SUN ARCHIVE (written by the late Richard Neill). With three pennies safe in my pocket, I ran up the street to the Anglesea train station. A slight breeze brought the salt air in from the ocean. The ever present powerful beam of light from the Hereford Inlet Lighthouse swept across the sky, around and around it went, lighting up the roof tops and flashing in bedroom windows. Off in a distance, the clanging of the bell buoy that marks the entrance of Hereford Inlet Channel could be heard.
Other kids would be at the station also. We would play tag and run in and out of the train station. Members of the community were standing about in groups conversing about the latest happenings of the day while waiting for the train arrival.
In the quiet winter night, you could hear the train blowing its steam whistle at a far off distance. It was the most forlorn sound, like a lost child crying out in the wilderness. Then you would hear the train rumble across the Beach Creek Bridge. With a high screeching whistle, the train announced its arrival as it rounded the bend into the Anglesea Station. With bells clanging, and hissing steam, the train rolled to a stop. Passengers disembarked, the baggage car door slid open, and bundles of newspapers were thrown out. Harold Braidwood cut open the bundles and the crowd milling about, each paid their three cents for the paper and went home. With a couple of short blasts on the whistle, the train continued on to the next station at 17th Street, North Wildwood and then on to the Wildwood station.
With the fresh smell of printer’s ink, I dashed home with the newspaper and dumped it in my father’s lap, sitting by the wood stove waiting for the latest news. #whereyesterdayandtodaymeetbythesea ☀️🌊📰