Recently, I've been reflecting on where I lived during the 1950s and '60s: Denstone in Staffordshire. These were halcyon days. A quiet existence marred only by starting and enduring primary school for five years before being sent to Lichfield Cathedral to sing in the choir.
A friend, David, sent me two black and white photos taken by a friend of his, the late Ken Wooley, dating from January1964. These are of a locomotive and train passing through Denstone station. I used to wait here with my mother to go to the market in Uttoxeter, five miles away, on Wednesdays. (Interestingly, Uttoxeter was the place I bought King Crimson's The Court of the Crimson King 45-rpm single in 1969). The photos brought back many memories. Then, Denstone was a small village with few houses and two tiny shops. Since then the village has been developed. Rural England, as it once was, had a charm difficult to put into words.
The station closed in maybe 1967 or '68. The branch-lines crisscrossing England provided a necessary method of transport for both goods and people, destroyed by the motorcar and mad political decisions. The likelihood is that if these had been properly maintained there would have been less traffic on the road today.