Into the Managing Director's office of Highland Printers, Ltd., Diriebught Road, Inverness, bounded Aubrey Greene, simply bursting to break the news which would have the entire Highlands agog. Aubrey had flown up from London - which was a surprise, seeing that he was a public relations man for British Rail - and, so he declared, Highland Printers was his very first stop on a whirlwind tour of the region’s ‘great enterprises’ (his words).
The Managing Director, who was My Friend Harry, bade the breathless, pin-striped, bowler-hatted, umbrella-carrying envoy sit down, slid back the hatch on his left and asked Morag, his secretary, kindly to bring in tea and biscuits. Aubrey put his rectangular brief case on the desk, opened it and drew out a large envelope, on the front of which was the picture of a B.R. train at full pelt. It was, said Aubrey, the information pack which was crammed with background information about the new Inverness - London service, shortly to be inaugurated.
“How," inquired Harry, "will the new service differ from the old? Will it, for instance, ensure that the heating is on in every compartment, unlike the hit-and-miss misery currently prevailing? Will it ensure that the electric light stays on and not, as so frequently is the case, switches itself off within half an hour of departure? Will the attendant be on hand throughout the 12-hour journey and not, as so regularly happens, disappear into some unbeatable retreat before the train has cleared the platform? Will a few of the Highland’s many snowflakes bring the whole caboodle to a halt faster than a few leaves on the rails? Will British Rail guarantee arrival in London at something approximating the scheduled time and not, as he knew only too well, some five or six hours late? Will..
Aubrey waved a deprecating hand. “Inverness to London is a very long distance," he said, “and much can happen in the course of 12 hours, especially in winter. However, I am not here to apologise for any past inconveniences, much as I regret them, but to tell you what B.R. has done to bring the service bang up to date. The information pack will put you fully in the picture but, as I am sure you will agree, there is nothing like actual experience. Therefore, I am delighted to be able to offer you a seat on the special train which will make the inaugural run from Inverness. There will be a send-off cocktail party in the Station Hotel, Inverness, which will be honoured by the presence of the Provost and his lady, and there will be a civic luncheon provided at the Station Hotel, Perth, after which you will be free either to continue your journey to London or to return to Inverness."
Harry, never one to turn his back on a freebie, said he would be happy to make the trip as far as Perth. He added, as if as an afterthought: “No doubt B.R. will be requiring advertisement space in our newspapers?”
Aubrey beamed. ‘A full-page ad on three consecutive weeks," he declared.
“In all six papers?"
The pasted-on smile cracked slightly. Aubrey swallowed a little and then said reluctantly: “But of course."
Harry slid back the hatch. “Morag," he said happily, “would you please ask Donald Macdonald to look in?" He turned back to Aubrey. “Donald is our Advertisement Manager,” he explained. “He will sign you up right away and save you the trouble of posting your requirements to him on your return to London. Also, he can give you a discount as you won’t be using the services of an advertising agency. Nothing like one-to-one dealing, is there?"
Donald burst in, order forms in hand. Two minutes flat and he was out again with signed orders for three full page ads in all six papers.
“Could I offer you a dram before you leave?” asked Harry of Aubrey.
Aubrey shook his head. “A bit early for me," he muttered. He gathered up his papers, shut his brief case, adjusted his bowler, took up his umbrella, bade Harry farewell and shook the dust of Diriebught Road from his feet as he headed for another of the region’s great enterprises.
CAME the day and Harry made his way to the Station Hotel, Inverness, there to engage in convivial chat with the region’s notabilities as he sipped his gin-and-tonics and nibbled at cheeses.
Photographers darted about taking pictures of the celebrities and Aubrey was there in full flower, beaming fit to burst. In due time he glanced at his watch, banged a tumbler on the table and announced: “Ladies and gentlemen. Those who have kindly accepted the invitation to be our guests on the inaugural train journey should now make their way to the station, where the train is waiting. Those not travelling are most welcome to remain here in the hotel to continue to enjoy the facilities at their disposal.”
The travelling party was small. Provost Jones and his lady, four or five councillors, My Friend Harry and one or two others. They wended their way to the platform, Harry boarded the train and took a first-class corner seat facing the engine. The photographers, insatiable as are all of their calling, demanded more and more pictures of the Provost and the travelling party. They had the Provost about to board, they had him aboard and leaning out of the door’s window, they had him helping his lady to board, they had him chatting to the guard. Then one bright snapper called out: “How about you waving the green flag and blowing the whistle, Mr Provost?”
Always ready to oblige, Provost Jones took the flag and the whistle from the grinning guard, waved the flag vigorously and blew a hearty blast on the whistle.
In the instant, the driver pushed the control forward and the train moved off. Aubrey, in an absolute frenzy, danced and shouted and waved, as did the guard and as did the dismayed freeloaders. All to no avail. True to the promises in My Friend Harry’s information pack, the train briskly accelerated to full speed in next to no time and rumbled and clattered busily on the way to Perth. Harry, who had watched the platform lunacy with delight through the window, settled back in his seat to enjoy the coffee and biscuits which came round and to catch up with the news in The Scotsman.
He was not so happy when he came to the ticket collector at the gate at Perth. “Ticket please,” grunted the collector, clippers in hand.
“I’m a member of the official party," explained Harry. “We were given no tickets.”
“Then ye’ll have te pay," replied the unimpressed guard. “If ye havena’ any ticket, ye’ll have to pay the fare.”
“But I’m on the train by invitation of British Rail,” repeated Harry.
“I know nothin’ aboot that. No ticket, ye have ta pay.”
So, with exceedingly bad grace, Harry forked out the fare and was allowed through the barrier. At once he made his way to the Station Hotel. At least he’d be able to enjoy the civic lunch. Alas, the lunch had been cancelled, Aubrey having phoned through from Inverness to convey the bad tidings of the fiasco on the platform.
Moodily, Harry had lunch in a nearby restaurant and kicked his heels in Perth for eight hours until a train from London stopped at Perth on its way to Inverness. And, of course, he had to buy another ticket before he could get through the barrier.
As freebies go, it had cost him a packet...
Aubrey? He went back to London on the plane.
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