Letters to Elarina

As an insight into my crazy, mixed up mind:

Dearest Elarina,

I must begin to describe my adventures for your patient eyes to read.

It is 0525 hours by the station master’s clock and I am on board the XRT express headed for Sydney. Around me, life on this train is just beginning to show itself. Across the isle from Seaghdha and I there is a rather large man who snored all night, affording us a great deal of entertainment. He has eaten his breakfast long ago and is now by times persuing a book, games or staring out the window as he feels the urge.

In front of him, there is a man with a weathered face and long, scraggly hair. He is eating toast. Is there anything romantic about toast? Toast with butter? Raisin toast with butter/ I’m afraid that if there is I am struggling to be able to see it. But I am trying to find all things romantic - for the definition of the original meaning of romantic is simply ‘something out of the ordinary’ and romantic is such a romantic word.

By my side, Seaghdha has fallen asleep for a little ‘cat nap’ (there can’t be anything romantic in that expression either). Poor thing. We were up till 9:30 last night packing I’d say and then we had to get up at 10:30pm because we thought the train left at 12 midnight. So we got to the train station at 11 or so and of course it was deserted. We waited and waited, thankfully Father had come with us and stayed until the express came. It came, finally, at 12:24, blowing smoke and sparks all over the place. I have always been terrified of fire on board such beasts, Elarina, but so far we have been spared any catastrophes. I have only had to use the sand bucket once to extinguish a stray spark that landed near me. At first the smell of oil, wood, smoke and steam was strong and pungent but now I am quite used to it and have began to regard it as an old friend.

Now, let me return to describing some of my fellow passengers. 

In the seat directly in front of me is a young Chinese man who I first saw with earplugs in, playing something on his iPad. Now, he has just gone and charged is iPhone I believe and he has the ear plugs in again.

Right down the front of our carriage, there was an elderly couple but they got off sometime during the night. And there is the man with the walking stick, the family of what look like samoans, a bunch of aborigines and a host of other people, eating, sleeping, reading.

Why would you want to arrive at your destination in the dead of night? You wouldn’t? Hm that’s what I thought. At one station, A young couple with two kids got off - it was like 2 o’clock in the morning. I felt so sorry for them.

“Hello, how are you this morning?” One of the staff members leant over our seats. She wasn’t pretty, she wasn’t overly nice, she was just there to do her job.

“Good thanks.” We whispered shyly, for both Seaghdha and I are really quite shy, though this some do deny.

“I’m here to give you two options. Your ticket says for you to get off at Strathfeild, but I recommend that you stay on until Sydney Central and catch the XPT to Melbourne from platform three. Do you have any checked in luggage? No? That’s ok, all checked in luggage goes to Sydney Central because there are more men there. It’s up to you though. There is Hungry Jacks and Krispy Creme at Central. Have a nice day.”
Seaghdha and I looked at each other and made what was probably a disgusting face which said, “What do we do?”  We both shrugged our shoulders and I caught a glimpse of the man with the toast staring at us again. He was giving me the creeps.

“We may as well go to Central.” I said. Seaghdha shrugged. And so it was settled.

Strathfield was first on the line but we sat it out till Central and then lugged our luggage off the train and walked up the platform to the main station area.

It was massive! A beautiful building of decadent architecture and coloring. One long, dome-ceilinged building. Now THAT had romance about it. Imagine. Step back 100 odd years. Then the trains going through were really steam trains. The men wore high, shiny, black top-hats, the women, sweeping dresses and dignified bonnets. Outside, horses would have been tethered and grooms would be sweeping out stables. And horses, valuable horses would have been fellow passengers on the train. Imagine! Oh I love imagining!

After we found platform 4, we got everything there (we do have allot of stuff) and sat down on our swags and bags. Then a train came in and we figured it was the XPT to Melbourne so we took our stuff over and got inside. We stored our stuff in car D and went looking for our seats. When our travel agent had sent us the booking details, she had only included one set of seat numbers: 47 &48. These had been our seats on the Wauchope train and now, we naturally looked for the same ones. There was a girl in our seat. Not wishing to make a fuss, we took some seats across the isle from her. Then someone came along and we were in their seats. This happened three or four times and we were dreading each stop along the line because we had to move each time. When finally the conductor came around and asked for our tickets, I handed him our booking sheet that our agent had given us with a mixture or anxiety and relief. He looked at it and asked why we weren’t in our seats.

