Contact

Contact - Chapter One


Sitting tentatively on the edge of the seat, the woman peered out of the half pulled down window. She could smell the remnants of the coal fire that powered the train through thick, white plumes of steam, but observed that the platform was empty. Surely someone should be awaiting the arrival; be it for the return of a passenger, or even a special delivery. But no, everything was deathly quiet on the dull grey platform.

After sitting for a moment, the woman was disrupted from her thoughts by a gruff old station guard.

“Time to get off, madam!” he shouted through the small window. Startled, the woman started to gather her belongings and moved towards the door, which the guard had opened for her, showing the manners with which she had been brought up with.

Stepping down from the carriage, she put her bags down and pondered; what was she going to do now? Surely she was expected, and surely someone should be there to meet her. She gazed over at the smart wooden bench, half expecting to see a smiling, welcoming face greeting her warmly; the same face that she remembered so fondly in years gone by, as they baked together, read books together and enjoyed being in each other’s company. It was this point that reality began to fade into view; what if the worst had happened, and the only way that she would see the comforting face again would be to close her eyes. No-one had been in contact for a long time, and this brought back to mind the purpose of the journey.

It was twenty years ago that she had last been on the platform, alongside many others, each undertaking the same journey as one other, but each with different final destinations. She had desperately wanted to stay with her family, but it was impossible. The war effort had made this impossible and the ever growing threat had made each and every families decision easy; the young ones must go; be sent away from the squeals and flames of war and out to the fresh air and countryside of the United Kingdom and continue peacefully into adulthood, blissfully unaware of the atrocities that they were to leave behind them in the industrial heartland of the country.

Spending the last 20 years apart had made the woman’s heartache to return to her home; to see her family once again. Right at this moment, she had no idea whether anyone remained to see how she had grown up, losing contact, no replies from letters contributing to a growing concern, and deep felt worry that she just had to find out where her future lies, be it in the Welsh countryside, or back amongst the hard working people of the rest of the industrial world; the salt of the earth workforce who work every day to put food on the table, and to buy the odd pint down the pub on the corner of the street. A simple, yet pleasurable life, and something that she remembered so strongly, wondering where her father disappeared to so soon after tea, and always reappearing happy, often with a huge fish supper on a Friday which she always waited up for, along with her two sisters, having pretended to be asleep. It was so big that everyone was fed plentifully and no-one went without.

With purpose, the woman picked up her luggage and strode towards the exit of the station. She had to move, and taking a piece of paper from her pocket, she was able to visualise the street on which the house was set on.  It was 2pm, and the streets were quiet. The children were in school, and the men were at work.  She could hear women chattering to each other, talking about the latest washing detergent and how clean it made their clothes, to what the woman at number 12 was doing with the window cleaner; everyone knew each other’s business, it was impossible to keep secrets from the streets.  At last she reached the top of Guest Street. It was just as remembered, the back to back houses, front doors that opened onto the pavements. She walked slowly down the street, turning her head and taking everything in, remembering, reminiscing, reminding...

As she approached the bottom of the street her pace slowed down. With a perplexed look on her face, she turned her head left and right. This was different to what she had left. There was now a huge pile of rubble where houses had once stood; this is not what she had expected. There had been a large factory at the end of the road, employing most of the neighbourhood and most of the men in Guest Street. She stared at what remained of the factory’ a couple of broken bits of wall, sticking out of the ground and twisted pieces of metal from the machinery and fittings that had once graced the large structure.But what took her breath away was the house that she had grown up in was no more; as if it had been erased from reality. Her face dropped as reality came ever closer.