Tickets,please.

Tickets, Please

by

D. H. LAWRENCE

There is in the Midlands a single-line tramway system which boldly leaves the

county town and plunges off into the black, industrial countryside, up hill and

down dale, through the long ugly villages of workmen's houses, over canals and

railways, past churches perched high and nobly over the smoke and shadows,

through stark, grimy cold little market-places, tilting away in a rush past cinemas

and shops down to the hollow where the collieries are, then up again, past a little

rural church, under the ash trees, on in a rush to the terminus, the last little ugly

place of industry, the cold little town that shivers on the edge of the wild, gloomy

country beyond. There the green and creamy coloured tram-car seems to pause

and purr with curious satisfaction. But in a few minutes

—

the clock on the turret of

the Co-operative Wholesale Society's Shops gives the time

—

away it starts once

more on the adventure. Again there are the reckless swoops downhill, bouncing

the loops: again the chilly wait in the hill-top market-place: again the breathless

slithering round the precipitous drop under the church: again the patient halts at

the loops, waiting for the outcoming car: so on and on, for two long hours, till at

last the city looms beyond the fat gas- works, the narrow factories draw near, we

are in the sordid streets of the great town, once more we sidle to a standstill at our

terminus, abashed by the great crimson and cream-coloured city cars, but still

perky, jaunty, somewhat dare-devil, green as a jaunty sprig of parsley out of a

black colliery garden.

To ride on these cars is always an adventure. Since we are in war-time, the drivers

are men unfit for active service: cripples and hunchbacks. So they have the spirit

of the devil in them. The ride becomes a steeple-chase. Hurray! we have leapt in

a clear jump over the canal bridges

—

now for the four-lane corner. With a shriek

and a trail of sparks we are clear again. To be sure, a tram often leaps the

rails

—

but what matter! It sits in a ditch till other trams come to haul it out. It is

quite common for a car, packed with one solid mass of living people, to come to a

dead halt in the midst of unbroken blackness, the heart of nowhere on a dark

night, and for the driver and the girl conductor to call, 'All get off

—

car's on fire!'

Instead, however, of rushing out in a panic, the passengers stolidly reply: 'Get

on

—

get on! We're not coming out. We're stopping where we are. Push on,

George.' So till flames actually appear.

The reason for this reluctance to dismount is that the nights are howlingly cold,

black, and windswept, and a car is a haven of refuge. From village to village the

miners travel, for a change of cinema, of girl, of pub. The trams are desperately

packed. Who is going to risk himself in the black gulf outside, to wait perhaps an

hour for another tram, then to see the forlorn notice 'Depot Only', because there

is something wrong! Or to greet a unit of three bright cars all so tight with people

that they sail past with a howl of derision. Trams that pass in the night.

This, the most dangerous tram-service in England, as the authorities themselves

declare, with pride, is entirely conducted by girls, and driven by rash young men,

a little crippled, or by delicate young men, who creep forward in terror. The girls

are fearless young hussies. In their ugly blue uniform, skirts up to their knees,

shapeless old peaked caps on their heads, they have all the sang-froid of an old

non-commissioned officer. With a tram packed with howling colliers, roaring

hymns downstairs and a sort of antiphony of obscenities upstairs, the lasses are

perfectly at their ease. They pounce on the youths who try to evade their

ticket-machine. They push off the men at the end of their distance. They are not

going to be done in the eye

—

not they. They fear nobody

—

and everybody fears

them.

'Hello, Annie!'

'Hello, Ted!'

'Oh, mind my corn, Miss Stone. It's my belief you've got a heart of stone, for

you've trod on it again.'

'You should keep it in your pocket,' replies Miss Stone, and she goes sturdily

upstairs in her high boots.

'Tickets, please.'

She is peremptory, suspicious, and ready to hit first. She can hold her own against

ten thousand. The step of that tram-car is her Thermopylae.

Therefore, there is a certain wild romance aboard these cars

—

and in the sturdy

bosom of Annie herself. The time for soft romance is in the morning, between ten

o'clock and one, when things are rather slack: that is, except market-day and

Saturday. Thus Annie has time to look about her. Then she often hops off her car

and into a shop where she has spied something, while the driver chats in the main

road. There is very good feeling between the girls and the drivers. Are they not

companions in peril, shipments aboard this careering vessel of a tram-car, for

ever rocking on the waves of a stormy land?

Then, also, during the easy hours, the inspectors are most in evidence. For some

reason, everybody employed in this tram-service is young: there are no grey

heads. It would not do. Therefore the inspectors are of the right age, and one, the

chief, is also good-looking. See him stand on a wet, gloomy morning, in his long

oil-skin, his peaked cap well down over his eyes, waiting to board a car. His face

is ruddy, his small brown moustache is weathered, he has a faint impudent smile.

