The Crate Escape, page 9
We were both sitting in our usually cross-legged position on the floor of the apartment watching television when I suddenly got up, walked across to the set, and turned it off.
“Why did you do that?” Bob asked.
“How would you like to go to the UK?” I countered with a smile.
“Are you joking? Neither of us has a passport or money!”
“Bugger passports and bugger money, I have an idea!”
I stood up and walked to my uniform jacket; putting my hand into the inside pocket, I produced the previously long-forgotten cheque book.
“You have a bank account?” a surprised-looking Bob asked.
“No, I found this book, but I used it once to buy stuff, and it works!”
“Go on,” said Bob, “tell me more?”
“According to the map, Darwin is two thousand three hundred miles from here, right?”
“Yes, I guess so.”
“Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but as from this afternoon, both of us are out of work, correct?”
“That was your fault; you’re the one who walked out!”
“And you’re the one who got the sack!” That shut Bob up.
Making most of it up on the spot, I started to explain my idea. As Darwin was the first place I landed when I came to Australia, it stood to reason that boats arriving from and going to the UK would dock there. Bob agreed. So, we first needed to get to Darwin and then stow-away on a boat. Hide until it gets to where it was going in the UK and then, when no one was looking, sneak off!
It sounded obvious to both of us that on our way to Darwin we could use trains or hitchhike and have a farewell look at Australia all at the same time.
The next day, being Friday and the end of the week, we would both be paid after which, we could come back here, collect our stuff, and disappear into the blue beyond.
What neither of us knew at that time was that ships arriving from the UK didn’t go anywhere near Darwin. They arrived and departed from Sydney, Perth, Adelaide, or Melbourne and that the Melbourne departures left from a pier about ten miles away from where we were planning our great escape!
Ignorance is bliss, and for most of the night, we were awake and deep in the planning stages of our travels. We reasoned that ships bound for England would have snack bars or something similar aboard and so we should keep as much money as possible to pay for our food on the high seas. Anything needed in Australia could be paid for with a cheque. The problem of maybe getting caught using cheques that didn’t belong to us was not important; as unlikely as it was to happen, it could turn into a win-win situation, saving me having to hide on a ship and hopefully getting deported.
There is possibly nothing more dangerous or disruptive than a teenager who has one thing and one thing only pressing on his mind and feels that he has nothing to lose. He will take all sorts of risks and not even consider the dangers or possible implications involved. There is simply no way he can be punished as no matter what happens in his mind, he feels that whatever he did, he did it for the right reasons!
Awake nearly all night putting together our totally unworkable plans, the following morning, we were both up and out of bed, or off the sofa, at the crack of dawn. We ate up all the bread and cheese that we had left in the place before leaving to collect our wages and, for the first time, we were the first in the queue waiting for the manager to hand the envelopes out. Handing my pay over to me, his first question was what happened to me the day before. Making sure that the money was safely in my pocket first, I informed him that as I felt Bob was treated badly, it didn’t concern him what had happened yesterday to me as I resign and will no longer be working! The look that he gave me just confirmed that I had made the right decision.
Getting paid by the railway was always a pleasure especially when weighed up with the small amount of work that you had carried out to get it. Although on the other hand the small amount of cash that you received prevented most people from attempting any larger endeavours.
After my resignation, I looked straight into the eyes of the Station Manager, thinking to myself that eventually it would dawn on him that I wouldn’t be coming anymore and then maybe he could sweep up the station concourse by himself!
After Bob and I returned to our room, we sat down to reconsider our first move in our master plan of going to the UK and came up with our first problem. It would be difficult, we reasoned, to hitchhike out of the city as neither of us knew which roads led in which direction or which road to take. Easier to take the train.
“Take the train to where?” I asked.
“Sydney, if you like?”
“If I like? You’re the Aussie, I’ve no idea where to go!”
“Okay, Sydney it is then.”
“How far is that from here by rail?”
“Well, not including the distance from here to Spencer Street, it must be around six hundred and fifty miles or so; we could travel overnight?”
“What do you mean not including the distance from here to Spencer Street? Some navigator you are turning out to be!”
Having decided that we wouldn’t count the mileage from the room to the railway station, we laid around for most of the day studying maps of Australia until we finally left the room, carrying our bags, at about 5 o’clock in the afternoon. As I didn’t know how to contact the landlord, I left the keys on the table, and just to be certain that he would find out that I had gone, I deliberately left the door ajar. I felt certain in my own mind that as soon as he noticed the door open, he would be poking his nose in and that would be if I were still living there or not!
Using our rail ID cards, we travelled by train to Spencer Street where I couldn’t resist having one last look around the platforms that I had guarded so well. We ended up in the booking hall, and looking at the timetable, we quickly noted that a train with the name of the ‘Southern Aurora’ would depart at 8 o’clock and arrive in Sydney at around 7:30 the next morning. It was one hundred per cent first-class. Lower class passengers would have to travel on other trains.
