Once my Grandfather took me for a trip on the London Underground. It was the first time I'd ever been on the tube system. We entered Tower Hill station and went down the escalators, which in those days were wooden slatted contraptions and long overdue for replacement. I remember the paint was peeling from the ceilings, everything was dirty, and there were cracks in the roof above us that were big enough to put your finger in. Grandad looked at them and told me Hitler had made them during the War. "His bombers flattened just about everything else, but they weren't able to destroy the underground," he growled.

Although this was another of his exaggerations, I knew what he meant. Just the same, it seemed to me that probably virtually no maintenance had been done since before the war and some of the cracks could be just old age and neglect.

He took me to the map on the station wall and showed me where we were and where we were going. "See here Michael, this is where we are now. We're right under the Tower of London that we've just been to, and we're now going to go all the way under London to Madame Tussauds."

He looked long and thoughtfully at the map. "Now, see this yellow line, this is the Circle Line. That means the train line goes around in a circle, so when we catch our train we can go in whichever direction we like; but if we don't get off in time we'll end up back here again. Do you want to take the long way or the short way?"

"The long way," I answered, without hesitation.

He smiled and nodded his approval. We went onto the station platform area and I was immediately conscious of a strange acrid smell that was mixed with the smell of soot. The smell made me want to sneeze. "What's that funny smell Grandad?"

"That's the smell of the electric sparks, Michael. When the train comes in you'll see them." I could hardly contain myself for excitement. Pretty soon he said, "The train's coming, can you hear it?"

There was a deep rumbling coming from the tunnel. It gradually got louder. Suddenly I could see the lights at the front of the train and the sparks coming from underneath the carriages. Maybe they have improved the design of the trains, or maybe they were just in need of maintenance then, but it seems like the underground trains today don't make hardly any sparks compared with then. And now-days there is little smell of ozone in the stations either.

All I know is that the first underground train I got on, came out of the tunnel with a rattling blast of air and a shower of sparks. I remember thinking it was much more exciting than when I'd been on the ghost-train at the fairground. I also remember that the train we got on did not have automatically opening and closing passenger doors like they have now-days. Grandad had to slide it open manually, and it was stiff. There was no chance of a little old lady handling them. Soon after that the old carriages must have been taken out of service, because I can't remember ever seeing them again.

Coincidently, I remember my first trip across the Sydney Harbour Bridge in a "red rattler" in 1962, and they still had similar carriage doors operating in Sydney. It was a very layback environment in Australia in those days. I recall the trip across the bridge because it was a stinking hot day and none of the doors had been closed. People stood, half hanging out of the doorways, attempting to get any breeze they could, as we passed over the sparkling blue waters of the Harbour way below us.

When Grandad and I were comfortably seated, the train at one stage started to go through areas where sometimes we got glimpses of the outside world, and, as it was not as noisy in the carriage, he started one of his yarns. "Did you know that when I was your age I used to take my little brother Jimmy on this train and we'd go round and round the stations all day - for a penny each?"

Although I was only seven or eight at that stage, I knew a thing or two, and Mum had told me about not believing everything that Grandad told me. "You told me once you didn't have electricity in your house when you were a boy," I said, very pleased with my ability to catch out Grandad telling whoppers for once.

"Oh, the trains weren't electric trains then. They were steam trains."

I was very sceptical. "But you'd choke in all the smoke. Steam trains couldn't run underground all around London."

"Yes, they did," he said. "The smoke came up through holes in the street."

I was still unconvinced but he didn't care as he smiled to himself remembering those days. "I remember we'd get the train at Kings Cross Station, near where we lived. It was on the old Metropolitan and Circle Line. Mum sometimes gave us a few pennies and sent us off to spend the day at the zoo or somewhere. But we liked the trains best. I can just remember as a small boy going to see the horses at the hostry with my Dad. We got the same train as this to Tower Hill and then changed to get the train to Whitechapel. That was the end of the Underground line then. We then walked down Whitechapel Road " He smiled again. "That was the first time I remember getting on the Underground. Just like this is your first time." He smiled at me, and I smiled back. "When I was older, Jimmy and me, we would go round and round all day. It was a penny for the train fare, a penny for some sweets, and a penny for a bottle of pop. When we'd had enough we'd go home black as little niggers."

I wanted to believe him, but I didn't believe him completely and I was thinking about another question to put to him, but before I could take my offensive any further he said, "Look smart, we're at Baker Street. If we've got time I'll show you where my old mate Sherlock Holmes used to live." And that gave me something different to think about!

When I got home I said to Mum, "Grandad says he used to spend all day on the underground for a penny when he was a boy."

She pursed her lips and said, "Well he might have, but I don't think they had underground trains when he was your age."

"That's what I said," I replied in triumph. Mum was always right.

Recently I read an article on the history of the London Underground, which served as the trigger for me remembering this story. It confirmed that my Grandad had been absolutely truthful when he'd told me he'd travelled around under the streets of London in a steam train back around 1890. He'd even got the fare right. The inner circle line was completed in 1884, just in time for his Dad to take him on it before he died in 1885. It was the first railway of its type in the world, and was considered a technological marvel of its time.

I can just imagine two dirty ragamuffins having the time of their lives and annoying the other passengers; and then coming home tired and happy, only to be scolded by their mother for getting themselves and their clothes black with soot.