly. Publicity photo.)

but to Billy they seemed to crawl. The watch, swinging gently on the water-gauge, seemed to race.

Denny stuck his head out for a breather, grabbed at his cap and staggered back.

“Holy Moses!” he yelled. “Must be doin’ a hundred, Billy.”

Billy cocked an eye at the watch, felt to make sure that the throttle was hard against the stop, and grinned ruefully.

“We're on our way, Denny!”

* * *

McKinnon glanced up at the clock. Ten minutes to the hour set for Billy's wedding—three o'clock. Billy's girl, who had arrived a short time before, was with the Reverend Strath-bone's wife, across at the Manse.

To himself had fallen the unpleasant duty of informing her of the circumstances. Poor, little kid! Took it gamely, too, though her lip had quivered a bit. Happily, the wedding was to be a quiet affair—no guests.

Should hear news of Billy soon now, though. Hawley had gone out in the motor-jigger….

McKinnon bounded from his seat as he heard the prolonged blast of a whistle. The big S-P, stained with yellow mud, thundered into the yard. Billy leapt from the footplate, even before the huge drivers had ceased to spin, and raced back towards the office.

“Another driver—“ he gasped.

“No. We didn't—“

“Where's Nancy?”

“Across at the Manse. She—“

“Phone the Junction! Tell 'em I'm on my way! Hold her ten minutes.”

Before McKinnon had time to reply, Billy was gone—racing across the yard. He jumped the fence and ran across the road towards the little church. A crowd gathered miraculously, and followed.

His first amazement over, the Reverend Strathbone said it could be done. He broke all existing time records for the reading of the marriage lines.

Billy looked up at the clock, triumphant. On time!

“What's it to be?” he said to his new wife. “Coming with me, or shall I come back?”

“It's—it's bad luck to turn back, Billy,” she blushed.

“I'll give you five minutes to get ready,” he said, then turned and raced towards his hut.

When Billy returned with his suitcases, Nancy was waiting.

“On time, Billy,” she smiled.

“On time?” he echoed. “Why, you've got me slogged. C'mon!”

He grabbed her hand, and they ran across the yard to the waiting train. Willing helpers followed with the suitcases. Denny swung the new bride to the footplate. Billy leapt up behind and linked motion. Denny wiped a grimy hand on his overalls and shook hands with them both.

“Reckon you're the first bride that has driven away from the church on a loco.,” he grinned.

Then he leaned far out of the cab, becoming intensely interested in the gravel beside the track. When he turned, he noted with satisfaction, that the opportunity had not been wasted, for there was a smear of coal dust round the mouth of Billy's bride.

Stout fella, Billy!

They connected with the goods at the Junction. Both trains thundered in to the yard together.

So Billy eased up on the throttle, realising that for a whole month there was no necessity to be on time.