Wild ride home - danger in the air on the trains

A few months ago, works were undertaken at Seddon train station in the inner west of Melbourne. One of the undercover seats was removed and a room was renovated. An airconditioner was installed. Signs designating the area as being for "staff only" were hung. I waited to see who it was for. Weeks turned into months and there was no sign of anyone until a few weeks ago, two Protective Service Officers were standing out on the platform on a cold winter's night. They had just started that night and would be there every night from 6pm until the last train.

It's a good move actually. Seddon is very quiet and the streets around the station are deserted at night. I've often felt very alone and wondered what would happen if something happened. I always greet them whenever I see them and it feels like they're becoming part of the community.

Coming home from the Melbourne International Film Festival the other night, I boarded a train with my friend and immediately felt like we'd chosen the wrong carriage. Two men were in a heated, loud argument with each other. The argument was verbal only, but aggression was in the air and I was glad to be sitting quite apart from them. A banner on the wall of the train advertised "anti-hate spray". It felt like I could do with a can in my handbag. We stopped at North Melbourne station and then the train sat for longer than usual. The argument continued to rage and we struggled to hear the announcement from the driver that we were stuck for a while because of a police operation at the next station (South Kensington).

Announcements came reasonably frequently. The driver sounded more and more frustrated as the announcements turned into statements about how nothing had changed and we were still stuck. It sounded like he had a lamb roast waiting for him at home and this was the third time this week he was going to be late. Meanwhile, the two men continued to rage against each other. My friend and I talked and swapped notes on unlocking the mysteries of our iPhones.

Soon I noticed sitting at the other end of the carriage a woman who looked deeply distressed. She was quiet, but rolling her head back, wringing her hands and seemed to be inside her own head. Her face betrayed deep pain.

I couldn't stand it any longer and decided to move to another carriage. The aggression and distress in the air was starting to get to me. We moved forward one carriage. Before long, there was yelling and a woman screaming uncontrollably, coming from the carriage we had left. I wondered where the PSO's were. They arrived on the scene shortly. It was interesting to see how they worked. There were four of them, one took the lead to engage with one of the people and the others stood around, close enough, but far enough. I didn't hear what happened, but I was pleased that people were on hand to assist and diffuse. I was glad I had changed carriages.

When I arrived back at Seddon station, there were the PSO's waiting on the platform. I hope they never have to do anything. I think just their presence should be enough to make sure they don't. I hope the people yelling and crying got the help they needed.

Floral delivery

I haven't had very many encounters with the police or emergency services in my life.  Today I called 000 to attend a very violent argument somewhere in my apartment block.  Living in such close quarters with other people makes me nervous when there are volatile, angry men around.

The call reminded me of one of the earlier encounters I had with police, not long after I moved to Melbourne.

I was living in Richmond in a double fronted worker's cottage and had one of the front bedrooms.  I remember it was a Thursday night at about 9:45pm.  I had just watched "ER" on TV and was lying in bed reading.  My room had one of those old wooden sash windows that slides up and down and can be propped open at various certain heights. It was April, so quite cool at night, but I had the window propped open about a hand span.

Suddenly the blinds and curtain rattled and I saw a hand coming through the window!  I screamed and ran out of my room.  One of my house mates ran towards me and screamed when she ran headlong into me.  There was a lot of screaming.

"There was a hand.  A man!  Through the window!"  I screamed at her.

We looked at each other, wide-eyed and pushed open my bedroom door wide enough to see that there was a bunch of flowers on the floor of my room.  No people and no hands.  We pulled the curtain and blinds back and saw smudges of hand prints in the dust on the window sill.

Flowers! I threw them outside, sealed up the window tight and slept with the light on and my tennis racket beside me.

The next morning I called a friend who was a member of the police force and told him what had happened.  He asked me if I had called the police and when I told him I hadn't (it hadn't even crossed my mind) he suggested I should.  So I did.

I called the local station directly.

"Junior Acting Trainee Probationary Constable Smith speaking?" an uncertain sounding voice said at the other end of the line.

This would be interesting.  I told the story of what had happened the night before.  He duly listened and then asked: "Did the hand have any distinguishing features?"

All I could think to say in response was "Four fingers and a thumb.  And some flowers. Which were left behind."

"And did the hand belong to a male or female personage?"

"Male, I think."

"What distinguished the personage's hand as being of a male persuasion?"

"It was big and hairy. The hand I mean."

Suddenly the whole thing felt very silly.  When he asked for a description of the flowers I started to giggle.  I gasped out a description and waited.

Junior Acting Trainee Probationary Constable Smith paused and then provided a very accurate recap of the story, translated into police-speak.  He then said: "Why are you providing this information?"

Because there's an outrageously generous florist out there, scaring the pants of unsuspecting women by strewing flowers randomly through open windows?

Instead I said: "I just thought I should let you know in case you know of similar incidents in the neighbourhood or in case one comes to light.  Should I do anything?"

"I suggest you make a note of what has happened so that you remember for next time," was his winningly helpful suggestion.

He said he would drive around and be on the look out and that I should call the station immediately if anything like this happened again.  Thankfully it didn't.  I'm not sure that Junior Acting Trainee Probationary Constable Smith was the man to keep me safe.  Maybe he wasn't the wordy type but would be heroic if my honour needed protecting.

It took a long time for me to open my bedroom window again - it may have been as late as the following summer.  It never happened again and I have never received such a dramatic flower delivery again.