made his
chest swell. They said it couldn’t be done, that the tunnel was too big an
undertaking, but here they were likely only four months or so away from
completion. They were now putting in the brickwork and the ends of the tunnel
had met with mere inches in error.
August strode down the muddy
hill to the wooden shack where he found one of the foremen. Mr Phillips greeted
him genially and expressed pleasure at seeing him on site. August didn’t need
to visit the site regularly but he still did so. He was reluctant to leave it
totally in the hands of the foremen in spite of the knowledge they were smart
men who would follow his plans to the letter.
“Are we still likely to open
as planned?”
“Yes, sir,” Mr Phillips
nodded and offered August a cup of tea. August took the cup but knew the drink
would be weak and tasteless. The facilities for making tea were not the best
and the tea leaves had likely been used over and over.
The wooden hut smelled of
damp and was lit with only two lamps. The whole site had been plagued with
water and the workers had spent many, many months working in deep water. He was
grateful the hardest tasks were behind them. A few men had been killed with
collapses and explosions, and the water hindered their progress. Still, they
were making good progress now.
People often doubted his
visions. Too young, they said, too progressive. But he understood modern steam
trains better than the men who had been working with less powerful engines.
They still did not grasp what they were capable of and would choose to navigate
around hills and obstacles rather than risk pushing a train up an incline.
August sipped the weak tea.
“Any further collapses?”
“We had some brickwork come
down a few days ago. No accidents and it didn’t set us back by much.”
August nodded. “I’ll go and
take a look myself. Thank you, Mr Phillips.” He placed his unfinished tea on
the table and ducked out of the cabin.
He spent a good two hours
inspecting progress and speaking with some of the navvies. The workers were
rough, hard-working fellows and most found them too coarse but August enjoyed
their ribald sense of humour. He didn’t even take offense when they referred to
him as a toff. He’d come from a relatively privileged background and amassed
quite a bit of wealth for his age, but he refused to forget who lost lives for
his vision. Being a navvie was one of the most dangerous professions of their
time, such was the cost of progress.
When he’d finished his
inspection, he paused to eye the front of the tunnel. The stonework at the
front would go up later on in the year. He had a castellation effect in mind.
He imagined the trains rocketing past, their steam billowing from their
funnels, the sound of the wheels on the track and the hiss of water in the
tenders.
There was nothing like the
sight of these great beasts cutting their way through the countryside. They
were the future for Britain. With the growth of the railways, people from all
walks of life would be able to travel and industry could grow. August looked
forward to seeing the day when distance really was no object.
By the time he was back in
the carriage and returning to Manchester, it was late afternoon and his stomach
rumbled. He had missed lunch, not even getting the chance to eat with the
workers. He peered out at the rolling hills and recalled his quiet morning
meal. Should he ask Miss Davis to join him with Elsie? He had grown used to
having the child on his lap while he fought to eat. She liked to snatch what
she could off his plate and that had become how they’d discovered what foods
she liked and could manage.
August scowled at the
scenery. It was not really done, perhaps, eating with the help, but since the
arrival of Elsie—and Miss Davis, he supposed—he’d become acutely aware of being
alone.
Before Elsie, he’d used the
time to work or think about any problems he was likely to encounter. Now, with
the child in Miss
chest swell. They said it couldn’t be done, that the tunnel was too big an
undertaking, but here they were likely only four months or so away from
completion. They were now putting in the brickwork and the ends of the tunnel
had met with mere inches in error.
August strode down the muddy
hill to the wooden shack where he found one of the foremen. Mr Phillips greeted
him genially and expressed pleasure at seeing him on site. August didn’t need
to visit the site regularly but he still did so. He was reluctant to leave it
totally in the hands of the foremen in spite of the knowledge they were smart
men who would follow his plans to the letter.
“Are we still likely to open
as planned?”
“Yes, sir,” Mr Phillips
nodded and offered August a cup of tea. August took the cup but knew the drink
would be weak and tasteless. The facilities for making tea were not the best
and the tea leaves had likely been used over and over.
The wooden hut smelled of
damp and was lit with only two lamps. The whole site had been plagued with
water and the workers had spent many, many months working in deep water. He was
grateful the hardest tasks were behind them. A few men had been killed with
collapses and explosions, and the water hindered their progress. Still, they
were making good progress now.
People often doubted his
visions. Too young, they said, too progressive. But he understood modern steam
trains better than the men who had been working with less powerful engines.
They still did not grasp what they were capable of and would choose to navigate
around hills and obstacles rather than risk pushing a train up an incline.
August sipped the weak tea.
“Any further collapses?”
“We had some brickwork come
down a few days ago. No accidents and it didn’t set us back by much.”
August nodded. “I’ll go and
take a look myself. Thank you, Mr Phillips.” He placed his unfinished tea on
the table and ducked out of the cabin.
He spent a good two hours
inspecting progress and speaking with some of the navvies. The workers were
rough, hard-working fellows and most found them too coarse but August enjoyed
their ribald sense of humour. He didn’t even take offense when they referred to
him as a toff. He’d come from a relatively privileged background and amassed
quite a bit of wealth for his age, but he refused to forget who lost lives for
his vision. Being a navvie was one of the most dangerous professions of their
time, such was the cost of progress.
When he’d finished his
inspection, he paused to eye the front of the tunnel. The stonework at the
front would go up later on in the year. He had a castellation effect in mind.
He imagined the trains rocketing past, their steam billowing from their
funnels, the sound of the wheels on the track and the hiss of water in the
tenders.
There was nothing like the
sight of these great beasts cutting their way through the countryside. They
were the future for Britain. With the growth of the railways, people from all
walks of life would be able to travel and industry could grow. August looked
forward to seeing the day when distance really was no object.
By the time he was back in
the carriage and returning to Manchester, it was late afternoon and his stomach
rumbled. He had missed lunch, not even getting the chance to eat with the
workers. He peered out at the rolling hills and recalled his quiet morning
meal. Should he ask Miss Davis to join him with Elsie? He had grown used to
having the child on his lap while he fought to eat. She liked to snatch what
she could off his plate and that had become how they’d discovered what foods
she liked and could manage.
August scowled at the
scenery. It was not really done, perhaps, eating with the help, but since the
arrival of Elsie—and Miss Davis, he supposed—he’d become acutely aware of being
alone.
Before Elsie, he’d used the
time to work or think about any problems he was likely to encounter. Now, with
the child in Miss
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