“Someone was in our seats.” I explained.

“I’ll go and have a look.” He said and, handing back our sheet, he disappeared down the back. “What is the surname?” He asked when he returned.

“Bailey.” I said.

Mr. Conductor checked his list and then said, “I don’t know why they have done that but you are in seats 5&6 which is just two rows in front of where you are now.”
“We were nearly there.” Seaghdha said as we prepared to move for the last time.

I was very relieved to have found our rightful seat. Now we don’t have to dread each stop and watch each person who enters the car with apprehension.

Once again I shall attempt to describe our fellow passengers that I can see.

Across from us there is a lady (who looks very masculine, but you know how it is with some of these older people who don’t really dress very lady-like) who is sleeping. She has her hands tucked in her red polo shirt and a green-bag nestled between her knees. Her grey cap is pulled low and she wears gold-frame glasses, trackies, a jacket and sneakers.

In front of her is a man who is alternately reading his newspaper and looking out the window. His wife is beside him but I cannot see her so I shall have to satisfy myself with taking down his appearance. He is partly bald and what hair he does have is short, thin and very grey. He is wearing grey shorts and a grey polo shirt, grey socks and sneakers. He has black-framed glasses and walks with a walking-stick.

Behind our sleeping woman, is another elderly woman who is most defiantly someones’s grandma. I can just tell. She is wearing a blue frock, one of those ones old ladies wear, and the thick-soled, black shoes that they wear. She is occupying her time with doing crosswords and travels with one of those fancy green-bag kind of things that aren’t green! She also wears glasses.

So that’s about all the people that I can see. Our conductor seems friendly enough, his name is Ash and he looks slightly Indian.

Being on the train is so strange to me. Many times I have watched them streak past, puffing great clouds of black smoke up into our pure country air. Many times I have heard the shrill whistle of an approaching locomotive and now I am one of the passengers. How ‘romantic’ in it’s original meaning, it is to be streaming through the ever-changing country-side, the outwardly imposing beast being little more then a long, skinny room lined with chairs and chasing a winding ribbon of steel tracks.

We have just passed through the city of Goulborn. Romance must have existed there one. It is described by the beautiful buildings, sung by the gently flowing river, proclaimed by the rolling hills, echoed by the scattered rocks and whispered through the green trees.

It is impossible to imagine such a place without romance. Goulborn even is the home to a correction center as they call the prisons now-a-days.

What is this world coming to? No longer can we say what we want to without being worried about ‘hurting someone’s feelings’. I believe it has become improper to say that someone died, instead we must say, ‘passed away’. Instead of prison or jail, we say ‘correctional center’. And then, I ‘failed’ my driving test. I was meditating on that term for a little while, thinking how harsh it was. But in the end I decided that I would rather it be harsh then to ‘mince the truth’.

But, dear Elarina, I am boring you with my tattle I am sure. But there, I cannot help myself.

Isn’t Gunning such a wonderfully romantic name for a siding. And siding! Another romantic word, term, for station. Station is so commonplace compared to siding. And Merrijig, for a horse? A prancing chestnut arab. Ah, delicious.
As you might know Elarina, I am quite taken with exploring different names. And why should we not discover and use the nicest words we can for things we love?

The plains are so deliciously green down here, and the hills, dotted with stones and sheep, are magnificent as well. I love this country. I love the rolling hills and spreading plains. I love the boulders that jut up from the grass looking like they have been dropped by some great hand. I love the fat cattle, sheep and horses that abide here. Looked after, well-fed and beautiful. I love the blue sky that holds just a tinge of cloud and the soft sunshine that warms the air without making it too hot. I love the homes, one can imagine such lovely things into a neat stone homestead, or a tiny cottage. I love the mountains that dominate the horizon to the east. There is a song that goes ‘I love a sunburnt country…’ and I do, but I love the rolling plains of the south better. I love the high country and may nothing tear me from it’s clutches.

Your Friend,

Beliah

16^th November

Dear Elarina,

We have arrived at our destination. We got into the train station at Wagga Wagga yesterday afternoon at about 3 o’clock. Our grandfather’s groom, Peter, picked us up and took us into town to get some food. We were just about faint with tiredness and starvation. We had not eaten since the night before.

