(The sirens shriek. Now the soldiers can be heard singing "The eyes of Texas are on you." The railway engines whistle as if in answer.)

NARRATOR [Calling out, cheerfully] : Good afternoon, Mr. Dunne. Ready for them?
DUNNE : Ready? Aye, the first three troop trains. Three from Northbay are still workin' through. The other ruddy four'll have to grow wings to get here. A right ruddy flap it's caused down here, I can tell you.
NARRATOR : So we heard. But you'll manage.
DUNNE : Oh, we'll manage. Gawd knows how.
NARRATOR : Well, you're giving them a good railway welcome, Mr. Dunne. Trains ready waiting for them. Not a bad thing to see for their first glimpse of England.
DUNNE : Doesn't look much like England, does it? Looks more like America to me. American trucks chargin' about all over the place. American drivers and loaders. I can hardly understand what me own dockers are saying, they've picked up so much Yank slang. And the stuff - look, man, as far as ye can see - rows of lorries, tractors, jeeps, tanks, guns, crates, barges. Every warehouse filled with boxes of ammunition, guns, machinery, rations, cigarettes. I fell over a pile of ruddy anvils this morning. Anvils! . . . I've been in the dockin' business for forty years, but I've never imagined anything like this.
NARRATOR : It's thrilling.
DUNNE : Thrillin' . . . Aye, I suppose it is . . . . But it's not so thrillin' when you've got to find waggons and engines and train crews to take it all away. As fast as we get it out, more comes in. Excuse me. Er . . . sir . . . you the officer in charge of the landin'?
OFFICER : Yes, that's right.
DUNNE : I'm Dunne, Docks Manager. We'd like them on to the trains as quick as you can, sir. I'll show you the first train to be filled. . . .

  (And their fading voices are covered by the approaching "Eyes of Texas.")

THE LISTENER : I don't get this quite. Dunne's a docks man, isn't he? What's he got to do with trains?
NARRATOR : Yes, he's a docker. But he's also a railwayman. These docks belong to the railways. These floating cranes, the grain elevators, the roller conveyors, refrigerating plants, the coal-conveyors - they're part of the system which provides you with a seat on the 8.30. And they tell an important stroy. A lot of this stuff is new. The war took a nasty course, Mr. Listener. The whole of the East Coast of Britain became an invasion coast, a coast crossed daily and bombed daily by enemy aircraft. East Coast convoys and harbours were attacked and mined. When that happened a great deal of the vast system of British communications had to be switched to the West Coast. The railways had to alter the whole of their traffic schedules to cope with that.
THE LISTENER : I see.
NARRATOR [gently] : You're beginning to see.
  (The convoy is now obviously alongside the quay. There are shouts and orders and the sound of men marching.)
The first troops are coming on to the dock-side. . . . Dusk. . . . picturesque and thrilling . . . for us . . . but it slows down the movement. . . . I wonder if the road's cleared for them yet. . . . I wonder if that special freight train is made up yet. . . . I wonder what you'll think the next time you are stamping cold feet on the platform of Junction X. . . . Come on, we'll see the first train out.

  (And, as they leave the dockside, the dock noises fade and their place is taken by the sound of a troop train filled with cheering, singing soldiers.)

NARRATOR : Well, Mr. Dunne. First one ready. Is the road ready for it?
DUNNE : Not yet - at least not beyond Stanley Junction. But there's time. They've got a meal arranged for them there. That's the start of their journey, really.
  (The guard whistles. The soldiers cheer. The train begins to move. Softly under it is music, rhythmic, urgent.)
Well, off they go. First lot, anyway. . . . Well, we've done our job at this end. But [he can't restrain himself] I bet they're still in a right ruddy flap up at the Division!

  (The laughter of the Narrator and the Listener - and the noise of the train - are covered by the music which swells to a climax, and then fades gradually into the distance. Then gradually the sounds of Junction X station begin to build up. But quieter, less bustling than in the morning. The voices of the Narrator and Listener are quiet, intimate.)

NARRATOR : Junction X. 8.30 p.m. Do you ever come up on to this bridge, Mr. Listener? And stand in the darkness and look down on to the platform?
THE LISTENER : No. It's out of the train and out of the gates and into the blackout and out of the blackout and into the light of my home as quick as I can.
NARRATOR : Lean against the rails and look down. . . . It's your turn to talk. . . . What do you see?
THE LISTENER : The main lines passing under this bridge, gleaming. . . . Pools of light on the platform, split by shadows. . . . Wisps of steam dissolving under the roof above us. . . . Mail bags - half in shadow, half in light. . . . Sacks and stacks and barrows of goods. . . . And people. . . . the platforms black with their numbers. . . . A group of sailors, laughing, their heads thrown back, pale yellow under the lamps. . . . Soldiers everywhere . . . quiet, stolid, British soldiers . . . and airmen . . . and silent civilians . . . the spurt of matches . . . the thin wisps of cigarette smoke . . . and women clinging to the arms of men. . . .