Fairly tall and agile, even in his waterproof, he springs aboard a car and greets

Annie.

'Hello, Annie! Keeping the wet out?'

'Trying to.'

There are only two people in the car. Inspecting is soon over. Then for a long and

impudent chat on the foot-board, a good, easy, twelve-mile chat.

The inspector's name is John Thomas Raynor

—

always called John Thomas, except

sometimes, in malice, Coddy. His face sets in fury when he is addressed, from a

distance, with this abbreviation. There is considerable scandal about John Thomas

in half a dozen villages. He flirts with the girl conductors in the morning, and walks

out with them in the dark night, when they leave their tram-car at the depot. Of

course, the girls quit the service frequently. Then he flirts and walks out with the

newcomer: always providing she is sufficiently attractive, and that she will

consent to walk. It is remarkable, however, that most of the girls are quite comely,

they are all young, and this roving life aboard the car gives them a sailor's dash

and recklessness. What matter how they behave when the ship is in port.

Tomorrow they will be aboard again.

Annie, however, was something of a Tartar, and her sharp tongue had kept John

Thomas at arm's length for many months. Perhaps, therefore, she liked him all

the more: for he always came up smiling, with impudence. She watched him

vanquish one girl, then another. She could tell by the movement of his mouth and

eyes, when he flirted with her in the morning, that he had been walking out with

this lass, or the other, the night before. A fine cock-of-the-walk he was. She could

sum him up pretty well.

In this subtle antagonism they knew each other like old friends, they were as

shrewd with one another almost as man and wife. But Annie had always kept him

sufficiently at arm's length. Besides, she had a boy of her own.

The Statutes fair, however, came in November, at Bestwood. It happened that

Annie had the Monday night off. It was a drizzling ugly night, yet she dressed

herself up and went to the fair ground. She was alone, but she expected soon to

find a pal of some sort.

The roundabouts were veering round and grinding out their music, the side shows

were making as much commotion as possible. In the coco-nut shies there were no

coco-nuts, but artificial war-time substitutes, which the lads declared were

fastened into the irons. There was a sad decline in brilliance and luxury. None the

less, the ground was muddy as ever, there was the same crush, the press of faces

lighted up by the flares and the electric lights, the same smell of naphtha and a

few fried potatoes, and of electricity.

Who should be the first to greet Miss Annie on the showground but John Thomas?

He had a black overcoat buttoned up to his chin, and a tweed cap pulled down

over his brows, his face between was ruddy and smiling and handy as ever. She

knew so well the way his mouth moved.

She was very glad to have a 'boy'. To be at the Statutes without a fellow was no

fun. Instantly, like the gallant he was, he took her on the dragons, grim-toothed,

round-about switchbacks. It was not nearly so exciting as a tram-car actually. But,

then, to be seated in a shaking, green dragon, uplifted above the sea of bubble

faces, careering in a rickety fashion in the lower heavens, whilst John Thomas

leaned over her, his cigarette in his mouth, was after all the right style. She was

a plump, quick, alive little creature. So she was quite excited and happy.

John Thomas made her stay on for the next round. And therefore she could hardly

for shame repulse him when he put his arm round her and drew her a little nearer

to him, in a very warm and cuddly manner. Besides, he was fairly discreet, he

kept his movement as hidden as possible. She looked down, and saw that his red,

clean hand was out of sight of the crowd. And they knew each other so well. So

they warmed up to the fair.

After the dragons they went on the horses. John Thomas paid each time, so she

could but be complaisant. He, of course, sat astride on the outer horse

—

named

'Black Bess'

—

and she sat sideways, towards him, on the inner horse

—

named

'Wildfire'. But of course John Thomas was not going to sit discreetly on 'Black

Bess', holding the brass bar. Round they spun and heaved, in the light. And round

he swung on his wooden steed, flinging one leg across her mount, and perilously

tipping up and down, across the space, half lying back, laughing at her. He was

perfectly happy; she was afraid her hat was on one side, but she was excited.

He threw quoits on a table, and won for her two large, pale-blue hat-pins. And

then, hearing the noise of the cinemas, announcing another performance, they

climbed the boards and went in.

