On an unusually wintry day in England, 1954, Stephen and Belinda say goodbye.
The Story
The
city lay dark and silent under the muffling blanket of January snow.
Flakes swirled and danced in their countless millions, sparkling
underneath the amber glow of street lamps, finally ending their long
descent by clinging to roofs, fences, roads and fields. Vehicles plowed
sluggishly through the rutted streets, and only the odd warmly clad
figure could be seen hurrying home, perhaps to a hot drink with their
Sunday evening supper.
1954 had been a particularly bad
winter for the east coast of England, but the trains through Yarmouth's
Longport railway station were still running on time. Passengers sat
huddled on wood benches inside the typically spartan British Railways
waiting room, warming hands against the meagre gas fire and conversing
in low tones. The stationmaster, a portly, aged fellow who had spent
most of his life on the railway, stepped onto the wind-swept platform,
deftly removed his watch from a vest pocket and compared it to the
large clock overhead. It was getting on to 8 o'clock and the 'Queen of
Scots' would be due in a few minutes.
With a practiced
hand he lit his tarnished oil lamp and swinging it as he walked, made
his way acrossthe rail lines to the fence that bordered the road.
Directing its beam to the rails, he grunted with satisfaction and moved
on.
Approaching the arches of the old Victorian Dimsdale
Bridge, he was momentarily blinded by the headlights of a car he
recognized as an antiquated Rolls Royce. Throwing spray to either side,
it pulled off and parked beside the station fence, immediately
disgorging five occupants, who immediately began an animated
conversation.
There were three women, one of whom
appeared to be in her teens. She stalked away from the group, kicking
up the snow. One of the other women had taken out a handkerchief and
began to sob uncontrollably. "I just don't want to say goodbye,
Stephen," she cried.
The taller of the two men, a gaunt
looking figure wearing a Fedora and clutching a suitcase, looked away
down the road, his expression twisting in pain. "Belinda, please...you
must understand that it's God's work I must do first. I'll be back for
you."
"Two years is a long time," she responded, her voice blurred with emotion.
"Stephen,
I'm asking you to reconsider," said the third woman, a tall blonde.
"There are hospitals here, people who just as dearly need your
surgeon's skills."
"You must understand," Stephen replied. "Where I'm going, they don't even have the basics of life. I must go where I'm called."
"Well,
I'm calling you," the young woman answered, throwing her arms around
him. He dropped his suitcase and embraced her tenderly. They clung to
each other and she saw the anguish in his expression. "Don't do this,"
her eyes pleaded. But then she could not suppress a shudder as she
noticed a shadow pass briefly across his face, and she knew he was
resolute.
Slowly and gently he withdrew, and picking up
his suitcase, strode quickly to the end of the fence, crossed the rail
line and ascended the platform.
Just at that moment, the
sounds of an approaching locomotive could be heard, and within seconds
steamed into view through the swirling snow flurries on the other side
of the arched bridge.
The stationmaster, meanwhile, had
moved off down the line. As the train pulled into the station with a
clattering of iron and bellowing of steam, he looked up at the
passengers sitting in the compartments, reading newspapers or peering
through the windows.
The little group beside the car had
fallen silent. The teenage girl still stood beside the road, looking on
as the taller woman took out her handkerchief and wiped a tear away.
The driver was leaning on the Rolls, seemingly forlorn. Belinda had
gripped the top of the fence, her head bowed in defeat.
The gaunt man with the suitcase had paused, facing them across the track. He lifted a hand in silent farewell.
"Wait!" called Belinda, looking up, her whole body shaking. "Wait! Stephen!"
From
where he was standing, peering through the clouds of smoke and steam,
Stephen could barely see her waving at him. It wasn't as if he was
leaving his own family behind. It was Belinda's family, after all. He
had asked her to marry him, and marry her he would, if she saw fit to
wait for him. It would be a trial for them both. He would be in the
tropics of Africa, but he'd be thinking of her. If her love for him was
not true, she would find another man, and then he would know the truth.
He turned to go.
"Wait! I love you! I want you to know
I'll wait!" Belinda shouted to him, her voice lost in a sudden burst of
pressurized steam from the locomotive. Her taller companion waved her
handkerchief in desperation, but Stephen's form wavered and disappeared
amidst the backlit clouds of vapor. Then he was gone.
Belinda turned suddenly with her back to the fence and buried her face in her hands.
"Maybe it's best this way," said the driver kindly. "At least, for now."
The
two women clung to each other and with a giant gasp, the train began to
slowly pull away. Stephen was at the carriage window, but they could
not see the tear spring to his eye, nor see the slight trembling of his
lip as the train pulled them farther and farther apart. As the rear
lights of the carriages disappeared into the mist, the old
stationmaster ascended the platform, glanced at the clock and watched
as the Rolls reversed out into the road and slowly moved away, leaving
only its tire tracks and a little cluster of footprints to mark where
it had been.
The snow continued falling, and in a little
while, even these fleeting impressions had disappeared, just as utterly
as if they had never existed.
—Written by Robert Bailey
