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Travel in the blood

My first solo journey was a train journey from Gloucester to Sheffield at the age of ten. Just before she closed the carriage door, my mother reminded me to change in Birmingham. With my cardboard ticket clasped firmly in my hand, I waited for the steam engine to take us on our way. My legs, encases in shorts and knee length woolen socks would not have reached the floor and the air would have been heavy with the scent of steam, coal dust and cigarette smoke. The change at Birmingham went smoothly and I arrived in Sheffield to be met by my grandfather. It had been a good first journey.