In the early 1930’s, I lived in Ruthin, North Wales. During the holidays, it was decided that I could go visit my Grandma and Aunt who lived near Brighton in Sussex. This was the first of many summer visits.

Early one morning, my uncle took me to Wrexham, an 18 miles drive through a beautiful mountain pass. The station was on the main G.W. line. Put aboard with admonitions to “Not talk to strangers”. (How did one make any friends if one did not talk to strangers?) The second admonition was “not to lean out the carriage window”. That one lasted for as long as it took for the last carriage to clear the end of the platform.

I soon got a cinder in the eye. Later trips included a pair of smuggled eye goggles. Now being 11 years young and on my own, I spent a lot of time in the corridor, hanging onto a wooden bar which ran across the big picture window. The view either side of a train running through a big town is not very edifying, but to an eleven year old it was a wonder.

Lunch in the Dining Car – sitting there at a white linen table cloth, admiring the clean uniformed waiters, I felt like a king. I was treated as an adult. Remember in the thirties, the country was in a depression. Jobs were hard to come by and competition on the railways was fierce.

The GWR train at Redhill, as I remember, was handed over to the Southern Railway. No changing – just the locomotives were changed for the journey on to Brighton. Those were the days when many trains were routed over other company lines, so one got used to seeing many different carriages on different lines. The sight of preserved chocolate and cream GWR carriages and model ones bring back some wonderful memories.

Now forward to some events during the War. In 1940, I lived in Yeovil and was on a Southern train to Brighton to visit the Grandma and Aunt again. It was about the month of May. The enemy was starting the “Battle of Britain” and their aim was to destroy all the airfields and aircraft factories. At Southampton, the train slowed to a crawl, barely one mph. We were on a high embankment which was under repair. Looking down, I saw the wreckage of the Supermarine factory which had been dive bombed a few days earlier. What impressed my mind forever were the rows of air raid shelters, pockmarked with bomb craters.

I did end up at my Grandmother’s outside Brighton. She seemed somehow proud of the fact that she was outside her house when a German Fighter strafed the street. She showed me the mark on the curb where a bullet had just missed her.

I managed another trip to see her the following year. A lovely sunny day on Brighton Front and many people seemed to be leaning along the railings gazing out to sea. I wondered why. The beach was inaccessible being covered with barbed wire and land mines. The two piers had big chunks blown out of their middles. I asked a man what was going on. He said “Wait a while and you will see”. I did not wait long. A German fighter came roaring along, barely above the water, about 300 yards off shore. But for the fact that it was being chased by a British fighter, he could have come 300 yards inland and strafed the crowd. Deciding the natives were idiots, I took steps – long quick ones away from that area.

A third rare event associated with a train. It was now 1943. I was in a Southern train going to London. Those days the trains were so crowded that one was lucky to find a spot to stand in the corridor. The train was really moving fast and in a cutting outside Dorking, the train came to a screaming halt. Someone had pulled the emergency cord. (Penalty for improper use £5)

Looking out of the right hand window, I saw a G.I. (U.S. soldier) climbing down. The Guard soon caught up with him, handed him a ticket and the G.I. handed over £5. The soldier then climbed the bank to his camp. Probably saved far more than £5. I hope he survived the war as such enterprise marked him for a smart future. His timing to stop at the camp was perfect.

On we went to Waterloo. A young army officer was with his girl friend. He told her that another lady that he had been with previously had admired his military lineage. He said that he had told that lady that his Great Grandfather was at Waterloo and she had replied, “On which platform?”

His present girlfriend said - “What a stupid thing to say - as if it mattered which platform”.

In another meandering of mine I will recount what it was like to ride the Santa Fe Super Chief Pullman across the States from East Coast to Los Angeles. 3060 miles.

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