Of Sea and Sand by Jonah
Simon and Garret are here again, looking after their young family. If you are unfamiliar with this family, we first met Simon in 'A Letter from America' back in 2019. He was a teenager then, now he is well into adulthood. Garret originated in another author's story. I want to thank Jacob Lion, in the USA for his permission to use his characters in my story. That's one of the things I want to make plain, all the characters in this, and all my other stories are wholly fictitious. They aren't based on real people. The other thing I want to make plain is that, while Simon and Garret are both gay, as are some other characters, this is a story about love - not sex, lust, or any other substitute, but real Christian love. If it's pornography you want, you'll have to find it somewhere else. Lastly, this story is brought to you by Nifty, free of charge. Nifty doesn't charge me to publish it, nor you to read it, but it does cost money to bring it to you. Please consider donating to Nifty at https://donate.nifty.org/ so that these stories continue to be available for all to read.
Chapter 3
We did indeed have school next day and Grev continued to enjoy working in my clasroom. The word had got around the school that he was doing so and most people seemed happy about it. Grev was a well-liked principal. The work in the metalwork shop that took up most of the afternoon was easier for having an extra pair of hands.
Back at home in the evening the boys were delighted to have Grev staying with us. I don't know whether they thought that Garret and I might be less strict with them in front of a stranger. If they thought that, of course, they may have been right. We both tried to maintain standards but could have been inadvertantly relaxing our vigilance. We normally allowed only limited exposure to the television, for instance, but couldn't really dig our heels in if a guest wanted to watch it.
Garret, it was confirmed to me for the thousandth time, was a partner in a million. Yesterday Grev had been determined to go to his own home. That could only be because he was afraid that he was putting a strain on our marital relationship. In many households he would have been right but my relationship is with Garret and he is no ordinary partner.
"Thanks for being so understanding about Grev" I whispered to him when we were in bed that night. The boys were asleep so it was necessary to whisper. Lloyd snuggled closer to me with a contented sigh but showed no sign of waking.
"It's the least I can do," he whispered back. "We're supposed to help when people are having a hard time."
"Only a week to go," I whispered.
"What?"
"Only a week to the holiday. We'll have to let him go home then."
"I don't know Simon. That'll be a bit hard on him at the start of a six-week holiday."
"I don't see an alternative."
"He could come with us. The boys would like that. I don't think I could enjoy the holiday with him on my conscience."
"He needn't be on your conscience. You've already done far more for him than anybody could have expected."
"Can Mr. Kennedy come on holiday with us Daddy?" said Philip - I should have guessed it would be him.
"Go to sleep Philip," said Garret. "Your daddy and I are talking."
"I know. That's why I can't get to sleep. Can I have a drink of water?"
Without a word Garret climbed out of bed. Philip's blond hair was visible on the other side of the bed. Garret had been between him and Barry.
"When you've had a drink, try to go back to sleep," I told him.
"Is Mr. Kennedy not coming with us?" Lloyd asked, without opening his eyes.
"I don't know Loyd," I replied. "There's another week to go yet."
It was plain that, when Garret returned from the kitchen, further discussion would not be possible.
As he climbed back into bed I whispered,
"OK, I'll find out if they can accomodate him in the B&B."
"Yay!"
"Philip, shut up and go to sleep," I snapped crossly.
"That wasn't me - it was Barry."
Oh Dear God!
"If I hear one more sound Mr Kennedy is NOT coming with us."
That would have been face-palm time had I not been lying on my back. It was certainly a tactical error. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realised that the boys would not fail to have picked up on the corollary.
There was silence.
I was first up in the morning - at about five o'clock to be precise. I was en-route for Weybourne before anybody else stirred.
The sun was already climbing high in the sky and the countrside looked like a Constable painting - only greener. I parked up at Weybourne shed and checked the board. The B12 was my engine and Don Spencer my fireman.
Don was an experienced fireman, and passed to drive if necessary, so i wasn't surprised to find the engine close to blowing off, the fire white-hot, the paintwork gleaming and oilers lined up for my attention. I was soon up on the running plate, trying to reach the less accessible parts of the motion. Don ambled across the yard to have a word with Fred Cox in the signal box and we were soon off shed right time.
