On Track – Railway Heritage Gale Brothers

The engine driver who whistled at his wife.

The Gale brothers, David and Gerald, were our classmates in Calcutta Boys’ School. They were boarders and their home was in the railway town of Chakradharpur (Chikadapore to them), now in Jharkhand. We held the Gales in high esteem. During our break at 11 each morning (yes, our school observed that very propah English practice of the elevenses), they had free access to a feast from the tiffin boxes of us, day scholars.

The reason for such overwhelming generosity towards the Gales, was their reflected glory, courtesy their father who drove the Bombay Mail. That was big. For us kids in class 5 or so in the late 50s, the dream was to be an engine driver or a pilot. A few among us wanted to be Elvis Presley.

But most of us had a thing for that engine driver, sporting a bandana, breaking brawny sweat and manfully driving the galloping iron horse with fire in its belly, guzzling chunks of coal, spouting black smoke and letting off steam as it hauled a train full of people. It thundered past hills, plains, over bridges, imperiously whistling through lowly village and modest town stations, stopping to take a drink of water only at a city railway station which was deemed good enough to host the Bombay Mail, for just maybe five minutes.

Indeed, Mr Gale was our unseen hero and we gained proximity to him through stories from his proud siblings. The Gale brothers did not disappoint us with stories of their dad and his iron workhorses while we ungrudgingly shared our tiffin with them. Often, I even had to make the supreme sacrifice of my last luchi with alurdom. Not to mention the portion of halua.

The most interesting trivia from the Gales was how their father used to blow the engine whistle, depending on the hierarchical level of the station.

Passing the sleepy rustic stations, often without a manned level crossing, his whistle was long and continuous. He leaned out to check whether the tracks were clear of careless goatherds. For the busy suburban stations, which too did not merit a stop, the whistle was three cautionary short bursts. When it came to a scheduled halt, four short whistles came in quick succession, thrice until the train pulled in alongside the platform.

But when it came to Chikadapore, which demanded the mandatory three short bursts while passing through, Mr Gale blew the whistle for the fourth time, the extra being a salute to Mrs. Gale who waved from the kitchen window, stirring her mulligatawny soup. Mr Gale is probably the only man in history who regularly whistled at his wife and that too while at work!

a bollywood song for this.