Magnus Mills - All Quiet on the Orient Express

As the daylight streamed into the shed I saw something gleaming in the far corner. I tried to see what it was, but he was already on the move again.

“Come on,” he said, getting into the pick-up. “We’d better be getting over to Bryan’s.”

I joined him and we set off, leaving the shed doors open. A minute later we arrived at the front gate and turned out onto the road. As we did so I again noticed how bright the green square looked. Mr Parker had fallen silent for the moment, so I decided to start up a conversation to pass the journey.

“Do you ever go to the Packhorse yourself?” I asked.

“Well, I do from time to time,” he said. “Generally try to avoid it though.”

“Why’s that then?”

“Well, I always seem to end up buying everyone else a drink.”

“Oh, right.”

“Costs a fortune some nights.”

“Don’t they ever buy you one back then?”

“Yes, I suppose they do,” he said, after giving the question some thought. “Still costs a fortune though.”

Bryan Webb’s place turned out to be one of the properties we’d passed during our search of the previous night. It was situated on the opposite side of the lake to Mr Parker’s, and appeared to be some kind of farm. As we pulled into the front entrance a pervading smell of sheep confirmed this, although there was no sign of any actual animals. Bryan’s house was only a few yards from the water’s edge. It stood between a number of outbuildings on the one side, and a Dutch barn on the other, in which was parked a flatbed lorry. He emerged from the house when he heard us arrive, wearing his usual cardboard crown. Also a pair of rubber Wellington boots.

“Thought it might be you,” he announced, before nodding in my direction. “I see you’ve got an assistant.”

“Yes,” replied Mr Parker. “He’s been making himself useful the last couple of days.”

“Smart boy wanted,” said Bryan, giving me a wink. “Your boats are along here.”

He led us through a gate to the foreshore. There, pulled up on some shingle, lay the seven rowing boats, still attached to their mooring buoy.

“That was a stroke of luck, you noticing them,” said Mr Parker.

“I’ll say it was,” replied Bryan. “I wouldn’t normally go to the window at that time in the morning, but Deakin had left the wrong milk again and I was looking across the lake to see how far he’d got.”

“What milk did you ask for then?”

“Well, I prefer homogenized Wednesdays. When my uncle has his tea here.”

“Oh yes, how is Rupert?”

“He’s very well, thank you. Been coming over Wednesdays regular and doing a bit of fencing for me. Almost got it all done now.”

“That’s good.”

“So, anyway,” Bryan continued, “I saw Deakin coming down from your place, which meant he’d be going along to Pickthall’s next. Thought I’d give them a ring, ask them to intercept him, so to speak. I was just walking through to the phone when strike me pink there were all these boats bumping against my foreshore. I rushed out and got a rope on them and…well, there you are.”

Telling this story seemed to take its toll out of Bryan and he sat down on one of the boats for a rest. Meanwhile Mr Parker wandered round giving each of them a brief examination. They were all tied one behind the other with a length of mooring line, and when he got to my boat from the day before he gave the knot I’d tied a little pull, as if checking to see if it held. Then he turned to Bryan.

“Well,” he said. “We’d better see about getting the trailer through here. Looks like it’s going to take three or four journeys to get them all back.”

A few minutes later we had the pick-up and trailer parked on the foreshore, and the three of us began loading the first boat. Only then did I discover that the vessels were designed strictly for floating, not carrying. They seemed to weigh about half a ton each. I knew from my own experience that it was easy sliding one of these boats ashore in shallow water. Lifting it bodily onto a trailer was another matter entirely. There was nothing to hold on to except the gunwales, and we had to get each one up a steep grassy bank from the shingle to where the vehicle was. They were a good fifteen feet long or more, and with room only for two at a time on the trailer, I could see a morning of struggle ahead of us. After a lot of cursing and sweating we managed to get the first one loaded, and then we all stood back to review the situation.

“Wouldn’t it be easier just to row them all across?” I suggested.

As soon as I spoke I realized what I’d let myself in for.

Bryan looked at me expectantly, while Mr Parker peered across the lake towards the distant jetty.

“Well, if you’re offering, that would be very kind,” he said at length. “Thank you.”

“Be a nice run-out for you,” commented Bryan. “Expect you were hoping for another trip in a boat, weren’t you?”

“Er…yes,” I replied. “Well, sort of.”

“So you’ll do that for us, will you?” asked Mr Parker.

“Course he will,” said Bryan. “Look at him. He can’t wait to get back out on the water.”

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s fine by me.”

And so it was ‘arranged’ that I would row the six remaining boats across the lake. To tell the truth I didn’t really mind because I’d quite enjoyed my excursion the day before, but I soon began wondering how long it would all take. The plan seemed to be that I would row one boat and take the rest in tow behind me. I had a feeling from the start that this wouldn’t work, but I went along with it all the same. The two of them helped me cast off and I began pulling the oars, only to find I was getting nowhere quickly. Coming ashore again I got my boots wet for the third time in two days, and we then decided I should try it with fewer boats in tow. After a bit of trial and error I ended up taking three across on the first trip.

“Makes sense really,” said Bryan. “Three first journey, three second journey.”

While we were messing around getting boats tied together and untied again, with their oars shipped correctly, I began to get the impression that neither Mr Parker nor Bryan Webb had the slightest idea about boating. I ended up doing most of the organization, and when I asked them to grab hold of the gunwales they didn’t know what I was talking about. Not that I gained any advantage from my superior knowledge, of course. After all, it was me who had to do the work of actually rowing the string of boats across the lake. Finally I left them behind on the shore and set out on my first journey. The weather was nice again, and although the voyage was very slow it was far from being unpleasant. In fact it turned out to be quite enjoyable, what with the impressive scenery and everything. I hadn’t had much sleep overnight, but out here on the water that didn’t seem to matter much. When I got halfway I paused for a rest. Then, as I lolled peacefully in the sunshine, I began pondering Bryan’s remark about my taking ‘another trip in a boat’. I realized he must have seen me out on the lake the previous day, and it struck me that there was very little you could do around here without somebody else knowing about it. As if to confirm this, a movement over at Mr Parker’s place caught my eye. I watched as he arrived home with the pick-up and trailer bearing the single boat we’d loaded. He didn’t bring it down to the jetty, however, and instead took it up towards the big shed, where I lost sight of him. I continued my break for a few more minutes before pressing on. I’d been half expecting him to come and meet me when I arrived, but after a fruitless wait near the shore I decided to tie the boats on to the jetty and go back for the other three. In doing so I quickly came to the conclusion that Bryan’s mathematics were up the creek. It wasn’t just a case of moving three boats on each journey, because I had to use one of them to get back over to the other side. Which meant I’d actually be moving four boats on the next trip. With this in mind I paced myself and took it nice and easy on the way back across. There was no sign of Bryan when I got there, so I gathered up the remaining boats and set off again without having a rest. This turned out to be a mistake. Midway across the lake I started to feel thoroughly worn out. My back was beginning to hurt, and my shoulders ached, not to mention the blisters on my hands. This ferrying of boats backwards and forwards might have started off as quite a pleasant task, but it had now turned into a relentless slog. Still, I could hardly abandon the voyage at such a late stage. The end was almost in sight, so I had no choice but to keep on going. When I finally made it to the shore Mr Parker was standing waiting for me.