I remember nothing about the day itself.  I’m guessing we’d gone down to London to see my dad’s sister, Aunt Lil and her husband Ernie in Edmonton.  I certainly have no recollection of seeing the sights.

What is unforgettable, though, was the journey home.  We left from Marylebone Station on a through train that got into Hucknall about 3am.  Highly implausible you’d think until I mention that the train was packed with football fans.  By deduction, therefore, I’ve come to the conclusion these 60-odd years later that it would have been in May 1959 when Forest won the Cup.  Hence the football fans; hence a through train to Nottingham Victoria and on to Hucknall; hence the late arrival.  It all makes sense to me now.

No doubt we could have caught an earlier train which would have got us home much sooner.  But that wasn’t my dad at all.  I’m guessing the Football Special would have been much cheaper and he wasn’t a man to be easily parted from a few shillings.  If he could have saved half-a-crown he'd have likely booked the return to Loughborough and had us walk home from there.

But to return to the story…

I seem to recollect smoke-filled carriages and an atmosphere of good-mannered raucousness.  It also seems to me that the ride must have been interminable  - if it stopped at Hucknall Central it must have stopped at every one horse town north of Rugby.

For my sister and me it was the most exciting day of our lives, not the day in London, not the journey home but the illicit thrill of marching and dancing through the dark and empty streets of Hucknall at 3 o’clock in the morning.

Excitement never to be forgotten.