THE STATIONMASTER'S DAUGHTER

Chapter 7

For my seventh birthday, I was given a second hand bicycle, my first two-wheeler. It was bright red, with a small wicker basket at the back and a bell on the handlebars. Dad would hold onto the back of the saddle and run along side of me until I gained my balance and confidence to ride on my own. To try out my newly learnt skill, I wanted to ride my bike on one of our regular Sunday afternoon walks. The brakes needed adjusting though, and Dad wanted to fix them first before I rode it again. I was insistent that I rode my bike, and in the end Dad decided that I would be safe enough riding uphill towards Davidstow Moor, and he would hold onto the back of the bike for a while on the way back, or I would get off and walk.
 
Davidstow Moor had been an air force base during the war, but that was long gone and in recent years, car races took place there. The airfield and surrounding countryside were now used for parachuting practice and we liked to walk up the hill to watch.
 
It was a long slow walk up the hill to Davidstowe, but the views were magnificent when you reached the top. To the right, the sea glistened in the distance and on the left, Bodmin Moor stretched out as far as the eye could see, with its two hills clearly visible. Rough Tor, at 1313ft above sea level and Brown Willie (Brown Willy got its name from Bron Wennyly – Cornish for Swallow Hill), the highest point on the moor, standing at 1378ft.
 
On the way home that day, I was okay on the flat road, but as we reached the top of the hill, Dad held onto the back of the bike so that I didn’t go too fast. We hadn’t gone very far when it became too painful for Dad to keep bending over holding the bike, so he told me to get off and walk. I said okay, but didn’t manage to get off the bike before he let go. The hill, now steeper loomed in front of me, I suppose I could still have jumped off at that stage, but I must have panicked and clung on to the handlebars as the bike gathered speed down the hill, the shouts from my parents getting fainter all the time.
 
As I hurtled down the hill, I realised I had three choices when I reached the railway bridge where the road divided. I could go to the right and carry on down the road towards Launceston, where eventually the bike would slow down, or I could carry on over the bridge on the road to school, but the hill went on for much further that way before I would be able to stop. The third choice was to run into a thick hedge just before the bridge.
 
I chose the hedge, thinking it would be the softest place to land, steered towards it, missed, and hit the fence, narrowly missing the first pillar of the stone bridge. I fell headfirst into the fence, knocking a front tooth out, and banging my head. The front wheel of my bike buckled from hitting the bridge. I was sitting on the grass verge with a handkerchief held to my mouth to stop the bleeding, when my parents came running down the hill towards me, gasping for breath. They were shocked to see how easily I could have gone through the fence and fallen onto the railway track. Then, I suppose because they were both so relieved to find me in one piece, apart from my missing tooth, concern turned to anger and they started shouting at me. Why hadn’t I got off the bike when I was told? Why had I brought it in the first place? I could have been killed. I never rode my bike up to Davidstow Moor again.
 
At the time, only Nigel and I had bikes, so we would all meet in the station yard and take turns riding them and making up games and having races. Eventually, we all had bikes and then would cycle further afield.

The real Railway Children, on the Down Starting Signal.
I am second from the right and my brother Neil is in the centre.