Of course, during these performances pitch darkness falls from time to time,

when the machine goes wrong. Then there is a wild whooping, and a loud

smacking of simulated kisses. In these moments John Thomas drew Annie

towards him. After all, he had a wonderfully warm, cosy way of holding a girl with

his arm, he seemed to make such a nice fit. And, after all, it was pleasant to be so

held: so very comforting and cosy and nice. He leaned over her and she felt his

breath on her hair; she knew he wanted to kiss her on the lips. And, after all, he

was so warm and she fitted in to him so softly. After all, she wanted him to touch

her lips.

But the light sprang up; she also started electrically, and put her hat straight. He

left his arm lying nonchalantly behind her. Well, it was fun, it was exciting to be at

the Statutes with John Thomas.

When the cinema was over they went for a walk across the dark, damp fields. He

had all the arts of love-making. He was especially good at holding a girl, when he

sat with her on a stile in the black, drizzling darkness. He seemed to be holding

her in space, against his own warmth and gratification. And his kisses were soft

and slow and searching.

So Annie walked out with John Thomas, though she kept her own boy dangling in

the distance. Some of the tram-girls chose to be huffy. But there, you must take

things as you find them, in this life.

There was no mistake about it, Annie liked John Thomas a good deal. She felt so

rich and warm in herself whenever he was near. And John Thomas really liked

Annie, more than usual. The soft, melting way in which she could flow into a fellow,

as if she melted into his very bones, was something rare and good. He fully

appreciated this.

But with a developing acquaintance there began a developing intimacy. Annie

wanted to consider him a person, a man; she wanted to take an intelligent

interest in him, and to have an intelligent response. She did not want a mere

nocturnal presence, which was what he was so far. And she prided herself that he

could not leave her.

Here she made a mistake. John Thomas intended to remain a nocturnal presence;

he had no idea of becoming an all-round individual to her. When she started to

take an intelligent interest in him and his life and his character, he sheered off. He

hated intelligent interest. And he knew that the only way to stop it was to avoid it.

The possessive female was aroused in Annie. So he left her.

It is no use saying she was not surprised. She was at first startled, thrown out of

her count. For she had been so very sure of holding him. For a while she was

staggered, and everything became uncertain to her. Then she wept with fury,

indignation, desolation, and misery. Then she had a spasm of despair. And then,

when he came, still impudently, on to her car, still familiar, but letting her see by

the movement of his head that he had gone away to somebody else for the time

being, and was enjoying pastures new, then she determined to have her own

back.

She had a very shrewd idea what girls John Thomas had taken out. She went to

Nora Purdy. Nora was a tall, rather pale, but well-built girl, with beautiful yellow

hair. She was rather secretive.

'Hey!' said Annie, accosting her; then softly, 'Who's John Thomas on with now?'

'I don't know,' said Nora.

'Why tha does,' said Annie, ironically lapsing into dialect. 'Tha knows as well as I

do.'

'Well, I do, then,' said Nora. 'It isn't me, so don't bother.'

'It's Cissy Meakin, isn't it?'

'It is, for all I know.'

'Hasn't he got a face on him!' said Annie. 'I don't half like his cheek. I could knock

him off the foot-board when he comes round at me.'

'He'll get dropped-on one of these days,' said Nora.

'Ay, he will, when somebody makes up their mind to drop it on him. I should like

to see him taken down a peg or two, shouldn't you?'

'I shouldn't mind,' said Nora.

'You've got quite as much cause to as I have,' said Annie. 'But we'll drop on him

one of these days, my girl. What? Don't you want to?'

'I don't mind,' said Nora.

But as a matter of fact, Nora was much more vindictive than Annie.

One by one Annie went the round of the old flames. It so happened that Cissy

Meakin left the tramway service in quite a short time. Her mother made her leave.

Then John Thomas was on the qui-vive. He cast his eyes over his old flock. And his

eyes lighted on Annie. He thought she would be safe now. Besides, he liked her.

She arranged to walk home with him on Sunday night. It so happened that her car

would be in the depot at half past nine: the last car would come in at 10:15. So

John Thomas was to wait for her there.

At the depot the girls had a little waiting-room of their own. It was quite rough,

but cosy, with a fire and an oven and a mirror, and table and wooden chairs. The

half dozen girls who knew John Thomas only too well had arranged to take service

this Sunday afternoon. So, as the cars began to come in, early, the girls dropped

into the waiting-room. And instead of hurrying off home, they sat around the fire

and had a cup of tea. Outside was the darkness and lawlessness of wartime.

John Thomas came on the car after Annie, at about a quarter to ten. He poked his

head easily into the girls' waiting- room.

'Prayer-meeting?' he asked.

'Ay,' said Laura Sharp. 'Ladies only.'

'That's me!' said John Thomas. It was one of his favourite exclamations.

'Shut the door, boy,' said Muriel Baggaley.