The Journey to Whitley Park

I had never been out of the valleys before except for a seaside trip to Barry once a year, now I was on my own. I must have looked a sorry sight in my Eliza Doolittle pink straw hat, Mother’s cut down grey coat, thick black stockings and flat shoes. The only money I had was my travelling expenses and a few coppers over that.

It was early October 1927, my instructions were to take the Cardiff train to Paddington, take a taxi from there to Waterloo and from there to the local station by train, were I would be met.

I never did remember how I got a taxi I was too worried the driver was going to run off with me. What with all the traffic and the size of London, I began to wonder where I was. However, the kindly help of a porter I eventually got the right train.

By this time it was dark, I was tied, scared and I didn’t have the sense to check off the stations as we went through them. As a result of this I ended up at the end of the line, two stations passed the one that I wanted. I was cold, hungry and wanted my Mum.

A porter came along and was rather surprised to see me still sitting in the carriage, looking very sorry for myself. He took me into the Station Masters office and after a nice cup of tea I was put on the train going back to the right station. In the meantime my employers had been notified and a car was waiting to take me to my new home.