THAT LONG BLACK TRAIN

A ghost train travelling from Melbourne to Glen Hartwell leaves all of its passengers dead

Well, that long black train
Yeah, rollin' down that track
Yeah, long black train
Please carry me back
Well, I left my baby
So very long ago

Yeah, gotta roll on long train
Roll on long train
Yeah, roll on long train
Roll on long-long train
Roll on train
Carry me back home

Well, that long black train
Is a-puffin' smoke I know
Yeah, that long black train
Is a-puffin' smoke I know
It's a burnin' rail
Carry me back home

Yeah, that long black train
Is rollin' down that track
Yeah, long black train
Please carry me back
Well, I left my baby
So very long ago
That Long Black Train (Franklin Stewart)

Over at platform 19 at Flinders Street Station in Melbourne, a dozen or so people were already waiting for the midnight train to Glen Hartwell, although it wasn't quite 9:30 yet.
"I hope you've got a book to read," said the porter walking past them, "you've still got nearly two hours and forty minutes to wait for the Glen Hartwell train. And it gets cold in here with the open platforms."
"Nah, MP3 player," said a raven-haired teenage girl, Analisa (Lisa) Patterson, who looked about thirteen, but was nearly nineteen, and was heading to the countryside for a job interview.
"I have no idea what that is," said the ancient-looking porter, "but as long as it can keep you entertained for more than two and a half hours."
As the porter strode toward his booth midway along the platform, something caught Analisa's eye. She looked up as a tall, blonde, thirty-something American woman walked slowly down the ramp from street level above, eating and clearly loving her first Australian beef pie with Aussie tomato sauce (not American Catsik).
"Mmmm," said the woman, "this is the bast pies arv ever hard."
She went to take another bite, then seeing a starving-looking white seagull standing looking at her, she broke off a piece of pastry to throw to the gull."
"No, don't!" Analisa called to her, but she was too far away for the woman to hear him.
The woman threw the piece of crust to the lone seagull, which squawk-squawked. Then it was like a scene from the horror movie 'The Birds' as literally dozens of squawking seagulls swarmed down from the curved roof of the platform, where they had been hiding."
"No, no, it's mine!" cried the woman, trying to hold the pie out of reach over her head. Which only made things worse, since the gulls swirled right up along her, like a mini feathered tornado, to literally peck at the meat pie while it was still in her hands.
Finally, the woman shrieked, "Aaaaaaaah!" tossed the meat pie straight up into the air, spun around, and raced screaming back up the ramp to street level.
Despite feeling sorry for the blonde, Analisa laughed so hard she doubled up, thinking: American tourists, they are so bloody funny! I wonder if she will ever get to wherever she was going?"
Unaware that the woman would outlive Analisa by more than fifty years!
Over the next thirty-five minutes or so, nearly fifty people collected on the platform, all waiting for the Glen Hartwell train, still not due for another two hours.
A man looking at least seventy held up a more expensive-looking MP3 player than Analisa's, and music started blaring out:
" Well, that long black train
"Yeah, rollin' down that track
"Yeah, long black train
"Please carry me back
"Well, I left my baby
"So very long ago

"Yeah, gotta roll on long train
"Roll on long train
"Yeah, roll on long train
"Roll on long-long train
"Roll on train
"Carry me back home

"Well, that long black train
"Is a-puffin' smoke I know
"Yeah, that long black train
"Is a-puffin' smoke I know
"It's a burnin' rail
"Carry me back home ...."

