#railwayman

[missfleurissant]

This extraordinary true story educates and informs viewers of the life life of Eric Lomax. He was an junior officer who was taken captive in Singapore and forced to build the Burma Saigon Railway in Kanchanaburi, Thailand under Japanese authority. This grueling account of his life and the terrors he faced whilst serving there are hard to witness. Colin Firth does a top notch job portraying the emotions and effect of the hell he walks.

When he is finally released when the war comes to an end, he is sent back to Edinburgh. But he finds he cannot adapt to normal life after all his trauma - Meeting a woman INicole Kidman) serves as the catalyst for the changes that need to occur. I felt every inch of this movie and perhaps even deeper as I travelled on the Death Railway seven years ago, and was fighting for my marriage. I lost - and have walked a harrowing road myself.

I am hoping to engage with others, as I find the loneliness intense - and trying to rebuild at midlife is particularly challenging from all angles.

Watch this compelling drama and let me know what you think, and please chat to me - I could do with the company, even if it is across a computer screen!

[testormblog]

The Love is Here

Nana, my paternal grandmother, also gave me a present for Christmas, always something special. Once, she bought me a metal Tonka truck, a prized toy for a poor boy like me. I spent lots of time with Pop and Nana, usually the weekends; my parents happily offloading me. Like us, they lived alongside the Beaudesert branch line, near the Waterford siding. I loved Pop and Nana and they loved me. I had a special seat and place at their kitchen table. Perhaps, I reminded them of the teenage son, their first born, they lost to peritonitis. I didn’t resemble my father, their second son, in character. Where I was inquisitive and contemplative; he was quick tempered and impatient. He had a reputation for trouble. Though, age would mellow him.

Pop had retired from the Railway. He had worked in a maintenance gang like Dad but on the Logan Village to Canungra branch line, which divided from the Beaudesert branch line. He had been stationed at Logan Village. There he had lived in a basic railway hut with other men from Sunday night to Friday. He may have been the ganger in charge of a track section although he never mentioned this. He must have had influence to obtain a job for Dad. In his younger days, Pop had worked for a sawmiller. He knew everything about timber and could fell giant trees. I deduce he began with the Railway during the depression years when building work was slow.

In the war, he would have worked on the Canungra branch line’s upgrade, part of Camp Cable’s construction. Every local, trade skilled man, not enlisted, had been employed on this project. Camp Cable was the largest US military base on Australian soil at that time. The railway line ran through it and included a siding. The line was responsible for the deployment of thousands of troops, equipment and provisions. If I had been born earlier, I’d have seen the constant stream of troop trains. Whilst Pop never talked of the war, he ‘owned’ a few US Army souvenirs; things he had traded with soldiers. I inherited his woollen long johns. These have survived intact nearly eighty years.

Pop was skilled with his hands. He built his and Nana’s house in his younger days. The Queensland style house, perched on a hill, overlooked the Logan River. I played on its large veranda, which skirted its three sides. My grandparents had no electricity. They relied on kerosene lights and weekly ice deliveries to fill their ice chest. They drew their water from a tank and the creek. They had no bathroom. Nana washed herself with an earthen ware jug and basin in her bedroom. I thought the house nice though. It always smelt fresh. Nana kept it spotless. The backyard thunderbox was also clean and ready for use unlike the overfilled one at my home.

I found everything at this house interesting. I shadowed Pop nearly everywhere. The washroom had once been a smokehouse where meat was cured. It still contained the meat trellis on which a beast or a pig was hung. Now, the butcher called weekly. Pop’s workshop was under the house. Here, there was a sandstone wheel to sharpen axes and saws, vices to hold timber steady and numerous tools. Neatly stored were paint cans and brushes, egg cupboards to hatch chickens, vegetable boxes and horse gear.

Pop and Nana survived well despite their insignificant aged pensions. Pop ran a cow and fowls and grew every vegetable and type of fruit they ate. He sent produce and eggs to the market. He also sharpened the saws for all the local sawmillers including the sawmill that cut the pit props for Ipswich’s underground coal mines.

