The self-service mailing machine was out of order – again.
The queue went all around the building, out of the door and a good way up the main street.
Once again, I cursed the government that had seen fit to close my lovely, one-man, local Post Office. and forced me to go to the big Post Office in town.
It was lucky I had been to the library first, that I had the option of losing myself in a wonderful book as I waited.
“Lawrence Bartram was waiting for a late connection at Swindon station. It was a bright April day and he had been glad to leave London, a city teeming with the crowds drawn in by Empire Exhibition fever. Now, as he looked beyond the water tower towards the vast marshalling yards and busy workshops of the Great Western Railway, the metallic clangour, the smell of oil and coal, and the distant shouted exchanges filled the air. There was order in the rows of trains in their cream and brown livery and then the tidy terraces of railway cottages, but behind them the sweep of the hills to the south-west rose, bigger than all of it … “
When I finished reading The Return of Captain John Emmett I had no real expectation of meeting Lawrence Bartram again. I am so pleased that I am, that we are setting off on another journey, another mystery …