The red glow of summer sun was beginning to sink behind distant hills as the train from London Euston slowed down and stopped at Glenelder station. This stretch of railway line, particularly when bathed in dusk’s golden glow, indeed demonstrated the majesty of the Scottish highlands.
Alighting from the train, at this station on the main line to Inverness, Duncan Forbes surveyed the well kept Victorian station buildings and spotless platform tastefully decorated with occasional wooden tubs complete with soil and floral arrangements. Duncan, who had been looking forward to this highland holiday for many months, swung his holdall bag over his shoulder and walked briskly towards the station exit and made his way down the winding path towards the village of Glenelder. As he did so, he heard the mighty roar of the Diesel engine as the train pulled away and headed north towards Inverness on the final sixty miles of its journey.
Duncan almost had a spring in his step as he passed the saw mill and smelt the aromatic tang of pine before becoming aware of the gurgling steam flowing alongside the road to the village. At the end of this winding country road lay the main road, on the opposite side of which stood the 24 bedroom Glenelder Hotel, a Victorian building which had welcomed many weary travellers and which had always offered prestigious highland hospitality.
After checking in, Duncan Forbes freshened up and changed for dinner, partaking of consommé followed by local freshly caught salmon. Following dessert, he retired to the hotel lounge for coffee and Glayva liqueur. While relaxing, Duncan mused that his spacious second floor room had a large bay window from which he could look out over a wide expanse of highland countryside, a far cry from his lavish home in the London borough of Notting Hill.
The hotel lounge soon filled with the sound of chatter of after dinner guests swapping tales of their travels and local encounters. Extremely sociable though it was, Duncan decided to stretch his legs by leaving the hotel and having a walk in the warm summer evening. Being something of a railway enthusiast, Duncan eagerly retraced his earlier steps and followed the winding road up towards Glenelder railway station. The road was quiet, bordered on the left hand side by several bungalows constructed with both timber and stone, before the entrance to the sawmill while the gushing stream on the right still cascaded over rocks and boulders.
Upon reaching the station, Duncan pushed open the creaking wooden gate to gain access to the now deserted platform. Walking along, he saw positioned on the wall next to the Ticket Office window, a large railway timetable displayed behind a clear Perspex screen.
Although the station was unmanned at this time of the evening, the station lamps were lit thereby illuminating the large timetable. Looking down the alphabetical listing of destinations, Duncan was quickly able to see that the next train due to arrive was the London bound sleeper from Inverness. Checking his watch, he ascertained that there were still at least 55 minutes before the twelve coach train was due at Glenelder station. Duncan Forbes mused that the train driver was probably only just pulling out of Inverness, with a long night ahead of him.
There was only a light evening breeze which was remarkably refreshing after spending a long hot day travelling north from London. After he had seen the London train leave Glenelder it was this traveller’s intention to return forthwith to the hotel bar for a couple of pints of draught 80/- , which was by all accounts an incredible beer.
As Duncan Forbes was strolling along and planning his next day’s activities, he became aware of a sound in the distance emanating from the northern end of the station’s platform. It seemed to him that the breeze was carrying this sound towards him, but checking his watch, Duncan knew that it was still a good twenty minutes before the overnight sleeper would appear anywhere near to Glenelder. He had grown accustomed to many different types of railway engines over the years, and he knew that the sound which he heard was certainly not being produced by a diesel locomotive or anything like it.
As the sound grew louder, taking a more rhythmic form, Duncan Forbes was able to identify the steady beat of the pistons as belonging to an early Caledonian Railway steam locomotive. By this time, Duncan was able to make out the light on the front of the approaching engine as well as wisps of white smoke puffing upwards from the chimney into the cloudless night sky. “What the ...?” muttered Duncan Forbes under his breath as almost against his will he retreated backwards into the station’s gloomy shadows and sat down onto one of the long wooden platform benches.
As the engine approached, still nearer and nearer, the sound of the hissing pistons increased, so too did Duncan’s senses become more acute. He began to sense that he was no longer alone on the platform, but could not bring himself to shift his now mesmerised gaze from the sight of the approaching engine. Still he dared not turn around to look the other way, his eyes now straining in disbelief as Duncan Forbes realised that the sight which now presented itself did not belong to the present nor indeed what one may consider to be the recent past.
The engine slowed to a halt, smoke billowing from its chimney with clouds of white steam almost completely obscuring the engine and leading carriage. Positioned behind the tender were three distinctly old fashioned carriages now standing silent by the platform. As the engine’s pistons continued to hiss and steam profusely, Duncan Forbes reflected that the last time he had seen antiquated carriages such as these was in the carriage repair workshops at a steam railway preservation centre, they having belonged to a period before 1908.
