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Many years ago, I was a school teacher and I taught at Lyttelton Main School. I loved Lyttelton, I
loved the school, the pupils and the staff. I loved the trip in the train, driving through what was still
mostly countryside and stopping at all the quaint little stations along the way: Woolston, Opawa and
Heathcote.
What I didn't love was getting up early enough in the morning to bike from upper
Manchester Street to the railway station in Moorehouse Avenue to catch the last possible train to
get me to school on time.
Try as I might, sometimes I just didn't make it. Standing forlornly on the
empty railway platform while the last train rattled away out of sight was a very dismal situation to
be in. The only option was to hire a taxi and be driven over Evans Pass for the princely sum of
£1.10s. My weekly wage at that time was £13. This covered my essential needs and a bit more but
didn't allow for any extravagance.
One week was a particularly bad one for sleeping in and I had already spent £3 on two taxis over
the hill. On the third late rising morning , I pedalled as furiously as I dared down a Manchester
Street glistening with frost. At the station I hastily abandoned my bike and raced onto the platform
in time to hear the guard's whistle blow and see the train start to move forward. I ran along beside it
waving my arms and calling out to the guard to stop. Another taxi ride was out of the question. But
one by one the passenger cars sped past me and when the one holding my fellow teachers went past,
they were rolling around with laughter at my misfortune.
Just before I completely ran out of breath, the guards van came by with its doors wide open. Without
stopping to consider the possible consequences, I took a flying leap and landed flat out on an
extremely dirty floor. Rather shaken, I sat up and brushed myself down and staggered to the small
door that separated the guards-van from the passenger carriages. Or so I thought. To my
astonishment, the door opened onto a very small compartment that had a wooden form built in on
both sides and there sat four equally astonished guards who had just settled down for a quick game
of poker between stations.
The guards looked up, “Where on earth did you come from ?” they asked.
“Well you wouldn't wait for me,” I replied “So I had to jump on.”
They looked at me in horror, probably wondering what their responsibility might have been
assessed at if I had fallen between the tracks. “You are a very, very foolish young lady” one guard
told me solemnly. Today I agree with him. But on that day I couldn't wait to catch up with my
friends further down the train and relish the looks on their faces when they saw that I had made it
after all and were unable to imagine how I might have done it.
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