Tunnel Vision

I pretended the jibes didn't hurt, but they did. Being called 'chicken', and having this derisive name accompanied by squawking noises and the flapping of elbows in imitation wings, was enough to make any ten year old flinch. My two mockers were my brother and cousin, both a year younger than me, and the source of their scorn was my refusal to accept their dare to walk back through the tunnel with them. No appeal of mine about the stupidity and danger of the challenge carried any weight. For them it would be fun; it would be exciting, and nobody was going to dissuade them from their adventure. I watched the darkness swallow them up as they went into the tunnel, then ran round, with trepidation, to wait for them at the other end.

Back in those long-ago days of the 1950's we never did seem to have any spare cash in our family, so during the interminable summer holidays we were usually packed off to my auntie's near Whitehead. Her little cottage at the foot of the cliff was a short distance from the shore, access to which required only crossing over the double-track railway lines- not a difficult task as the security fence was just waist high and consisted of three parallel wires attached to some wooden posts. A few yards from our usual crossing point was the tunnel - a black mouth carved into the rocky overhang - menacing yet inviting.

I had taken up my agreed position for only a minute or so when I saw the smoke. It was the Belfast train in the distance, rushing at great speed towards me. Instantly an avalanche of panic overwhelmed me. I imagined the impending carnage in the tunnel, and the vision terrified me. My whole body started to shake and whimpering noises were coming from my throat. Hardly able to breathe or see through the blinding tears, I struggled to think of what to do. I found myself stumbling to the tunnel entrance.

Standing in the middle of the track, I cupped my hands and yelled as hard as I could.

'There's a train coming. There's a train coming.'

My voice seemed to rumble down the shaft, reverberating off the walls in a muffled, indistinct echo. I continued shouting as long as I dared. A warning whistle came from the train and the ground started to shake beneath my feet. I staggered out of its way and saw it hurtle into the tunnel, snorting like an angry, devouring beast and spewing acrid smoke all around me. I collapsed over the fence and vomited. By this time I was sobbing uncontrollably.

"There's the big chicken over there,' said my brother.

Sweet relief flooded me, his voice instant healing. I managed to blurt out between racking sobs,

'What happened?'

'Some oul fella yelled at us in the tunnel,' my cousin said. 'Roared
something about a train coming so we ran. Lucky you weren't there.'

He started the clucking hen noises again, and eyes still blurred with tears, I ran at him, gripped him. For an instant I thought that I might hug him. But I didn't. At the last moment common sense won out and I hit him, as hard as I could, in the mouth.

We had a grand time in Whitehead after that.

Eddie Whiteside