Walking over to the old timer, Analisa said, "Wow, that is fantastic, what is that?"
"Long Black Train, by Franklin Stewart and the Stewart Brothers Band," said the old man, Herbert Milton.
"No, I meant the type of music?"
"Rockabilly ... it was the main type of rock in the 1950s, led by Elvis Presley. Then there was a big revival in the British world in the 1980s, led by Michael Barrett, aka Shakin' Stevens."
"Wow, it's fabuloso," said Analisa, introducing herself, "I'll have to try to find some."
"If you've got a PC or a laptop, you can download hundreds of Rockabilly songs from YouTube. "Check out Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry, Jerry Lee Lewis, Wanda Jackson, Shakin' Stevens, the Stray Cats, Carl Perkins, Carl Mann, and many others," said Herbert.
"Wow wee!" said Analisa, taking out a biro and small notepad.
Just then, with a puff a black smoke billowing into the platform, a massive night-black steam train rolled into the platform two hours early.
"Oh, no, this can't be the Glen Hartwell train two hours early?"
"Don't worry, I'm getting on too," said Herbert.
"And it's a long, black train, just like in the song," said Analisa. "Maybe we could sit together and you can tell me all those names again, so I can hunt them up on YouTube."
"It'd be my pleasure, young Analisa. It's not often I find someone of your generation with great taste in music."
"What the Hell is going on here?" demanded the elderly porter, brushing away the black smoke with his hand. Shouting up to the driver, "You're two hours early, and you're not supposed to have steam in Melbourne. You're supposed to use electricity till you change engines at Sale."
When the driver failed to answer, the porter raced down to the other end of the train, to the guards' van, hammering on the door, repeating what he had already shouted at the driver. Without opening the door, the guard shouted:
"This is a special train, which will be leaving any minute now."
"Well, I'm buggered if I know," said the porter, wandering back to his box at the centre of the platform. "Nobody ever tells me anything."
After helping Analisa Patterson aboard the long black train, Herbert Milton escorted her into a small room on the train.
Wow, our own private room," said Analisa.
"It's called a cabin," explained Herbert. "Normally, you only get them on famous trains like the Orient Express these days. This train must be older than I am ... and that's saying something."
"And these seats are so lush," said Analisa, bouncing up and down on the padded seat.
"Yes, not like the hard plastic-covered seats on modern trains," agreed the old man. "This train was built for people to travel in style."
"Wow, if only they didn't gas everyone with black smoke when they pulled into the stations."
"That's why you normally only see them in the countryside these days," said Herbert, sounding puzzled. "I can't imagine why this one pulled into Flinders Street."
"Don't know, don't care," said Analisa. "We've got a nine-hour trip ahead of us, so it'll be nice to travel in comfort."
"Yes, I take the Glen Hartwell train twice a month to see my kids in LePage. Usually, my back is killing me by the time I get there. It'll be nice to travel in lush comfort for a change."
"And get there with your back undamaged," said the raven-haired teen, taking her pen and notepad out of her bag again. "So tell me again, about all those chill Rockabilly artists."
"Well, there's Bill Haley, Buddy Holly, the Big Bobber, Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry, Jerry Lee Lewis, Wanda Jackson, Shakin' Stevens, the Stray Cats, Carl Perkins, Carl Mann..." started Herbert, listing over a hundred fifties rockers from memory.
"Wow, fabuloso, I'm never listening to anything else, once I get all this great stuff downloaded to my MP3 player."
Just at that moment, the long, black train startled them by starting up.
"It can't be going, Glen Hartwell already can it?" asked Analisa.
"Well, the one consistent thing about the Glen Hartwell train from Melbourne ... Is that it's never consistent."

Over at the Yellow House in Rochester Road, Merridale, at ten o'clock, everybody was yawning, getting ready for bed.
"I don't think I can keep my eyes open any longer," said Terri Scott. The Senior Sergeant of the BeauLarkin to Willamby Police Forces, Terri was a beautiful ash blonde in her mid-thirties, and was engaged to Colin.
"Me too, babe," said Colin Klein, a tall, redheaded Englishman. A former London crime reporter, he now worked as a constable for the Glen Hartwell Police Department.
"Ah, quit the pretence," said Sheila Bennett, at thirty-six, Terri's second in command. Sheila was a Goth chick with orange-and-black striped hair. "We all know why you're really both going upstairs."
"Yeah," said Tommy Turner, a short, fat, blonde retiree. "Just throw her across your shoulder, shout 'It's bonking time!' and carry her upstairs."
"I really don't know who is the cruder out of Tommy and Sheila," said Natasha Lipzing, a seventy-one-year-old who had spent half of her life at the boarding house.
"It's touch and go," said Freddy Kingston, a tall, stout, balding retiree, "but I think I'd vote for Tommy."
"Me too," agreed Leo Laxman, a black Jamaican by birth, who now worked as a nurse at the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital.
"Well, frankly, I'm shocked at you, Sheila," said Deidre Morton, whose obsession with the colour yellow had led to her house being nicknamed the Yellow House. "I mean, we expect it from Tommy ... He doesn't know any better! But I like to think better of you."
"Sorry, Mrs. M.," said Sheila contritely.
"What do you mean I don't know any better?" demanded Tommy.

The long black train was less than a kilometre outside Sale when the guard opened the door and stepped into the compartment occupied by Analisa Patterson and Herbert Milton. Young and old were both sleeping soundly.
With the train going at nearly a hundred kilometres an hour, the guard opened the outside door, then he picked up Analisa and tossed her outside the train, followed by her luggage. He had a little more trouble with Herbert, but managed to toss him off the train just before they entered Sale and raced straight through the station.
Herbert Milton's suitcase bounced upon the platform, crashed into the chain link fence, and fell open, scattering all of his clothing upon the platform.





Perhaps their lifeless bodies, drained of all bodily fluids, are found later, midway between Glen Hartwell and Sale. Perhaps outside BeauLarkin.

THE END
© Copyright 2025 Philip Roberts
Melbourne, Victoria, Australia