Chapter 10

The next few weeks passed in a blur, Abby had little time to give even a minute's thought to her dilemma, with the pressure of work now that Andy had departed for New York. Her workload had increased by having to train the new recruit to the team, and watch constantly to salvage something out of the losses he was about to incur. Eventually at the beginning of July, with the holiday season eroding the activities of all the major exchanges, Abby could once more contemplate some time off and a renewal of her research. Steve had warned her that the bonus would be 'pretty good, ' and the arrival of the statement, together with a payment slip confirmed that. A pay cheque not far short of a Million Pounds was not unusual in the trading fraternity, and amongst people, who were used to dealing in hundreds of millions every day, did not represent the same values as it would to someone who slaved all year for a modest twenty five thousand pounds. The tax deductions were frightening, but still left her with a capital sum which invested with the acumen she had shown up to date, would keep her comfortably for some time. The thinking was all done, without a moment's hesitation she wrote out her resignation and left it on Steve's desk. If he was going to make a fuss she would soon hear about it, in the meantime she had other things to do.

On her way home she stopped off and called at a bookshop in Knightsbridge. Abby was amazed at the number of books published about the G.W.R. References to the Bristol and Exeter were scattered liberally through a number of them, so selecting those in which the index indicated the most mentions she walked to the pay desk with seven publications in her arms. The young male cashier was momentarily taken aback by this purchase; on a subject that he would classify as solely a male interest; by this lady, and made some small talk. "You seem to have got yourself a lot of reading here." Abby would not normally have made too much conversation in this situation, but reminded herself that Toni had been a good fount of information, decided that discussing the topic may not do any harm. "Yes, there's a little branch line that I need to research, I'm hoping that these will help." The young man paused, his conversation exhausted, customers did not normally reply quite so readily.

Luckily for him a manager was standing by at the time and was able to pick up. "You could do with talking to Mr. Brasher, he is an absolute mine of information about the Great Western Railway. He's writing the definitive history, it's only taken twenty years so far, but if he does not have the information you want, then no-one else will be able to help you." Abby nodded, wondering what Mr. Brasher would be like. "He does sound like the person who could help me; do you know if it would be possible to speak to him?" She gave her credit card to pay for the purchases as the manager thought for a moment and offered. "He comes into the store most Mondays, he uses us as a reference library, and we cannot really refuse as he has spent a lot of money here. Tell you what, give me your number, and I'll ask him when he next comes in, and let you know." Abby signed the credit slip for the books, and wrote down her mobile number on a piece of scrap paper, which she passed to him. "Thank you, I live quite close, so I can get here within ten or so minutes, if that is convenient." The manager read the number and nodded, "Leave it with me; I'll do what I can."

Abby spent the weekend immersed in the history of the Bristol and Exeter, and then the Great Western Railway. She slouched on her Sofa, the books scattered around, opened at pages, which had relevant chapters, so that she could refer back quickly. Coffee cups, some half full of cold liquid, abandoned as her interest quickened, a dirty plate or two, the remains of a snatched meal, straight from the Freezer, Micro-waved, and hurriedly eaten, but only when the pangs of hunger became so great that she was forced to put down her books. Some of the histories were simply a chronological fact sheet, devoid of human interest, with lists of tonnages carried, and coal burned. Locomotives built, allocated to various sheds, re-built, serviced, and finally condemned and cut up. Authors of some of the books tried to get into the minds and characters of the men who were the Company Servants, this she found more interesting. These were men like her Grandfather, who took on a job for life, and gave unstinting and poorly rewarded service. A breed of men who did not watch the clock for any reason other than to keep the trains running on time. She was gratified to learn that her Grandfather was not alone in being something of a solitary person. It would appear that most Stationmasters were neither fish nor fowl. Their job set them apart from other railwaymen, who would have been their natural companions, yet they could never integrate into the Society of the town or village they served, partly because they were rarely locally born; unlike the Porters and signalman who were; and because they were men who had gained their promotion from the lower orders and after years of diligent labour, had been placed in authority over the men from whose ranks they had risen. The Railway pursued a policy of promotion from within, and it was likely that a Stationmaster would be moving on within a few years to another slightly more prestigious post, again a situation that didn't encourage integration. Abby felt slightly better upon reading this, as she had previously thought that this aloof attitude was a personal characteristic of her Grandfather.

One constant theme, which ran through these books, was the attitude of superiority that the Great Western exhibited towards other railways, as if the Company was in the vanguard of development and service, almost a religion whose High Priest was at Paddington. Paddington seemed always to be referred to in hallowed terms, from whose portals the word was spread like a liturgy throughout the system. This was exemplified by the daily ritual of keeping the Company telephone lines clear of traffic and open at ten o' clock each morning when a tone would be broadcast from Paddington to enable all stations to synchronise all watches and clocks.

The Company would never buy in a service or product that it could provide or manufacture itself, and even those items that it had to bring in from the outside world, like Whisky, were given Great Western labels, and then marketed as superior to all other brands. Even the success of the L.M.S. in later days was claimed to have originated with the G.W.R. as the man responsible, Mr.Stanier, learned his job at Swindon. Abby admired how the Company sold itself and its services to the nation, exuding an aura of Dignity and Stability, yet ever alert to the chance of new and increased business, creating demand with clever advertising, where demand had not previously existed. It had style, but was never so grand that it forgot the grass roots, with as much attention paid to the running of the humble branch passenger train, as to the imperious passage of the famous named Expresses. In its dealings with others it impressed with its presentation, the best notepaper, heavily embossed with a grand heading, internally the cheapest paper would do. Prestige and parsimony hand in hand.

She was amused at the ceremony which accompanied the departure of all trains, the manner in which the station staff would stand and indicate by the raising of the arm that their section of the platform was clear and safe, how the Station Master or Leading Porter would, when all these indications were correct, turn and raise his arm, and blow a whistle to the guard, who self importantly blew his whistle, and raised his green flag for the train to depart. He didn't wave the flag, he displayed it, holding it open so that there could be no misunderstanding. Finally the Driver would give a short whistle, which Abby learned was known as a Pop confirming what Sam had said; and no Locomotive would ever move without this warning, and then open the regulator starting the train on its journey.