Derail, you say? Back in aught-five, or maybe aught-six... o'course, I mean nineteen
-aught-five... my pappy used to take me out to the rail bridge, and we'd just sit and watch the trains go by. Wellsir, one day we'd had a hailstorm, and I do
mean a hailstorm —stones the size o' melons, they were! — an' they shifted the bridge juuust the wrong way. 'Course, nobody knowed it at the time. They say the driver saw the rails was out o'joint but reckoned it was too late to stop, an' he put the steam on 'stead o' the brakes. Lord Almighty, it was a mess. The bridge was closed for two years, an' by the time it were open again, I'd discovered girls an' guns, and pappy had gone to war anyway, an' I ne'er watched the trains again.
You talk about a derail sir, that
was a derail.