Peter was in a hurry to get to Tumburumba before four o’clock so we had a breakneck trip to that gorgeous little town. Unfortunately for Peter, we arrived a little too late to make the appointment so instead we continued on our to the estate where my fair companion resides with her Mother. That woman being absent, we decided to come back to our grandparent’s little cottage in the estate Humula for a week or so before we head out to my companion’s residence.

Our sleep was deep and sweet - that of two very tired maidens. We had drawn the curtains and locked the doors in order to keep the daylight out for as long as possible but the rude sunlight still penetrated the drawers and sent it’s little beams in to tickle our eyes and wake us up. I woke up at about 8 o’clock and my companion soon afterwards. We lay for a little while before we finally decided to get up and get dressed.

Don’t cupboards with closed doors fascinate you? They do me. There is a mystery behind them that I just have to investigate. My companion and I took a few moments while dressing to investigate once such hidey-hole and we found it full of photos. Some old ones of our great-grandparents down to photos of us when we were little children. I love exploring old photos. It is so strange and hard to believe that we were that tiny once…

20^th November

Dear Elarina,

My apologies for the lateness of this letter. 

My companion and I moved from our honored Grandparent’s home out to the Burra Estate over which my Aunt resides. That was only last night.

When our coachman left us, we prepared our victuals and ate together. Then we played music for a few hours probably. We were so relieved to finally be here.

Then I requested my companion to show me a dress that she had mentioned to me before. We entered Aunt’s room and dove into a sealed box. From under two sheepskins and some other old junk, my companion pulled an exquisite medieval dress. With intricate lacework on the bodice and sleeves and a long, very full skirt of a light coppery color, it was none less then a masterpiece. And Aunty had made it, years ago! What a talented woman. 

I slipped out of my house-clothes and pulled the yards and yards of silky fabric over my head. The bodice fit perfectly after I tied a little bow in the ribbon. The sleeves went from my wrists to my elbow rather fittedly and then the elaborite sleeve tops billowed over them.  I surveyed myself in the looking-glass with a little disdane. It wasn’t the perfect color for my skin, I thought that a dark green or a blue of some kind would be better.

I twirled around. The fabric swirled around my ankles in the most dainty way. I sighed and then turned back to where Seaghdha was investigating another box. She pulled out a long, beautiful skirt.
“Oh it’s my skirt.” She said. “I haven’t seen it for ages. I really like this skirt. I like these little bells. See?” She tinkered with some little bells hanging on a string from the waist then pulled the skirt on. It was very long and she kept tripping over it.

“Why don’t you wear it as a dress?” I asked a little while later. She pulled it up to the appropriate hight.

“I need a better T-shirt underneath.” She said.

“Take it off and wear my little olive green top over it.” I said, bending down and searching through my belongings. I pulled out the piece of clothing in question and handed it to her. She hesitated a moment, then pulled off the T-shirt and put on the top instead. She did one of the clips up and thought. Then she wen out of the room and came back with her hair down up in a little bun at the back of her head.
I looked at her fixedly, careful not to let her see the admiration in my eyes.

“That’s really pretty.” I said. And she was. Beautiful. 

Her proud little face and figure were complimented by the loose dress and sweet top. And the hair just topped it off.

After a while we migrated into her bedroom and started investigating little boxes here and there. We procured (that word sounds right anyway) a delicate gold necklace that went with my dress superbly. Seaghdha had to put it on for me. And it only just made it on. My neck was too fat for me and I felt like it was choking me! She found a sweet, simple necklace with a blue stone in the shape of a heart on it. That went just right with her outfit. 

Then, right at the bottom of the last box, we found what Seaghdha described as “probably my most valuable possession.” It was a prim little bracelet with real pearls circling the wrist. I tried to put it on her but she insisted on fastening it around my own wrist. I took off my watch and let her. It was wonderful. I felt amazing. I do like fancy clothes sometimes. 

It was midnight when we slipped out of our ‘princess clothes’ and put on our PJs instead. It had been such a fun night!

Dearest Elarina I do hope that you don’t find us intolerably silly, but I have an inkling that, had you been here, you may have encouraged us in our silliness. That’s one thing I love about you!

Sincerest wishes.

Bellyah 

21^st November

Dearest Elarina,

Seeing as I am one day behind again, I shall be obliged to write of yesterday again.

We woke late. As is to be expected of two ‘princesses’ that wane the night away in frivolity. Really, other then that, I shall have to let you down as nothing of interest really happened. Poor girl.

Your Bellyah!