Birmingham blot out

My father went to stay with his sister-in-law while we were in Brazil. He was coming back by train from York, leaving at 2.30pm, changing at Birmingham and arriving in Winchester at 7.30pm. My aunt had arranged for Passenger Assistance to meet him at Birmingham and to help him on to the next train. That was the theory, anyway.

In fact, the York train was delayed by snow so he missed the connection. He doesn't have a mobile phone but I gathered this fact from the National Rail website. Of course I went to Winchester station anyway, just in case the computer was fallible. No sign of him so I returned an hour later. That train was 30 minutes late, the evening freezing. It arrived at 9pm. I waited on the platform whilst around 20 people disembarked. I couldn't see him. The guard was just about to give the signal to move on when I caught sight of a walking stick emerging from a carriage right at the end of the train. "Hello!" I cried and rushed to help him with his suitcase.

"What an awful journey, you've had! How did you manage?" I asked. "I'm so confused and in such a daze that I can't remember what's happened today," he replied. "Were you met at Birmingham?" I asked. He looked at me blankly.

When we got home I phoned my aunt to tell her he'd arrived safely. "Was he met at Birmingham?" she asked. "I don't know for certain but at least he's here!" I had to say.