Magnus Mills - All Quiet on the Orient Express

“It’s about time we made a new mooring weight for the boats,” he announced. “If we leave it any longer the lake’ll be too rough.”

“Gets bad in the winter, does it?” I asked.

“Can do,” he said. “And there’s no point in putting the job off until spring.”

“No, spose not.”

“You know how to make a mooring weight, do you?”

“Got a rough idea, yeah.”

“That’s good. I’ve got all the tackle ready for you. There’s a lorry wheel, some long chain and plenty of concrete.”

“Right.”

“All you’ve got to do is mix it.”

“OK.”

A few moments passed. Across the yard the rhythmic thumping continued.

“Did you get that homework done?” asked Gail.

“Oh yes,” I replied. “Forgot to bring it over. It’s all finished, you can collect it when you want.”

“Thanks,” she said. “By the way, your essay won a prize.”

“Did it?”

“Yeah, they printed it in the school magazine.”

“Well,” I said. “I’m quite pleased about that really. What was the prize?”

“A book token.”

“Oh, that’s good.”

“Do you want it?”

“Don’t you want it?”

“Not really.”

“Oh, OK then.”

“You can have it as a reward for doing all that homework.”

“Er…thanks.”

She reached down into her school bag and produced the book token, placing it on the table.

“You’d better sign that on the back,” remarked her father.

I thought he was making a joke, but next thing Gail had a biro in her hand and was solemnly writing her signature.

“Thanks,” I said again as she handed me the token. “Have you got a copy of the magazine so I can see myself in print?”

“Oh no, sorry,” she replied. “I threw it away.”

A clinking noise outside heralded the arrival of Deakin’s pick-up. We watched through the window as he rushed about making his hurried deliveries, first to the house, then to the bothy, before quickly departing.

“I gather they’re on strike again in the south,” said Mr Parker.

“Oh, are they?” I said. “I hadn’t heard.”

“It was on the television last night.”

“Have you got a television then?”

“Yes, of course. Why?”

“Well, I just didn’t think people round here bothered with televisions. What with the scenery and everything.”

“Oh yes, we have one through there,” he said, nodding towards the next room. “Got it for One Man and His Dog .”

“What are they on strike about?” asked Gail. She was looking at me.

“They’re probably worried about unemployment,” I suggested.

“So how does going on strike help?”

“Er…well, it doesn’t really,” I said. “It’s supposed to be a sort of statement.”

“Oh,” she said. “I see.”

“I don’t believe in unemployment,” said Mr Parker.

“Don’t you?”

“No such thing. There’s always something to do.”

“Spose.”

“Did they have many strikes at that factory of yours?”

“Not while I was there, no.”

“Sounds like an efficient little operation.”

“Yes, it seemed to be doing very well.”

“Pay good wages?”

“Not bad.”

“Get plenty saved up, did you?”

“A bit, yes.”

“That’s good.”

The way the conversation was going it struck me as an appropriate time to bring up a matter I’d been avoiding for the last week or so. The problem was that when I’d agreed to work on the boats we’d failed to discuss how much I was going to get paid. I had no idea if I was supposed to be getting a fixed sum for the job, or an hourly rate, or what, so I decided to broach the subject now.

“Er…actually,” I said, “while we’re on the subject of work…”

“You’re quite right,” said Mr Parker, rising abruptly to his feet. “We’re not going to get anything done by sitting here.”

Next thing he was heading for the kitchen door, and I had no choice but hurriedly to finish my breakfast and follow.

We went outside and crossed the yard to the mixer, which was still rotating its empty bucket round and round. Beside it was a barrow containing the ingredients for the concrete. Also a wheel hub and a huge length of galvanized chain. It was too noisy by the mixer to pursue the question of my wages, so I gave up for the time being. Besides, there was no real urgency as I hadn’t been required to part with any money for some time now. I was still running a slate at the Packhorse, while all my groceries and milk were being delivered on credit. Obviously these concurrent debts would have to be sorted out in the near future, but nobody seemed in much of a hurry to collect, so I decided not to worry about it.

Making up the mooring weight was quite straightforward. I attached one end of the chain to the wheel hub, and then began shovelling sand, gravel and cement into the mixer. As soon as he was satisfied that I knew what I was doing, Mr Parker said he would ‘leave me to it’, and set off somewhere in his pick-up with the trailer in tow. Shortly afterwards Gail headed down the hill in her school uniform, giving me her usual little wave. When the concrete was ready I poured it into the wheel hub, and left it to set. I reckoned it would need a week to cure before it could be safely dropped to the bottom of the lake.

This task hadn’t taken very long at all, and the result looked OK. Before I resumed work on the boats I decided to reward myself with a cup of tea, and wandered over to the bothy. Lying on the table was the latest copy of the Trader’s Gazette . I’d got into the habit of borrowing it after Mr Parker had gleaned all the information he required. This was simply out of interest and curiosity, as I had no intention of buying any of the items advertised inside. I made a mental note that now I had a book token I really should get myself something proper to read, but in the meantime I opened the Gazette at a random page. There my eyes fell on an advertisement I hadn’t seen before. It was listed under ‘Services’ in the Millfold area and said:

CIRCULAR SAW WITH MAN FOR HIRE

All timber-cutting work undertaken on site. Enquiries T. Parker

A telephone number was also given. I read the advert several times to make sure I wasn’t mistaken, then continued turning the pages. Further along someone was inviting advance orders for Christmas trees. Ten per cent discount would be given for immediate payment. This struck me as a bit early until it occurred to me that Christmas was now only a couple of months away. Autumn had certainly crept up on me as I laboured away at my boats, and a blast of wind outside confirmed this. I’d hardly noticed that the weather was slowly worsening because I spent a good part of each day in the big shed. Even so, the signs were obvious. Despite all the riveting I’d done, the shed continued to creak and groan as the elements pounded against it. There were other indications too. The trees were bare, and the temperature was declining slowly. When I walked to the pub at night I could hear seabirds out in the middle of the lake, squawking and arguing. It sounded as though there were thousands of them. I had no idea where they’d come from, but they seemed to have settled in for the winter. I thought about the seven boats waiting to be painted, the darts fixtures and the endless pints of Topham’s Excelsior Bitter, and realized that I’d settled in for the winter as well.

♦

It was almost dark when Mr Parker returned with yet another load of oil drums.

Having just finished work for the evening, I went out into the yard to meet him. There was something I wanted to ask him about the mooring weight.