Pop was a mystery to me and wouldn’t answer my questions about his life. He descended from German religious refugees, settling in the 1840’s. He didn’t attend the local church often; possibly because his prior work life had limited his time at home. Nevertheless, the Lutheran Church and many German customs influenced our family’s values. Pop spoke English mixed with German idioms. He was the eldest of a large farming family, who owned much of the best surrounding farm land. In spite of this, his brother had inherited the land. Mother often jabbered that Pop had heaps of money. Not so, he had just sufficient to cover his funeral.

Like my parents, Pop and Nana weren’t affectionate to each other although they were to me. Similarly, they didn’t share money. When I grew older, Nana regularly asked me to doublecheck their division of expenses. Maybe, the hardship of Pop’s work life had extinguished their flame. Still, they lived together amicably and cared for each other.

When I was eighteen in 1961, Pop became so sick a doctor was called to the house. He had never seen a doctor before and was most upset. I watched his son-in-law, an ambulance driver, drive him away. He died soon after in the foreign, sterile environment of a Brisbane hospital. He had wished to pass away at home. I was bereft. To worsen my grief, I contracted mumps and couldn’t attend his funeral to farewell him. From the kitchen window, I watched the hearse deliver Pop’s coffin to the Lutheran Church then everybody gather at the cemetery beside.

Pop’s and Nana’s children sold their house and its furniture as quickly as possible for £800. The furniture alone would have been worth that sum. They packed my beautiful Nana up to live with one of them then later moved her into a dreadful nursing home. She deserved far better. Overnight, she shrank into a fragile, old lady, crippled with arthritis. Yet, she lived for nine more years. She was my angel.

A month after Pop’s death, a girl, my future wife, slipped her hand into mine. The love from one ended and the love of another began.

[stochastique-blog]

You can be someone else

Today a bit old. Old recipe for pizza dough. Fairly fast if there is no time for Neapolitan cake. Equally delicious. Good evening and tasty dinner…😉 #home #homemade #soulfood #madewithlove #goodfood #naturalfoods #notfitbutsogood #instafood #instagoods #goodies #localfood #pizza🍕 #pizzastone #italian #italianfood #izery #izerymountains #Izerbejdżan🍁 #poland🇵🇱 #zakapior #myambition #bestquality #beardmanatkitchen #railwayman #beardman #łotr #łotrwkuchni #bezspiny #brodatyłotr (w: Góry Izerskie)

[dontforgetukraine]

Yesterday, Ukraine's Railways honored the railroad workers that have helped keep the country moving as well as the ones lost since the start of russia's full-scale invasion.

On the Railwaymаn's Day, the "Iron Train of Railway Memory" #751 departed from six Ukrainian stations. In memory of 751 railwaymen who sacrificed their lives for Ukraine. All locomotives sounded the horn of honor for their fallen colleagues. We remember everyone. Always. —Ukrzaliznytsia

[bruhstation]

steam team's seniors during their baby years

A friend group so weird and toxic to people they dislike it could rival It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia’s. They're not immune to the "I came to Sodor to avoid my problems and wanted a fresh start" trope many Sudrians also follow

