It Takes A Certain Sort

The Worlds Pain We Share

I want to give you an idea of where I am coming from. The stories here are personal or mass stories with a small contact centre twist. This, what for me is a tear jerker, is the only part of the chapter that has no call centre contact, but the emotion of the story style is what is coming up.

Now, I have to make myself clear, I AM NOT A TRAIN SPOTTER.

I will leave that privilege and honour to people who like to look at speeding trains to look at and record their serial numbers. Me, I would rather catch a cold.

For a number of years, I worked for the catering arm of British Railways. I was based at Kings Cross Mainline Station in London. I don't know why, but all of us who worked for BR had some sort of affinity to people, trains and history.

Not train spotters, just an appreciation of these majestic metal beasts.

Kings Cross was the start or end, depending on the direction, of one of the most famous trains in England.

The Flying Scotsman!

In my 20's the Flying Scotsman was pulled by a steam train.

You have to be near one of these beasts to appreciate them, their character, their, charisma, their awe, the noise, majesty and power of them. They are alive, steaming, snorting, singing, in your face living beasts.

Yep, I liked steam trains.

Finally, its day had come and steam was about to die. A diesel/electric powered, soleless, characterless Intercity 125 'flying banana' was taking over from beautiful, sexy, steam.

On this day the platform and raised walkway in the station structure was packed with emotional people. The last Flying Scotsman ever to be pulled by a steam locomotive was due in. What we didn't know was a few miles from the station the new diesel/electric powered Flying Scotsman was waiting for the old lady to reach it.

They came into the station side by side, absolutely in unison, horns and whistles blowing to a huge cheer from a stunned crowd. Old and new in harmony. A beautiful passing of the batten. I looked around, to a man, women and a child, there was not a dry eye to be seen. This was such a magical moment, one of those rare moments.

One evening in our contact centre there were not many of us on duty. It was dark and cold outside. The televisions that were mounted around the office space were on, spewing out whatever was on. It's to entertain us when it is quiet.

This was a very strange evening. One of our team, Monica, was from eastern Europe. We were not sure how she made it to us, or was allowed to work as she was from the east and 'The Wall' was still in place.

Monica was at her area of desk space, working away. She was not in her normal happy go lucky space, but not in a state that would suggest to any of us what was to come this particular evening.

We are not sure when this moment actually happened.

Monica was sat motionless at her desk. Her headset was on the desktop in front of her, her line was flashing busy. Her face was expressionless and immobile. She looked like a humanoid robot that was switched off.

Some time later there were tears sliding down her face, passing down her nose, over her lips and dripping onto her desktop creating a pool. Her faced was bowed and she was motionless. A while later her shoulders started shaking, then her whole upper body was quivering.

But still absolute silence.

Two of the supervisors on duty, Eamon and Carol went over to her and just sat next to Monica in silence, just holding her hands and gently caressing her back.