Chapter 14

Abby spent the next few days exploring the surrounding country. She found Porlock, Lynmouth and Lynton taking the Cliff railway from the one to the other. Another day and Barnstaple, Torrington and South Molton were on her visiting list. She parked her car, and on foot explored all these places, thus discovering a most delicious Cream Tea in Dulverton, which she enjoyed guiltily, first because it was a temptation she couldn't resist, and second because she knew that Mary would be hurt to think that she could eat a Cream Tea anywhere else but at the Combe Inn. The contrast in the landscape was remarkable. In the North in the hinterland of Lynton and Porlock, the moor met the sea with tall cliffs, broken only by the river valleys at places like Lynmouth and Porlock. Away from the coast the moor folded itself, with a succession of interleaved, steep sided valleys. To the south of the moor, the hills became softer and rolled away gently towards the Exe valley, Cullompton and Exeter. The weather stayed fine for her, and she adapted by wearing her shorts and just a tee shirt. Mary's advice about the Sun was sensible, and Abby had dug out an old brimmed hat, which shaded her face, something for which she was grateful, when she realised, standing in the shower, how her arms and legs had tanned, the contrast to the white of her body being quite startling. Every day was a voyage of discovery, as the area revealed its secrets to her, and as a consequence of the day, every night was spent in deep sleep, awakening early refreshed and in eager anticipation of the new day ahead.

It was a surprise therefore on the morning she came down to breakfast, and saw the thick, brown envelope on the table addressed to her. Opening the package she found her Grandfather's journal, a thick sheaf of papers, and a covering letter from Mr. Brasher.

Dear Miss Tregonney,

First, I must thank you for allowing me to read your Grandfather's journal. The G.W.R. encouraged its servants to keep this kind of personal record but unfortunately few were so meticulous, as to actually write it up every day.

This record has really been most enlightening for me, and I have taken the liberty of photocopying the whole. I hope that you will not mind. Of course it goes without saying that when my book is published, a credit will be made for the invaluable information obtained from this record.

The accompanying notes I have made to give you some idea of the life and working arrangements of a Stationmaster, such as your Grandfather; under the auspices of the G.W.R. and later, B.R., although there was very little change at first. Much of the information was already to hand, but I have been able to update my knowledge with the benefit of the journal. I hope that this will give you some insight into the circumstances of your Grandfather's working life.

In addition I have reviewed my own notes of the history of the line, with the benefit of the Journal, and enclose an up-dated copy of the same.

Please do not hesitate to get in touch, at any time, should you have any queries, or seek further information.

The letter was signed simply 'Brasher' The letter and the manner in which it was signed was so typical of him, Abby thought, a somewhat unworldly, English gentleman, who would treat anyone with courtesy and kindness, regardless of their station in life, who no doubt would be Church of England, even though his appearances there would be limited to those few important occasions of life, and whose love and zeal for the past greatness of one particular aspect of his country, marked him as an eccentric.

Abby was now in a quandary. She dearly wished to read this treatise, yet the day had already been earmarked for a trip on the preserved railway. In the end the decision was made by the climate. The fine weather continued and it would be a good day to be out and about, whereas reading the notes could wait for an evening or the time when the weather broke, as it most certainly would. She consulted Mary on this, who agreed that this fine spell would come to an end shortly.

"We'll have some rain soon, that's certain, but only a couple of days, then it'll start getting warm again." Her mind also came up with another reason, it would probably be better to read Mr. Brasher's words after she had investigated the preserved railway in greater depth, as she would then be able to visualise more clearly those aspects to which he was referring. It is amazing how the mind can find logical reasons for one's preferred action. Abby finished her breakfast, surprise that she actually cleared the plate, 'my appetite is improving, ' she thought, and then examined the waist of her slacks, no; they didn't appear to be tighter, so she could not be putting on any weight. She had told Mary where she was going, something that Mary somehow had insisted upon, 'you never know, ' had been Mary's reason, and made her way around to where her car was parked.

