Member-only story
Paris, Summer, 1980…
A bit of life-writing to celebrate a big number…
I’m in Paris to celebrate a big birthday, so it’s nearly 45 years since I first visited the city. It was May 1980, and I was going to the Fête de Lutte Ouvrière. I was given a slab of left wing newspapers to take there and briefed on what to expect by my comrades, in a Camberwell pub called The Hermit’s Cave.
It was a Friday night, the Hermit’s Cave sold Stella Artois — which had unusually high alcohol content for that era — and the briefing lasted a long time. At around 8.30pm my comrades asked: what time is your train? I answered 9pm and their faces blanched (there was no Uber in those days and black cabs didn’t come to Camberwell). The bus took ages to arrive but somehow managed to get me to Victoria at around 8.59pm.
I dashed into the station, and yelled frantically where was the Newhaven train: it was on the nearest platform and I jumped board, waving my flimsy ticket at the guard. It was completely full: more than six people to a compartment and the corridors crammed with young people, sitting and standing in every space. The guard slammed the door and we jolted off. Eventually a few people shuffled sideways so I could sit down on the slab of newspapers.
Who were all these passengers? They were mainly young — older than me, at 20, but not much…
