Durance Vile The train was not full and it was,
I suppose, fairly lucky for the lady that her predicament was discovered half an hour before we reached the terminus. She had gone to the toilet in a third-class carriage, the lock had jammed and she was unable to get out. Another lady made the discovery, and here again the captive was in luck, for her would-be rescuer was particularly nice and sensible. The guard was fetched, the door-knob was unscrewed; the door still refused to open and the knob was screwed on again. " Can't do nothing till we get to Victoria," said the guard, with that melancholy relish in which the Cockney excels. From within there were no com- plaints, from without no apologies. "Just one of those things" seemed to be the general verdict. At Victoria the Good Samaritan stood by, having collected the captive's belongings and prevailed on the guard to have a message broadcast to her son, who was meeting the train; and when I left the scene a happy ending was in sight. The whole episode reminded me vividly of Russia—the jammed lock, the lack of tools with which to remedy the situation, the private citizen taking charge of operations, the atmosphere of cheerful fatalism. But as I walked down the platform I could not help reflecting that a similar mishap would have been less easily supportable if it had occurred (say) at the beginning of a night journey on one of the Scottish expresses. Surely every train ought to carry the kit to deal with these sort of contingencies ?
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