Bromford Below - Part 10

»Didn't I see old George in that waggon that now disappeared like the others?«

Here comes the second member of the pensioners' band, John Harrison.

»Boy, how mad he was when his son Dahni started to take and read his newspaper before him last month!«

John looks at the number 16 that is written at the top of the sliding doors.

»Looks like darkness is eating the other waggons«, he says touching the sliding doors carefully. »Waggon 16 is gone. So is the second sliding door that led to that waggon, as well as the black accordion hose that covered the gap and the little bridge between the waggons.«

He is the piano of the band. And he is accompanied by his two sons, Julian and Sean Taro.

»Dad«, Julian Harrison takes him by the arm and sits him on one of the plastic seats next to the train's windows. »This isn't one of your model railways. And I am not sure if subways work the same way.«

»Does anybody see a way?« John sighs. »Some call them Subways, some Undergrounds, some Metropolitans or Metros. But Bromford, our friendly town by the bay and seaside never had one.«

Julian has sat down on the seat next to his father, Sean Taro on the one across of him. They are both holding one of his hands. Looks like they have practised comforting and consoling gestures like this before to calm down the old man.

»Darkness is eating this train«, John says. »I wonder what will happen to us when it reaches this waggon next.«

»Maybe it is just a short blackout«, Sean Taro suggests, »and when the lights go on again we will continue our trip to Liverpool.«

»Don't be silly, Sean«, John grumbles. »There is no underground train between Bromford and Liverpool. We are going to Nowhere to become real Nowheremen. Some may call it Neverwhere, the world below. I wanna call it Underworld. And the Underworld is a place of no return.«

His words are giving me the creeps and a cool shiver along my spine.

Kylie holds her breath and my upper arm very, very tight.

»Feels like someone just walked across my grave«, she whispers.

🎄🎄🎄🕯🎄🎅
🎄🎄🎄🎄

"Smith Of Bromford"

Smith was a Bromford man
and a rare old sort was he
With his cutlass and his pistols, heave-ya ho
He'd a noble crew of cut-throats
who used to scour the sea
A plunderin' and a robbin', high and low
He swore 'twas no concern',
he didn't give a herrin'
Bout right or wrong or any holy show
He swore that grabbin' booty
was Britain's foremost duty
Wherever she could get it, heave-ya ho

Heave-ya ho, Heave-ya ho,
He swore that grabbin' booty was Britain's foremost duty
Wherever she could get it, heave-ya ho

Smith had a noble soul
and lofty was his pride
With his cutlass and his pistols, heave-ya ho
He'd watch his beaten foe-men
jump out into the tide
Call ye beggars who had no where else to go
And hanging from his lanyards
swung Portuguese and Spaniards
And beaten Frenchmen jumping to and fro
Right along the blazin' story
shall allure in England's glory
Pirate Smith of Bromford, heave-ya ho

Heave-ya ho, Heave-ya ho,
He swore that grabbin' booty was Britain's foremost duty
Wherever she could get it, heave-ya ho

But accidents they happen even to heroes such as he
With his cutlass and his pistols, heave-ya ho
He was standing on his capstan as happy as could be
Hoping soon to have another prize in tow
When a whistling Spanish bullet
came and caught him in his gullet
And very sad to say it laid him low
He was only ninety-seven,
but his soul has gone to heaven
To rest on Nelson's bosom, heave-ya ho
Heave-ya ho, Heave-ya ho,
He was only ninety seven
But his soul has gone to Heaven
to rest in Nelson's bosom, heave-ya ho

Heave-ya ho, Heave-ya ho,
He swore that grabbin' booty
was Britain's foremost duty
Wherever she could get it, heave-ya ho