Bomb alerts and stinking loos

“Grab your bags quick kids.” G. ordered as the angel from Paris, who had allowed us to squeeze the C8 on the train that was about to depart, filled in forms and asked me to sign “…here please”.

The kids all jumped out of the car and I grabbed our overnight bag. We then stood and watched as someone drove the car away into the bowls of the station. We had made it. I still couldn’t quite believe that we had managed it. Am not quite sure why we had all got ourselves so worked up but somehow it was absolutely critical, just critical, that we managed to get the car onto the Bordeaux train.

Half an hour later and we were sitting on a little shuttle-bus to the Gare d’Austerlitz. We were all so elated and happy and still congratulating ourselves on having found the station that it was agreed we would treat the kids to a plate of chips and a drink. It was around eight thirty in the evening and the station was full of busy travellers and tourists heading in all directions. Our train wasn’t leaving until midnight so we had time on our hands to kill.

R., as usual, was not in the least bit sleepy and insisted on jumping out of his buggy and running amok up and down the platforms where all the big heavy TGVs were parked.

“What a good thing G. didn’t have to leave me here with the kids and drive off on his own”. I kept thinking.

We took it in turns to keep a beady eye on R., who was happily jumping, springing and darting hither and thither as well has having a good bash at all the vending machines. By ten o’clock the bustling tourist and busy commuter had disappeared to be replaced by grizzly tramps. Guess they had been there all along we just hadn’t noticed them and once the home commuter frenzy had passed they seemed well, to crawl out of the wood-work. One of them was sitting close to the café where we ate our chips. He was a very dusty looking clochard with hardened, waist-length, dreadlocks and who came complete with a stale stench of urine and alcohol. He kept trying to shake R’s hand and calling him “mon petit” and “viens ici.”

By eleven I was beginning to feel drained but still we followed R. around the station – he would rest in his buggy for as long as it took him to drink a bottle of milk – and then he was off again. The time seemed to drag by and I was really looking forward to hitting the couchette and going to sleep. Yet, still we looked at the huge screen waiting for it to announce what platform the train would be leaving from. At around ten to twelve – five minutes before our train was to depart, a posse of heavily armed policy began herding the few remaining travellers off the platforms and into the main body of the station. They cordoned-off the platforms with red and white tape. Ugly guard dogs on leads began bellowing hollow barks up to the glass roof of the Gare d’Austerlitz.

“What’s happening G?” I asked. “Have you seen anything?”
“It’s a bomb. It’s a bomb.” J. shouted out at the top of his voice.
“No J..” G. said “They probably just discovered some drugs in the loos or something like that.”
“No, Daddy it’s a bomb – I think it’s a bomb.”

Still, the dogs went on barking and the machine guns carried by Austerlitz’s finest police began to add a sense of menace to our late night adventure. I wished J. would stop shouting “It’s a bomb.” all the time. It unnerved me. I began looking around for possible hollow spaces where I could take my family for cover should we need it.

Standing behind us was an English family that we hadn’t spotted before and they began chatting to us. In true British style they were calm, collected and not in the least bit worried that we may fall victim to some nasty bomb-plot. They chatted instead about night-trains and Bayonne and the travel agency they had booked through and their teenage daughters and hey presto before I knew it the time had passed, the red and white tape peeled away and the platform was finally announced from which our train was leaving.

Now, let me tell you. If ever you should be in the unfortunate situation where you strongly suspect that the ship is about to sink in gale force winds then you should seek to surround yourselves by Brits. No exaggeration. No other people I know have such a good knack of making even the worst situation look like “its just going to be a wet picnic nothing worse”. The philosophy of “lets not make a drama out of a crisis shall we – a bit embarrassing to get hysterical hey”, is, in its own way, very reassuring. So, just to say I was very grateful to have bumped into that nicely family from Bath at midnight.