The B12 is a big engine and has a big tender so, if you're running tender first, you aren't going to keep your head in the cab very much. On this beautiful morning it didn't matter. I hung my cap on the water guage test-cock handle and let the wind blow through my hair. We were soon in platform 1 at Sheringham and coupled up to our train. Dick Moon was our guard and he soon ambled up to give me the train details. All was as it should be and we were right time easing our train out of the platform and heading for Holt. My step-brother, Luke, was waiting by Sheringham West signalbox to give the token to Don.
"Sheringham-Weybourne", my fireman read from the token. Many firemen would have simply glanced at it and hung it on the hook but Don knew that I wouldn't stand for that. I always insisted that the fireman read out loud the inscription on the token. In the past, people have died because a driver and fireman were lax in doing that.
The thing about a large engine with a big boiler is that, most of the time, you have steam, and therefore power, to spare. With good coal, and a good fireman, you're going to have that all of the time. The B12 breezed up to Weybourne. We waited there for the diesel multiple unit to come down from Holt. As soon as it arrived I saw Fred nip across my front buffer beam to exchange tokens with its driver, then return to his box. Seconds later the signal came off for us and Fred appeared with a fresh token for Don.
"Weybourne-Holt" he read and hung it on the hook on the tender.
I heard two muted blasts on a whistle.
"Right away mate," called Don. "Clear this side."
He had raced across the cab to give me that last piece of information as I knocked off the steam brake and pulled the regulator open. In the ordinary way I would be thinking about winding back the cut-off once the wheels started turning with any velocity, but I was facing a long 1 in 80 bank, up through the cutting to Wind-Pump Cottage. I let the loco carry on shouting at the sky. Don had shovelled a fair bit of coal while we stood at Weybourne to allow him to keep the firehole door closed as much as possible once we were under way. The exhaust was loud, sharp and strong. We didn't want that pulling too much cold air through the firehole door.
At the cottage I closed the regulator, wound back the cut-off and then opened the regulator again. The exhaust beat was much softer. Don opened the door and checked his fire, using his shovel-blade to deflect the flames. Satistfied, he closed the door and returned his shovel to the tender as I eased the train into the platform at Holt.
Once we had the train run-round, and topped up the water supply in the tender, I let Don drive back to Sheringham. I like to keep in practice at firing and having a fireman who is passed to drive is a good opportunity. Of course, I wouldn't be doing much other than keeping the water level in the boiler up to the mark. Leaving Weybourne is the place you have to watch that. Running tender first downhill, all the water in the boiler is at the back end, nearest the cab. You keep checking the water guage and it tells you that you have a good quantity of water in your boiler. It is very close to the top of the glass. It is very easy to get lulled into a false sense of security. Suddenly you reach the foot of the 1 in 100. Your tender is pointing uphill and the water all rushes to the front of the boiler. The water in the gauge-glass disappears and, if you are not careful, you have the top of the firebox uncovered. If you can't remedy it quickly you'll have the firebox crown getting red-hot, then white-hot, which may be when the soft metal insert in the fusible plug melts and the firebox fills with steam, putting out your fire. That will take a lot of explaining once you walk back to Weybourne to arrange for an assisting engine.
As you probably guessed, I ensured that none of this happened and we were soon running gently into platform 2 at Sheringham. As Don brought us to a stand I looked down and saw Barry, who was accompanied by Grev Kennedy bearing two cups of tea, which he handed up to me. The two of them climbed aboard once Don had climbed down to go and uncouple. I glanced back to see Don pointing to the space below the buffers. I quickly glanced across the cab to ensure that the regulator was closed, the cut-off in mid-gear and the steam brake on. I had seen Don apply the tender-brake myself. satisfied, I held my arm up out of the window and watched Don crawl underneath.
Grev watched me in silence, as did Barry. Both understood that I was not being unsociable. With a man underneath my train, it was not the time to allow myself to be distracted. The slightest movement of locomotive or train could prove fatal. I watched Don climb onto the platform. He stood well clear and then raised his arms and clapped his hands in the air. I reached up and sounded the whistle then crossed the cab and wound off the tender brake. Resuming my seat, I released the steam brake, wound the cut-off slightly into forward gear, then opened the regulator and immediately slammed it shut. The loco lurched forward as I quickly applied the steam brake. Looking forward, I saw that Don was holding up both arms in a clear stop signal. I wound the loco back into mid-gear and crossed the cab to wind the tender brake back on then returned to my own side and gave a quick blast on the whistle. Don pointed to the space below the buffers again. Once more I held out my arm and Don clambered off of the platform again. Seconds later, I saw Don walk to the ground frame to request the release from Luke. He obviously got it because he swung on the levers then held up his arm. I wound the loco into back gear, released the steam brake and with a toot on the whistle, opened the regulator. We rumbled over the points to platform 1, then Don threw the levers back and gave control back to Luke in the box. As soon as Don rejoined us, I let the loco drift slowly through platform 1. I wasn't worried about people seeing the two trespassers on my footplate. With a large tender, nobody would see much. The only person likely to get a good look would be my step-brother in the signalbox.
