It's where I had to go, endlessly it seemed, with my dad and his parcels. Where was Snow Hill Station, anyway? Somewhere past Rackhams, and heading downhill. It was gloomy. It was victorian.
I'd be sent in with a pile of parcels and a list of instructions, while my dad stayed in the car or the van. Parcels that went by rail, I guess, although I never really thought about it at the time.
Men moving things around on handcarts.
A world that's disappeared.
Comments
Post a Comment