The Wheel

As the winter sun was setting on another busy Monday, and the early finishers were making their way’s home, Claire was also making her journey back across Stockport. She had been required to make the journey in order to hand deliver some important documents to a solicitor connected with our imminent house move.

The rain was, as usual, a companion for the wanderer, and this was the reason that Claire decided that with a new pushchair in tow, laden with two cherubs, the train would be an efficient means of transport. With the old pushchair that we had, it was impossible to use the train. The width of a double pushchair is slightly wider than the girth of an average-sized fat man, and this is the measurement that Rail companies use in assessing such decisions.

So with a touch of excitement about her, due to the kids experiencing their first train journey, she boarded the choo choo and off they went. The time it takes to put your bags down and unzip the rain cover for the pushchair is roughly the same amount of time as it takes to get from Stockport station to the hamlet of Heaton Chapel. As Claire tried to reach around the chair to open the door, and then try and alight on to the platform through an opening that seemed a lot smaller the second time around, she managed to wedge the front of the pushchair between the edge of the train and the platform. This area is infamously known as the “GAP”.

A little push, a pull, a wiggle, a big push, a slam, and eventually a sideways shimmy made the front wheel come away from the pushchair and drop right down the “GAP”. Claire then finally broke through on to the platform with all of the coolness of the Tasmanian Devil. A little ruffled she ran to the conductor, who was stood at the end of the train, and explained the tragedy in easy to follow syllables. The response to this was a sympathetic shrug, and a comment that she should see the stationmaster. Off the train then went, leaving Claire in the rain, on the platform, with a pushchair balancing on its two back wheels, and an angry disposition.

The wheel could be seen on the track, but was just out of reach. She looked for the stationmaster but inevitably he had already left for the day. He had probably had to go home to lift his mother out of the bath, so that they could continue the jigsaw that they had started the night before.

When Claire finally reached the house, she phoned several numbers to alert someone to the situation, and try and receive some help from the department that helps get things off of tracks for people. Suprisingly, this department does not exist, but a few people recommended that she ring the station at 8 o’clock the next morning.

On my return from work I was informed of the drama, and we decided to write a note to the stationmaster and put it under the door of the station, so that he would see it and rush immediately to the damsel in distress first thing in the morning. We had written our phone number on the note and, when he had rescued the wheel, he could ring us and we would collect it.

The following morning came and the rain was once again tapping at the window as we waited in the kitchen for the phone to ring. I know that you will not be shocked to hear that the phone never rang, but when you are in these situations you would rather believe in humanity and hope, instead of negative cynicism.

At 8 o’clock I decided to go to the station personally and speak to the stationmaster, and hopefully retrieve the wheel that he had probably collected and been too busy too have let us know.

But life seldom turns out the way that you think, and when I did get there the chump behind the ticket desk muttered something about health and safety, and that he wasn’t insured to go on to the tracks. He pointed me towards a timetable that had a customer services number on the back of it, and that maybe they could help.

I picked up the timetable and then walked down on to the platform just to see if I could find it and check that it was still all right. I had images of it being snapped in half and poking out of a bush that ran parallel to the platform. But, as I walked passed about 40 commuters on their way to Manchester, carefully scanning the tracks, I then found it at the end of the platform in perfect condition.

It was just resting on the nearest track, and was teasing me to grab it. I quickly weighed up the hassle that would be involved in having to ring up customer services and explain to them what the problem was, and then wait for them to arrive so that we could collect it from them; and the off chance of getting electrocuted and dying.

I am not an expert on the mechanics of the modern railway; I know a few tricks for fare dodging but technical knowledge has evaded me. So, I quickly asked a girl dressed in a nice business suit if she knew if the first rail was electric, or not. She shrugged, but in her eyes she was thinking who is this mad man that is talking about touching tracks.

A new pushchair wheel was, Claire and I had assumed to be, about £70. I quickly decided that £70 is enough to make me gamble on my own health, and so jumped down into the tracks and flicked the wheel off the rail using a rolled up timetable. I grabbed the wheel and then jumped back up on to the platform.

I was expecting everyone to cheer, and hail the hero that had just fought the system and won. Instead, they all just looked at this suited man jumping on to train tracks and coming back with a pushchair wheel. Their eyes were wary as if I would strike out at any second, or put my tie around my head and roar. I thought it best to just make a quick exit, stage left.

So the moral of this story is don’t drop anything down the “GAP”, when it says “MIND THE GAP” it damn well means it.