1) rolled
2) feared
3) shade
4) dragged
5) unwilling
6) endless
7) uneasy
‘Hallo! Below there!’
When the man heard this call, he was standing at the door of his signal box*. In one hand he held a red flag, rolled tightly around its short pole . At the sound of my voice, he did not look up, as I expected. Instead, he turned his body and stared along the railway line , as though the voice had come from somewhere distant .
I stood at the top of a deep cutting*, nearly above his head. Because of the shape of the ground, it seemed obvious to me where the sound had come from. Yet his reaction made me pause . There was something odd in the slow, careful way he turned, as if he feared to look in the wrong direction.
‘Hallo! Below!’ I called again.
This time, he slowly raised his eyes and looked up at me. The sun was setting behind me, filling the air with red and gold light. I had to shade my eyes with my hand before I could see him clearly. He stood far below in shadow.
‘Is there a path,’ I called, ‘by which I can come down and speak to you?’
Before he could reply, a deep vibration ran through the ground. The air began to shake. In the next moment, a train rushed through the cutting* below at great speed . The noise was sudden and violent. The wind it created pulled at my clothes, and I stepped back quickly, feeling a strange fear that I might be dragged down after it.
When the train had passed and the echo faded away , silence returned. I looked down again. The signalman was calmly rolling up his flag. His movements were controlled and exact, as if nothing unusual had happened.
I repeated my question.
After a short pause , he lifted the rolled flag and pointed towards a place some distance away on my level. I called down that I understood and walked towards the spot he indicated .
There, after careful searching, I found a narrow path cut into the stone. The steps were damp and difficult to walk on. The walls felt cold and wet to the touch. As I went down, I thought again about the signalman’s manner . He had shown me the path, but was obviously unwilling , as though he had been under pressure to do so.
The deeper I went, the colder the air became. The walls closed in on either side, and the sky above grew narrower. Halfway down, I stopped. Below me, the signalman stood between the rails. One hand rested against his chin, while the other arm crossed his chest. His whole body showed deep concentration . He was not watching me. He was listening.
I continued downward, and at last stepped onto the level ground of the railway.
‘This is a lonely place,’ I said, trying to break the silence . ‘You must spend many hours here on your own.’
He looked briefly at me, then turned his eyes towards the tunnel.
‘It is lonely,’ he replied. ‘But it demands constant attention.’
The place felt dark and unhealthy. High stone walls shut out the world above, leaving only a narrow section of sky. At one end, was the black mouth of a tunnel, with a red danger light. At the other end, the line disappeared into the distance , straight and endless .
‘That red light,’ I said, ‘it’s part of your duties , isn't it?’
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘It’s part of my responsibility .’
There was something careful and precise in the way he spoke.
‘You seem uneasy ,’ I said. ‘Have I disturbed you?’
He hesitated before answering.
‘I was uncertain ,’ he said slowly, ‘whether I had seen you before.’
‘Seen me? Where?’ I asked.
He raised his arm and pointed towards the red light.
‘There?’ I said.
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘That is where I have seen someone like you.’
‘I’ve never been there,’ I said at once.
He studied my face closely .
‘I believe you,’ he said. ‘But the voice you used was the same.’
He invited me into the signal box. Inside, there was a small fire burning in a narrow fireplace A desk stood against the wall, covered with books and papers. On one side was a telegraph instrument, and above it, a small metal bell fixed firmly in place.
I pointed to the bell.
‘How does that work?’ I asked.
His face showed relief , as if I had given him something safe to explain.
‘The bells connect all signalmen along the line,’ he said. ‘They speak a simple code . One ring asks if the line is clear. Two rings answer that it is. Three rings mean a train is entering the section .’
‘And if someone gets it wrong?’ I asked.
He met my eyes.
‘Then people are injured,’ he said. ‘Or killed.’
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