Ruskin had predicted, in the direction of the school. The only problem ahead now was the fact that a little way down the line was a tunnel. One canât get lost in a tunnelâbut it was very, very dark. Flashlights, perhaps?In every schoolboyâs blazer, surely, a pocket knife and a flashlight, along with conkers and pet mice? Alas, the Ribblestrop blazers were new and their owners had in them only crayons and a copy of the school rules. Had they stopped to study those rules they would have seen rule twelve: No Ribblestrop student will ever put him or herself in danger, or endanger the life of any other Ribblestrop student . A fatuously vague rule . . . so easy to break.
âShall we hold hands?â said Ruskin, as they entered the tunnel.
The darkness drew them in and rule twelve was thus broken.
âHenry?â called Sanchez. âYou stay at the back, yes? You whistle, and that way everyone stays in front of you. Okay?â
âHow long is this tunnel?â said Henry, slowly.
âItâs not that long, actually,â said Ruskin. âWe were told. Twenty miles rings a bell.â
âThatâs too long,â said Caspar. He was sounding tearful. âI canât walk that far!â
âWalk between the rails,â said Ruskin. âThen you really canât get lost. And the sleepers are firm, too, you can sort of . . . get into a rhythm. Lucky they didnât tear all this up when it went out of use. Youâd think, reallyââ Ruskinâs voice took on an echo as they went deeper, ââyouâd think really that people would want to salvage all the old materials. Letâs sing as we go: how about the school song? We can teach it to Sam again!â
Seventeen voices sang:
â Ribblestrop, Ribblestrop, precious unto me;
This is what I dream about and where I want to be.
Early in the morning, finally at night,
Ribblestrop, Iâll die for thee, carrying the light. â
At the end of the verse, Henry blew the whistle. Again and again they sang, and this time it was a work song: the kind of song a chain gang would sing as it labored. Thus the party moved into the depths of the rock.
*
Four miles away, had you been in the cab of the 13:06 Intercity Penzance-Paddington service, you would have heard the slammingof a connecting door and the following conversation:
âHello, Arthur! You havenât checked all those tickets already?â
âI have, Darren. Not many punters today for some reason, just the one gets on at Par. They all join at Exeter, thatâs when my feet donât touch the ground.â
âBetter sit down, then. Break out that tea.â
âIn your bag here, is it?â
The cab is small, but comfortable. It can accommodate driver and guard easily, and thereâs always room for a trainee or inspector. The hydraulic driving seats command a marvelous view of the countryside whipping by and, as the glass is an inch thick and bulletproof, very little sound gets in to disturb conversation.
âAny more news on that mess yesterday?â said Darren. He was a thin, wiry little man with a lot of woolly white hair. New dentures allowed him to smile happily: he was a gentle soul and had been driving trains for nearly forty years.
âNot yet. Young girl, apparentlyâshe pulled the lever on the other train. Then she jumped.â
âI couldnât see if it was boys or girls. Black-and-yellow uniforms, Iâm pretty sure about that.â
âTheyâre checking the Reading schools, they might find âem yet.â
âShe had a very narrow escape.â
âHopefully they got a scare, those kids. You wonât find them on the railways for a while! Look at that view, Arthur.â
âTake your tea.â
âSee that piece of rock to the right? Thatâs Ribblestrop Edge. Iâve been up there. You can see clear over the countyâsee Wales on a
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