I distinctly remember leaving home, one day it just happened. I don’t remember there being a count down, or a big party or anything like that, it was just the date I was given to go to Dorset and start training.
The dark green table cloth, we’d had that for as long as I could remember. My brother was eating cereal with a stupid grin on his face, the same blue school jumper and button down shirt. My youngest brother was asking questions about where I was going, mum was making herself busy.
I don’t remember having a look around the house that I would never see again, only an older person would think to say goodbye to things. Now, I regret not taking one last look at my black Raleigh racer that I’d used over the previous years to cycle around the lanes of East Anglia.
Mum stood at the kitchen window as dad backed the Volvo he hated out of the drive. I could see her welling up as she waved.
Early September, sunny and cloudy, a nice day as we pulled up outside Kelvedon station.
Ever the master of a social situation, Dad said goodbye with a handshake and smile. No awkward bear hug or declarations of love, both unnecessary and self important habits of the modern man.
For some reason the faded Network South East livery on the train stuck in my mind as it pulled into the station. I got on it and that was that.