First post from a moving train!
New York—Newark—Philadelphia-–Wilmington-–Baltimore and on to Washington–passing big water on our left.
“Philly’s next stop….” says the ticket collector as he passes down the aisle putting the stubs of checked passengers’ tickets in the rack over their heads. This is how he knows not to keep asking passengers for their tickets after each stop.
He’s tall and has a beard like the young Abe Lincoln.
He’s engaged and clearly likes his job.
We’re his babies for the trip to Washington–he’s taking care of us.
I grew up taking the train; my father worked for British Railways and got concessionary travel for the family.
Privilege Tickets they were called–a limited issue each year–but we could travel First class which made us feel special.
Dad had a silver pass, like a medal, which he showed at the gate and was waved through. I was proud of him for that.
In 1954 he took the family–four of us then–to Lloret del Mar on the Costa Brava for a two week holiday.
“Do you ‘ave a couchette?” Ma had shouted at the conductor in Calais, in a heavy French accent.
We were lucky to get one after that I reckon!
“Baltimore–now arriving at Baltimore–watch your step!” —his babies for the trip.