As we passed the other end of our train, I climbed off, leaving Don to do the driving. I walked across and pulled the coach vacuum hose from its dummy, leaving it hanging loose. I left the steam heater hose where it was. We didn't need that at this time of the year. The loco stopped by the signalbox then gave a toot and began setting back over the points towards me. I stood well clear and signalled him to approach, slowing him down when he was about a coach length away. As the buffers gently kissed, I held up both arms in a stop signal. All was still. I pointed underneath. A couple of seconds later I saw Don's arm held out. I ducked under the buffers, reached for the securing pin on the loco's vacuum hose and pulled it out, leaving the hose hanging. The loco's screw coupling was doubled back over its own drawbar hook so I lifted it clear, slung it over the coach drawbar hook and threw the handle over a few times to screw it tighter. When I was satisfied, I took both vacuum hoses, wrestled them together and inserted the pins. I crawled back under the buffers and returned to the cab. Don was supping his tea, and I soon retrieved mine from its place on the tender. Barry was occupying my seat and Grev had seated himself on the shovelling plate. I opened the firehole door, picked up my shovel and checked the fire. It could do with a coupled of rounds but we still had twenty minutes so there was time to finish the tea.
"The other three are in the train," remarked Grev. "I saw them get in."
"Won't they wonder where you are," asked Don.
"They won't wonder where Barry is," I told him. "They'll know exactly where he is."
I glanced at Grev.
"So are you coming up with us?" I asked.
"Do you want us to go and get in the train with the others," he asked quietly.
I glanced across at Don.
"What do you reckon," I said.
Don shrugged.
"You're the driver."
"Stay where you are," I told Grev. I saw Barry supress a cry of jubilation.
"I'm going to have to ask you to move from the coal-plate though, or you'll be ending up in the firebox."
He stood as I picked up the shovel again.
I built up a good fire, though carefully keeping the pressure from climbing too high before we needed it. The blower went on to pull it through a bit then as the guard requested vacuum, I quickly blacked in the remaining holes and shut the doors. The blower went off as Don was about to open the regulator. I stood behind Don and looked back. The signal was off and soon Dick, the guard was on the platform with his green flag and a double blast on his whistle.
"Right away Don," I said as I shot across to the other side of the cab and looked out, "and clear this side."
Don opened the regulator a touch and the loco barked slowly and deliberately as we negotiated the crossover to the main line. I crossed to the firemans side and leaned down to take the token from Luke.
"Sheringham-Weybourne" I read out to Don before hanging it on the hook. I then crossed back to my own side to check the starting signal up by Golf Links Crossing, but Barry was already there.
"She's off mate," he called out.
"Thanks mate," returned Don.
Once clear of the crossing Don had her barking a bit so I checked the pressure and looked at the fire. Sure enough he was pulling a few holes in it so I filled them in and shut the door.
On the 1 in 80 he had her working hard, but the big boiler gave steam to spare so I didn't worry.
"Distant on," called Barry.
"Thanks mate," Don called back.
We pulled around the curve into Weybourne station with Barry still calling out the signals as he spotted them. We had spotted the class 31 diesel on the other train earlier and, sure enough, we had to wait at Weybourne for it to return.
The journey was uneventful and, once run round at Holt, I was back in the driving seat.
The wait at Weybourne as Don filled the boiler, gave me the opportunity to ask Grev,
"You lot off home when we get back? I know it's Garret's turn to cook dinner."
Grev shook his head.
"No sir," he replied. "Garret says he has a better idea for dinner. We're waiting at Sheringham for you."
I had a shrewd idea what that meant, but there was no point in questioning Grev further, because he wouldn't know. All I knew was that it promised to be an enjoyable evening.