Harry Rotter

by Gerrard Wllson

of being upside down, none at all, and because everything else was on that same plane he soon forgot about this ‘encumbrance’.

  Meanwhile, up above, the old man, the porter, mumbled to himself, “I saw nuthin’ No. Nothin’ at all… I won’t be getting m’self into any trouble that way…”

  “You took you time getting here,” said Harry, her hands resting on her hips showing her displeasure at Box’s late arrival.

  “But–” said Box, trying to explain what had happened.

  “No ifs or buts,” said Harry. “Come on, we have a train to catch.”

  Only then did Box notice the gleaming blue locomotive standing in full glorious steam alongside the platform. Although Harry had soon advanced several paces ahead of him, Box never even noticed. Thinking she was still there, Box said, “That’s the Mallard, the fastest steam locomotive – ever!” Admiring the quality workmanship of such a fine the engine, Box ran his fingers ever so delicately along the smooth flowing lines of his all-time favourite steam locomotive.

  “Are you going to stay there all day?” Harry shouted from the door of the second carriage.

  Looking up, seeing her waving, Box replied, “No, sorry, I was just admiring her.”

  “Who?”

  “Oh, never mind,” he said, knowing only too well that girls don’t feel the same way over such things. “Are we getting on?” he asked.

  “That was the general idea,” she replied, disappearing through the doorway as she spoke. Box stepped up and into the black painted carriage.

  Inside, the train was fabulous. It was like walking onto the set of the movie ‘Murder on the Orient Express’, like returning to the heyday of the Victorian era. There was so much to see, Box didn’t know which way to look first. “Wow,” he said, spotting the beautiful stained glass panels dividing the carriage into comfortable, useable sections. Tracing a hand along an exquisitely etched mirror, Box marvelled at the fine craftsmanship.

  Spotting a beautiful Queen Anne chair, Box was just about to sit down, to try it for comfort, when Harry said, “What are you doing?”

  Leaving the chair, Box followed Harry to the far end of the carriage, where, pointing to some seats half hidden by a stained glass topped panel, she said, “We sit here.”

  Taking a seat, a comfortable well upholstered armchair, Box let out a sigh, and said, “If someone had told me a few weeks ago, that I would be sitting here, on a train headed up by the famous Mallard, in – where are we anyhow? – I would have told them they were stark raving mad. But look at me, I am here, and I’m not mad, am I?”

  Ignoring his references to madness, Harry said, “We are in England, of course.”

  Raising an eyebrow, Box replied, “Yes, it’s England all right, but not the England that I know, the England where I grew up.”

  Having no intention of being drawn any further than she was comfortable with, Harry said, “We all live in a world, the views of which can be clouded...by eyes that see so differently... This,” she said waving her arm in front of her, “is how we see it.”

  “We?”

  “Yes, we mystics and magicians…”

  “Oh, I had almost forgotten about them– and us, me, being – what was that word you used?”

  “Muddle.”

  That’s it, Muddle. What does it mean, anyhow?”

  This time it was Harry who raised an eyebrow, and in her characteristically blunt manner, she said, “We call you lot Muddles, because that is what you are so good at – getting yourselves in a muddle. Box felt quite hurt by this cruel observation and he gave her a most disapproving look. Harry, however, never even noticed it.

  The train shuddered, lurching backwards and forewords. “Right on time,” said Harry, eying the platform clock through the carriage window. The train lurched again, and excited talking could be heard amongst the occupants of the carriage. Peeping out, above the screen, Box once again found himself wondering why everyone was wearing such an old style of clothing.

  “Are you hungry, Box?” Harry asked when the train finally began moving.

  “Am I hungry? I could eat a horse,” he enthused, suddenly spotting a horse walking past the carriage window.

  “Be careful of what you wish for, while you are here,” Harry warned, “or you might just get it.” Then standing up, she said, “Follow me.”

  Following his cousin, Box made his way through the connecting door leading to the next carriage, and once he was through it he was astonished to see an entirely different set of furnishings and décor therein – a fabulous art deco style.

  And even more surprising, he noticed that everyone within with this carriage was dressed in the corresponding style of clothing.

