The Footbridge

How The Footbridge came to written in 30 minutes

On Saturday morning I was waiting for dough I had placed in a bread tin to rise and began writing on a sheet of A4 paper, so that it resembled a Paperbag Story booklet. I quickly added another sheet of A4 and off I went. Whatever I wrote had to fit onto the two sheets of folded A4. Thirty minutes later I was squeezing the last sentence onto the paper.

For some reason I decided to type it up later the same day, which is very rare for me. Usually it is weeks. The truth is I liked my story. Susan also liked my story and edited the story on the spot, and my friend Rosie read it this morning and what was 'chocolate cake' became 'cinnamon toast'. She reads most of what I write before anyone else. - Robert Howard, 6 February 2023.

The Footbridge

Monday to Friday at 8.15am they passed unknowingly on the footbridge between platforms 1 and 2. Her to catch the 8.20 to Derby. Him the 8.18 to Nottingham. Occasionally they glimpsed one another, as they did others, waiting for their trains.

The footbridge was 100 years old and open to all weathers. Once upon a time, on icy days, a porter would have shovelled sand on the steps and the bridge but not any more. Those days had long gone. Now, Long Eaton Station had no more than one lonely ticket clerk during the day Monday to Friday. Somehow, the station's tearoom survived and opened every day. Gladys was fourteen when she joined her nanna and here she still was, two husbands and five kids, sixty years later. It was a station with stories to tell and, over time, you could hear them all if you listened long enough.

Today, Jaz Melon was standing on Platform 1, close to the bottom of the footbridge steps, collecting signatures onto a petition to have the footbridge covered and the sides glazed. Somehow, he had become a member of the station's 'Volunteer Support Group', who helped maintain its flowerbeds and keep it generally tidy. There were six of them. Not a lot but enough.

More often than not, would-be petition signatories didn't have time to stop. How many times had he heard a voice saying 'Sorry, I don't have time to stop. I have a train to catch' as they dashed past Jaz and onto the footbridge steps, but today a voice said 'I'll sign the petition. I've come a few minutes early so that I can' and, as he looked over her shoulder, he saw the young woman write 'Grace Bligh, 44 Erewash Lane, Long Eaton.'

Grace handed Jaz his clipboard back with a smile and as he watched her walk up the steps and onto the bridge he liked what he saw. He did that with a hundred girls and women a week. It was his guilty pleasure.

He did wonder about Maria? He had never seen her rear from a distance. Six months now. They got on well enough, but something was missing. Jaz suspected that Maria thought the same, though neither said. They were drifting into marriage. His mum had asked the question more than once. It always started with 'Well' to which Jaz would answer 'We're happy as we are'. There were plenty of couples they knew who were not married or living together.

The loud cry broke into Jaz's thinking, followed by a female 'Whoa' and a shriek. He ran up the steps and across the footbridge in the blink of an eye to see the woman named Grace Bligh struggling with a middle-aged woman who had collapsed in front of her, obviously knocking Grace back as she did, with a half open suitcase emptying itself down the steps to Platform 2.

In a few steps Jaz was beside Grace. 'Here, let me help you' and she looked at him, her eyes saying 'Thank you.'

The woman was saying 'I'm okay. I'll miss my train.'

Grace said by way of a reply 'I'm going to miss mine, but it's better to make sure you are okay.' She turned back to Jaz 'The case came open and she fell across it, stumbling as she did so, catching her knees on the step with a thud. I'm sure I heard a crack.'

'No, I'm alright' the woman interrupted.

'Well, let's see' came back Jaz in the softest voice he could manage, as he and Grace took an arm each in an effort to hold the woman steady. The groan that followed said it all. It was Grace who said 'You're going nowhere' and took the weight of the woman onto her body before looking at Jaz again. 'Can you go and ask the ticket office to call an ambulance please.'

Jaz got up and did as he was told.

In the midst of all this, the 8.18 to Nottingham and Skegness calling at all stations came and went. Jaz was glad he wasn't having to catch it, but Grace's 8.20 to Derby and Matlock calling at all stations also came and went.

Several people getting off the 8.20 stopped and asked if they could help in any way? Grace thanked them and said an ambulance was coming, but one middle-aged woman stopped and stepped in to look more closely at the woman, who was clearly going into a state of shock.

'Oh dear, what's happened here? I'm a nurse.' The middle-aged woman took the wrist of the woman and held it. She had a look of authority about her. Sturdy, purposeful, with short hair.

The nurse could see the relief on Grace's face. 'I just sent someone to the ticket office to call an ambulance' Grace said. 'I think she's more badly hurt than she's admitting. She doesn't want to miss her train.'

The woman was groaning again. 'I'm okay. I'll be alright.' and began to struggle against Grace's grip. 'I think it's her knees or one of them. I heard a crack when she fell onto the steps and me. Otherwise she would have hit her head too.'

By now the middle-aged woman was in nurse mode, stroking the woman's forehead and hair. 'I'm Chloe. I'm a nurse. What is your name?'

'Nina.'

Okay Nina, let me take a look. Where does it hurt?'

'My knees.'

By now another small crowd was gathering, but Chloe the nurse was shooing them away. 'We have it in hand. An ambulance is on its way' and as she spoke the words Jaz arrived back and the siren of an approaching ambulance could be heard.

One thoughtful person, an old man, had gone down the steps collecting the woman's clothing and other items, putting them back into the suitcase as he did, which he then closed and from somewhere produced enough string to secure the case. He saw Jaz looking in admiration. 'Goes back to The War. Always have string in a pocket'.

By the time the ambulance crew joined them, there was just the woman, the nurse, Grace, Jaz and the old man on the stairs of the footbridge linking Platform 1 to Platform 2.

Chloe got out her hospital identity card and showed it to the two ambulance men. 'Lucky that you're in A&E said one.'

Turning back to the Nina, Chloe said 'Like it or not, it's hospital for you. It's a good job these two were here. Had you tried to move on your own, you would have done a lot more damage'. Chloe patted Grace and Jaz, saying 'Well done' as she did. 'I'm off home to bed. It was a busy night at The General.'

Jaz smiled at Grace.'Well, you can catch the 8.37' to which she replied 'I'd rather have a cup of tea and some of Gladys's cinnamon toast after all the excitement I've just had. I won't be missed. I'm only the boss' and Grace laughed at her own joke

'My treat' came back Jaz, as they walked back across the bridge, down the steps and into the tearoom, where Gladys would be waiting with a big smile on her face, eager to hear the tale that Grace and Jaz had to tell her.

'Company as well? That's even better, and good looking too.'

'What are you boss of?' Jaz asked, and so began the first of what was to be a lifetime of conversations.

© Robert Howard, 4 February 2023.

Me in my scrawl squeezing the last of The Footbridge onto the A4 paper. As it is. I had to leave the final story off the booklet I printed off