Coming Home

I don’t remember how long it was after we returned to the UK that we actually went home. I think it could have been anything up to a week. It was certainly a fair amount of time and I’m not that sure that I was keen to get back.

The final leg of our round the world trip was, inevitably, a train journey. We did have an awful lot of luggage and I recall it being stacked up in an area where four people would normally sit. In fact, there was so much of it that Dad went and spoke to the guard to ask for a little patience when we eventually arrived at our destination, as it would take a little while to completely unload it.

I don’t think any of us had really considered how difficult it might be to get all of the luggage from the platform, though. There were clear instructions as to what each of us should do, but my usual anxiety about not getting everything done in time before the train had to depart. Ironically, it was at some point in this process that the large piggy bank which Mum had bought in Los Angeles and carried around the world suffered a chipped nose.

Having found our way from the platform we were driven home. We were very surprised to see a large ‘Welcome Home’ sign dangling from the front bedroom window and it was very good to see our old home again. It hadn’t changed much, although the family who had rented it had burnt a lot of food onto the hob and parts of it were never the same again, which Mum was very unhappy about.

With all of that, our journey came to an end, and so does my retelling of it.


About Richard

Just your less-than-average married father of one
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