Does Every Cloud Have a Silver Lining?

[Series: The Great Escape to Great Britain] Vol. 2 (Does Every Cloud Have a Silver Lining?)

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Thank You, Boris!

Life at our London basecamp was cozy. But comfort breeds restlessness. Once our bellies were full of Pork Belly and Kimchi stew, human greed knew no bounds. We soon grew curious about the world outside.

At the time, Prime Minister Boris Johnson had declared his unprecedented experiment: Herd Immunity. Thanks to him, unlike in Spain, we weren’t completely under lock and key. We called him “Hero Boris”, shouting it with a mix of sarcasm and sincerity.

“Thank you, Boris!”

But the walls were closing in. Train lines were vanishing by the day, and supermarket shelves were stripped bare. (Finding eggs was like finding a unicorn.)

Just when we couldn’t stand the cabin fever any longer, someone spoke softly.

“Before it’s too late, can’t we go on just one proper trip?”

“Yes! Let’s go somewhere with no people. And somewhere we can definitely reach.”

Even the guesthouse managers joined in; they must have been even more stifled than us. We assigned roles. We opened our laptops and map apps, solemn as bank robbers plotting a heist. One checked train schedules, another checked entry restrictions, and another checked the egg stock at nearby supermarkets. After a fierce strategy meeting, we chose Seven Sisters, famous for its white cliffs.

It was known for brutal winds, but getting battered by the wind was better than rotting inside. We formed an expedition team of six.

Head-On Breakthrough

“What for? Don’t you know everything is closed? Haven’t you seen the news?”
The old staff at Victoria Station asked with a sullen face.

“We’re going to buy eggs! And to breathe—just to get some fresh air in our lungs.”

With a deep sigh, he issued our tickets.
“Listen, kids. There’s nothing to do there, even if you go.”

We were like children on a field trip. In fact, we were high on the simple fact of being out. For a moment, we laughed and chatted as if the virus didn’t exist.

Eating sandwiches bought from a mart on the running train, we soon arrived at Brighton Station. Now, just a bus ride from Brighton to the cliffs.

Giggling, we arrived at the bus stop in front of the station.
Empty. No staff, no buses.

‘Is it all going down the drain? Was it too much to ask...?’

Then I saw it, a piece of paper flapping in the wind, hastily taped up.

Bold, black letters:

SERVICE SUSPENDED Due to COVID-19 restrictions, the 13X Coaster route to Seven Sisters is suspended until further notice.

The Firmly Closed Front Gate

My mind went blank. ‘We came all this way just for this...’ The front door was slammed shut. We stood helpless before it.

But we couldn’t turn back. Clutching at straws, we walked into the Tourist Information center inside the station.

“Excuse me, we’re trying to get to Seven Sisters...”

“Bus is cancelled this morning. You can’t go.”
The staff member was firm.

“We know. But is there really no way? We risked everything to get here...”

“Restaurants are closed, too. Just go home.”

We pleaded. We’d take an Uber, we’d walk, just tell us the way. Did our desperation move them, or were we just annoying? The three staff members whispered amongst themselves. Finally, they beckoned us over.

The Back Door

“Hey, come here. There is one way.”
A finger pointed to a tiny station in the corner of the map. Seaford.

“Tourists don’t know this route.”
“Get off here and walk for an hour. You can approach the cliffs from the back.”

Eureka! A long walk, but a path the locals often used for strolls.
The front gate was barred, but a secret path known only to locals had opened.

As we bowed and shouted “Thank you!”, the staff member checked the clock behind them, a peculiar look on his face. “But the train... it runs maybe once a day now? It’s probably leaving right about... now.”

He shrugged and winked.
“Good Luck.”

Run!

Flushed and frantic, we offered a brief thanks and sprinted toward the platforms of Brighton Station.

“Run!”

The sight of six Asians dashing through the empty Brighton station. Due to the unprecedented situation of most lines being suspended or reduced, the display boards blinked chaotically, and announcements droned on.

“Where is it bound for? Is it going to Seaford?”
We grabbed every staff member we saw.

Less than a minute left. In the distance, a green and yellow train. The doors were closing.

“That’s it! Just get on! Get in the nearest coach!”

Scattered by our different speeds, we jumped into whatever coach was in front of our eyes. Hiss. The doors slid shut.

Silence in the coach, save for our rough breathing. Fortunately, all six of us made it. We had to pay a fare of over 20 pounds per person, more than expected, but what did it matter? Looking at each other’s disheveled hair, we couldn’t stop the laughter from bursting out.

The train began to move with a clatter. Turning from the closed front gate to the side road, we were heading toward the secret door.

(End of Vol. 2)

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