COME ON EILEEN.

I was on my way to Cardiff to record an interview with comedian Dave Allen.

Boarding my train at Taunton I settled into the compartment, which was at that time an empty one. It was one of those old fashioned carriages that you often see in old movies like “Murder on the Orient Express” with a long corridor fronting several compartments.

When we reached Bristol a young lady joined me and sat down on the seat opposite me. She smiled, opened her bag and produced a book which she started to read.

We both heard the shouts at the same time. Looking out into the corridor we could just see a young boy with his head hung out of an open window, clearly struggling to avoid falling out.

I dashed out and managed to pull him in before the situation escalated and duly walked down the train to re-unite him with his parents, who were oblivious to all that had gone on.

On my return to the carriage it was obvious that this little incident would provide a talking point and the lady forgot her book for a moment and started to talk. She was gorgeous.

Her welsh accent gave me the chance to tell her that my mum was welsh and she then told me a little about herself. It was soon time for her to leave the train and I continued onwards to Cardiff.

The interview with Dave Allen went off without a hitch but I must admit that throughout my time in Cardiff there was this constant picture lurking at the back of my mind of a gorgeous young welsh lady.

When I returned home I could not get that the image of that young lady out of my mind. I had to find her again but therein lay a problem. I never knew her name, in fact I did not know much about her at all. The only evidence I had of any use was that she was a nurse and worked in Swansea, studying midwifery.

It was a long shot, a very long shot indeed.

I looked up the address of the biggest hospital in Swansea and wrote to their personnel department giving them these slender facts. Within a few days a letter arrived postmarked Swansea — from the young lady herself. The hospital had achieved the impossible and found her.

Her name was Eileen Hurley and she lived in Port Talbot. It was never destined to be a fairy-tale ending but I did spend a wonderful 6 months making occasional visits to her both in Port Talbot and in Newport where she moved to take up work as a maternity nurse.

I fondly remember our trips to Swansea and dancing the night away at the Top Rank Club. When I met her parents for the first time I instantly got on with them — lovely people.

Well, as I say, it was never to be a fairy tale ending and the last that I saw of Eileen was when she appeared on the “Songs of Praise” television show as a member of the congregation. I wonder what happened to her.

I can feel another letter coming on –