The Story...

It was great visiting 'Nana-on-the-Hill.' 

When we arrived we always had to step around the milk churns and the parcels that seemed abandoned about the station.

We'd come out of the station sometimes having a quick chat with Frank, the postman. Him looking for all the world as if the pillar box was about to eat him as he emptied it! Then we'd draw breath and set off up the hill to Nana's house.

Often we'd see Grandad Norman and his pal Jack, fishing in the Cow Field Pond. I couldn't see over the hedge but Dad used to shout the same thing every time - "Caught owt?" and the reply never changed - "Only t'bit o' cold!"

Nana's house was always warm and inviting after the puff up the hill. She'd let me empty the margerine box full of chocolate biscuits, washed down with a glass of squash. Any stern words from Dad were always rebuked with - "He's a growing lad, leave him be!"

Sometimes I would go and play in the back garden, hiding in the trees and bushes, whilst Dad and Nana talked. You could hear the whistles of the departing steam trains from the station - though I don't recall hearing many...

We never stayed too long. Dad said Nana got tired, and we had to catch the lunchtime train back.

I always remember me Dad dragging me backwards down that hill. I waved and waved till my arm ached; and Nana-on-the-Hill stood there waving back. She never seemed to stop, or disappear. Every time I turned to look back, she'd still be there - waving.

It was great visiting Nana-on-the-Hill.