As she drove out, she noticed James's Land Rover, pulling in to the front of the Inn. She stopped. James waved and jumped out quickly to come over to her.

"Good Morning, Abby, are you off somewhere interesting for the day?" She squinted up at him, through the strong morning sun.

"Hello James, yes, I am going off to play with some trains." The well remembered grin came to his face.

"You're not going to drive one I imagine." Abby laughed.

"Hardly, just spending a lazy day riding and getting atmosphere." She paused, "Was there something in particular you wanted?" He hesitated and then said.

"Well I was going to ask if you would like to come up to the house sometime, and meet Jason." Abby was nonplussed.

"Meet Jason, who is he?" The grin got wider.

"He's not quite a 'He' nor a 'She'," James was enigmatic, "Jason is the horse you are going to ride." Abby was on her guard.

"Me, ride? Oh no, whatever gave you the idea that I would be riding a horse. I may have ridden on a few occasions, but that was on very docile creatures, in the park, no obstacles, and no galloping. I am certainly not going to ride a horse around here." James then played a dirty trick.

"Oh that's a shame. I thought we might follow your Grandfather's railway up and down the valley, and it's really the only way that you could see it properly." Abby was hooked.

"You swine," this was said with a smile. 'Well I don't know, it sounds like a good idea, but how big is Jason?"

"Not too big, only about sixteen hands and I know he would behave himself with you." Abby picked up on the words behave himself with you.

"What do you mean? Behave himself with me; doesn't he behave himself with others?" James hummed and aahed.

"Well you see he's a Gelding, but he doesn't seem to realise that he's got bits missing. He sees men as a threat to his territory, but he's fine with Ladies. Just come up and meet him, you'll see." Abby thought about it.

"Alright, but if he's not very controllable, then forget it." James brightened.

"How about this evening, I'll come down and pick you up, say about seven thirty, is that O.K." Abby nodded.

"Yes, that will be fine, now can I go and play with the trains?' Those words were said with a smile on her face, so James would not be upset, his grin returned.

"Yeah, go on Casey Jones."

Abby filled up with unleaded petrol in Paverton; at the garage she had cause to visit a number of times in the last few days. Her BMW was perhaps her only real unnecessary luxury. In London it was used little if at all, here she had enjoyed driving roads that were not clogged with traffic, the car showing her much of its potential for easy, comfortable motoring. The downside was the amounts of fuel that she had used; it was not exactly frugal with petrol. The pump attendant, someone who was rarely seen in London, had been slow to react to her presence, when she had first visited, now came quickly to fill her car, allowing her the service that went with being a good customer.

"Good morning, Miss Tregonney; shall I fill it up?" He had, she thought, obviously remembered her name from the credit card vouchers, she was unaware that Jack Elvesly had mentioned to him that Abby's family was local; it put her into a different category of customer, although it made no difference to the price per litre.

The Moor had put on a different coat after the last few days of warm, dry weather. The longer grasses had become a silvery brown that shimmered like water as they bent and swayed with the wind, which the sheep nosed aside as they searched for the new short tender blades underneath. The Gorse and Heather had become a uniform dull lifeless Green, giving the Moor a mottled look like army camouflage. The road was now well known to Abby, and she drove confidently, but not quickly, enjoying the bright sunlight from the comfort of her air-conditioned car. It seemed to her that now that her journeys took less time, maybe the famous West Country miles were not so long as rumour would have it. It was therefore with surprise that she came to Minehead a good fifteen minutes before her estimate, leaving her with time to wander as she waited for the first departure at ten fifteen. It was a little unreal. Rarely had she travelled by train, she did not count the Tube as a train, and this trip would be a significant experience. The experience would be more intriguing as the method of operating was one, which had been abandoned more than forty years ago.

She walked to the head of the waiting train. "Dinmore Manor" was the locomotive, but she was a little disappointed that her friend of the other day was not on the footplate. Finding a seat was no problem, as there was little custom for this service. It was not surprising therefore that promptly at ten fifteen the train pulled out.

