GOING BY TRAIN TO PLYMOUTH AS A KID...

The Lad From Shard End Goes On Holiday…

It really was a thrill which gradually built

And almost dream-like was the expectation

In the days, even the weeks before

The journey for my summer vacation…

A faded, scarred blue but large suitcase 

Was hauled onto a 55 bus, with dad stressed,

Sweating in his suit, mom wearing a summer dress

And me in school tie and blazer, bizarrely dressed…

Sundays were quiet then and we hurried from the Old Square

To Snow Hill for the train we couldn’t miss;

We awaited ‘The Cornishman’ to pull slowly alongside

The designated platform with its terrific steamy hiss…

With a small notebook in hand I would tarry,

Spotting other engines lingering in the station,

Eager to see ‘namers’, ‘Castles’ or ‘Halls’,

So keen with wide-eyed anticipation…

Pete Ray

OLD SNOW HILL STATION...

THE CORNISHMAN...

CHURCH, OR TRAIN?

No car for my dad until 1965 when he bought a Mini: 

DOX 251 C.

We travelled a couple of times by train to Plymouth, where my Uncle Jack picked us up from the station and took us to our digs in Edith Street, St Budeaux, first with the Reveleys, then with the Felwicks…

I loved it.

It was worth waiting 12 months for…