The Night We Hijacked the Orange Express

Trudi Wessels won Miss Personality at Maritzburg Varsity. We could have told them that beforehand if they’d asked. Her prize a trip to Rio de Janeiro! Steph arranged a farewell party at Shady Pines on the night of her departure, after which we would deliver her safe and pickled to Harrismith Railway Stasie. You didn’t know trips to Rio de Janeiro start at Harrismith Railway Station?! It goes to show . . .

At the station we bid her farewell in moviestar style, Trudi hanging out the window, fans crowded on the platform, much hubbub (just like in any good romantic movie). Here we are:Is this when the first train choofed in? Who was there?

Here’s Trudi with her hatbox:

train-station

Except some culprits are missing. Where could John and Nick be? At the very far end of the platform talking to the train driver. I get there just in time to hear: “Nooit, meneer, this are not a melktrein, this are ve Orange Express! No stops before Beflehem”.

He reminds me that they say you can’t find three wise men in the Vrystaat. But he does turn out to be wise – after some persuasion – as he partially relents: “OK, ve bess I can do for yous is I’ll slow down when I pass Rivierdraaistasie“.

Right!

We hop on and soon the train pulls off. John the agile Venning has a case of beer under his one arm and a wicked grin under his one moustache. We make our way to Trudi’s cabin. “What on earth are you guys doing here?” We repeat a very hasty goodbye because already the train is FLYING! I myself am now rather nervous and if it wasn’t for the medicinal value of beer I might have said something sensible. We each take position at a door and watch as the poles whizz past us in a blur. Past the crossing to Swiss Valley where Nick will park the getaway car, and it feels like we’re accelerating!

Suddenly a decrease in speed and, peering forward, some lights in the dark. Get ready to jump. Arse over kettle each one of us hits the ground and tumbles. I almost stayed on my feet but then had to duck for the big sign RIVIERDRAAISTASIE one word. But one man didn’t fall: He who held the case of beers kept it together! We ran back up the track into the dark as a man came stumbling out of the stasie kantoor, lantern held aloft (just like in any good Orient Express movie).

When we gathered, a sober head prevailed. (Had Nick Leslie joined us? How could he have? He was on crutches and was driving the getaway car – just like in any good gangster movie). “Boys, we can’t go! We can’t ‘drop’ the train driver. The stasiemeester will have to put in a report and our man will get into trouble. We have to talk to the stasiemeester”.

So a delegation is sent and some of us sit in the veld awaiting their return. And we wait and await.

Eventually – just when we think maybe they’ve gone to jail – they return, much merrier and cleverer than when they left. Apparently as they started to say Naand Meneer the oke said: “That’s the BEST thing that’s happened to me in all my years at Rivierdraai Stasie!” and insisted they sit and join him for a dop, pulling a bottle of brandy from his desk drawer (just like in any good cowboy movie).

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