Later she would review this day with mixed emotions. Abby had somehow been expecting her Grandfather's world to come alive, to see a steam railway run as it had been in his time. But as her friend of the other day had pointed out it wasn't, nor could it be. Setting her disappointment aside for the moment, Abby had enjoyed her day. The admittedly slow but comfortable journey had lulled her, and beguiled. There was a quality of theatre about the line. The rhythmic clatter of wheels over rail-joints, something that seemed not to exist with modern railways, was an overriding theme, interrupted by the differing acts which were the various stations along the way, each with a character of its own, the slumbering of Dunster and Washford, the quaint charm of Stogumber, surely a name that could only originate in the West Country, to the bustle of Williton, where trains crossed, and Bishops Lydeard where the engine was uncoupled to run around before making the return journey. Looking back, Abby would realise that whilst none of them could substitute for Combe Lyney, yet each had some aspect that could be Combe Lyney. It had been a long day as Abby had not simply come back on the first train, but had taken time to explore, mainly at Bishops Lydeard, and at Williton. She had heard that a restoration of a large engine was in progress at Williton, and had hoped to be able to see this. Unfortunately visitors were not allowed in the Shed. All was not lost, however, as one of the Porters, (could she really call these volunteers, Porters?) had told her to come in September, at the Gala weekend.

"Shed will be open then Miss." She would be back in September. One thing that she did see, and which gave her quite a shock, was the Museum at Bishops Lydeard. Without being told she knew that it had once been a Goods shed, as it closely resembled that which still stood at Combe Lyney. Confirmation came from a book she discovered in the shop at Bishops Lydeard, which concerned the stations and buildings on the railway. The Bristol and Exeter Railway had built the Goods shed! Once more that name appeared, a ghost from the past. Now she thought, I can read Mr. Brasher's story, hoping that he will explain this complicated relationship between the Devon and Somerset Railway, the Bristol and Exeter Railway, and the Great Western Railway.

Abby upset Mary, by declaring that she was not very hungry, and would like a light meal that evening. To assuage Mary's dismay, Abby explained that the day had been very hot, and that had affected her appetite. Mary's idea of something light was two grilled Trout, together with a Salad, which would have kept a whole warren of rabbits busy. Abby knew better than to complain, and daunting though the plate was, made the best of the meal she could. Mary returned at regular intervals to spur Abby on to greater effort, at the same time making small talk about the day, and how had Abby enjoyed herself. At last Abby put down her knife and fork, and admitted that she could not eat any more. The look of disappointment on Mary's face was only removed when Abby innocently remarked that James was calling for her at about seven thirty.

"He is going to introduce me to this horse of his, Jason, which somehow or other he thinks I am going to ride." Mary's face assumed a bland look of disinterest.

"Oh, you're going riding are you, that'll be nice." Abby hastened to squash that idea.

"No, I am not going to ride, James seems to think that it is the best way to see the valley, but I have serious doubts." Mary was busy tucking away this Nugget; there would be lots to discuss with Mavis tonight.

"Well actually I think he's right, you can't see much of the valley from the road, and you couldn't get into too much trouble if James was with you. Anyway, if Lizzy can ride that Jason, I am sure that you will be able to."

James was late, arriving at ten to eight, apologising profusely. It didn't worry Abby as she was starting to adopt the country habit of loose time. An appointment at seven thirty actually meant any time between seven fifteen and seven forty five, so ten to eight was only five minutes late, which really was of little consequence. She was also quite amused at James's embarrassment, she had considered, or rather he had given the impression, that he was one of those men who was always in command of a situation. To see him now so flustered was an eye-opener. Abby found this quite endearing. The lapse did not last long, as he eyed her dress.

"How do you suppose you are going to get up onto a horse wearing that?" He asked. Abby bridled, and replied a little icily.

"I thought I was just going to meet the horse, I had no intention of riding it." James caught the tone in her voice and easily soothed the exchange.