Edward Pettigrew

Age: 31 as of 1984

A kind, friendly NWR railwayman who didn’t mind a lot of things and was popular amongst younger folks for his looks and demeanor. He likes showing newbies the ropes of the NWR and Sodor as a whole because he just loves infodumping. Despite being made fun of by some railwaymen for his “weirdness”, Edward worked hard and was known as the jack-of-all-trades by his peers, usually treating younger and newer railwaymen to drinks after work to get them accustomed to Sodor (he did this to Henry, then Gordon, then James). Originally from the village of Pezë in Tirana, Albania, 1940s. Due to his beginnings in a small rural village and the Albanian government’s censorship of outside influences and heavy restriction of traveling outside the country, Edward’s hunger for knowledge about the world grew more and more. His family had connections to the Lëvizja Nacional-Çlirimtare and Edward’s particularly bright and good at talking, so he became a diplomat to travel outside Albania – a step into his plans of learning more about the world. After landing himself in the United Kingdom and studying everything he wanted, he believes it’s still not enough. He found out about an island infamous for its supernatural occurrences and cases of people missing just off the coast of the UK – Sodor. Being the curious man he is, he discarded everything that’s needed for the LNÇ to locate him and landed on Sodor, gorging himself with every mystery the island has to offer. Impulsive? Yes. But for the first time, Edward felt true freedom. However, Edward got too curious and nosy and became a casualty in an accident fueled by supernatural hysteria related to Lady of the Legend and was transported around 40 years into the future, landing in 1983 with his memories all over the place. Despite losing his sense of self and having no idea what he is, his thirst for knowledge still lives on inside his head. His cheerfulness, amicability, and kindness are extensions he formed to make up for the hole inside his heart. Edward does love his friends, but he believes that if he can withhold information from them and make them all live in blissful ignorance, they can be truly happy – this all stems from his fear of exceeding his limits and being discarded (which he later copes by being a typical wise friendly old man in 1999). He often sees visages of Lady in his dreams.

Gordon J. Gresley

Age: 26 as of 1984

Joined after Henry. Looked like he was fresh out of a funeral. A young hotshot who was more polite, quiet, and reserved compared to his 1999 counterpart. Gordon started out as an apprentice fireman for the Wild Nor’Wester’s previous driver. He treated his arrival on Sodor as a desperate last resort to escape his issues and grief and pitifully believed he was “lumped with the social pariahs in the boonies”, but he’s gotten better and believed that this is where he can truly outshine everyone, much to the annoyance and chagrin of his seniors. Gordon acts like he knows what he’s doing in order to build up his image as someone who’s dependable and strong and revels in small basks of limelight. However, he was constantly uncomfortable with how Edward treated accidents as normal due to their survivors being in tip-top shape the next day and how Henry is so distrustful of and odd about everything and everyone and sweats 24/7, but he’s been masking and convincing himself that he’s not like the rest of them. He’s normal. He’s normal! Let’s all hold hands. Don’t be fooled by his sad face. Young Gordon can be arrogant and think he knows everything for being a youngin.

Henry Stanier

Age: 27 as of 1984

Joined after Edward, so he’s quite close to him. Gordon’s “senior” by 6 months. He’s always, ALWAYS scared endlessly about anything “out of the ordinary” and beats himself up over it, much to his own disgust. Henry had a deep rooted hatred and jealousy towards his peers for pitying him after a coworker revealed to other railwaymen that he’s narcoleptic without his permission. He’s been masking his disabilities despite it being detrimental for his well-being, but as long as people treated him “normally”, Henry would endure (dreadfully). He did this especially with Gordon, the newest addition to the Northwestern Railway at the time, because he didn’t want anyone else to treat him differently when they find out about his health issues. As an extention, Henry developed a vitriol towards Gordon too – he’s particularly jealous about how he’s so “ungrateful” of everything’s given to him like his fair looks, clothes, and position as the to-be face of the Wild Nor’Wester. They did become friends though despite the process not being easy. It’s okay. They became besties that were mean to old nosy folks. Initially wanted to pursue arts, but due to circumstances from his past related to his health and paranoia fueled by his past failures and “jinxes”, he came to Sodor as a half-hearted last resort to get a job. He wasn’t hopeful of having anyone respect him for who he is, but things do get better, much to his surprise.

James A. Hughes

Age: 25 as of 1989

Joined the NWR 5 years after Edward did. At that point, Gordon already discarded his GNR Green look and went for the blue attire (minus the big coat). Flaunts his beauty almost at any given time, especially when someone mildly complimented him. He’s more of a nerd (word used loosely because he acts like a know-it-all when he actually has no idea what he’s doing) compared to his canon, 1999 counterpart. James came to Sodor for a fresh start and believed he deserves more than what he’s given. He thinks he’s so tough and hard as nails – in fact it became his source of hubris because he gets into accidents and was scolded by his seniors for being so vain and stubborn. He doesn’t want to get dirty, he doesn’t want to shovel coal, he doesn’t want to get wet from the washdown suds – he only wants the good out of the work and doesn’t want to accept the “bad” sides as well, so James was branded as the “problem kid” of the NWR by older folks. James, who can’t handle harsh criticism and labels well, grow even more distant with them. He primarily hangs out with the RWS trio because they seem to understand his situation and the feeling of being “outcasted” (despite Gordon’s annoyance at his boastfulness). 

