“Not 1963 and the dawn of a new generation, but 1945, with a new day still to come. ‘Jack – Jack! Oh, there he is. Jack!’ Not for the first time Annie Feldman cursed her diminutive height. Around her jostled a frantic crowd that would do credit to the football terraces. Lime Street Station was crammed to bursting with noise, smoke and shouting figures, grey-faced but excited in the early light, with more arriving every minute. Burly policemen fought to restrain the surging throng, but the at...mosphere was determinedly good-humoured. Annie’s throat stung from the acrid air. Even on tiptoe she could see hardly anything. With clouds of billowing steam, as if aware of its own inflated importance, the train chuntered slowly into the station. Suddenly doors opened and they were pouring from the carriages. Young men and not so young tumbled out, in uniform, khaki mainly but with a sprinkle of Air Force blue and a few navy overcoats, faces drawn and stubbled, some with bandages or arms in slings, one or two on crutches or helped by a comrade, kitbags slung over shoulders, caps askew.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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