My ship had
docked in Civitavecchia, the
port for Rome, and on the second
last day of our stay, I received
an invitation to have Dinner in
Rome with the 2nd
Secretary of the British
Embassy, another Scotsman. I
travelled by train and was met
by the person in question.
A table
had been booked for us at a high
rent restaurant; I think it was
called The Library- frequented
by Ambassadorial staff. I
remember that there were glassed
in shelves all round the walls
filled with ancient and rare
wine bottles. We had a truly
sumptuous dinner. Every time
some Embassy dignitary arrived
or left, passing our table, my
host rose and said “ Good
evening Sir- or -Excellency”. I
just stood beside him and gave a
wee bow from my now expanding
waistline.
Eventually after being very well
dined and wined and brandied- I
was driven to the Rome rail
terminal-an absolutely huge
building – as you might expect-
and put on board the La Spezia
express. The idea being that I
would alight when the train
stopped at Civitavecchia and
make my way back to my ship.
However, things in life aren’t
always that simple.
I had
been booked into a First Class
compartment-part of my treat-
and I was impressed by the
comfort. At first there was just
another couple seated in one
corner, an elderly well dressed
pair who greeted me pleasantly.
A little while
later the door slid open and a
very well dressed and very
good-looking young woman with a
small baby in her arms came into
the compartment. Pleasantries
were exchanged and she settled
into the corner opposite me. As
she made the baby comfortable
she asked a question to the
elderly couple and myself. The
other couple smiled and nodded
their heads. I opened my arms
wide and intimated that I didn’t
understand. Reaching up, the
gentleman in the other corner
moved a switch over – and the
bright white lights changed over
to dim, dark blue, for
travelling at night.
The train started
to move smoothly away, and I
snuggled into my seat thinking
that it wouldn’t be too long
before I reached my destination.
Just then the baby started to
squirm a bit and the lovely
young mother picked the baby up
into her arms and started to
sing Neapolitan lullabies in a
quiet, beautiful voice. My
undoing was complete. With the
dim lighting, my recent rich
meal starting to digest with a
very pleasant warm feeling aided
by the heady alcohol consumed, I
drifted off into a mellow trance
where the young mother was
singing specially to me. Neither
the baby, the other couple or
myself had a chance ! We all
fell fast asleep.
What a let down
it was to be wakened by the
Ticket Collector shaking my arm
and asking to see my ticket. He
looked at my ticket carefully,
and then told me in quite good
English that we had passed
Civitavecchia about half an hour
before. However, when I had
managed to explain that my ship
was due to sail by noon –and it
could not sail without a Radio
Officer - which was me! – he
told me to wait -( what else
could I do?) - and he would try
and help. In five minutes the
Ticket Collector was back with
the good news that he had been
in contact with Control and that
they had permission to stop at
the next station – I could get
off- change platforms to the one
servicing the opposite
direction- wait about an hour
and the next train had been
alerted to make an unscheduled
stop, pick me up and I could get
off at Civitavecchia.
I couldn’t thank
him enough but did try with a
suitable monetary award.
I was sceptical
that an express train would stop
at an unscheduled station but it
did. I climbed down onto a
small, narrow platform and the
train quickly moved away with
the Ticket Collector and another
uniformed man – (I don’t think
it could have been the driver!)
- waving to me. My estimation of
the Italian Rail Network was
very high.
After climbing
down from that small platform
and carefully making my way over
the rails I clambered up onto
the other
very
small platform, just as the dawn
was beginning to lighten the
sky. I walked the few steps that
took me to a shelter and found
that there was only one
scratched and scarred window
remaining. Trying to get some
relief from the cool morning
wind wasn’t very successful.
My friend the
Ticket Collector had told me
that the train that had been
arranged to stop for me would be
about an hour.
It was nearly two
hours when I saw a train
approaching. Against all the
odds it did stop and the Ticket
Collector on that train helped
me up into the spartan inside of
a local train. My new Ticket
Collector friend assured me that
the train would take me to and
stop at Civitavecchia. And it
did.
My regard for the
Italian Railway system and its
personnel remained high
Arriving at
Civitavecchia I hired a taxi and
on the ten-minute ride to the
ship I closed my eyes and
thought of the elderly couple in
one corner, myself in another
corner, the dim blue light and
that very lucky baby with a
mother who looked quite
something and had the voice of a
siren.
Bill Mills
