The voices of the interlopers grew quieter and Roddy had to cup his ear to hear anything. Suddenly came the sound of things being moved around and the snapping and tearing of branches. Cautiously moving around the tree to get a better look, he saw that one of the boys was outside the den entrance talking to those inside and moving back and forth as if looking for something. What was going on? After a little while and following a lot of noise from the den that sounded like something being dragged and pushed, the rest of the gang emerged wriggling out of the narrow entrance and onto the grass of the meadow. From his hiding place Roddy’s view was partially obscured by branches and leaves but he could see enough to get a general idea of what was happening. They stood for a short time looking back at their den while deep in conversation. He could not understand what they were talking about but they seemed satisfied with their work as they nodded at one another. Abruptly they stopped talking, turned toward the River, and nonchalantly walked back along the path they had taken earlier.
He could not believe his luck. At first he just felt relief that he no longer had to hide and he could get out from the hedge, stretch and take care of the accumulated scratches from his misadventures with the tree. However he quickly realised that here was a chance to make up for his earlier blunders and find out something important about these boys by following them and finding out where they came and the route they had taken from the City. If he found how they did that it would be a major coup and earn him the respect of the other members of his gang. The alternative of relating his embarrassing blunders and falls and essentially admitting failure was too shaming to contemplate. The Gang was not known for its sympathetic reactions to the clumsiness of others and for him it had certainly been a very clumsy day so far.
Worming his way out of the hedge where he had spent what seemed like the entire morning he waited until the intruders were safely out of sight behind the reeds that lined the pond, then he set off in silent pursuit. He was exceedingly proud of his skill at being very stealthy and would practice walking and leaping silently as much as he could. At home he would practice leaping down several steps of the stairs and landing silently, like a cat, bending his knees and collapsing his entire body to cushion the impact and muffle the sound. Outside, he had developed the annoying practice of walking silently; approaching people from behind and then leaping past them and making them jump with surprise. Now was the time to put these hard won skills to good use and so he jogged across the meadow in a zigzag pattern in imitation of his silver screen heroes, always glancing down to check for any sticks that might crack beneath his feet.
Upon reaching the edge of the pond he looked for his quarry. Their heads were showing above the reeds and he could see that they were already getting close to the River and the railway bridge. He had to wait for them to pass the high reeds that surrounded the pond, as there was no other cover on the track that ran along the railway fence. The pond that filled the old clay pit was close to both the railway line and the river, and once they were beyond the reeds, they would have to cross the line and he needed to see how they did that. He would have to be fast and silent if he were to observe how it was done.
Suddenly they stopped and one of them pushed through the reeds to the edge of the water. Roddy ducked out of sight and flattened himself on the grass.
“Hey look ‘ere, there’s a little island in this lake,” said a voice. Then he could hear the older boy talking and what he said surprised and dismayed Roddy. The boy was talking about the island to the others and telling them that the next time they needed to find a way across to it. The island was quite small, but large enough to accommodate a few children out for an adventure. It was covered in reeds except for the center of the island where seeds that must have been blown there had produced some small trees and bushes; perfect for hiding in. The Gang had always looked longingly at that small island. If only they could find a way across. They didn’t know anyone who owned a small portable boat or a canoe as such things were unknown to any of their families. While they had read about making rafts from old oil drums, they did not know where to get the drums and the wood needed to build one. Also the strict admonishing of their parents not to play near the pond always held them back. Clearly this was not an issue with these boys as they had already done many forbidden things such as crossing the railway. The conversation was animated and Roddy could only hear a few words. There was something about empty oil drums near the piggeries and then some conversation about floating across the river and stealing wood from somewhere or someone, but he could not hear clearly.
Then, suddenly the eldest boy with his deep voice told them that they had to get going. “Le’s vamoos “, he seemed to say and they all trooped off again. What did that mean? That was a word Roddy had not heard spoken before but whatever it meant it sounded very impressive. Anyway there was no time to think about that, as he needed to hurry if he was to see how they crossed the line without attracting the attention of the signalman in his box with its tall windows overlooking the railway. Once again Roddy ran silently across the grass with his head down to avoid being seen above the reeds. He reached the edge of the reed beds and carefully skirted them; watching and listening in case the boys had stopped again. To actually bump into these tough boys would have meant trouble and possibly a beating that would have hurt far more than being tangled in the brambles.
