Although Hercule Poirot never travelled on the Ghan, preferring to take his chance on the rails of Europe, by the end of the first ‘meet and greet’ session in the Explorer Lounge, it was clear we had all the characters necessary for a re-run of that infamous Orient Express mystery. Over the first few chapters and some sparkling wine, the cast was gradually introduced as follows:
Mac and Mable, husband and wife pairing of Tram Ticket Inspector and Tax inspector from Sheffield - I was instantly sceptical as they say “likes do not attract”. This couple were an apparently harmless out going happy-go-lucky pair, but with a deep dark secret
Tom “The Train” and his wife ChooChoo – experts in Ghan refurbishment and on whom suspicion would later fall due to their inside knowledge of the workings of the train
The enigmatic Mr and Mrs Boothroyd from York who told you everything but actually told you nothing
Camilla and her mate Bob (battery operated boyfriend) who was travelling with two new found “companions” who had never met before, but was this in fact the entire truth? And when Bob had a headache, more questions were asked.
Bruce and Sheila, a well-loved-up couple of gentleman farmer and new partner from Adelaide who had six children between them none of which had ever met, or so they said.
And the sisters of mercy, Miranda and Matilda, over from England allegedly for their father’s 139th birthday but soon suspected of being undercover agents from the last outpost of the British Legion Rotarians.
The scene was set as a rather rotund Train Master, a man dressed in an outback hat and carrying a six barrel walkie-talkie, shouted “All aboard”. We all climbed aboard and the doors were closed and locked. Locked again. Dead-locked. Digitally secured - there was to be no escape, whatever happened. The train however did not move. Over the Tannoy came the advice, “Due to an incident in one of the Gold Service carriages, the train would have to be re-organized, and a carriage removed, shunted, front-shunted, back-shunted, top-shunted, shaken and stirred. Passengers were not to leave their cabins and were to stay seated until further notice. And if the was a Greek Orthodox Priest on board could he make himself known please.” I knew immediately that something fishy had happened and all stories of an air conditioning unit failing in the carriage were clearly to be filed under “cover-up”. My guess immediately was Camilla had slipped away from Bob and tickled someone to death.
When we finally rolled out of Adelaide, Casey “Jones”, the chief hostess invited guests to assemble in the Queen Adelaide dining car. I knew it, everyone together for the uncovering of the murder weapon – was it the bizarre stainless steel bed-pan device which pivoted from the wall of the private closet and closed like Arkwright’s Till as one raised one’s bottom from it? Or perhaps, a deadly concoction of black snake venom from a King Brown discretely mixed in the Black Choot Sparking Shiraz. It was neither, it was actually lunch. Clearly the murderer was teasing us, playing it cool at this stage. I thought I had uncovered a clue when the waitress asked if we wanted a drink after dessert – “Would we like Tea or Coffee?” “Yes, an espresso please.” “Sorry Sir, we don’t have that we only have coffee.” Had the waitress lost her cool and blown her cover, er no, I had not realized she was Australian and therefore had to be forgiven.
[Technical note from Rex at the Reptile centre in Alice Springs, if you get bitten by a King Brown, it’s actually a black snake and not a brown snake, so go to the chemist and ask for black snake anti-venom, and not brown snake anti-venom, otherwise you will die.]
The train rolled on, on down the line, I was leaving Adelaide behind. A man has to keep moving, moving on, like the breeze.... I felt a Blues song coming on so I picked up my didgeridoo and retired to our Gold De Luxe cabin. For my money you can keep the Platinum two windowed apartments at the front of the train (too much noise anyway from the Class NR locomotives pulling us along at 85kph), we were very happy with our double bed, table and chairs, picture windows, Jacuzzi, patio furniture, guard dog and small plunge pool as the Ghan ploughed on through the GAFA.
As the green pastures gave way to red sandy parched river beds and saltbush, petrified forest and tumble weed, once again all guests were summoned to the dining room. Ah ha, I had rumbled it this time, in true Agatha Christie style, all the suspects gathered in a single space for the dénouement of the plot –were we about to find out what had really happened in Carriage 52 and whether stories of a collision with a cow and derailment leaving the last train 15 hours late, were all true? As we all gathered, sneaking side-wise glances at each other, it was tense, so tense - the atmosphere was filled with the smell of Vegemite. Cans of diet koala were handed out.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, nay, Ghan Folk, by the end of what I have to show you, you will all see each other in a different light. You initially appear as a group of people brought together in a chance meeting on board a train passing through the middle of the GAFA, like camels passing in the desert night. What I will show you will be most scary and chill you to the core. Without further ado, and to the sound of screams of terror, the chief hostess opened up the on board Ghan gifts for sale cabinet.