[got-ticket-to-ride]

Respectfully imagining Paul Mccartney in a 1950s vintage, lacy, pink nightgown as mentioned here and here.

It happened.

“It wasn’t only the sound that surprised. Paul wore an old pink nightie given to Fred Marsden by his mum to protect his drums; Fred himself wore a railwayman’s tunic; Gerry had George’s leather jacket; George was in a hood; and John blew Les Maguire’s saxophone. He also joined Paul on top of the piano: they lay on their stomachs and leaned over to strike the notes upside down.“

Fanfiction writing itself.

[brightclothesforwinter]

...my actual official logo, on my actual professional email signature, resembles that last one to a startling degree. (My rainbow is brighter, 6-colour, and the stripes run parallel to the track.)

(I suppose there are only so many possible stylised depictions of a railway, mind you.)

Abba era, I'm sorry

[traintrainingmontage]

Train Family

The folks on Discord really liked this one. :)

Summary: Rheneas' driver Robert Sam is positive that his newborn son, Peter, will become a railwayman as well one day. Rheneas is hesitant, but as it happens, Peter Sam has never been more certain of his path.

Characters: Rheneas, Robert Sam, Mr. Peter Sam, the Thin Controller

Word Count: 1,809

Rating: T

Now on Ao3!~

The year after the Great War started, Robert Sam came up to the two narrow-gauge engines, looking absolutely thrilled. In his arms was a little boy, looking up at Skarloey and Rheneas with wide, curious eyes. "Skarloey, Rheneas," Robert Sam began, "this is my son, Peter. Peter, say hi to them."

The baby gurgled, a smile on his little face. The two engines couldn't help but coo, and off to the side, Mrs. Sam looked on, finding the entire situation absolutely adorable. "He's going to be a railway man one day," Robert Sam said proudly. "I can tell! And then he'll be your driver, Rheneas."

Rheneas managed to tear his eyes away from the baby long enough to frown at his driver. "Robert, I know how enthusiastic you are about this, but you'd best not pressure this boy into doing anything he doesn't want to do. His future is his own, and even if he doesn't come to work the railway, you WILL support him!"

Robert simply laughed in response. "Of course, of course. But I can feel it in my bones; my boy's going to be just like me."

Rheneas rolled his eyes. "Oh lovely," he replied, his tone deadpan. "I can't wait to have to put up with two Sams' worth of antics."

At this, Skarloey and Robert broke into laughter, with even little Peter joining in, and Rheneas couldn't keep but grin—the joy was absolutely infectious.

-----

"Hi, Pop!" called a youthful voice, and Robert Sam alighted from Rheneas' cab to see 8-year-old Peter running towards him, waving wildly. A beaming smile so wide it seemed like it might hurt stretched across his face. "Hi, Rheneas!"

"Good afternoon, Peter," the crimson engine smiled. "Did you have a good day at school?"

"Of course I did!" Peter grinned. "I even saw Skarloey go by today, and I waved at him!"

"Oh?" his father chuckled. "I'm quite sure that was us, though. Wasn't it, Rheneas?"

The engine gave his driver a sidelong look, but his smile didn't waver. "Don't involve me in your nonsense, Robert Sam."

In that mercurial way that only children can manage, Peter's earlier grin vanished, replaced by a pout that caused his face to scrunch up like he'd sucked on a lemon. "Yeah! Leave Rheneas alone, Pop! Besides, it wasn't you; I know how to tell the difference between Skarloey and Rheneas! I have to know these things if I'm going to be a driver one day."

This proclamation caused the easygoing smiles on Robert and Rheneas's faces to subtly shift into twin expressions of wonder, both sets of eyes wide in surprise. "Peter... you seriously want to be a driver one day?" his father asked.

