Potholers’ pot luck supper was a feast

ONe January in the early 1960s, my friends and i set off for a weekend potholing in the Peak District. We arrived at edale railway station early on a Saturday with all our gear and made our way towards Mam tor. it was a nice day, the sun was shining, but it was cold. We had decided to spend the night in the pothole exploring and seeing how far we could get. We had a great time: the rock formations, underground streams, sheer 100 ft drops and tiny slits to wriggle through were a real adventure. On Sunday, we made our way back to the starting point, coming up early in the afternoon to find it had snowed heavily. So we trudged through 4 in of snow to the railway station — only to be told we had missed the last train and the station master was about to close up. We hadn’t brought tents and had very little money, so we decided our best bet was to walk along the line to Chinley, the next station, towards Manchester and home. Off we set, wearing helmets with miner’s lights switched on as it was now dark. We arrived cold, tired and wet to find the station deserted. We looked for somewhere to shelter, but the waiting room was locked, so the six of us huddled together on a bench to keep warm. About half an hour later, a torch light appeared down the platform — it was the station master, who, when we explained our predicament, was sympathetic and explained the trains had been cancelled due to the snow. this scruffy, unwashed rabble of young men must have been a sorrowful sight and, thankfully, appealed to his good nature. instead of asking us to vacate the station, he opened the waiting room and told us we could sleep there for the night. Minutes later, he returned with a bucket of coal, paper and kindling. All we had left to eat were two tins of beans, a tin of rice pudding and two hard bread rolls. We got the fire going, opened the tins, warmed them up and shared out our feast. it was the best meal out i’ve ever had!

Frank Murphy, Bolton, Lancs.