A gallic F*** up – and Nuns! – Spain via France (1977)

By: Pete Day

A gallic F*** up – and Nuns!
Train to Spain via France in 1977

The crossing from Corfu, and the long train journey up to Milan and then to Lyon train station in France went without without mishap, but it was from there that things began to go awry. Noting the destination plate Port Bou, affixed to the side of my Spanish-bound train, I climbed aboard, plodded down the corridor and finding a compartment with just two occupants, took a position by the window and settled myself down into the seat ready for the long journey. It was some two hours and three stops later, unable as usual to get to sleep whilst sat upright and in motion, that I was driven to attempt a little deception: slinging on my backpack, I made my way back along the train towards the couchette section, thinking it unlikely that all of the bunk-beds would be occupied or reserved. Unfortunately, being late at night, this meant sliding back doors as quietly as possible in order to ascertain whether there were any bunks free. I guessed that the first compartment was full, as I could hear four distinct snores, almost in barber-shop quartet harmony. The second one I wasn’t too sure about, but an angry voice fired off a question in rapid French and I quickly closed the door. I was about to investigate the third, when a shout from the end of the passage rooted me to the spot. It was the conductor. He strode determinedly up to me, chest stuck out, looking every inch the petty official as he eyed me coldly. He asked me for my couchette ticket, whereupon I showed him I had no such item by a shrug and a “Je suis Anglais.”

This raised his ire even more, as he rattled off a volley of Gallic invective and hustled me from the sleeping section; not back to where I had come from however, but further to the rear of the train. Now I was looking for the compartment I had left but couldn’t see the one with only two people within, now they all seemed full, and had their blinds drawn down. I decided to take the first vacant seat I found, but was condemned to repeat the performance of sliding doors open and peering into the gloom at the dozing passengers, before the gloomy light from the corridor reluctantly revealed a compartment with a seat near the far window. I wish then I had been drunk or stoned, as in these states one is never embarrassed, and is oblivious to what people say or do, but alas I wasn’t, and thus had to suffer the tut-tutting of elderly voices as I stumbled over legs and baskets, and then half-fell, putting my hand out on what I thought in the almost pitch black interior, was an expanse of vacant black seat, which turned out to be a black cat, which screeched alarmingly and flew off into the darkness, invoking many ‘Sacre Bleu’s,’ or whatever the French use when some perceived nutter invades their compartment at 1 a.m. waking them up, half-killing the cat, and throwing the whole compartment into confusion. After I had perdonez-moi’d myself to the vacant corner seat, and after throwing my backpack onto the rack, I sank ignominiously into my seat, feeling the hate of their eyes burning into me. Putting it from my mind I closed my eyes and finally managed a fitful sleep, during which time I remember the train stopping for about half an hour and then continuing, but in the other direction, a matter to which I gave scant attention at the time.

Awakening with stiff legs and neck, I hoped that I could sneak out before the other occupants awoke, but on looking around me I could see in the faint morning light which struggled to peep around the blinds, that at least two of the occupants opposite – both nuns – were wide awake. The older one eyed me balefully, while the other, who was young and rather attractive, looked at me with interest. I made a wan sort of smile at her, she smiled back, a radiant young smile that seemed to lighten even the severe black habit she wore. It lifted me somewhat, until turning to the left of me I beheld two of the other three occupants, two old, grey-haired women with a young girl of eight or nine years who was curled up fast asleep. They were watching me with sleepy, red, accusing eyes. Next to the old nun was a wicker basket, containing I think the cat, as it was nowhere to be seen. Closing my eyes again I tried in vain to go back to sleep, but this was impossible. I could see behind the window blind, held down by the thin rods enclosed within its fabric, that we were passing some countryside. The better to see, I lifted my hand lazily to unhook a rod from its groove, with a clatter, the blind shot upwards out of my grasp, the tension of the strong spring above dragging the other end of the slim rod on the other side screechingly in its wake. I was startled and instantly, fully awake. I looked round at the other occupants. The young girl was instantly aroused from her sleep, the two old women were holding their hearts and I suspect were both close to coronary seizures, the old nun wore an exasperated expression, while the cat was meowing furiously in its box. Laying back my head I closed my eyes, trying to feign nonchalance, while wishing that some giant hand would pluck me away from my embarrassment. Eventually I dared to open my eyes and looked at the young nun opposite. She had her head in her hands, and appeared to be in the grip of some malady, as her body was making slight and spasmodic convulsions. I stared at her for some seconds, as did the whole compartment, even the cat had ceased its miaowing. After some seconds, and with a sudden huge inhalation of breath she took her hands away, then turning to the older nun, murmured something, then rose and hurried out of the compartment closing the door behind her. I then heard what sounded like a short release of pent-up laughter.

Ten minutes later I also made my escape into the corridor, taking an hour to first go to the toilet, then to the end of the carriages as far as the engine, glancing at the morning scenery and into the various compartments. I returned somewhat reluctantly some minutes later to stand outside the compartment, musing on the unusual amount of nuns on board – I had counted at least twelve – and was just contemplating taking a walk to the tail end of the train, when I heard the conductor from some distance away demanding to see tickets. Re-entering the compartment and purposely avoiding the eyes of my travelling companions, I reached into my backpack’s side pocket for my slim, leather passport and document holder, extricated the ticket and waited. With all
the pomposity that such minor officials adopt when given a position entailing even the tiniest amount of power, the conductor made his entrance. It was the same one who had ushered me from the couchette section, and who I held responsible for the consequent incidents. I hated him. That the incidents would never had happened had I not been so greedy to obtain something for nothing, never entered my head at the time. I was the last to give him my ticket and was waiting for its return when, after giving my ticket more scrutiny than I considered normal, he suddenly flung out his hands in a dramatic fashion and cried, with I thought a note of triumph in his voice, ‘Port Bou, Port Bou,’ along with a rattle of French that contained the place name Lourdes.

Suddenly, his words, the reversal of the train during the night, and the surprising number of nuns aboard, all made sense. Like the parts of a jig-saw fitting together I realized what had happened. The train had divided during the night! And while the section I had left had gone on to Port Bou, I was bound for Lourdes! I half expected the rest of the compartment to applaud. The bane of their journey had got his come-uppance, a just reward for his blunderings, but it was not so. They seemed to share in my embarrassment, especially the young nun, who looked at me with sympathy as I ignominiously signed German travellers cheques to pay for a destination I didn’t want to reach, and was well out of my way to boot. My first impulse was to punch the conductor on the nose before pulling his neck off. Ah well, I thought, I’ll just put it down to experience. A much stated traveller’s aphorism which I was to repeat often over the years. Never was I so glad to get off a train. I walked out of the station and into the pouring rain, not without again entertaining the malicious thought of finding the conductor to give him a cuff round the ear, a fit of pique from which I sensibly refrained.