“Take a look at your fire, kid” he said at length, “she’s dragging”. I opened the firebox door, but the fire was above reproach. All the same I piled on another shovel-full or so. Brand new from the works, our machine ran as sweetly as a sewing machine, but although we gave her every ounce of steam she’d carry, old Jack still shook his head as he listened. I worked like a Trojan with the fire, and after a struggle we got her going more as we felt she should.

‘It was a non-stop run from Crewe to Rugby, but we were checked slightly by the distant signal at Stafford. I thought some of the people there stared at us rather, but thought they were admiring our fine new engine. At Lichfield the pointsman shouted something as we passed, but there was no red flag and the signals were clear, so we just let her go.

‘As we ran up the platform at Rugby, an inspector dashed up. “What are you?” he bawled. “The Liverpool two-fifty out of Crewe” I replied. “But you were supposed to be fifteen minutes late out of Crewe” he gasped, and looked up at the clock. “How do you come? Short cut across the b... fields?”

‘And then we looked at the big platform clock, too, and it dawned on us that we had covered the distance from Crewe to Rugby, including the check at Stafford, at well on for seventy miles an hour!’

To be continued ...