I asked at the ticket office how much it would cost for two tickets and was told that if we wanted a twin berth cabin with a private bathroom that would cost us an arm and a leg. Would they accept a cheque? The guy nodded affirmatively, and I wrote a cheque for the full amount whilst I whispered under my breath that it would be free for us as Victorian Railways would be paying the full cost!
In an incredibly happy mood, we went to board the train. It really was first-class. The room attendant showed us around the cabin which had bunk beds and was nicely furnished; it even had table lamps. A door opened off it to reveal a nice but rather small bathroom, and the room attendant showed us how it all operated. He then stood there waiting for a tip. He didn’t get one, not his lucky day really.
We had just settled in when the train moved off with a slight jerk and was soon travelling at quite a fast speed. We both had a shower, not that we needed one, but this was the only time either of us had done anything first-class, so we wanted to try it all, especially the soap and shampoo that was supplied.
After the shower, we decided it was time for dinner and so, leaving both the cabin and the shower in a complete mess, we walked the length of the corridor that linked the carriages together looking for the dining car. To get to it we had to pass through the lounge which had sofas and even a grand piano with some guy tinkering away on it; this really was luxurious living!
The food and drink were not included in the price of the ticket, but Bob and I decided to go for it anyway, and so he and I were seated at a table laid for just the two of us. Quite a large menu was offered, and although the servings were smallish, we ate many courses. Although neither of us really drank much alcohol we knocked back enough wine to make us both quite tipsy. After dinner, we decided to take coffee and brandy in the lounge car as it seemed the right thing to do. The brandy nearly choked me, but I still drank it, and Bob sat there with a silly grin and his face looking as red as a beetroot.
Laughing and drunk, we both staggered to our cabin and I fell onto the bottom bunk. Bob, after four or five attempts, managed to crawl up to his bunk, and within minutes, we were both sound asleep.
It was just after dawn when I woke up and still a little wobbly from the night before I went to the large window and looked out. Miles and miles of flat scrubland greeted me. That was all I could see. It was amazing and more like I imagined Australia to be, so different from the city, just a big open space with nothing! Suddenly, I noticed something moving from the left-hand side of the window and then I saw them! A herd of about ten or fifteen kangaroos went bounding and jumping away from the train. They were almost hopping alongside us until they bounced in a swerving motion moving away from us. It was the first time since I had landed in Australia that I felt excited. So excited I had to wake up Bob.
“Bob, hey Bob,” I yelled, “There are wild kangaroos outside the train!”
He sat up with a start, “What?”
“There are wild kangaroos outside the train!”
“So, what,” he mumbled, falling back down on his pillow, “there are millions in Aussie; better they’re outside the train than in here!”
So much for trying to make an Australian excited!
Outline of Brian and his suitcase in the crate
© Copyright Channel 4/Reuters
Brian finally arriving at London Heathrow Airport
© Copyright Channel 4/Reuters
Freight handler tries out Brian’s crate at Los Angeles Airport
© Copyright Channel 4/Reuters
Chapter Sixteen
The train was bouncing around quite a bit and I felt that it was swaying from side to side. We must have jumped the tracks and were derailing; I could feel it banging and throwing me around. It was painful to move, and I was gulping air as if I had to get my lungs full before the world ran out of the stuff.
Where was Bob? Had he been thrown out of the train carriage with all the vibration? It was pitch black, so it must still be night-time making it harder to find him. My mind began to clear, and I started to realise that I wasn’t even on a train. I was still in my crate on the plane and being transported back to the United Kingdom.
I tried shaking my head to help me start to think straight, but that just met with a searing pain that shot up my neck and mixed with the headache that was so painful that it was almost impossible to open my eyes fully. And still, the drone of the plane’s engines went on and on. I guessed that I must have been dreaming, or was I dreaming now?
Was it ever going to end? I was in more pain than I ever thought possible, hardly able to move, and when I did manage to rearrange part of my leg or arm, it felt as if someone was sticking a red-hot knife into my joints. Sticking a knife in and twisting it around. I must have been dying, but if dying was as painful as this, it was no wonder that we only did it once in our life. The thought of what I was thinking forced a small smile across my face.
Don’t give up, fight it. Fight off the pain, I kept thinking repeatedly. I even tried singing; when I started on my journey, I had packed a book of ‘Beatles’ songs into the crate and although I was now unable to reach to the bottom of the box to locate it, I tried to remember some of the words to the songs—if I had been able to locate the book, it wouldn’t have been much good to me anyway in the pitch darkness.
The one song that was stuck in my head and which I hummed and tried singing repeatedly was love, love me do. The singing didn’t last too long, as the more I tried, the sorer my throat became. I was never sure if this was due to my being in the crate or my singing needed a little bit more tuning. Eventually, my throat (and ears) simply couldn’t take any more of the singing, and so I shut up. I got very used to the noises from the engines, and although most of it was just a dull, loud, monstrous drone, it would change when the aircraft started to ascend or descend, and so I found myself listening intensely for the slightest change in pitch as the thought of something happening such as a landing or take-off gave me a glimmer of hope that I would arrive in London soon and in one piece.