"Well you would certainly do a good job of charming Jason, as you would charm anyone, dressed like that. But just in case we can persuade you to mount, would you mind putting on something a little more suitable?" Abby relented.

"As you ask so nicely, I will, but I am giving no guarantees about anything else. Give me five minutes." and she raced up to her room, to re-appear in a little more than the five minutes dressed in a sweat-shirt, Chino's and boots.

'Will this do, sir." Her tone sounded submissive, but her stance belied the tone in her voice. James grinned.

"That is better, if I had to give you a boost into the saddle, I wouldn't have known exactly where I would have been able to put my hand before." The grin did it again and Abby couldn't keep up her disgruntled attitude. The smile came to her face, as she appreciated the somewhat ludicrous situation.

"Come on then, let's go and meet this horse."

They climbed in to James's old Land Rover, which coughed and spluttered before catching and running, relatively smoothly. James backed and filled and turned in the road, before accelerating away past the Church. He turned up the lane, which climbed in a series of gentle bends, and then sharp left into a gravelled drive. A forlorn name board hung at an angle beside the Drive, "Lyney House", no grand name to celebrate the Comberfords, she thought. Rhododendrons, Hawthorn, Laurel and Beech hung heavily either side of the drive, battling for light and space within which to grow. James did not slow down and the Land Rover bounced from pothole to pothole, lurching sideways into the bends with the shrubs scraping along the sides, as it passed. The Drive turned left quite abruptly, and the house came into view. The twists and turns of the drive had disorientated her but soon she realised that they had circumnavigated the churchyard, and now were at the back of the Church. As she had expected this was the house she had seen from the road, that morning after her return to Combe Lyney. It did not add up to the sort of place that romantic novelists might have described. In essence it was an Edwardian country house, built in the grey, rustic dressed, granite of the area with cornice stones of a slightly lighter colour. There were two frontages in effect, one set slightly further forward that the other. Large sash windows to ground floor and first floor rooms alleviated the dull grey stone. Some of the downstairs windows were shallow angled bays. The roof was Slate, with gables breaking up the outline. The gables did not reach to the full height of the main roof. The main door was approached by way of a simple glass porch in a corner formed where the one frontage extended forward. To the right clustered various outbuildings, which Abby presumed would be the stables, and garages. A full-grown Beech shaded the left of the house, with one branch growing perilously close to the slate roof. From a distance the look was very Horse and Hound magazine, closer inspection revealed pointing that had fallen away, peeling paint, and a sash window, which Abby doubted would ever be opened for fear of it falling apart.

James swung the Land Rover around in a great circle, thumping over the ever-present potholes.

"Do you always greet your guests with this obstacle course?" She shouted to James over the roaring of the engine. He glanced over at her whilst steering with one hand, the other waved expansively at the surroundings.

"This is smooth compared to some of the roads round here." He was forced to grab the steering wheel with both hands as a particularly deep pothole whipped the front wheels in a novel direction, straight at a Hawthorn. Persuading the vehicle to resume its intended direction he pulled up with gravel spraying at the front porch. Turning off the engine he looked at her.

"Welcome to Looney House." Abby wondered if she had misheard him.

"Don't you mean Lyney House?" He grinned mischievously.

"I know what I mean." He jumped out leaving the door open, and strode round to her side. Abby had started to open the door, but realising his motives, allowed him to extend the courtesy. As she got out he murmured.

"Mother will be watching and she is very hot on manners." Abby was taken aback, at no time had he mentioned a mother, nor had anyone else. It was stupid of course; to take for granted that his mother would not be around, and why was she worrying about a mother, anyway. She had no designs on him did she?

James was obviously not intending to introduce her, as he led the way to the right, and the stables, where awaited this horse she was supposed to ride. They walked into the cobbled yard and Abby was happy to see Lizzy, who was sweeping up muck with a huge broom, and then shovelling the pile she created into a bucket. She straightened up and greeted Abby with a smile.