Muna Lut the porter, charging out of the chapel back on to the platforms and calling out to her lads:
MUNA LUT : Someone tell me the mail was delivered!
A STATION LAD : It came up from the docks, on the train up Greenshire now.
Robert Purefoy still at his prayers on his knees in the chapel while passengers struggle past, hurrying from A to B, begs for:
ROBERT PUREFOY : Peace, stillness, faith in humanity and God, the glow of a job done, clear-sighted awareness, strength to carry on, patience to endure, someone to be kind, or to be kind to, understanding...
MUNA LUT : Bins, facilities check, move that trolley on platform four, check on the poor Lad, tell him off good, find out if anyone else caught that Lass's bug. Oh, hello madam, how are you today, sir? Ignore that Lad right there. There's a lovely morning! What are you doing now? Keeps me going, love, being so darn cheerful. Ta, my lovely.
THE STATION LADS : Yes, Mrs Miserable, we've three bags full and the moon on a stick right here with a bridge for sale, bloody passengers, see them drop litter like it was too heavy to carry, but the weight of their damn luggage, and the state they leave the toilets in don't bear, don't get me started on the waiting room, using the trolleys and not looking, I tell you what they shoulda done, straight through to the air docks, light us up a pipe.
MUNA LUT : See, my fine Lads, you make no sense when you all talk at me together and disorganised and at cross-purposes like that, try again with some order and I – sorry, madam! – might understand what you say, at last.
OLD BENJAMIN : Look, the soaring spans, up to the industrial heavens.
MUNA LUT : Look, alright, look at the mess over here, the dirt on the floor, the muck on the old benches, the spills and the stains on the platform stairs, the trolley by the ramp, the rubbish and the torn fag ends.
THE STATION LADS : Yes, Old Misery, we're working on it all, we'll have the station shining like a new pin in no time. Nothing will stop us cleaning up, only shift-end. And tea breaks. And where's the mop and bucket, now? Over in the big store cupboard. Or maybe in the men's loos. Behind the click-clacking, shiny metal of the turnstile. Get it back, bring it here so we can clean up, or not, because the loos need cleaning. Oh, isn't it such an easy day, today?