Re: Pat Ritter. Books
Posted: Mon Aug 24, 2015 5:57 am
'Awesome - OMR - Stories' - Page 3:
Train Ride To Remember.
Many years later, as I again stood on the station’s platform with the departing train gathering speed behind me, the memory of that distant day of tears returned.
It was so long ago and to think back now it only seemed like yesterday when my grandmother and I boarded the train from Roma Railway Station to Charleville. It was Sunday evening, the football team Roma Wattles defeated Charleville at the local football grounds.
At 18 years of age Arthur Beetson, who was to go on and become one of the greatest Australian representatives in Rugby League’s history, captained the Roma Wattles side. His toughness and speed with the natural talent of a footballer won him the best and fairness player for the match.
Charleville footballers were made up from all walks of life; shearers, policemen, council workers, and any other young male wanting to represent their town. They were proud to be playing for Charleville.
In those days steam trains were the major form of transport between both country towns. Each railway carriage was separated from one another with every seat occupied. They seated up to one hundred and fifty passengers. In our carriage we sat nearest the aisle almost in the centre. Players celebrated their loss by drinking beer. There never appeared to be an end to it. My grandmother hated anyone who drank beer and I suppose it was her reason for not liking my father.
More the players drank beer, the more they shouted and sang, some happy others saddened by their loss. Their voices out doing one another until the only sound heard were a loud roar from drunken footballers.
A fight broke out between two of them, each punching at one another’s faces. They rolled into the aisle falling onto the floor beside where my grandmother and I sat. We couldn’t do anything but hold onto one another. I held my grandmother tight with both arms wrapped around her shoulders. She began to cry.
I looked into her eyes and saw fear, ‘what are we going to do?’ she whispered. Others began to fall into the aisle and punches thrown at bodies, war cries echoed through the carriage. It was bedlam and out of control.
‘I never wanted to come on this train. I told your father how terrible the footballers played up when drinking. Would he listen – no – he wanted you with me. What should we do?’ Her words forced me closer to her by the threat of bodies forcing their way nearer to us.
If I was superman, no doubt I would have used my powers to stop the fighting instead I hugged my grandmother. What else could a nine year old child do at the time with tears rolling down his face and his body twisted in fear?
Word count: 473.
TO PURCHASE THIS BOOK PLEASE CLICK ONTO THIS LINK: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/120881.
Train Ride To Remember.
Many years later, as I again stood on the station’s platform with the departing train gathering speed behind me, the memory of that distant day of tears returned.
It was so long ago and to think back now it only seemed like yesterday when my grandmother and I boarded the train from Roma Railway Station to Charleville. It was Sunday evening, the football team Roma Wattles defeated Charleville at the local football grounds.
At 18 years of age Arthur Beetson, who was to go on and become one of the greatest Australian representatives in Rugby League’s history, captained the Roma Wattles side. His toughness and speed with the natural talent of a footballer won him the best and fairness player for the match.
Charleville footballers were made up from all walks of life; shearers, policemen, council workers, and any other young male wanting to represent their town. They were proud to be playing for Charleville.
In those days steam trains were the major form of transport between both country towns. Each railway carriage was separated from one another with every seat occupied. They seated up to one hundred and fifty passengers. In our carriage we sat nearest the aisle almost in the centre. Players celebrated their loss by drinking beer. There never appeared to be an end to it. My grandmother hated anyone who drank beer and I suppose it was her reason for not liking my father.
More the players drank beer, the more they shouted and sang, some happy others saddened by their loss. Their voices out doing one another until the only sound heard were a loud roar from drunken footballers.
A fight broke out between two of them, each punching at one another’s faces. They rolled into the aisle falling onto the floor beside where my grandmother and I sat. We couldn’t do anything but hold onto one another. I held my grandmother tight with both arms wrapped around her shoulders. She began to cry.
I looked into her eyes and saw fear, ‘what are we going to do?’ she whispered. Others began to fall into the aisle and punches thrown at bodies, war cries echoed through the carriage. It was bedlam and out of control.
‘I never wanted to come on this train. I told your father how terrible the footballers played up when drinking. Would he listen – no – he wanted you with me. What should we do?’ Her words forced me closer to her by the threat of bodies forcing their way nearer to us.
If I was superman, no doubt I would have used my powers to stop the fighting instead I hugged my grandmother. What else could a nine year old child do at the time with tears rolling down his face and his body twisted in fear?
Word count: 473.
TO PURCHASE THIS BOOK PLEASE CLICK ONTO THIS LINK: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/120881.