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The Express Guard
Running the
“Limited.”

(By “Right-Away .“)

It is holiday time, and the train is an unusually long one, somewhat belying its title of “Limited,” but a few extra carriages are nothing to that big “K” engine, which has power and to spare. There is something inspiring about that great machine standing at the head of its train, pulsating with life and power: something magnetic that attracts and compels the admiration of bystanders, and the confidence of travellers. The driver, seemingly indifferent to his audience, having put on, the final touches with his oil-can, mounts the cab, and takes his seat at the levers, the while, his mate, the fireman, throws on a few more shovelsful of coal. Theirs is the job to take that train safely, smoothly, and expeditiously on its way, a clearly defined job, demanding strictest compliance with regulations and instructions. The subject of this article, the Guard, completes what is known as the train crew.

It may, perhaps, appropriately be said that responsibility for the external welfare of that train belongs, in the main, to the engine-crew.

The internal affairs are in the hands of the guard. For him there is neither glamour nor romance in running the “Limited.” A thorough knowledge of the requirements of the job, acquired in a lengthy apprenticeship, is essential, and preliminary preparations for each trip must be carefully made, requiring a thorough acquaintance with all special instructions affecting, or likely to affect, the running of that train. All must be carefully noted, and where necessary, checked up with the driver. When the “Limited” pulls out of the Auckland Station at 7 p.m. nothing that will ensure efficient and safe running has been left to chance.

The guard's immediate task is the checking of the tickets of upwards of two hundred and fifty passengers, quite a formidable task in itself, and not the perfunctory business that it may appear to the uninitiated. Each ticket is carefully scrutinized, and its availability verified; possible errors in issuing must be looked for, or misuse detected. The work must be done methodically and withal expeditiously, for that train, once on its way, travels fast. Other and equally important matters, must, at the same time, be kept in mind.

The “Limited” may speed along past a long succession of “clear” signals; but a slowing down, unnoticed by passengers, has its significance for the guard. He passes to the outer door of the carriage, extends an arm, and grasps a closely folded piece of paper held out to him by a wayside station official. A short blast on the engine whistle denotes “O.K.,” and the train quickly gathers speed again. The guard unfolds and carefully reads the instruction written on that crumpled piece of paper with its diagonal red lines—a Crossing Order, a document of first-rate importance, denoting that the scheduled crossing with some opposing train has been altered. Ticket nipping is resumed and completed, questions and inquiries answered, and when that guard gets back to his own compartment Frankton Junction is not far distant. He may permit himself the luxury of a cigarette, but there is much to engage his attention. Returns and reports have to be prepared, and a mass of correspondence sorted and pidgeon-holed ready to hand out at the respective stations. Time must be found to look over and prepare the piles of luggage, and parcels, to insure a minimum of delay at stopping stations, and avoid inconvenience to passengers. While passengers crowd the refreshment rooms our guard has a busy ten minutes at Frankton, for a dozen things require his personal attention. Overtaxed accommodation may require the addition of one or more carriages, and possible additional engine power must be provided for over the steep grades to be negotiated later on. Advices or instructions affecting his further running must not be overlooked.

The real test of a guard's capacity for his job faces him on leaving Frankton. The process of full-checking all tickets has to be repeated, and, in addition, a record taken of the seating accommodation, occupied or available. This must be done with care and expedition, to avoid further disturbance of passengers when settled down for the night. The inevitable questions and inquiries inseparable from train travelling have to be satisfied. A difference between two passengers claiming the same seat can generally be settled by a reference to the chart, or the exercise of a little diplomacy. Requests for the adjustment of a seat to its most reposeful position, or the heating apparatus to the desired temperature, are complied with as a matter of course. Such things are all in the day's (or night's) work. While the general body of travellers are moderate and reasonable in their requirements, the arbitrary and unsociable person is occasionally encountered.

It is then that tact and forbearance, and failing that, firmness, have to be exercised if friction is to be avoided. It is as well, at times, that guards have a sense of discretion, if not of humour. Take, for instance, the case where a lady passenger insists on taking her “young son” (a hefty lad of ten years) into a four-berth sleeping cabin, despite the protests of the other occupants. The guard can be depended upon to decide such a point with a due regard to conventionality. It is well into the night, when, all demands satisfied, lights turned low, and travellers mostly in slumberland, our guard returns to the seclusion of his own compartment. The long run from Te Kuiti to Taumarunui affords some opportunity for page 24 relaxation and refreshments. But, on a busy trip, even this self-indulgence cannot be unduly prolonged, for at Taumarunui he will hand over his charge to the succeeding guard, and final preparations must be made.

The van must be given a final look over, and squared up if necessary; returns, reports and schedules brought up-to-the-minute, and instructions and information set out in detail. Well established precedent and pride of profession insure the fulfillment of this requirement, and there is an infinite satisfaction in stepping off that train, on time, with everything in order. Within an hour our guard will take over the running of the north-bound express, and carry on the work of his predecessor, in turn.

The return trip is just a case of viewing the same picture from the opposite angle; a reversal of the order of things from the outward journey. Passengers are mostly in some state of somnolence, disturbed only by the incoming or outgoing passengers at wayside stations. The guard makes his way silently through the darkened carriages in search of the new arrivals. There will be the usual little trials and tribulations, a passenger who cannot find his seat, or another who has lost his ticket. There is sometimes the traveller who has no ticket, or the wherewithal to pay for one. Something has to be done about it, and a way is usually found.

There is a continual variety about the job of the express guard, and it has its amenities as well as its vicissitudes.

The work may be trying and exacting at times, but never dull or monotonous, and the constant contact with a wide variety of human types has a distinct educational value.