Honour of the Line Read Free Page B

adopting children had become far more difficult. The new parents health was a stumbling block and unfortunately poor old Mum had a heart problem. From Dad’s point of view the fact he had gained a criminal record for stealing four bags of coal didn’t help. It had also cost him his job but he managed to get another with a different coal merchant but for less money. It seemed children being adopted would need a more stable upbringing than somebody with a criminal record could offer.
    Amid these difficult times a relative by marriage was just starting work in the Adoption Service in the Liverpool area so my parents contacted her. At this point in my life they explained to me about my past but it made no difference to me, I had no idea where babies came from.
    After two months of exchanging letters between our town and the one near Merseyside, Mum and Dad were told they would be able to adopt a seven week old girl but would have to travel to Crewe to pick her up. I had a smile as wide as the Mersey, not because I was getting a sister but because of all the train numbers I could get at Crewe. I would be the envy of all my friends. Around this time of my life I had started collecting train numbers, as had nearly all of the boys around the Arches. We were spoilt for choice as the main line still boasted the odd steam train and the cross country route was all still steam hauled. Another real bonus was we were able to sneak to the engine sheds and fill our books up with numbers. I told all of the other kids of the news but although the lads were suitably impressed a couple of the girls said that our new addition would not be a proper sister. Georgina overheard them and told them not to be so unkind and hurtful so they both apologised. Such was the close knit community of the Arches these two lasses, Susan and Patricia, put their pocket money together and bought a cuddly toy for my new sister who was still only three weeks old. I explained it would be four more weeks before we would go to collect her. They asked what her new name was going to be but I didn’t have a clue so I just said Miss McFirley.
    On the big day we were up at the crack of dawn and caught the workmen’s train to London and from there a never ending journey on a red bus across town to Euston. We seemed to stop at every single traffic light in London. It was so boring, stop start stop start, but there was no other choice as Mum would not use the Underground. She still had terrible memories of air raid shelters and felt claustrophobic in any form of confined space.
    Once we arrived at Euston Dad let me race off up the long platform so I could see what loco was going to pull our train and it was a Royal Scot Class named Royal Army Service Corps, another gem of a spot for my rapidly increasing collection of numbers. Never before had I been on a train where people could walk from one end to the other through the corridors, it was all so exciting, it felt like Christmas Day. Upon departure the loco slipped a little as it tried to gain traction as it struggled to haul the twelve coach train up the incline out of Euston. We were still going slowly as we passed Camden engine sheds to our left and so my book became filled with numbers very quickly. They must surely all be new to me as this was unknown territory. Mum got out the grated cheese and cucumber sandwiches she had made and we all tucked into them and washed them down with the awful stewed tea from our vacuum flask that had already been brewed for approaching four hours.
    Our first and only stop before Crewe was Rugby where we seemed to wait an eternity as the loco refilled with water. Speed was very soon gained and I could just about depict the station sign as we hammered through Nuneaton at what seemed like the speed of sound. My Dad had been sound asleep for ages and was snoring like a pig, which made me laugh, but there was only us in the compartment so it didn’t really matter. He was the type of chap who