"Yeah!" the boy replied, his grin bubbling back up at the thought. "Rheneas and Skarloey are my friends! I want to go up and down the line with them, just like you!"

Engine and driver felt their hearts swell. But before either could respond, there came a call of "Peter!" Mrs. Sam had arrived, ready to take Peter home, and the boy waved at his father and his friend one last time before running off.

"Robert... you didn't—" Rheneas began.

"Not at all," Robert marveled. "He decided all on his own. See, Rheneas? I told you he was like me. You'll have a friend for life!"

Once again, Rheneas rolled his eyes, but the sparks in his firebox felt bright. Maybe these things did run in the family after all.

-----

"You have everything you need, right?" Robert asked, a rarely-heard trace of worry in his tone.

"Yes, Pop," a 16-year-old Peter Sam smiled, seemingly unaffected by his father's aura of anxiety. "I'm all packed!"

The young Sam had quite a bit of luggage, and Rheneas idly wondered how well he would be able to manage it all. Peter was going to be away for quite some time, off on an apprenticeship and volunteer opportunity with another railway. Both father and engine were excited for him, but Rheneas couldn't deny that he also felt somewhat sad.

"Do your best, Peter," Robert counseled. "Ask for help if you need it, accept advice as it makes sense to do so, and while not everyone is your friend, not everyone is your enemy either. Make friends, learn a lot, and please do write to us." With that, the driver embraced his son in a hug, and Rheneas couldn't help but smile.

"Your father's right, Peter," he seconded. "If you are truly committed, then you must give it your all. No being half-hearted about it!"

Peter laughed as his father finally let go, his familiar cheer bringing Robert and Rheneas no small amount of comfort. "Ok, ok! Geez, it's like I have two dads! I'll be alright, and I'll write you when I get there."

Suddenly, a loud whistle sounded as Gordon pulled up with the Express.

"There's my train!" Peter exclaimed, eyes bright as he began corralling his luggage. "Off I go. Bye, Pop! Bye, Rheneas!"

"Good luck!" Rheneas called.

"Have fun!" his father shouted.

And with a bevy of bags and bustle, Peter Sam got himself on the train, waving good-bye to his father and (self-proclaimed) second dad. In a few short minutes, the train pulled out of the station, leaving Robert and Rheneas to watch it go with complicated emotions on their faces and in their hearts.

"...Do you think he'll come back?" Rheneas asked quietly, his words almost imperceptible over the sound of Gordon's grand exit. "He's a good lad, but there's so much more out there than here on Sodor, especially our little railway. Maybe he'll find work on some large railway somewhere."

"Truthfully, I don't know," his driver replied, his anxiety now replaced with a resigned somberness. "But just as you said, whatever he does, we'll support him. And hey... you'll have me for as long as I can manage, old friend."

Rheneas smiled as Robert Sam gave his boiler a companionable pat, the familiar gesture appreciated amidst all of the change.

"And as always, I am grateful for it."

-----

Robert Sam walked out of the Crovan's Gate stationmaster's office with tired eyes, but a wide smile on his face. "Well, Rheneas, it's official! Sir Handel Brown wants me to take over as the next railway controller!"

Rheneas beamed in response, all of his earlier anxiety vanishing like steam in the wind. "That's wonderful, Robert! You'll do an excellent job."

After a moment, however, the engine's good cheer waned as a quiet hesitance took its place, his next words coming out a little slower than he would have liked. "I suppose that means that I'll have to have a new driver, though."

Robert Sam gave his engine an understanding pat. "I know you're not thrilled by the prospect, old boy, but it has to be done. I can't manage the railway effectively if I'm running trains."

"I know," Rheneas replied, his pensive expression once again being replaced by a small smile. "And you've been so good to me for all of these years. I've been quite spoiled."

At this, Robert gave a funny little grin that reminded Rheneas very much of Skarloey. "Well, as it happens, I'm leaving you in very capable hands. We received several applications for who would be your new driver, and it'll ultimately be your choice, but we have a candidate that I think you'll like very much."

This unexpected news caused Rheneas to blink, a look of surprise finding its way onto his face. "Oh? Who did you have in mind?"

