Hugh Morrison

The Flying Caledonian began to pick up speed as it finally broke free of the gravitational pull of London, past wide, empty arterial roads and half-built housing estates. Soon it was racing through the desolate Hertfordshire farmlands, sparks flying from its cab as the fireman hurled another shovel-load of coal into the fire-box. Its whistle gave a long, piercing shriek as it raced across a lonely level crossing, where the small headlamp of a solitary bicycle glimmered, its rider waiting patiently for the enormous, deafening train to roar past.

Shaw sighed. Even though the men had clearly been a threat, he remembered the words of the poet John Donne: ‘each man’s death diminishes me, for I am involved in mankind.