Departing Venezia Saint Lucia that Sunday night in 1969 it was with a certain amount of apprehension that our journey into the communist held country of Yugoslavia was embarked upon. General Tito had held this disparate mix of ethnic differences together for many years, but, as its turbulent history has well documented, his grip was weakening and after his death the resulting combination of western influences and cultural variances ripped Yugoslavia to shreds. Indeed there had been serious student riots in the capital Beograd only the previous year. The eight hour overnight train via Trieste and Sezana to Zidani, a wayside halt by western standards, can be best described by quoting from my notes made at the time – not the best of overnights with a big wedge as far as Trieste followed by continual interruptions by customs and passport officials of both countries: sleeping for a mere three hours.
A certain amount of information as to the possibility of steam-hauled passenger services had filtered through the crank network and sure enough after just over an hour’s wait we