  (Out of the background emerges music - a tender love-theme. It is a sad background to the quiet voices of two people leaving one another.)

SOLDIER : She's going soon, darling.
WIFE : Going soon, dear.
SOLDIER : I'll get in, my darling.
WIFE : Yes, get in, my dear.
SOLDIER : Don't wait any longer - there's no more to say.
WIFE : Just good luck, and God bless you. God bless you, my dear.
SOLDIER : Write soon to me, darling.
WIFE : Soon and often, my dear.
SOLDIER : She's going now, darling.
WIFE : Going now, dear.
WOMAN PORTER : Stand back from the doors! Stand back from the edge!
SOLDIER : Life's hell, O my darling.
WIFE : This will pass, O my dear.
  (The music slowly and sadly slips behind the station noises.)
NARRATOR : Well done, Mr. Listener. You're beginning to feel it all.

  (For a moment, neither speaks. Then footsteps on the wooden bridge tell us someone is approaching.)

STATION MASTER : Good evening, gentlemen.
NARRATOR : Good evening, Mr. Stationmaster. We're enjoying the view of your station.
STATION MASTER [he speaks in a soft pleasant Welsh brogue, simply and sincerely] : Yes, it's a good place to stand. I often come up here. I never get tired of it. . . . Fascinating to look down on them all, going God knows where. . . . [Laughing a little] I think you'll find a few of us roaming about here to-night. It's been a bit of a day and we won't rest till we've got it all behind us. Ah - here she is.
  (A train whistle shrieks and a freight train begins to rumble through the station.]
Well, if she keeps moving, that's one bit of trouble out of the way. The Control Staff will be watching her like hawks all up the line. . . .
  (And the rumble disappears into the distance.)
NARRATOR : A big station, sir.
STATION MASTER : Aye, it gets a bit of stuff through it. It gets the war through it. Tell the story of this Junction and you tell the story of the war. . . . The kids first. . . . September 1st, 1939. . . . Aye, we did a good job there, tho' I say that myself. London alone handled 1½ million people - we had to find 4,349 trains for that little lot. We had 30 to 40 trains of them through here every day. [Laughs] You won't believe this little story, sir, but it's gospel truth.

  (The general station noises have been disappearing behind the singing and shouting of children. The place is bedlam - but a cheerful one. We have slipped back to 1939, and to the evacuation of the children.)

STATION MASTER : Ten minutes' halt for this train, Guard?
GUARD : Yessir. Sound happy enough, anyway.
STATION MASTER : They do that. . . . Hullo, Miss. You look worried. What's the matter? They sound fine.
HELPER [distracted] : It's not the older ones - it's the babies. Screaming their heads off. They're thirsty, poor mites.
STATION MASTER : Haven't you got any milk you can give them?
HELPER : Oh, we've got milk. But they can't drink out of cups.
STATION MASTER : Well - what you want is a few bottles.
HELPER : Bottles! Brilliant. Can we get any?
STATION MASTER [now excited] : There's a chemist's just outside. [He begins to hurry away.] Hold the train if I'm not back in time, Guard.
HELPER [a scream] : Stationmaster!
STATION MASTER [shouts from a distance] : Yes?
HELPER : Don't forget the teats!!

  (The sound of the children begins to fade behind the general station noise and we are back in the present.)

THE LISTENER : But couldn't the mothers---
STATIONMASTER : Now don't ask me, sir. All I know is that I became a wet nurse for what seemed half the babies in Britain, and in two days you couldn't find a single bottle - or a teat - in this town for love nor money. And that's my biggest memory of those days. Though we'd lots more to worry us. As those trains were going out one way, others were comin' in the other - packed with men called up. And there were Ministries to evacuate, and Government offices. And the freight traffic doubled and trebled. I used to come up here and wonder how in the name of God the Control Staffs managed to get so many trains on the line. And there wasn't a single accident - not one child lost or injured. . . . But we had at least time to prepare for that. . . . In one movement we got practically no warning at all. . . .

  (There is a quick swirl of music which covers the station noises and then ends full, leaving silence. . . . A telephone switchboard buzzer sounds.)