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In travelling home from Florence it is usual to go to Pisa, and
there to change on to the Rome Express. In fact, there is (or was) a
carriage which runs all the way from Florence, but you will be told
that it is reserved for Very Important People.
Too much notice should not be taken of this. Nearly every seat
in an Italian train is always reserved for Important People or for men
who lost a limb2 in the war. But very few of them ever seem to travel
much, and personally I have never found this carriage from Florence
so crowded with great men that it could not take me.
On the particular occasion that I speak of, it also took Miss
Bradley, who certainly did not look important. She looked more like
an out-of-work nurse, and I only noticed her because of her
surprising ugliness. She was a rather large, heavy woman of about
thirty-five, with a big red nose, and steel-framed 3 glasses; and she
had one of those unpleasant skin-diseases which had covered her
face with spots. It is an important part of this history that I really
very much disliked looking at Miss Bradley.
It is equally important that later on when I went to the dining
car, Miss Bradley was already seated, and the man who was
attending to us placed me opposite her.
Meals on the Rome Express take a long time. This one seemed
to go on for ever, and I could not help noticing that Miss Bradley
found it all very difficult.
If you are English, it is almost impossible 4 to speak Italian or
French on these occasions, because the waiters are anxious to
practise their English on you. The waiter who served us spoke quite
good English. Yet Miss Bradley was determined to order her food in
unbelievably bad schoolgirl French, though she was red in the face
when she did so, and plainly very ashamed.
I had the greatest difficulty myself in understanding what she
said, and the waiter soon gave it up and brought her whatever he had
ready. One was forced to believe that Miss Bradley was not only
very ugly, but very stupid too.
I think we may have exchanged half a dozen words at dinner,
when passing the sugar or the bread to one another. It is difficult to
dine endlessly opposite somebody without making a few polite
sounds. But they were certainly all that we exchanged, and after we
left the dining car I did not see Miss Bradley again until we reached
Calais
She was then trying very hard to get out of the train at Calais
Town, where we stopped for a moment, and a man was trying
equally hard to explain that she must get out at Calais Port.
This time I certainly spoke to Miss Bradley. I said, “It’s the
next stop. This is Calais Town.” And Miss Bradley, with a red face,
said, “Oh, I see. Thank you.”
And then, when we reached the sea, we really began to know
each other, and it was my fault. There were plenty of porters to carry
the bags, and I called one from the window of the train without
difficulty. But as I got out I saw Miss Bradley standing on the station
platform. She had two large very old cardboard suit-cases, one of
which seemed to be held together by a thick string.
She was standing there saying “Porter!” rather weakly and the
stream of porters was dividing round her, and passing her by, like
water dividing past a rock, looking for richer people.
It was at this moment I went towards her. I am quite sure that
if she had been less ugly I should not have done it. But she was so
ugly and she looked so sad and helpless standing there with her
baggage tied together with a string, crying “Porter!” that I was filled
with pity - a thing which seldom happens.
I smiled at her with a real and pleasant sense of virtue and said,
“My porter can take your cases, if you like.” Miss Bradley turned
and looked at me.
She was even uglier than I had thought. “Oh - thank you,” she
said. “It is very kind of you.”
My porter unwillingly added her baggage to mine and in a few
minutes we found ourselves on board the ship. Our cases were placed
side by side, and Miss Bradley and myself were naturally side by
side also.
I hope it will be agreed that up to this point I had acted like a
gentleman, though perhaps at no great personal sacrifice. I say I hope
it will be agreed, because there is no doubt that from this point my
usual bad qualities began to take control.
In less than ten minutes I realized that Miss Bradley, quite
apart from her ugliness was very, very dull. With hesitation, but
continually, she talked about nothing, and said nothing interesting
about it.
I learned that she had been in Italy for two weeks, visiting her
sister, who was married to an Italian. She had never been out of
England before.
At home she was a clerk in an office. The work was quite
interesting, but travelling to and from the office was tiring.
I do not suggest that any of this in itself was duller than most
conversations, but somehow Miss Bradley managed to make it
duller.
I considered that I should certainly have to see Miss Bradley
safely off the boat at Dover and on to her train; and after that there
would be no reason, except rudeness, why we should not travel to
London together. That meant four hours of it.
I could not face this; so, excusing myself, I went along to the
office on board and bought myself a seat on the Golden Arrow.
Miss Bradley was travelling by the ordinary train, so this
would mean that we should separate at Dover. I went back to Miss
Bradley, who told me about the flat in London that she shared with
another girl from the office.
We reached Dover without any interruption in Miss Bradley’s
flow of conversation. I hired a man to carry our baggage. I had two
expensive suit-cases which had once been given to me as a present,
and she had her two pieces of ancient cardboard.
Usually passengers for the Golden Arrow are dealt with first,
because the train leaves twenty minutes before the ordinary train.
When the boy asked if we were going on the Golden Arrow, I
hesitated and then said, “Yes.”
It was too complicated to explain that one of us was and one of
us wasn’t, and in any case it would help Miss Bradley because they
would deal with her bags quickly.
As we went towards the hall I explained carefully to her that
my train left before hers, but that I would help her with her baggage
first. The boy could then take our cases to the right trains, and she
could sit comfortable in hers until it left. Miss Bradley said, “Oh,
thank you very much.”