On the other side of the reeds all was clear. They had disappeared completely, vanished into thin air. Just seconds ago Roddy had been listening to their voices and now they had gone without a sound. His first instinct was to run forward to get a better view, but the tracker instinct that he had been so carefully imitating held him back. Carefully, he edged his way around the last of the reed beds that surrounded the pond. Nothing! They had disappeared completely, but to where? He hurried to the edge of the river. The stench of the slimy wet mud was very strong as the tide was out and the river was flowing far below over a bed of stones that lay incongruously between the soft mud of the steeply sloping banks. They could not have gone across the river directly as everyone knew that the muddy banks were treacherous and that you could easily be trapped in the soft mud and sink out of sight. Roddy had never seen this happen, but that was the legend and all one had to do was throw a stone or a stick into the soft mud and see it “gloop” and disappear to know that the stories were true. He looked at the railway line but there was no sign of them there. So, they must have found another hidden way.
There were few possibilities as far as he could see and he quickly eliminated the brazen crossing of the railway line, or fording the River. The only other way was to go under the railway bridge itself. Roddy looked carefully for any footprints that would show that they had gone that way. The bridge was made of iron coated with a thick black tarry substance. It was supported on large black metal tubes, dripping with mud and green slime. These had been driven into the riverbed and supported the sturdy girders of the bridge. It was a mystery as to how the workmen made this bridge without sinking into the soft pungent mud themselves and disappearing. At that moment an express train came over the bridge and turned the entire structure into a rumbling crash of sound that made it seem alive. He peered at the bridge through what felt like a blizzard of noise. The muddy banks sloped up to the brick walls that stood at either end of the bridge but he noticed that the slimy mud stopped a little short of the black bricks that supported the end of the bridge and there was a thin band of dry ground running alongside the brick abutment. Clearly, only the highest tides came to the wall itself so the ground had time to dry out and harden into a narrow band that seemed to go right through to the other side of the bridge. Perhaps the City gang had made their way along this band of dry mud, though they would have had to walk bent double or even crawled in places to get through.
Stooping he looked beneath the bridge. While there was not much room it seemed possible that someone small could get to the other side. He decided that there was no other choice; he had to make his way under the bridge and look for signs of the gang’s passing this way. To do so would mean crouching almost double and in places it looked as if he would need to crawl. It turned out that the narrow band of ground was dry if rather dusty and not too difficult to traverse, but with trains thundering overhead and the rush of the nearby River, Roddy found it a unnerving.
Alternately crouching and crawling, he made his way through all the while searching for signs that the City boys had indeed passed this way. Nothing seemed disturbed and it was not until he was nearly halfway through that he found what he was looking for. The band of dried mud was deeply scuffed and scarred as if someone had found it difficult to keep his footing. Peering back at the way he had come, the light hit the ground in such a way as to highlight a dusty path that must have been caused by the passing of many pairs of feet scuffing and sliding on the narrow band of dried mud.
So, that was how they did it. The mystery of how the enemy gang’s invasion route was solved. The signalman in his box had large windows facing the railway lines with excellent views to the front and to the side but no view to the rear and would not see anyone sneaking beneath the bridge. But they still had to cross the River and he needed to keep going so he could find out how they did that. Could they use the railway bridge itself for that. They must do!
“Yes, that must be the way”, he said to himself and feeling relieved that he had managed to salvage something from his otherwise disastrous morning. At least he could report back to Peter and the others and bask in the reflected glow of their admiration of how he had tracked those boys and found how they came across the River. With so much to tell he would not have to mention his ignominious and failed attempt at trying to use a tree as an observation post.
But what if he were to go all the way under the bridge himself, something that none of the other gang members had even talked of let alone tried. That would be a real feather in his cap and well worth the risk of getting his shoes and clothes a bit dirty.
