We Mustn’t Be Late, Must We – Pt 1

Pounding, pounding, pounding up the cruel, cruel hill, which was rising, rising, steeper and steeper, as the little Elephant stomps her stumpy little tree trunk legs like never before, and into a wretched head wind to boot, sent forth no doubt by the Devil, after all, who else would summon a phenomena which can be so menacing and mischievous and fools us, time and time again, into believing we can somehow harness it fruitfully, but alas no, for the sprawling wind giants do make havoc a speciality trade all of their own and a clandestine one at that, for where are these bullies that shake the sea, toss the trees and throw the roofs so terribly during the heavy nights of winter. Mommy, my lungs are full, full of panic, full of time, our final minute together will be our longest, I promise you Mommy, I will be good this time. The terra firma is splitting underneath her anxious feet, the tick-tock clock is ticking and tocking. Rickety-rackety, rackety rick, the train track is humming but will she connect, as the choo-choo speeds in far faster than usual, much too fast for comfort, and may be, possibly, almost certainly, way before time, much, much, much before its due time. How can this be conductor? Of all the blinking days to arrive early and the platform is not even built yet! What shall we all do and what of the passengers who wish to alight? Mommy! Papa has not made the platform! Will we be in trouble? What of the family name? Why has Papa gone for so long?

O my God! the train is not going to stop, the train is not going to ever stop and there is fire gushing from the carriage windows, and the train driver…the train driver….the train driver is Snake! No! Mommy dear please make it go away. Wait!… sorry I stand corrected, the train is Snake, the train is Snake! Extra, Extra, Read-All-About-It, THE TRAIN IS SNAKE and Papa is driving, Papa is the train driver, hurray! Papa is coming back and Papa can save the day, but will he be safe?, will we be safe?, will safe be safe?

“Tickets please!” requests the very serious Giraffe.
“Will biscuits do instead please sir?”
“Nooooooooooooo! you blinking fool, you only pay if you want to get off. No one in their right mind would pay to ride this tube of terror!” hollers the very serious Giraffe.

Just then a slidey slidey door opens and in walks Mrs Cup-of-Tea Rabbit with a tea tray of afternoon bliss.

“Why don’t you make the choo choo station out of cake” she suggests and the very serious Giraffe likes this.

The little Elephant notices the tea pot has a drawing of her Papa printed on it.
“Ah Ah Ah!” slaps Mrs Cup-of-Tea Rabbit on to the trunk of the intrigued Elephant, as she is about to pick up said pot.
“Those are your Papa’s ashes’
“Ashes?!” responds the shocked Elephant, “…but he’s driving the train?”
“He was, but now he’s not. I’m sorry” laments Mrs Cup-of-Tea Rabbit.
“He was a good chap” offers the very serious Giraffe, whilst nibbling on the yellow square section of a Battenberg slice.
“What?!” deeply breathes the Elephant with swirling panic and she runs out onto the platform which hasn’t been built yet by her late Papa, but there is no train, not even a tinkle on the track. The little Elephant turns around to where she’s just fled from, and sees a station waiting room made possibly from Dundee cake, to which Mrs Cup-of-Tea Rabbit and the very serious Giraffe are seated in a large arched window and from a tall chimney flue, an air balloon size plume of smoke gushes with great enthusiasm into the beckoning sky. A whistle is blown ridiculously loud, so loud that all the birdlettes immediately fly into space and never come back.

“All aboard for the seaside” shouts….shouts….oh! Lordy, Lordy its Wolf! Well, of all the damn, untrustworthy, thieves of thiefdom! thinks the Elephant.

“What have you done with the seaside?” the Elephant accuses,
“Well, we’ll just have to S-E-A, won’t we” chuckles Wolf who is rather fetching in his pressed uniform and highly polished shoes, so polished one is almost suspicious.
“Wait! the train has no wheels!” alarms the Elephant.
“W-H-E-E-L see to that Miss, don’t you worry your little trunkitty trunk” laughs the dapper carnivore and blows his whistle one more time before the choo-choo chugs away like a stalking hungry lizard.

