I was a post-war baby boomer and grew up in north-east London. Loved the atmosphere of Liverpool Street in the late fifties; the rhythmic sound of Westinghouse pumps, the slamming of carriage doors and the constant noise from steam locos arriving and leaving. The smell of steam, smoke and hot oil pervading the whole station. Smart green "Brits" and (often) dirty B1's and B17s hauling blood and custard stock. A fleeting glimpse of an N2 tank in the high level platform at adjacent Broad Street. Route indicating apparatus at each platform comprising rotating wooden boards with station names on. The two immaculate station pilot locos which never seemed to do any work. The long, meandering walk around the footbridge linking east and west sides of the station. The journey home to Walthamstow in the ghastly quint-art coaches - packed in like sardines, knees touching the person opposite, with everyone bouncing up and down in a strange dance at certain stretches of line. How we cheered when shiny new Brush and English Electric diesels appeared on the scene and yelled "scrap it" when seeing an often-spotted steam loco. Be careful what you wish for.....