Young and Old, Now and Never Gone

There's an old chap who lives up the lane from us, who we used to see occasionally leaning over his gate when we took Bertie for long rambles. We were only ever on waving terms (which is more than we were with any of the other neighbours) and never knew a thing about him until Seb (who knows everyone) told us that Old Bob Tollit, over at The Cabbage House, used to be a train manager many years ago on the old Dorset railways. The next thing we knew, Joe and I were ushered into a small and slightly stuffy sitting room, crawling with chintz and paintings of the sea, to view Mr Tollit's memorabilia from those bygone days.

If I suspected Joe of falling under the magic spell of steam before, I saw him well and truly bewitched today as he knelt on the floor surrounded by brown and curling tickets, timetables, fliers and photographs, each one with a particular odour of their own; the scent of age, and dust, and memories. Old Mr Tollit seemed to regress for an hour, taking my son with him into a time I couldn't quite share, but just to watch them - young and old - sharing the same dream, was good enough for me.

I've always loved this village, but I'm just beginning to realise there is still so much I don't know about its residents. I never used to care; well, people don't, do they? But, like Joe with his trains, I think I have caught the bug to find out more.