All at once, in the semi-darkness a door was opened from the inside in the leading carriage and stepping down from it, in a haze of steam, a rather portly gentleman possibly in his late thirties or early forties, wearing a respectable three piece suit and a distinctive cape. As he turned to face the open door, an incredulous Duncan Forbes could make out that he was holding a gentleman’s walking cane. Just then two ladies alighted one after the other from the train. Both seemed to be wearing long gowns which appeared to be Edwardian in style and most elegant. One of the two ladies wore long white gloves, while the other lady wore short white lace gloves and the gentleman did not appear to be wearing any at all.
When the two ladies had alighted, the gentleman closed the carriage door whereupon, with a great burst of belching steam, the engine heralded its imminent departure and slowly pulled out of Glenelder station while gradually increasing speed. Duncan Forbes, while not believing what he had just witnessed could not allow his concentration to wander. It was imperative that he stayed fully alert and focused in order to accurately relate to others, at a later time, what he had just seen.
Still sitting in silence in the shadows, Duncan Forbes watched as the gentleman and two ladies walked along the platform in his direction. The gentle was walking arm in arm with one of the ladies while the other lady, who was wearing the long gloves, walked a little way behind them. As this lady was about to pass Duncan, she stopped and turned to face him. As she stood in front of him, Duncan Forbes marvelled at how beautiful and elegant she was. However, the lady did not say anything, only pausing long enough to remove her right handed long white glove. Duncan, who by this time was standing in front of the lady watched silently as she then handed this glove to him. Duncan Forbes while accepting the glove from the lady, managed only to whisper, “Thank you” in response; his vocal chords seemingly devoid of their ability to function properly. After this, the lady again smiled, whereupon she took her leave and quickly caught up with the gentleman and his lady.
Duncan Forbes, his head reeling, tried immediately to make sense of all of this and it was a few minutes before he ran to the wooden gate just in time to see the three strangers disappearing into the night’s dark gloom. Forgetting all about the arrival of the London bound sleeper, Duncan Forbes left the station and began to walk down the road leading to the village. Even although he quickened his pace, he never managed to catch up with the steam train’s three mysterious passengers.
By the time Duncan Forbes reached his hotel he felt suitably bewildered by his experience and could in all probability be justified in hitting the superlative range of malt whiskies available in the bar. However, being a connoisseur of distinctive ales, he decided, probably sensibly, to stick with the 80/-. Duncan considered that while he remained in the hotel bar it would probably be prudent to keep details of his recent experience to himself for now at least. He did however check that the lady’s white glove was still safely stowed within one of his pockets. It was then that Duncan decided to quickly take the glove to his room so that he could lay it inside his suitcase and so ensure its safety.
While making towards his room on the third floor, he decided to forego the lift and walk along towards the stairs. To the right of the staircase on the ground floor, Duncan found the door to a large ballroom, inside of which appeared to be a formal dinner dance complete with band playing ‘The Dashing White Sergeant’.
Suddenly the door opened and from within the ballroom came one of the waiters who turned towards Duncan and exclaimed, “Aye, it’s a guid night in there! They’re all havin’ a great time. It’s the owner’s birthday.” The waiter then left, but as Duncan looked inside the bustling ballroom, he could see the beautiful lady who had given him her white glove. She was dancing with a gentleman who appeared to be attired in an army officer’s uniform. Tearing himself away from the sight of the busy ballroom, Duncan Forbes then went upstairs, found his room and deposited the white glove safely in his suitcase before returning to the bar.
With another pint of 80/- in front of him, Duncan Forbes enquired of the barman, “Do you hold many dances in your ballroom?” The barman, who was slicing a fresh lemon, walked over to Duncan and replied, “Oh aye, we hold loads of dances. Dinner dances every Saturday night as well as the occasional wedding or special function.” The barman excused himself in order to pour a couple of Sherries for another customer before returning to Duncan and continuing, “Unfortunately the ballroom’s oot of action for a couple of weeks. We’re havin’ a new wooden floor laid and a complete renovation which includes new bay windows which will look out over the hills at the rear of the building. It’ll go doon a storm!”
Duncan Forbes thought about this without actually saying anything, but immediately realised that all was not quite what it seemed. For one thing, there was no way that new bay windows in the ballroom would look out over the hills, not unless the imaginative builder was to knock down a few walls and build an eighty foot extension.
After finishing his beer, Duncan went to take another look at the ballroom where he had seen the dance only fifty minutes earlier. Returning to the same area near to the staircase, Duncan Forbes was astounded when instead of locating the bustling ballroom, he found a row of bedrooms on one side of a long corridor. There was no dance, no band and no riotous Scottish dancing.
