Bromford Below - Part 01

Blinded by the light and pushed by my co-travellers behind me I am stumbling through a two-parted sliding door into… What is this?... A subway waggon? I jump a few steps forward turning back and seeing the llama, Kylie, Nigel und Professor Sideburn falling and forming a pile of arms, bodies and legs.

I try to ignore their moaning and complaining while I am looking through the glass windows of the now closed sliding doors. There is no sign of the storage room we have just left. There are only subway tracks disappearing from red rear lights into a tunnel's darkness. Looks like we are in the last waggon of an underground train. But how?

'End of Train' is written over the two-parted windows of the sliding door.

»Where are we?«

Kylie is standing up rubbing her bottom she just fell on.

»Down in the Underground…«, Nigel is kind of singing.

»But how?« Kylie continues. »And where? Bromford, the friendly town by the bay and seaside does not have a subway or underground.«

»And yet here we are«, I whisper and pointing out of the rear-windows I add, »and we cannot go back to the basement of 666 Whitaker Lane. Look behind you.«

Professor Sideburns back on his feet again is pointing at the green treasure map.

»Maybe it is one of our lesser problems right now, but the arrows on the treasure map are pointing forward towards the front of the train.«

I turn around. At the other end of the waggon is another sliding door with glass-windows and behind that there is another waggon and another sliding door to another waggon. The whole train seams to go on forever.

On a plastic seat at the waggon wall to left hand side an elderly woman with white almost violet hair is clearing her throat and starting to hum a little melody.

»Mrs Whitaker?«

What a strange surprise. How long ago is it that I have last seen or met her?

»Who is Mrs Whitaker?« Professor Sideburns asks.

»Anne-Marie Whitaker, an ancestor of Roger Whitaker, a famous mediaeval bard or something and name patron of Whitaker Lane in Bromford. I last met her some twelve years ago on a short trip through the apartments of the apartment-house on Number 666. She used to live in Apartment 1 back in those days.«

»The old cat-lady?« the llama asks. »But hasn't she passed away some years ago?«

That is exactly what I remember. One of the other apartment owners said something like it was the first time in more than a hundred years that no Whitaker was living in the apartment-house on 666 Whitaker Lane at her funeral.

And yet the old lady is sitting here with her eyes closed and humming her little song… about a city or a place maybe…

🎄

"Le Capitaine De Bromford"

Le capitaine de Bromford
Ali alo
Qui fait la pêche au cachalot
Ali ali ali alo
Ali alo

Il a trois filles qui ont fait la peau
Ali alo
La première à Valparaiso
Ali ali ali alo
Ali alo

La deuxième à Rio de Janeiro
Ali alo
La troisième à San Francisco
Ali ali ali alo
Ali alo

Il mange la viande nous laisse les os
Ali alo
Il boit du vin et toi de l’eau
Ali ali ali alo
Ali alo

Il donne la goutte à ses matelots
Ali alo
A grands coups de barre de guindeau
Ali ali ali alo
Ali alo

Le lieutenant t’envoie là-haut
Ali alo
A coup de bottes dans le dos
Ali ali ali alo
Ali alo

Et le second qui est le plus beau
Ali alo
Si tu groumes il tе fout à l’eau
Ali ali ali alo
Ali alo

Le capitaine dе Bromford
Ali alo
Qui fait la pêche au cachalot
Ali ali ali alo
Ali alo
Ali ali ali alo
Ali alo