THE PHANTOM TRAM.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 19906, 28 September 1926, Page 3

THE PHANTOM TRAM.

WHILE THE CITY SLEEPS. ■WORKERS OF THE NIGHT. Early morning in a semi-lighted deserted street! The weary and perhaps happy reveller making hia lonely trek homeward through the silent streets with the seemingly infinite length of Princess and George streets stretching away ahead of Him, thinks many unreasonable thoughts about the Oity Fathers who have ordained that no trams shall run after midnight. While the night is yet young the clanging tram bells cease their clamour and the activity of evening in the city subsides, and those unfortunates whose pursuit of pleasure or duty has kept them engaged too late for the last tram have perforce to walk. But while the city sleeps and when the erstwhile busy thoroughfares have been left entirely to the silent watches of the night, a phantom tram creeps up and down the tram tracks with many a protesting groan and screeching grind From afar the lonely walker descries the unblinking eye of the strange vehicle that travels up and down the tram lines with unfading regularity. In the darkened street the single headlamp glares in a most sinister fashion, and the sounds of heavy labouring that issue from beneath its wheels quenches forever the hope that has arisen in the ‘ bird’s” heart, lending wings to his tired feet and energy to his aching limbs. He buttons his coat more firmly about his stiff'Shirted form and resigns himself to the remaining hour’s trudge that lies ahead of him. His worst fears are confirmed as he sees the ungainly car stop and then slowly retrace the course already run. No, the phantom car is not for mm. It is not one of those “specials” that frequently turn up when the suburbanite has resignedly set out on his three-mile tramp. It is just another one of those corporation mysteries—like the holes that appear *n the roads, like the uncanny little shrouds that conceal the operations of workmen beneath the city pavements. And what of the phantom tramcar What is its lonely mission in the dead of night? Approaching nearer, the promenoder notices that within the saloon it bears a strange and ■ suspicious-looking cargo. Standing in two rows on either side of the car, where other respectable trams would* carry passengers, this mysterious vehicle carnet, six great 10-gallon casks, and a miscellaneous collection of tools and other paraphernalia. At the wheel is a strange looking man. No neat-lOoking serge uniform and peaked hat proclaims his identity.' A thick coat, a warm cap, and a heavy woollen scarf protects him from the cold night nir as he piloss his toiling charge along the glistening rails. The sound of the tram, too, is not as the sound of other trams. No suggestion of power or speed js in the grind and crunch of hearing applied brakes. The scarred and battered body work tells of much hard work and knocking about, and the controls tell a story of many years’ use The whole presents a somewhat pitiable appearance, which is no way improved by the strange freight inside. The explanation is really quite simple, and is doubtless now well-known to the harassed dwellers of George street, whose slumbers must surely bo rudely broken by the din created. The barrels contain water, and instead of ordinary _ brakes whose iron clamps grip the rails, this oar is fitted with great blocks of grinding stone, and all night long this tram moves slowly and painfully up and down the tram tracks with brakes hard pressed, grinding, grinding, grinding at tne great steel rails, rubbing off jagged edges and smoothing over Bears. And as it goes it leaves behind _ a groove that runs water and a rail that gutters and scintillates in the lamplight like beaten silver. The phantom car is but another of those necessary adjuncts to a tramway system, which must be worked at night, when interruptions are few.