They locked eyes the moment the carriage doors sighed shut.
Got a seat? a voice asked.
Of course! May I help with the luggage?
Thanks Goodness, its stifling in here!
Would you like the window opened?
Please, if you can.
The wheels clattered against the track as night fell beyond the panes.
My names Ethel, she said.
And Im Andrew.
Thus began a simple, fleeting conversation between two strangers. Two youths, fresh from the rush of the dayher twentytwo, him twentyfive. An hour passed, then another, and yet another. It wasnt the banter of drunkards or colleagues, but a dialogue between a man and a woman who, three hours earlier, had never imagined the other existed at all.
What did they talk about? Almost nothing, and at the same time everything. As trains always do, they started with the weather, drifted to priceshows your budget?and inevitably slipped into the terrain of life itself.
Andrew spoke first. He talked of his childhood, of his parents, of his job as a musician with the London Philharmonic, percussionist in a brass ensemble. He rummaged through a worn leather portfolio, pulling out photographs titled Blue Jay, Gemstones, Merry Lads. He claimed his place among those shining frames.
Wow, thats fascinating! Ethel breathed.
And you, Ethel?
I work for the Central Office of the National Youth Union, she replied, eyes bright. Right here in London!
No kidding! In the very heart of the capital?
Exactly there. I havent brought any pictures with me; Im on leave, visiting my little hometown where my grandparents still live. It would take ages to explain how I ended up in London.
And youll tell me. Where shall we head?
Andrew then described how hed joined the ensemble, the latenight rehearsals, the camaraderie of the pit. Their conversation stretched long into the night, faces turned toward each other, eyes locked.
At dawn, Andrew escorted his new companion to a deserted platform, waved a farewell, and vanished as if swallowed by the morning mist. From that moment, he could not speak to any woman without seeing Ethels nighttime silhouette. No woman could stir his heart. He called out to strangers who reminded him of her profile, apologized with a blush that turned his cheeks crimson. He wrote countless letters that never left his desk. Where to send them? To London? To the National Youth Union? He had not even asked for a surname or an addressan utter folly.
It became almost comic: at every concert, seated behind his drum kit, he would peer into the audience through the glare of spotlights, halfhoping she might be among the faces. He sketched her portrait from memory, pasted it above his bed in every hotel. All women dissolved into shadows, except oneEthel, the sole woman in his world.
Life around them roared onindustrial strikes, the Thatcher reforms, the rise and fall of the pounds value, the disintegration of the old empire. Yet musicians, no matter the regime, kept playing, dancing, living on wheels.
During another tour, Andrew slipped into the dining car. You see, dear reader, it really happened. At a table sat the very Ethel who had haunted his dreams for years, alone, no men in sight. He froze in the doorway as she lifted her eyes.
Just like that, Andrew, he said, lighting another cigarette, pouring the last of the ale into a glass, and continued, thats when I finally understood the phrase like a hammer on the head. My ears throbbed, colours spun, my legs gave way, and I felt I might collapse onto the floor of the restaurant. I stood there, a fool, vision dark. And EthelEthelrose from her seat, pressed her head against my chest and whispered, as if from some old film, Ive been looking for you forever. Thats the whole tale, Tom. I took her up to the Highlands, and it turned out shed spent those years wandering city streets, scanning the faces of passing men, attending almost every variety show, her eyes always on drumplayers. Like me, she hoped that someday, on a perfect day, her longing would be answered. And that day finally came. My cigarettes ran out on the train, so I went back to the dining car for more. The rest, you know, Tom.
He had heard the rest from his old schoolmate, also named Andrew, on the second day of their wedding to Ethel. Theyd been sitting together in a kitchen after the guests had left, Ethel resting in her bedroom. Andrew and his friend had run into each other on tour a few weeks before the wedding, and hed been formally invited to the ceremony among the other guests.
Thus unfolded their railway romance, and they still live on, they say. Life goes on, and perhaps, at this very instant, a carriage door opens in some sleeper coach and:
Got a seat?
Of course! May I help with the luggage?
Thank you! Goodness, its stifling!
Shall I open the window?
If youll