Robert Sam chuckled knowingly, a twinkle in his eye. "He'll be out in a moment."

The newly-crowned controller had barely finished his sentence before the office door opened once again, this time to reveal a fresh-faced 21-year-old dressed in a good suit, with a rather dashing demeanor to match. However, Rheneas saw past the costume immediately, looking into the eyes of a boy whom he'd known since the time he was born.

"...Peter Sam? Is that you?"

"Hi Rheneas," the young man answered with an achingly familiar grin. "I'm home."

"So you are," the old engine breathed, willing the water in his tank to stay where it was. "But... what are you..."

"Well, I did say I wanted to become your driver one day," Peter replied sunnily, closing the distance between himself and the crimson engine. Once he was close enough for only Robert and Rheneas to hear, he continued. "And... between you and me, Pop said that if I was going to do it, I'd have to learn some secrets of yours, things that have been rather hard on you."

For the first time, Peter Sam's joy now had a hint of worry to it, a gentle kindness that he hadn't fully realized before he'd left but was so very him. "Pop said he wouldn't tell me what they were until you agreed that I could be your driver, but... whatever it is, I can handle it, Rheneas. I promise. You and Skarloey mean so much to me, and I'd be really happy if we could go up and down the line together. My apprenticeship and volunteer work was to learn how to operate engines, so that I'd be ready to drive one of you one day." Peter Sam bit at his lip, staring at the old engine with cautiously hopeful eyes. "So... what do you say?"

Rheneas was silent for a long moment, simply allowing himself to think back to Robert Sam's statement way back when. A friend for life. He couldn't deny that he'd been skeptical of Robert's bold claim, but looking at Peter Sam, it was clear that the lad loved railways, and that he loved this railway in particular. He'd really meant it when he said he was home. And Rheneas also couldn't deny the warm, fluttering feeling in his firebox at an outlandish declaration come to pass, through neither force nor coercion, all because the Sam family truly was, as Robert had said, a train family. A train family that had decided Rheneas would be their friend forever, just as he had decided to entrust himself to Robert all those years ago.

"Well," Rheneas said at last, a reassuring smile spreading across his face, "I suppose that I could be convinced to let you trial me. I've put up with your father for this long; I somehow doubt you could be any worse."

"YAHOO!" Peter Sam yelled gleefully, pumping his fist in the air before suddenly realizing that he was making a scene. "I mean, thank you, Rheneas! You won't regret this! We'll be great! Hahaha!"

Once again, Rheneas couldn't stop himself from laughing along as Robert also joined in. If there was one thing that he could say about the Sams, it was that Peter Sam's joy truly was as infectious as his father's.

[beatleskinkmeme]

something steamy w j/p based on this quote (from tune-in) about a drunken performance in hamburg, maybe escalating the lingerie usage even further?:

"It wasn’t only the sound that surprised. Paul wore an old pink nightie given to Fred Marsden by his mum to protect his drums; Fred himself wore a railwayman’s tunic; Gerry had George’s leather jacket; George was in a hood; and John blew Les Maguire’s saxophone. He also joined Paul on top of the piano: they lay on their stomachs and leaned over to strike the notes upside down."

i think this was in 1961! pref smth horny and full of sexual tension but if there's emotional tension i'd like for it to be resolved (or as much as it can be w these two edgelords) by the end! ty!

.

[polish-art-tournament]

sculptures* round 1 poll 2

Sailor monument by Ryszard Chachulski, 1980 (Grunwald Square in Szczecin):

propaganda: Every december he is dressed as santa claus! [photo link]

Railwayman monument by Ryszard Chachulski, 1964 (near Szczecin Główny railway station):

[no propaganda has been submitted]

[byjove]

finding out that my grandma was prom queen and like de facto class president makes so much sense but it’s so hard to reconcile her being the most popular girl in high school with her being my nana. she’s always been such a strong family matriarch, so good at keeping us together. and she’s like that with her friends too, never forgets anyone, hugs someone even if she hasn’t seen them in 15 years. she had a really bad childhood and grew up in abject poverty, her childhood home didn’t have running water and electricity. her dad was supporting 7 people on a railwayman’s salary. she sewed the dress she wore to prom when she became prom queen was later my great aunt’s wedding dress. and despite the way she was struggling and the parentification she dealt with in raising her siblings, she was the prom queen and the first person in her family to graduate high school.

