Angela Barnett

I think we’ve shifted to your idea of heaven. A genuine steam train comes through camp every single day and we can get on it by flagging it down with a special train wave. It puffs for fifteen minutes up the tracks to a place called North Spur, where there’s a BBQ lunch and ice cream, then we get back on it and puff home. And it’s free! Not that you care at four and three-quarter years old, but I do. It’s called the Skunk Train and is named after a sticky, verdant variety of plant that grows in abundance here. But it’s not green; it’s black like Diesel and shoots steam out just like Thomas. On our first week we did it three days in a row just because we could and there’s even an outside carriage so we can look out for the Fat Controller. We haven’t spotted him yet. The Skunk Train toots when it’s coming into camp. Actually toot is not a big enough word; it’s more like PAHWEEEEET. It’s brilliant that it comes right through our backyard – here I was wondering what we would do all day while our Daddy worked. Could you please ask your Mum whether you could come and visit and tell her I miss her every day.

Love Aunty Angela