A hazard of commuting
Older British readers may remember being one of a million people travelling into London every day in years gone-by by the green trains of “Southern Electric” – attractively posterised in the 1930s by the railway company. I don’t think the headline is relevant to the author of the story above!
When I began travelling daily in the 70’s between Surrey and London, Waterloo, I had no idea of the hazards that could befall the uninitiated rail commuter.
It began one morning when the phone rang in my office in Piccadilly. A cheery cultured voice said ‘Hello old chap, I hear you’ve joined the Surrey commuting brigade, I must introduce you to the whisky run!’ ‘Whisky run’, I exclaimed, ‘what’s that?’. ‘You’ll see’, he replied and I detected what I was sure was a sly chuckle. ‘Meet me in the bar at the Loo (Waterloo) tonight’.
At the bar overlooking the busy concourse, I was greeted with ‘Ah, there you are old chap’ as a large whisky was shoved into my hand. My friend, a jovial creative director of an advertising agency, was resplendent with a gold watch chain hanging from his waistcoat over a protruding stomach, the result of too many good lunches.
‘Ah, that’s laid the dust to settle’ he said as he downed his large scotch in two gulps, at which point my glass had barely reached my lips. Then he whispered ‘When you have finished, slip the glass into your pocket’. A bit bewildered, I did just that, feeling guilty and sure many eyes were watching.
Out on the concourse we made for the off-licence, where we bought a large bottle of Bells (which should have rung a warning) and we made our way to the train to Farnham, which would stop at my station at West Byfleet. With the precious bottle under his arm my friend found an empty first class compartment. ‘But I’ve only got a second class ticket’, I exclaimed. ‘No problem old chap, I always travel first. If an inspector comes along you just pay him the extra fare!’
Settled comfortably into our window seats, the “whisky run” really began! Out came the bottle and glasses. ‘W for Waterloo’ said my companion pouring two very healthy measures. Quarter of an hour later we pulled into Wimbledon with empty glasses, where they were generously replenished. This was repeated at Walton-on-Thames where the Ws became more frequent.
Weybridge, then West Byfleet, where I was supposed to get off; but at his insistence I agreed (reluctantly, of course) to complete the onward ‘run’, which were Woking and Worplesdon. We arrived at Guildford with the Bells bottle empty. ‘Well done old chap, you’ve passed the test’, my friend murmured as I stumbled out of the carriage, and with an incoherent ‘sheerio’ staggered off in search of a train back to West Byfleet, leaving him to continue his journey to Farnham.
We had drunk a large bottle of scotch between us on a journey of around an hour, replenishing our glasses at each of seven ‘W’ stations, plus of course the two large ones in the bar at the ‘Loo’. I eventually arrived home with a supercilious grin on my face and the glass still firmly in my hand, which my wife had to prise out of my fingers.
Frequently, until I retired I met my friend ‘the fat man from Farnham’ for lunch, and even at the ‘Loo’ for the occasional drink, but vowed never to do a whisky re-run!
Contributed by Michael Walton (who is 78 and none the worse for experiences like that. I happen to know this was not the only one!)
