For once, at 1 o’clock in
Stockton, I was not only in earshot (that is easy enough as the racket created
can be heard a mile away) but in close proximity to see the Stockton Flyer
emerge from its plinth in the High Street to perform its bizarre but pleasing
impression of an early locomotive with spinning wheels, rocking cams, puffing
smoke, clanging bell and high-decibel hooter.
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