FRANK WOOTTON. 1909.
FORDHAM. 1882.
Returning in the train, from one of my visits to the "Varsity," I fell asleep and passed the junction where I should have changed. I awoke, hearing a noise overhead, followed by the disappearance of the lamps, a fact that I did not pay much attention to, imagining they were being replenished. These sounds were followed by a clinking of chains and sudden jerks, which usually accompany the process of shunting, and which I thought meant that another train was being coupled to the one I occupied. A complete silence followed, and after a short interval—I was alone in the carriage—I opened the window and looked out, and discovered that my carriage and its immediate neighbours, had been shunted into a siding for the night. I was feeling extremely cold and did not care to risk a walk of an exploring nature, as express trains kept flashing by and the night was dark. Presently I saw men with lamps passing by some distance away, and by dint of shouting loudly, I attracted the attention of a porter, who called out when he saw me—
"What are you doin' there? Get out of that!"
"I shall be only too delighted," I said, when he approached. "I've been here for an hour."
I felt cold and simply furious. However, I followed the porter very gingerly over the rails to the station, where I had to wait a long time, and finally arrived in London at an unearthly hour. Since then I have been very wary of sleeping in trains.