Dad ran Grant and I down to the station. Our train left at seven twenty, reached Whincliffe at about eight fifteen, and within an hour we were well on our way. There we sat, gazing out at the horrible scenery; the whole world seems to be one big railway siding. We criticised society and observed and commented on our fellow passengers. I imagined how I'd write a character description of each one.
We got into Cornwall mid afternoon, and caught our first sight of the sea at Bealswater, and rolled into Quinstow at twenty past five. There was much blundering about as we tried to find the hostel; Grant’s scowls grew and my shoulders were weary from the rucksack, but we eventually found it, near the sea-front. After tea we wandered out and watched a superb sunset. I hate Quinstow. It seems like a typical seaside town but the crowds down here seem more alien, more separate somehow. Maybe it’s just my paranoia.
The YH members all seemed to know one another. One big family.