I wondered if he ever called it 'the Lanky', as we all did.

I stoppered the tea bottle, put it back in the locker. I wanted to be away: to have the benefit of the Flyer in motion – they were said to have a special sort of roll to them – because otherwise I'd be nodding off, with the early start I'd had and the heat from the sun already strong.

Down below on platform three our guard, Reuben Booth – who was generally given to us on the Blackpool runs – was saying to Clive: 'Five hundred and twelve souls, two hundred and twenty tons'. Old Reuben would always give you the number of passengers if he could, besides the tonnage of your train, and with five hundred and twelve up, we were about chock full.

Beyond him, over on platform one, I saw two men talking, and it was like a little play. One was Martin Lowther, the ticket inspector and a right misery. If anyone didn't have a ticket, he took it personal, like. He was looking at his watch, and the porter who was next to him across the way was looking at his. It was a Leeds train that was due in there, I reckoned, and Lowther was ardent to be on it. But as he glanced across to our excursion train, the situation cracked, and he broke off from giving slavver to the porter, and headed towards the footbridge, leather pouch swinging behind him. Next thing, he was coming down the steps onto our platform.

'Eh up,' said Reuben, for he'd spotted Lowther by now, and so had Clive. He was looking along the platform at him as he came along, saying, 'I sometimes think that bastard's going to ask me for my ticket.' Lowther – who was now peering up through the windows of the carriages – lived at Hebden Bridge, and would from time to time be sent down from Distant Control at Low Moor. He had more gold on his coat and hat than Napoleon. Otherwise, he just looked like a murderer, with his black eyes and his big black beard. It would have been a courtesy for him to come up to us and say he would be riding on our train; instead he was climbing up into one of the middle rattlers, roaring – and he would roar it out – 'All tickets must be shown!'