Heaven forfend, I suspect that an enquiry might well have more fiction than I could ever imagine. Thanks for your other additional thoughts.
Thanks Guys, Anything looks wrong, please tell me.
Suzy was wallowing inside a pair of oversize wellingtons padded out with socks. Their walking boots had been dismissed as unsuitable for the task ahead. She saw the reason; the river had a flood –plain which stretched treacherously beneath the lush vegetation. An unwise step off the path and the boot sank into a colloidal mass that sucked as you withdrew it. Twice, so far, she had felt her foot leaving the safety of her boot and wriggled it back. They continued towards the visible part of the river, unexpectedly finding a firm path to a small footbridge.
The other end of the bridge opened onto a narrow lane which immediately crossed the river by a stone bridge and then crossed something else. As they had bunched together she listened to the others.
Rom said. “Is that a railway?”
Henry grunted and said, “ Mmm Level crossing, ungated, of course; it’s barely more than an occupation crossing. Only the local farmers use it; there are no places to pass, you have to back up almost to Kennickcross, if you meet something. The other end’s the main road. That’s the railway retaining wall down there, see. Pushes any floods onto my land, damn nuisance; still, keeps the fishing rights simple.”
“Where’s it go to?” Jimmy Hailwood asked. “I’d never noticed it before.”
“There’s a small clay-dry up there. Not part of the big combine; some chemical company, wanted its own I suppose, or maybe it has special properties. Don’t bother us much, you hear a toot as they get here, but I wouldn’t think more than a couple of wagons a month. When it was steam, used to see the smoke through the trees, little diesel’s almost invisible now, quiet too.”
“How far are we from where I caught that salmon?” Jimmy said.
“Couple of hundred yards down here.” Henry flung his right arm out, and then set off again.
Suzy trailed behind the others, thinking over the events since they left Bradford. No one actually talked about what happened when you went to bed with a bloke. It was not a topic considered suitable for discussion, and all the girlie talk was largely just that, talk. It had been a bit awkward, stilted really, in Cheltenham, and they had both been knackered. Last night had been better and this morning pretty good. Without thinking she reached forward and caught his coat. Rom turned, grinned and kissed her lightly. Yes, it was good. They bunched again as Henry and Jimmy talked fishing stuff and she snuggled up to Rom while he listened and she didn’t.
She was conscious of a new sound, and screwed her head around to locate it. A big two-tone Ford had emerged from the trees and barely slowed to cross the bridge; the locomotive horn was frighteningly loud as it rounded the bend and came towards them. It hit the car squarely and pushed it along the track before it. The screech of the train-brakes drowned most of the sound of rending metal and shattering glass, as the locomotive halted opposite them, and there seemed to be silence.
Calling Rom and Suzy to follow him, Henry sent Jimmy back to the house to raise the alarm and began to rush back to the bridge.
Suzy’s first impression was of the hugeness of the train; at ground-level everything towered over her. Milky water was streaming off the covers of the wagons; there was white smoke or steam beyond the front of the locomotive. The railwaymen were silhouetted in their darker work clothes or, in one case, a uniform. They were working frantically with a long pole and some other tools. A pile of bright coloured clothes lay by side of the track. Rom got there first, shouting that they had sent for help.
“There’s a young maid still in the back yer..” the uniformed one said, “the lady got thrown through the windscreen.”
He jerked his thumb at the pile of clothes by the track and Suzy, hurried across. The basic first aid she had learned at the Goon made her careful not to move this mass of blood, hair and fabric, but she felt for a pulse and found one. Henry had been left behind in the race and now he arrived gasping; he bent over to regain his breath.
A screeching of metal made them turn, and they saw that the railway men had forced a rear door open and, by leaning on it with all their weight, were holding it ajar as Rom went inside. He backed out lifting a small skirted body, whose legs flapped as he moved. Once they were clear the men moved away and the door sprang back. They followed Rom to the side of the line and helped him lie the girl down.
There was a soft whumph and the car started to burn; the men swore.
“The driver’s still in there.” Rom said.
“Yes, but he’s dead,” one of the men said. “The steering column got him.”
“Poor old George.” Henry said.
Rom turned. “Did you know him?”
“Yes. George Green, ran the Kennickcross Garage.; old friend of Jimmy Hailwood’s.” Henry said.