  Despite their clothing being so different, no one paid Harry or Box the slightest bit of attention. In silence, Harry continued through to the end of the carriage where she opened the door and passed through it. Box dutifully followed. When he entered the next carriage, and saw the tables and chairs before him, Box said, “Now this is more like it – the buffet carriage.”

  Quite a few people were already there, seated at tables, being waited upon by men in black trousers, black ties and snowy white shirts. One of them, an extraordinary man with two noses, approached Harry, and asked, “A table for two, Madam?”

  “Yes,” Harry replied, “And by the window, if that’s possible.”

  Hearing this, Box was astonished by Harry’s good manners, and especially so to a man with two noses.

  After they were seated at their table, and the waiter had gone to allow them time to study the menu, Box said, “Did you see that? Two noses, no less!”

  Giving him an icy cold stare, Harry replied, “He’s a waiter, all waiters here have two noses.”

  “All the better to smell the food with?” Box suggested, laughing out loud.

  “Yes, as it so happens, that’s right,” Harry explained. “There’s never a piece of bad food passes one of their noses.”

  Box laughed again; he couldn’t help it he just had to laugh. For the first time in her life, Harry saw the funny side of being endowed with two noses, and she also laughed.

  When the waiter returned, he asked Harry if she had decided what to order. “Madam,” he asked, his pen and notepad at the ready, his two noses twitching, “have you made your selection?” Seeing this, the two noses twitching in unison, Box burst out laughing. Puzzled by his behaviour, the waiter gave Box a bewildered look.

  Ignoring her cousin’s bad manners, Harry gave the waiter her order, and without as much as a ‘by your leave’, she said, “My friend, here, will have the same as me.” The man bowed and made his way to the kitchen in the next carriage.

  “That’s not fair,” Box groaned, “I don’t even know what you’ve ordered.”

  “Just pray that it isn’t snake,” she replied dryly.

  While he was waiting for his meal to arrive (whatever it might be), Box looked out the carriage window, to the rolling countryside that he so loved. Every time he saw it, each and every time without fail, he made a promise to himself, that one day, when he was older; he would buy a little house in the country and settle down in a rural idyll.

  Pushing a small trolley ahead of him, the two-nosed man returned with their meal. After smiling peculiarly at Box he began unloading its contents onto their table. Box watched in growing amazement as dish after dish was spread out before them. “Is all of this for us?” he asked in wonderment.

  Harry nodded.

  When he had finished transferring the food from his trolley to their table, the waiter leaned over the table, his two noses twitching like mad.

  “What’s he doing?” Box whispered, trying his best not to laugh again.

  “Smelling it, of course,” Harry explained.

  “But I was only joking…when I said that…”

  “I told you to be careful of what you wished for – remember?”

  When he had finished eating (and it was most definitely not snake) Box pushed his plate to one
side. Then raising his cut crystal glass, he swigged back the last of the ice-cold water the waiter had so thoughtfully provided.

  Seeing this the waiter returned, and he asked, “Was everything to your satisfaction, sir?”

  “Everything was perfect, just perfect” said Box. “In fact I’d go so far as to say it was the best meal I’ve ever had.”

  Hearing this, the waiter smiled at Box in the same peculiar way as before, but this time and he kept on smiling.

  Unnerved by this behaviour, Box whispered to Harry, “What’s he waiting for?

  Harry, however, said nothing.

  Guessing that he was waiting for a tip, Box searched through his trouser pockets for some money. “Ah, have some,” he said triumphantly, withdrawing a handful of loose change.

  “Here you are, my man,” he said, dropping a variety of coins onto the silver coloured trolley.

  Leaning over the trolley, the waiter’s two noses began twitching, inspecting the money. Then he began shouting and roaring, saying, “I have never been so insulted in all my life! Never!”

  “What’s the matter?” Box asked him, shocked that his kind gesture had been so misconstrued.

  Giving him a look that would curdle butter, the waiter tentatively picked up one of the coins like it was contaminated or, worse still, radioactive. “This,” he said disdainfully. “This ‘Muddle money’ – you insult me with it…”

  Having no other kind of money to offer, Box felt so very small.

  “Give him this,” Harry whispered, handing Box a couple of gold coins. Box cautiously offered the coins. Although readily accepting