So the question was; play safe and keep out of trouble and just tell his friends about what he had discovered so far, or go all the way under the bridge and risk getting dirty but enhance his standing with his fellow gang members. He decided to take the risk and continue. The next part was the more difficult as he had to stoop almost to his knees to get under some of the bridge girders. The ground was still fairly dry as there had not been any high tides for a month or so, but although not slick with the usual soft river mud the ground was still very slippery in places and he was very cautious in placing his feet. Another train came pounding over the bridge and the noise and vibration was overwhelming. He had never encountered anything like this before and he had to stop and duck down and cover his ears. It seemed as if the train was going to collapse the bridge around him. The ground itself was moving under the terrific weight and the pounding vibration. Then it was over and the contrast was astounding. A comparative silence descended, with just the rippling of the river over its bed of stones and the steadily diminishing singing of the railway lines overhead as they carried the message of progress of the speeding train. There remained another large girder to negotiate by stooping, only this one was much lower and he had to go on all fours in order to get under it. Now his hands were very dusty and he needed to consciously resist the reflexive habit of wiping his hands on his clothes. On the other side he hoped that there would be some grass that he could use for wiping and so avoid the accidentally dirtying of his trouser seat.
A feeling of relief and success came over him as he finally emerged on the far side of the bridge. Now he needed to work out how to cross the River. Just then he heard the distinctive sound of crunching cinders. It was the sound that boots made on the clinkers that were spread on paths that ran alongside the line. It was a higher pitch than the crunch of gravel and was almost a squeaking sound. He stopped and ducked back out of sight under the last girder. Were the boys he was following coming back? If that were the case he would be caught, as there was no time to return to safe territory and nowhere to hide. The sound of the crunching was overhead now and it would be a short descent from the path to the end of the bridge and then what; capture? Yet suddenly he realized that there was something strange. The enemy gang was very talkative even when they were walking together and yet all he could hear was a soft whistling in time with the crunching sounds. The sound seemed to pass overhead and then it faded as whoever it was kept on walking. Carefully he put his head out beyond the bricks of the bridge abutment and looked around. It seemed to be clear and so he crept out further to get a better view. There, walking along the path beside the line and swinging a large leather satchel was a guard. The man was several yards away and moving away from Roddy at a steady pace while whistling softly to himself. He must have come from the railway yards on the edge of the City and was on his way to the guards van at the end of the line of wagons. The path he was on must be the way that guards and others used to walk from the railway yards to the sidings and therefore had to run alongside the railway and across the River.
Mystery solved! It was now clear how the City gang managed to get from the City to their den. From where he stood just under cover of the bridge he could see that the allotment gardens ran right up to the fence alongside the railway. If those boys crossed the allotments, they could climb over the fence, cross the River on the cinder path beside the sidings, scramble down the embankment to the bridge and then crawl underneath it to the fields on the other side. The sidings were often full with wagons and the signalman would not be able to see anyone walking behind them. So there was little danger of being discovered and of course nobody would see them once they reached the cover of the bridge.
Roddy decided that he needed to do one last thing before going back. He needed to make the crossing of the River and go to the edge of the allotment gardens and see where the City gang crossed the fence. Then he could go back to his friends and impress them with everything he had discovered. Looking around he decided that he could safely cross the bridge once the guard had moved further away. Trains were always running noisily along the running lines on the far side of the sidings, so he didn’t need to be very stealthy but he would have to watch out for other railway people.
After a minute or so of waiting he heard another train approaching. With the noise of the passing train providing cover, he walked around the bridge abutment and then scrambled up the bank to the path. With one final glance at the retreating back of he guard, he turned and started across the bridge on the clinker path, trying not to make too much noise but not worried as the guard was now quite far away and the passing train was making plenty of noise. On his left and far below was the River, less noisy than before as the tide was on the turn and beginning to cover the rocks that were exposed at low tide. On his right and above him were the goods wagons that had been shunted into the siding and beyond them other sidings also full of wagons and providing a good shield from the eyes of the signalman in his well-glazed box. The City kids had thought this through very well. Now he had to see where they went on the other side of the bridge.