Just then one of the hall porters asked Duncan if he could help him. After listening intently but somewhat unbelievingly, the porter replied as diplomatically as he could, “Ach no sir, there hasnae bin a ballroom there for nearly thirty years! It’s all rooms along here now. The present ballroom is at the rear of the building and is presently being renovated.”
Duncan Forbes, now more confused than he had ever hoped to be, seemed happily content to call it a day and retire to his room for the night. Before drawing his curtains, he opened the windows a little to allow the night air into the stifling bedroom. It had been a long time since the Scottish highlands had experienced such a hot summer and as Duncan settled down he felt a cooling breeze blowing in through the part-open windows.
It didn’t seem long until Duncan settled down in his comfortable king sized bed as the curtains gently flapped in the cool breeze. Although his room had been described to him as being situated in a quiet corner of the hotel, Duncan felt sure that for some reason he could still hear the Scottish dance band which he had earlier heard in the ballroom. After debating several possibilities, he decided that he must have consumed more of the barman’s highland hospitality than he had thought.
Eventually Duncan slept peacefully but awoke with a start around 4am to the sound of a baby crying; a prolonged agonising wail as if in some distress. Duncan Forbes leapt out of bed and looked around the room but found no sign of a baby. Still the crying continued until Duncan noticed for the first time that upon the wall facing his bed, a large framed sepia photograph of the mysterious lady with a baby in her arms. It was only then that the crying ceased, whereupon as Duncan approached the photograph and gazed at the lady’s face that the frame crashed to the floor with glass shattering all around his feet.
Instinctively Duncan promptly stepped backwards. To state that he was alarmed is undoubtedly an understatement, but gathering his composure he bent down and picked up the upturned photograph now devoid of its glass cover. When Duncan saw the photograph he staggered backwards and sat on the foot of his bed. His face drained of all colour as he sat staring at the image. The baby in the photograph was undamaged while the image of the smiling mother embracing her child was completely destroyed; her face and clothing covered in blackened soot and grime. Trying desperately to think straight, Duncan was horrified to see that the remainder of the photograph was substantially fire damaged. By this time all his senses were deceiving him; he could smell burning yet he convinced himself that there was no fire.
Opening the door of his room, he quickly surveyed the corridor; all was peaceful, there not being any sign of anything untoward. He turned around, stepping back into his room once again to look at the damaged photograph. There was neither photograph nor frame and no broken glass upon the floor; once again there was nothing untoward.
Attempting now to control his irregular breathing, and feeling decidedly panic-stricken, Duncan Forbes left his room and ran along the corridor towards the staircase which he descended rapidly, continuing to run across the hotel lobby and out of the front door. There he stood, outside of the hotel entrance taking deep breaths but he still could not explain any of the events that had occurred. Why had he heard the agonising screams of a baby, but perhaps more importantly, he wondered why he seemed to be the only person to have encountered this particular lady.
The morning was still early, a gentle breeze blowing through the village as Duncan Forbes decided on what he must do. Gathering pace, he ran across the road and gradually slowed down on the other side, while nonetheless purposefully making his way along the path and up towards Glenelder station. The wooden gate still creaked as Duncan gained access to the platform, everything appearing so different from the previous evening. Hanging from the station’s overhead canopy and gently swaying in the breeze, the large clock clicked as it registered eight o’clock.
Advancing along the platform towards Duncan Forbes was a railway employee who’s imposing stature gave the impression that this was the Stationmaster of Glenelder. When the two gentlemen were only yards apart, the Duncan was greeted by, “Guid Mornin’ sir, whit can ah dae fir ye?” The Stationmaster withdrew a bunch of keys from his pocket, and wrestled with them as he unlocked and opened up his office, as Duncan began to tell him about the previous evenings strange events. “Oh, you had better come in and sit yerself doon.” Duncan Forbes entered the little office whose walls were embellished with an enviable display of railway memorabilia.
After listening in silence to Duncan’s tale of events the Stationmaster decided that Duncan should know the whole story. Withdrawing a pipe from his jacket pocket and proceeding to fill the bowl with tobacco before lighting up, the Stationmaster then settle back into his comfortable chair and began to relate the chain of events. “It all happened so long ago, about one hundred years; aye one hundred years ago on the 27th June, which was yesterday in fact. They didn’t stand a chance, none of them. The train was coming frae Inverness doon to Glenelder and was due tae go on doon tae Glasgow. Just comin’ roond the bend aboot a mile north of Genelder Signal Box. It was late evening, after twenty past nine. Absolute carnage! Nobody stood a hope in hell; fire, smoke and bodies everywhere so the report said.”