The number one thought on my mind was how much more time would I need to spend cramped up and in agony, but at one time, even this thought was surpassed by an even more pressing one. I needed to pee, and it was becoming urgent!
I had packed a bottle for this very reason; however, my body was in such agony that to find and use it would have proved impossible. I could just sit there and pee all over myself or think of a different course of action. Peeing over myself didn’t really appeal to me, but one way or another, I had to let it out. The small gaps between the slats of wood that formed the crate were my only alternatives. Somehow or the other I had to twist myself around until I was almost facing the side of the crate, and this was not going to be an easy task.
Racked with pain, I spent an eternity—or it certainly seemed like one—slowly easing myself onto my side. Hampered by both the pain and the small-sized crate I was in absolute agony. The longer that this turning process took and with the need to pee becoming even stronger left me in no doubt that the end would be catastrophic. Would I be stuck on my left hip, unable to return to a position where I could sit on my bum again, my legs completely twisted up and still peeing all over myself?
I finally managed to lodge myself in a position that was as near as I could get to actually being on my side, spent a further half an hour trying to pull down the zip on my trousers and after releasing the required appendage let rip!
Oh, the absolute relief! It was such a joy that I felt that perhaps I would keep it up until I arrived in London. However, all good things came to an end, and that was to be the same on this occasion. I had finished and all was dry well, almost all. Bearing in mind that this feat was performed in pitch darkness, it was problematic to discover if I had used the slits in the crate or not, but it seemed that around thirty per cent had flooded the bottom section of the crate and was splashing around inside it with the remaining seventy per cent waterlogging the hold of the aircraft. My main concern now was that if someone should spot the dampness in the hold, would they blame me or think that it was another crate that had chosen to take a pee.
I had just started with the reverse struggle to get back on my bum when I heard the engines change pitch. Something was happening, we were starting to descend. It was time to cross my fingers and hope that there was a runway somewhere below us. I could feel the twisting and turning of the aircraft, and it was getting easier to breathe. I surmised that we must be low and near the ground.
The aircraft seemed to make a last-minute rush quickly followed by a squeal of brakes and the engines reversing thrust, then we were belting along a runway with me being thrown in all directions. Could this be London?
Unless, since I had been absent, they had managed to change the language I soon found out that it wasn’t! I could hear people boarding and blabbering on about something in a mysterious sounding language before they started moving stuff around. I sniggered at the thought of me getting out of the crate and making my way to the transit lounge to take a break. The aircraft loaders might just be in shock and ignore me; however, they’d have a bigger shock when I returned to the plane, got into the crate, closed the lid and we took off again.
It seemed to me that at this airport, a lot of freight was being moved around, and it wasn’t too long before streams of light entered my humble abode. They had moved some of the boxes and crates that had originally sat on the top of my crate, so I was now in a better position to both hear and see them milling around. Two of the guys walked over and sat on top of me, well, on top of the crate, and one was kicking the side of it with the heel of his shoe. Noticing the pool of water on the floor, he stopped kicking and jumped off the crate. He disappeared for a few moments and then returned with a mop and cleared up the pee that I had so generously made for him.
More noise and the sounds of petrol-driven engines made my new-found friends move away from my crate. Accompanied by the babble of human voices and the scraping of heavy items being moved across the floor, the light in my box slowly disappeared and again became complete darkness as more freight was piled on top of me. Voices became whispers and finally tapered off to nothing leaving me, once again, in total blackness and silence.
The whine from the plane’s engines returned as they started up and the heavy drone that they normally made returned to deafen me. A long run over the tarmac, and once again, we were airborne with, I hoped, the next stop being London.
Chapter Seventeen
The Southern Aurora express gently pulled into the Central Railway Station in Sydney as Bob and I were seated in the dining car, eating breakfast. We soon finished eating and were quickly off the train. I was lugging my suitcase along the platform, but I had soon begun to realise that I was not going to get far if I had to keep it with me. The suitcase contained all my possessions, and so I didn’t want to let go of it. My idea was that as we were heading for Darwin why not send the luggage by train rather than try to carry it. Bob thought that as he only had a small backpack, he could manage it, but my suitcase, being much larger and heavier, should be sent on ahead.
Agreeing on the disposal of luggage we went to the freight section of the platform, and after paying a small fee, I was rather pleased to say goodbye to the case which, I was assured, would be waiting for us once we arrived in Darwin. Taking a breather, we sat down on a station bench, and after getting out our foldaway map, we studied it whilst contemplating our next plan of action. Giving it careful thought, we decided that we should head to a small town named Toowoomba which, although in the state of Queensland, was just about going north in the general direction of Darwin.
An overnight train would leave in the evening and it would take us around 11 hours to get there; so, after booking two tickets and having quite a few hours to wait, we decided on a tour of the central district of Sydney. Walking down one of the main roads, I turned to Bob and asked, “What do we do when we get to Toowoomba?”
