Monday, 25th of May, 1970
Funny old day when I remember it now - funny peculiar and amusing. The weather over the weekend was scorching, with the magic word 'Summer' making it's presence in most of the front pages of newspapers, with scantily-dressed young women eagerly posing in front of anyone's camera, in what looked like a wide green London park. Actually, the rear of a Routemaster bus, recognized by people the world over gave the game away.
We were told yesterday that the British Isles were '...warmer than Cairo', as the temperature touched seventy-nine degrees Fahrenheit in places far north as Inverness. Today, however, even Moscow had the edge on the warmest British towns and cities, but remained in the small-print world-weather corner while London, despite being one of the coolest British cities over the weekend still hogged the limelight.
After walking up the winding approach to Piccadilly Station, Mother, my elder half-sister Karen and myself stopped, with Mother taking a cigarette out of her bag to light up. The railway station was starting to enter stage two of the first working day of the week. it was 7.42am, and there were a different group of people forming queues to buy tickets.
Gone were the early-morning passengers, calmly strolling with company-paid first class tickets and The Times to the silver London Euston Pullman, along with others who were starting early.
We joined a group of women talking about the lack of care and attention their partners had given them over the weekend, with some eagerly treating it like a problem page in some of the magazines Mother bought. I turned to see if the sleeper train had arrived from Euston, but was swiftly pulled back, as Mother started to panic, clutching the small bundle of 10/- notes she had fished from the golden purse she would pull out for all to see for 'special occasions'.
"Come on, or we'll miss it!" She croaked, now pushing us both towards the ticket hall.
"Christ!" Spat Karen. "We've got half an hour yet. What's the rush?"
After Mother had spent a while arguing about the price of the tickets, she grabbed a B.R. guard, who looked as though his retirement age was only days away, asking him how we get to Ludlow.
"Well now," he softly spoke. "Get the Plymouth service, on Platform Seven, and get off at Crewe. Someone there will help you find the Cardiff stopper. You should be in Ludlow by about 10.30."
"Ta, love," Mother shouted, before herding both Karen and myself into the buffet.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Funny old day when I remember it now - funny peculiar and amusing. The weather over the weekend was scorching, with the magic word 'Summer' making it's presence in most of the front pages of newspapers, with scantily-dressed young women eagerly posing in front of anyone's camera, in what looked like a wide green London park. Actually, the rear of a Routemaster bus, recognized by people the world over gave the game away.
We were told yesterday that the British Isles were '...warmer than Cairo', as the temperature touched seventy-nine degrees Fahrenheit in places far north as Inverness. Today, however, even Moscow had the edge on the warmest British towns and cities, but remained in the small-print world-weather corner while London, despite being one of the coolest British cities over the weekend still hogged the limelight.
After walking up the winding approach to Piccadilly Station, Mother, my elder half-sister Karen and myself stopped, with Mother taking a cigarette out of her bag to light up. The railway station was starting to enter stage two of the first working day of the week. it was 7.42am, and there were a different group of people forming queues to buy tickets.
Gone were the early-morning passengers, calmly strolling with company-paid first class tickets and The Times to the silver London Euston Pullman, along with others who were starting early.
We joined a group of women talking about the lack of care and attention their partners had given them over the weekend, with some eagerly treating it like a problem page in some of the magazines Mother bought. I turned to see if the sleeper train had arrived from Euston, but was swiftly pulled back, as Mother started to panic, clutching the small bundle of 10/- notes she had fished from the golden purse she would pull out for all to see for 'special occasions'.
"Come on, or we'll miss it!" She croaked, now pushing us both towards the ticket hall.
"Christ!" Spat Karen. "We've got half an hour yet. What's the rush?"
After Mother had spent a while arguing about the price of the tickets, she grabbed a B.R. guard, who looked as though his retirement age was only days away, asking him how we get to Ludlow.
"Well now," he softly spoke. "Get the Plymouth service, on Platform Seven, and get off at Crewe. Someone there will help you find the Cardiff stopper. You should be in Ludlow by about 10.30."
"Ta, love," Mother shouted, before herding both Karen and myself into the buffet.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *