From a Distance

For several years before the War and for 20 years after it, my father Wilf Richards commuted to London via Three Bridges from Barnham Junction.   He drove from Middleton to the station and although my father was a dear and lovely man, he was a hopeless driver.   Born in 1892, he was from that generation who’d gone into WW1 on horseback and who’d learned to drive before there was a test.   Stalling and jerking, he’d crunch his way up through the gears, though the fourth remained an unattainable mystery to him.   He drove so slowly that the milk float or a sprightly pedestrian could overtake him.   He would leave at 7 am, drive up the Yapton Road past PC Luck’s house and Comet Corner where the old stagecoach stopped.   Up towards Bilsham where our family admired the handsome farmhouse covered in Virginia creeper.   He’d grind and buck through Yapton, past the old windmill and under the railway bridge to park in a friend’s garage near the station. ...