Oh, Mr. Porter!

---

Either Willie gets promoted or...

What vacancies are there?

- One for a sleeping-car attendant.

- He'd be up too late.

- A guard for a milk train.

- That'd get me up too early.

- That's all there is.

- Come on, Willie.

There must be something.

We've offered him two posts!

What does he want?

Just a minute.

Have you got any stationmasters?

London terminus, I suppose?

- Oh, no, no. I'll work my way up.

- Well, there aren't any vacancies.

See what I'm up against? Victimisation.

- That's the one job I know I can do.

- What's this?

It's just come in.

A place in Ireland called Buggleskelly.

There's a place in Wales called

Llanfogwhyllwhylantysiliogogogogola.

They want a stationmaster

at Buggleskelly. Excuse me one minute.

Mr Leadbetter, I thought we'd filled that

stationmaster post at Buggleskelly.

Yes, sir, but it's vacant again.

Don't know, sir. We've sent them

five stationmasters in 12 months.

What happened to the last one?

I'll read you his letter.

Sounds a bit queer.

''Sir. Since coming here, I have

discovered I am Napoleon Bonaparte.

''Since you won't transfer me

to Waterloo, I resign.

''PS. Forward all mail to Moscow.

I intend to retreat there.''

Extraordinary. And the one before him,

why did he leave?

No idea, sir.

But I remember we sent a wreath.

- Sounds the very place.

- Can I have it?

- You've got it.

- It's rather off the beaten track.

- Oh, as long as it's near the railway.

- Let me see.

Here's our line,

running through Northern Ireland

and here is Buggleskelly...

Would you mind?

Thanks.

What a grand clock

you have there, mister.

It was a present from my staff

when I left London.

What might the inscription be?

''To William Porter,'' - that's me -

''from his colleagues on his promotion

to stationmaster at Buggleskelly.''

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