[subwaychuckle]

Today (25th!) is actually the Day of Railwayman in Poland! Best wishes to all working in our favourite subway!

[theoutcastrogue]

Chris De Burgh - Spanish Train

There's a Spanish train that runs between Guadalquivir and old Seville And at dead of night the whistle blows And people hear she's running still And then they hush their children back to sleep Lock the doors, upstairs they creep For it is said that the souls of the dead Fill that train, ten thousand deep

Well a railwayman lay dying with his people by his side His family were crying, knelt in prayer before he died But above his bed just a-waiting for the dead Was the Devil with a twinkle in his eye "Well God's not around and look what I've found This one's mine!"

Just then the Lord himself appeared In a blinding flash of light And shouted at the Devil "Get thee hence to endless night!" But the Devil just grinned and said "I may have sinned But there's no need to push me around I got him first so you can do your worst He's going underground"

"But I think I'll give you one more chance" Said the Devil with a smile "So throw away that stupid lance It's really not your style Joker is the name, poker is the game We'll play right here on this bed And then we'll bet for the biggest stakes yet: The souls of the dead"

And I said look out, Lord, he's going to win The sun is down and the night is riding in That train is dead on time, many souls are on the line Oh Lord, he's going to win

Well the railwayman he cut the cards And he dealt them each a hand of five And for the Lord he was praying hard Or that train he'd have to drive Well the Devil he had three aces and a king And the Lord he was running for a straight He had the queen and the knave and nine and ten of spades All he needed was the eight

And then the Lord he called for one more card But he drew the diamond eight And the Devil said to the son of God "I believe you've got it straight So deal me one for the time has come To see who'll be the king of this place" But as he spoke from beneath his cloak He slipped another ace

Ten thousand souls was the opening bid And it soon went up to fifty-nine But the Lord didn't see what the Devil did And he said "That suits me fine I'll raise you high to a hundred and five And forever put an end to your sins" But the Devil let out a mighty shout "My hand wins!"

Well that Spanish train still runs between Guadalquivir and old Seville And at dead of night the whistle blows And people fear she's running still And far away in some recess The Lord and the Devil are now playing chess The Devil still cheats and wins more souls And as for the Lord, well, he's just doing his best

[thethirdromana]

Re: WWI and the Jeeves and Wooster canon.

I do like your notion that the war was shorter and less serious in their universe and it fits very nicely with the headcanon I have been using: Bertie fought in the war and after he was discharged decided that was as much unpleasantness as any chap should have to deal with in one lifetime and opted never to talk or write about it when it could be avoided. I had previously been thinking some injury or illness had led to him being out of the military by 1916, but a shorter war would make more sense.

Oh, that's a fun headcanon too! I think I'd personally still want Bertie's war to have taken place in the same kind of nothing-really-goes-wrong spirit of the stories (ymmv), but that's plausible enough. For instance, my grandad served in the navy in WW2 but spent most of it sailing around the Scottish coast and not seeing much action. He worked in the ship's kitchen and peeled a lot of potatoes. He wasn't a very Woosteresque character (being a working-class railwayman from Derbyshire) but "war is mostly peeling potatoes" has quite a Woosteresque feel.

[judgeitbyitscover]

Cycle of the Werewolf by Stephen King

Cover art by Bernie Wrightson

Land of Enchantment, November 1983

The first scream came from the snowbound railwayman who felt the fangs ripping at his throat. The next month there was a scream of ecstatic agony from the woman attacked in her snug bedroom.

Now scenes of unbelieving horror come each time the full moon shines on the isolated Maine town of Tarker Mills. No one knows who will be attacked next. But one thing is sure.

When the moon grows fat, a paralyzing fear sweeps through Tarker Mills. For snarls that sound like human words can be heard whining through the wind. And all around are the footprints of a monster whose hunger cannot be sated...