The next stage was to get the children settled and asleep. Easier said than done. Me? Well personally I would have crashed on the couchette there and then and just pulled the blanket over me. Sadly though that was not an option. We still had four kids to calm down. Although past midnight all four little darlings were all hyped-up and excited and fighting in which bunk they were going to sleep. I was reminded just how narrow the carriages were – well it had been a long time since last I’d last taken a couchette.

There was barely enough room to move so I sat down on the bottom bunk with by head scrapping the middle bunk, whilst trying to stop R. from climbing like a monkey from the bottom, to the middle, to the top couchette and at the same time trying to put his pyjamas on. He had a stinking, foul, pamper that needed to be changed urgently. In the meantime L. got angry with K.M. who had “elbowed” her whilst J. was defending his top bunk with growls and targeted kicks at any sibling who dared peep their head over the top.

I finally managed to get them all into their nighties and pyjamas when they all said. “I need the loo.”.

“Hmm… better do it now rather than at two in the morning.” I thought so I took them down to the loo all dressed in their clean nighties and pj’s.

Nothing, let me tell you nothing, can prepare you for the horror of an SNCF loo. Not even the loo from “Trainspotting”, which is universally regarded as the worst there is, is as bad as what confronted us. No self respecting drugs dealer would have hidden a white package down there. But then again - perhaps it was a white package that was blocking the loo? I don't know.

There was only one loo working for three carriages. The fact that the door didn’t lock properly was the least of my worries. When we finally got into the tiny cabin I was relieved that I had insisted the children put their shoes on. The floor was covered in urine and used bits of pink toilet paper. The toilet itself did not flush so it had the remains of previous passenger’s bowl and bladder movements in there and the stench that permeated everything made one gag and want to retch – but where else to go? The train was already moving by now and none of the other loos were working.

In my day I have come across some really nasty public loos – but never with three children all dressed in clean white nighties and Spiderman pyjamas.

I barked instruction:

“Do not touch anything children. Do not sit on the loo K.M. hover over it.” (Not that she was going to. She wanted to get out of there as quickly as I did.) J. do not look. Finished. Good. Go."

L. I picked up as last and she peed as she would have done were we camping in the forest. Luckily she hit target and was shooed away to the carriage as soon as it was over. It was at this point that I felt hugely relieved R. wasn’t potty trained yet and although it had been a pain changing his pampers it was better than trying to get him to “do wee wee” on this horror of a loo.

Back in the carriage G. was still sorting things out whilst R. giggled and hopped on his bunk. It took a while to get everyone settled but at around one in the morning we finally switched the light off.

Five minutes later G. , who was sleeping next to R. on the bottom bunk suddenly said in the dark.

“Oh s…t R. has got another stinky.”

So the lights were turned back on again and we fumbled around for the pampers bag and the wipes. Needless to say this woke everyone up all over again and R. in particular. When we had turned the lights-off for the second time. L. and R. were giggling hysterically with each other and pulling the curtain backwards and forwards from their respective bunks.

Having warned L. “to stop it” around five times I finally got off the top bunk and gave her a hard spanking – for which she never forgave me for the rest of the summer holidays.

But hey, the carriage finally calmed down and everyone went to sleep – of sorts. It was now a quarter past two in the morning.

Three and a half hours later G’s alarm went off and we were all up again hurrying the kids to get ready since the train would be pulling into the station in half an hour. We had only just got the last bag sorted out when the train pulled into Bordeaux St Jean at six in the morning. The station was empty as we all spilled out of the train that was going on to Bayonne and Hendaye in Spain. Phew we had made it. Truth be told though I felt as exhausted as if we had driven through the night.

We were entitled to a breakfast in the station buffet which was very welcomed after the night we had had – coffee, hot chocolate, croissants, pain-au-chocolat and orange juice. It revived us all and we felt a thousand times better.

When we went to go and collect the car we all felt very cheerful and happy and ready for the holiday to begin. It was only a two hour drive from Bordeaux to Montaut. We had plenty of reasons to feel in a good mood.