I was nervous about what lay ahead of me and about the logistics of getting there, too. I was 20, travelling on my own, a scary prospect for me. However, I had made it to London, so it should be easy enough to get to France, surely? It was such a complicated journey to me, though, involving several different stages. I found myself to be a bundle of nerves, unable to sleep for the anxiety involved. I knew what I had to do, but as far as I was concerned, I was going to get lost, or be waylaid at every stage of the trip. I had to take the train to the London airport and fly to Paris. From there, I would take another train to the city and transfer (somehow!) to the railway station I needed, so that I could take the night train heading south to Clermont-Ferrand. Once there, I was required to transfer again, this time to a Pullman train heading to Murat. I had to make sure I was in the correct carriage, though, because of the three available, two went on elsewhere. For me, on my own, in a foreign country, I was beside myself with worry.
All went well for the first part of my trip. I flew to Paris and made my way to the railway station for trains heading south. I was there much too early, by several hours, but was too frightened to leave the area, in case I got lost and missed my train. So, I hung around, although this was not in my best interests, as it transpired. I had no idea that a single young lady standing still outside the railway station, could be perceived as a lure! I was accosted by several different men wanting to know my name, claiming that I had the most beautiful blue eyes, and asking where I was going. All this terrified me even more, but I couldn’t leave with the luggage I had, and I knew nothing about left luggage departments. So, I stayed put, wearing my nerves to a frazzle, not knowing what else I could do. I just waited for that 9pm evening train, desperate to feel safer than I did standing there on the street. I knew that this night train would arrive in Clermont-Ferrand at 6am the following day. From there, I would transfer to a Pullman train, going to the village of Murat, arriving before 7am. I had been told that two of the school’s female “surveillantes”, young women employed as supervisors within the school, would meet me at the railway station.
Despite my gut-wrenching anxiety, my travel arrangements went according to plan. However, when I boarded the night sleeper train in Paris, I discovered that the sleeping compartments or “couchettes” were for both men and women passengers, together. I found myself in a couchette with two men. I didn’t know what I could do, if anything, about this, but fortunately, a middle-aged lady joined us. Her presence made me feel less afraid.