The boy, of course, had put our suit-cases together, and Miss
Bradley and I went and stood before them. At the proper time the
examiner reached us, looked at the four suit-cases in that sharp way
which examiners must practice night and morning, and said, “This is
all yours?”
I was not quite sure whether he was speaking to me, or me and
Miss Bradley, who was standing slightly behind me, and I was just
about to say “Yes” for both of us. But suddenly the worst bits of
pride in my nature rose to the surface. I did not want to admit that
those terrible old cardboard suit-cases with the string were mine, and
I replied, “Well- mine and this lady’s.”
The examiner said, “But you’re together?”
“For the present time,” I said rather foolishly, smiling at Miss
Bradley. I did not want to hurt her feelings.
“Yes,” said the examiner patiently. “But are you travelling
together? Does this baggage belong to both of you?”
“Well, no. Not exactly. We’re just sharing a porter.”
“Then if you will show me which are your things,” said the
examiner very slowly and carefully, as if he were talking to a child,
“I’ll deal with them.”
I pointed to my cases. I had nothing valuable, and said so.
Without asking me to open them, the examiner chalked the cases and
then, instead of moving to my left and dealing with Miss Bradley, he
moved to the right and began to talk to a man whose baggage
covered a space of about seven feet.
Miss Bradley said: “Oh dear-” mildly. I started to say: “Listen
- could you do the lady’s too, so that -” but the examiner took no
notice of me. He was already examining the man on the right.
The boy swung my cases away, and more were immediately
put in the space. The owner gave me a gentle push in the back. I
hesitated for a moment, but there did not seem to be much advantage
in standing there waiting for Miss Bradley when we were about to
separate, so I said: “Well, I’ll say goodbye now, and go to find my
train. I expect he’ll come back to you next. The porter will bring all
our cases to the trains when you’ve finished. Good-bye.”
Miss Bradley said, “Oh ... good-bye and thank you so much.”
We shook hands and I left with some relief mixed with a feeling that
I was being slightly rude.
I found my seat in the Golden Arrow and began to read.
Twenty minutes later I suddenly realized that the train was going to
leave in five minutes and that the porter had still not brought my
cases. I was just setting off to look for him when he came, breathless,
carrying them. I asked him rather sharply what he had been doing.
“It was her,” he said shortly.
“Miss Bradley? Well, where is she and where’s her baggage?”
“She’s still there,” said the boy in a hard voice. “And will be
for some time, I guess. Examining her properly.”
“But why?”
“Well, they’d found forty watches when I came away, and that
is only the start. So I thought maybe you wouldn’t want me to wait.”
The sad part of the story is this: if I had been a nicer and kinder
person, and more patient, and had really decided to see Miss Bradley
safely to London, or if I had not been too proud about her baggage, it
would almost certainly have been carelessly passed with mine; or, if
it had been opened, I should have had some very awkward
explaining to do. In fact, I seem to have been rude just in time. But I
have often wondered whether, when Miss Bradley stood alone and
sad on the station at Calais, she had already chosen me as the person
to save her, or whether she was just quietly sure that someone would.
Looking back, I am fairly sure that she chose me, though I
have never understood exactly how she did so. I am quite sure she
never made the slightest effort to speak to me first or to get to know
me
NOTES
1. Dover: a seaport in England
2. limb: a leg or arm
3. steel-framed: the suffix -ed meaning “having,” “characterized
by” is often used to form compound adjectives, such as thin-lipped,
big-hearted, gold-plated, etc.
4. impossible: the negative prefix im- is a form of in- used before
the lip consonants b, m, p, as in impersonal, imbecile, immoral, etc.,
il- occurs before l, as in illegal and ir- before r, as in irregular.
5. Calais: a seaport in N. France; a cross-channel ferry port
opposite to and 33 kms distant from Dover
6. comfortable: -able is an adjective-forming suffix meaning
“possessing qualities of”, resembling”, as in comfortable, likeable,
valuable, etc., or “suitable for,” as in eatable, drinkable, readable,
etc.
7. examiner: a customs officer
. Answer the following questions
1. What is the usual way of travelling from Florence to England? 2.
What was the author’s way of travelling home from Florence? 3.
Who else happened to take the same carriage on that particular
occasion? 4. What made him take notice of the other passenger? 5.
What did Miss Bradley look like? 6. How did it happen that the
author found himself opposite Miss Bradley in the dining car? 7.
What language did Miss Bradley use when ordering her food? 8.
Why did this seem unusual to the author? 9. What impression did
one get of Miss Bradley? 10. When did the author see her again? 11.
Why did he really speak to Miss Bradley this time? 12. Why did the
author believe it to be his fault that they really began to know each
other when they reached Calais Port? 13. How did the author and
Miss Bradley happen to find themselves side by side on the boat? 14.
What did Miss Bradley tell the author about herself during the trip?
15. Why did the author decide to take the Golden Arrow to London?
16. Why were the passengers for the Golden Arrow dealt with by the
Customs first? 17. What made the author disown Miss Bradley’s
luggage? 18. What had delayed the porter with the author’s luggage?
19. What had Miss Bradley been trying to smuggle into the country?
20. What made the author fairly sure that he had been deliberately
chosen by Miss Bradley as the person to see her through the
Customs?
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I hope You like it
SIR.
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AT DOVER - A Short Story By NIGEL BALCHIN
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