I suspect the days of Curly-Wurlys in the guard’s van are long gone but my first trip from Grosmont – Pickering was after O-Levels when all of my year at a certain local boarding school had far too much time on their hands & the Art teacher rather cannily deflected revolution & naughtiness by finding us Stuff to Do. Which is how I wound up in the guard’s van, selling Curly-Wurlys of a summer evening. All I can remember was the noise of the wheels trundling along & the fact that my view was limited to an enticing strip of greenery where the blind wouldn’t pull right down . . . and later it turned out I had An Admirer who did the long walk up the school drive with a bunch of flowers. I hid.