Suddenly from the line of empty coal trucks to his right came a sharp jerk and a clang. He looked back to where he had last seen the guard but he saw the path was empty. The wagons jerked again and he was shocked to see that at the front of the line of empty wagons a locomotive was blowing off some steam and then he saw a man in blue overalls climb from the steaming engine and walk back toward him. Without thinking he darted into the gap between two of the trucks to hide, hoping that he had not been seen. He stood there holding his breath and thought about his run of bad luck this morning. Everything that he had tried seemed to end by going wrong. The lines of empty wagons that filled the sidings rarely moved and yet now they were about to be pulled out of the siding probably the first time that they had been moved in days. The man in the blue overalls must be the fireman and he was hooking the wagons to the engine ready for them to be pulled forward. Just then he heard a shout and the line of trucks jerked forward. Luckily he was standing against the wagon at the front of the gap, which suddenly snapped away from him as the driver of the engine pulled forward to tighten up the loose couplings. The jerk snapped back along the entire line of wagons; clonk, clonk and clonk it went, as the slack was taken out of the loose couplings between each wagon. Roddy’s heart beat fast and he felt hot with fear. Staying between the wagons was far too dangerous as the entire train on wagons could soon be moving and he needed to get back to the comparative safety of the path.
Cautiously poking his head out from his hazardous hiding place, he looked down the line of wagons toward the engine. The fireman was now climbing back into the cab of the engine and was not looking back along the train. Quickly he glanced back but could not see any sign of the guard in the van at the back. Now was his chance. Darting out from cover, he ran along the path over the bridge toward the safety of the allotment gardens. At the end of the bridge he looked for the way down the embankment and through the fence. He glanced at the engine and saw that the fireman was again swinging out his legs to start the climb down rungs that ran down the side of the engine. To his left he saw a line of flattened grass and brambles: that must be the path that the gang was using. There was no time to lose. If the fireman saw him he could just catch him before he reached the fence.
The railway had not bothered too much before when they saw people on the side of the line as long as nobody tried to cross, but recently the railway police had visited his school and lectured them on the dangers of trespassing on the railway and said that if they caught children trespassing they would take them to the school and make an example of them. The thought of such a thing being done to him was horrible. His parents would hear about it and they would stop him from playing anywhere near the railway and that could mean being banned from the fields alongside and from his Gang and the den. He would have to play in the Quarry Park nearby and while that did have the old quarry to play in it was not as much fun as being with his friends roaming the fields by the line.
Propelled by thoughts of imminent capture and embarrassment, he hurled himself down the embankment along the line of flattened grass and saw that it entered a clump of reeds. He heard a shout and reacted immediately by diving headlong into the reeds. It almost certainly saved him from being caught as the fireman would probably not come down after him, but he had forgotten that the reed beds were full of sharp ends of broken reeds and he felt these pierce and scratch his legs and arms. But there was no time to do anything about this, as he had to wriggle his way deeper into the thick bed of reeds and get to the fence and safety. There were no more shouts but he did hear the fireman call out to the engine driver and say something about kids not learning about how dangerous it could be on the line.
But he was at the fence at last and he looked around to see where the gaps were and there to his left was a place where people must have crawled through and stretched the wire. This must be exactly the path used by the City gang. Wriggling along the edge of the fence he crawled through the place where the wire had been stretched so much that it sagged comfortably. He fleetingly blessed the railway for using smooth wire and not barbed wire, which was the favourite fencing wire of the local farmers, and was the cause of many square patches on his short trousers.
Behind him he could hear the staccato clanking sound of the train of empty wagons getting underway. From the secure vantage of the far side of the fence he could peer through the covering screen of reeds and watch as the train of wagons picked up speed and ran out onto the main lines. The guards van was the last to come and there on the rear platform was the guard who had passed earlier, now relaxed in his waistcoat having discarded his thick overcoat, and smoking his pipe and occasionally looking ahead at the accelerating train of wagons. There was barely a glance to the side and he seemed completely unaware of the Roddy’s presence in the reed beds.
LAMBY MEMORIES 