As I got off the plane at Heathrow airport myself and other arrivals took our first steps on English
soil. We'd come all the way from Jamaica. Not a word was being said, just silence.

As we all passed through customs we found it easy with every thing in order we then got onto the waiting coaches.

I already had the information on the taxi services in London. My sister had told me in a letter not to use the taxi's driven by the West Indian men.

At this time I didn't know why she would say such a thing. I was 23 at on my own and frightened.

I have since learned this was because she thought that the West Indian drivers would have taken me all round London for a short journey and charged me a lot of money for the round trip. What would have or could have happened to me I ask myself.

The coaches then took us across London to Victoria Station, I found the trip disappointing because it was night time and the people were just going about their daily lives, why was this journey still going on all I want to do by now is see my sister.

On reaching Stoke Station in S-O-T my first thought was I had never seen so many white English men in my life. I also thought what they were thinking "would it be here's another just arrived".

I was given that charming drink (I had heard of so many times in a letter) English tea with the warmth and friendliness I realised I didn't have to pay for my tea.

From Stoke Station my journey was still not over, I now had to travel to Waterloo Road by this huge big red thing on wheels, First P M T buses which we now call it today.