We were squashed together, packed like sardines. My bulky suitcase got in everyone's way. "What have you got in there?" some one asked, attempting to heave it to one side to get a bit more room for feet. "Well, actually" I said "It's books. Prizes for a children's project." "What's the project?" he asked, so I told him. A handwriting and artwork thing: children have to write out the Lord's Prayer "So many just don't know it today, which seems a pity." "Well, I know it" he said, and began, tentatively at first and then with growing confidence: "Our Father, who art in Heaven..." and then others joined in, and then others "...hallowed be Thy name, Thy Kingdom come...Thy will be done on earth, as it is in Heaven..."
A chorus of men's strong voices, rising above the rattle of the train, in the noisy rush-hour, in the heart of London, roaring towards Southwark tube station,..."Give us this day our daily bread...forgive us our trespasses..." and somehow, suddenly, it was a moment of transcendent glory.
We rattled into the station ("change here for Waterloo East") and they poured out, the last words of the prayer lost in the rush and the hubbub...and with a wave and grin it was all over...