There was a large party waiting for us when we exited at our train stop in Kesteven.
"Little Eaton," the sign on the platform said.
The conductor helped us get our suitcases out, and, as soon as we got them out and the door got locked behind us, the station master blew his whistle, and the train continued its journey, toward its final destination.
I looked around.
The sun was shining brightly, and it was very hot in Little Eaton. I was wearing my summer clothes, loose linen trousers, and a large, comfortable cotton shirt. My eyes were protected from the sun by a wide-brimmed straw hat, which I bought at one of the previous train stops. We didn't have sun this bright in Ashford.
I was already sweaty.
A group of people dressed in loose square-patterned shirts and colorful trousers was