Duncan asked if anybody had found out the reason for the crash. The Stationmaster sucked on his pipe before replying, “The enquiry never blamed anybody. It was put down as a dreadful accident, but lots of people thought that Archie McGregor the driver, had been goin’ too fast on the bend.” Duncan followed this by enquiring, “What about the three passengers who got off the train last night?” The Stationmaster appeared to be deep in thought before replying, “Oh aye! That was very sad. Last night it appears that you saw the only three passengers who were due to get off the train at Glenelder.” An inquisitive Duncan Forbes then asked, “Do you know who they were and where they were going to?” The Stationmaster looked straight at Duncan as he replied, “Aye, I do. You see the gentleman was Rory McPherson, the owner of the Glenelder Hotel. Then there was his wife Shona and they were accompanied by her sister, Catriona. Rory and Shona had gone up to Inverness in the morning, met up with Catriona and were returning to the hotel for Rory’s birthday celebration. That must have been what you saw taking place in the old ballroom.”
Just then the Stationmaster stood up and told Duncan that a train was coming in from Glasgow and that he would return shortly. A few minutes later the early morning train from Glasgow thundered into Glenelder and slowed by the opposite platform before stopping. Within minutes a roar of the engine signalled its imminent departure and soon the Inverness bound train was gliding out of the station on the final leg of its journey.
Back inside his office, the Stationmaster once again settled into his armchair and continued his story. “The Army officer whom you saw dancin’ wi’ Catriona was her husband who was serving in a highland regiment and between them they had a baby boy who on the night of the accident was staying in Inverness with her grandmother.” Duncan was desperate to know what happened to the baby and his father. The Stationmaster seemed thoughtful for a few minutes and sucked on his pipe before replying, “Well the tale is certainly one of tragedy because a few years later in 1916 the boy’s father was killed in the battle of the Somme, and the boy, Edmund was raised in the hotel by Rory and Shona.”
Both men sat in silence for a while, as if lost for words and deep in thought. The silence between the two men was only broken by the constant ticking of the analogue clock hanging precariously on the wall above the metal filing cabinets. Eventually, the Stationmaster leant over to Duncan and suggested, “When you return to the hotel have a look on the first floor; there’s a wooden display case with a glass top at the end of the corridor. There are also some photographs there.” Duncan stood up and thanked the Stationmaster who once again was preparing to greet another train.
Duncan Forbes bade farewell and made his way towards the station’s creaking gate. Thereafter he ran down the path by the stream towards the hotel. Reaching the front door, he opened it and entered the lobby by the reception desk. Duncan quickly ascended the staircase to the second floor, where he turned left along the corridor which was busy with housemaids and linen trolleys. After entering his room, he found the glove which Catriona had given him and quickly made his way to the first floor. At the end of this corridor he slowed down when he came upon the wooden display case. Stepping slowly towards it, he gasped as he saw a faded sepia photograph in the centre of the display. The photograph was of three people, Rory, Shona and Catriona with her baby in her arms; they were standing on the steps at the entrance to the Glenelder Hotel.
Suddenly Duncan’s attention was drawn towards the right hand side of the display where laid out on a bed of tissue paper was a long left-handed ladies white glove described underneath as being salvaged from the train crash of 27th June 1911. Although partly blackened, it was when comparing the intricate stitching, seen to be an exact match of the right-handed white glove now being held by Douglas Forbes.
Duncan Forbes, although bewildered by all the strange events could still not understand why he of all people had been able to see this lady and she him. Immediately, he suddenly thought of an idea and quickly turning, he sprinted along the corridor and up the stairs to his room. Entering his room, Duncan immediately noticed that hanging on the wall opposite the bottom of his bed, inside a glass covered frame, was the undamaged sepia photograph of Catriona and her baby. While looking intently at this photograph, Duncan suddenly thought of the reason why he had returned to his room. Opening the top drawer of a sturdy wooden unit, Duncan withdrew a large black soft leather case. Undoing the zips at the side of the case he took out his charcoal coloured laptop. Having already arranged for internet access, Duncan Forbes quickly tapped details into the search engine. This was followed by the sending of a couple of e-mails to an Inverness based Genealogist.
Taking his laptop and its case with him, Duncan left his room and descended the stairs where he made for the hotel bar where he ordered a pint of 80/-. Finding an empty table beside a bay window overlooking the hotel’s garden, he sat back in his chair mulling over everything that had occurred since his arrival barely 24 hours earlier. It was then that he suddenly felt very tired from his lack of sleep during the night before. He began to wonder what would have happened if he had tried to speak to the three travellers at the station. Or even what might have happened if he had tried to enter the ballroom during the dance being held there. It seemed that none of the hotel staff had seen anything untoward, the waiter leaving the dance probably existing only in his own imagination.
A few minutes later the laptop emitted a high pitched bleep:
‘Thank you for your enquiry regarding Catriona MacGregor. It appears that she married Captain Donald Forbes in 1910. Catriona MacGregor was your Great Grandmother.’
Copyright ©IanmAllan2024
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