All three passengers are now travelling at an horrendous speed, but not in a plush carriage with silverware, tea and eggs benedicte, no, no, no but in one of the VC metal cells, and something is not right, something is definitely very wrong. The locomotive engine is located behind them rather than in front, and peering in from the driver’s cab is Wolf, who is grinning a grin that could swoop around the moon, where the birdlettes have just fled to.

“When did Papa die?” addresses the ever anxious Elephant to the very serious Giraffe,
“Sorry, when did he die? I wasn’t aware he had died!” responds the very serious Giraffe looking at Mrs Cup-of-Tea Rabbit for official clarification.
“You said Papa had died” propositions the upset Elephant,
“When?”,
“Just, at the station”,
“No I never, I think I said he was a good fellow or something like that. What on earth makes you think he has died?” frowns the very serious Giraffe.
The Elephant’s confusion accelerates together with the locomotive.
“You said Papa’s ashes were in the tea pot” responds the Elephant pointedly at Mrs Cup-of-Tea Rabbit,
“His ashes from the fire, silly!” corrects Mrs Cup-of-Tea Rabbit,
“Fire?”
“Yes, he burnt the station down”
“What! when?” responds the Elephant with bulging eyes,
“Just before you arrived, dear?”
“I don’t understand….why would he burn down the station?”
“To stop the train from stopping at the platform of course” reveals Mrs Cup-of-Tea Rabbit.
“Indeed, very clever chap your Papa”, adds the very serious Giraffe, “saved us all you know.”

The Elephant’s perplexity is only matched by the speed of their mode of transport, which is beyond fast.

“I-don’t-under-stand” she cries, “I-don’t-under-stand”.

“The wheels on the train go round and round, round and round, round and round, the wheels on the train go round and round until the end of time”. Belts out Wolf from his concocted metal locomotive cab. Its a blistering operatic delivery by the demonic driver much to the surprise of all, which the very serious Giraffe not only applaudes with gusto, but subsequently duets in soprano.

“The next station is Monday, the next station is Monday” announces an announcer from somewhere unknown.

“Monday?…what sort of a station is that?” asks the bemused Elephant.
“It is the station of Monday” solemnly replies the very serious giraffe.

From its bezerk speed, the choo choo eventually trundles to a halt at Monday and the Elephant’s eyes and mouth are like three full moons of absolute amazement.

“Humans!” she whispers loudly, but the very serious Giraffe and Mrs Cup-of-Tea Rabbit say nothing. Even the unknown announcer from somewhere unknown says nothing.

Motionless like roman ruins with eyes closed in dark, sombre clothing are what appears to be hundreds of seemingly standing corpses facing outwards from the concrete platform.

“They are the gravestones of commerce…” announces the very serious Giraffe very seriously, “…it was always going to be their fate. Very sad, very sad indeed.”

“Gravestones of commerce?” repeats back the Elephant inquisitively.

“They have worked themselves into the ground by the grueling pursuit of ungraspable riches, promised returns and jam tomorrow. Death and a respectable service would have ended their misery with dignity, but alas they are far less fortunate and instead plod the endless wheel of THE SYSTEM as numb and soul destroyed entities. They have lost the feelings in their senses, they do not hear the song birds anymore, and now merely trade on vanity and envy. Even rats are content with humble scraps, but not these beings, no, they are perpetually fooled into believing the importance of being in a market and that their time is about to come, but not in a market of apples and potatoes little Elephant, but one of great illusion and ultimate loss. They have no sense of timing you see. They never know when to leave the party”.

The Elephant is mesmerised by the unexpected display before her and the very serious Giraffe’s revelation.

“They shoot us do they not?” asks the trepid Elephant.

“And themselves” confirms the very serious Giraffe, “…and themselves.”