When I was at school, back in the days when Slade were always at number one, and not just at Christmas, and the Daleks were to be feared despite the fact that they couldn’t go upstairs and only existed in monochrome form, I had two Uncle Rons. Not only did they share the same surname, but to complicate things further, neither of them were my actual uncle. They were both friends of my parents. However, they both achieved legend status in my childhood eyes, albeit for different reasons.

I don’t believe they ever met. Now this is probably for the best because it could’ve resulted in the kind of farcical situation that Brian Rix could’ve only have dreamed of. But to try and separate them in your mind, let me tell you why they both stay in my memory some fifty years after having known them.

Firstly, let me tell you about Ron Fuller. (No, that doesn’t work… let’s call him Ron the Bike). Back in 1943, Ron the Bike was my Dad’s best mate. I’m told that they used to cycle everywhere, and spent a lot of time together as adventurous 17 year old lads, joshing and carrying on. This of course was in the days when the main threat to their safety came not from fellow road users, but from the sky, as the more knowledgeable of you would have realised that this year was right in the middle of the Second World War and air raids were very much the order of the day.

One German pilot, for reasons unknown, chose the Eastbourne branch of Marks and Spencers as its target. To make matters worse, the bombs dropped just as Ron the Bike and Dad were cycling past and the blast propelled them through the shop window. I’m happy to report that they both survived, but given that Ron the Bike came off worse I have always thought that perhaps he took the brunt of the explosion away from My Own Dear Papa.

The experience didn’t stop Ron the Bike from cycling and he continued to do so throughout his life. But he did manage to increase his standing in my eyes when in the 1960s he became the only person I know who has ever been convicted of being drunk in charge of a bicycle. He was fined £5. I still think that’s a travesty. Given his heroics in Marks and Spencers, I reckon he should have been pardoned. But that’s the harsh reality of British Justice for you.

Up against Ron Fuller (Ron the Bike) in the legend stakes is Ron Fuller, or “Ron the Train,” as we shall know him for the purposes of this tale. I give him this unimaginative title for the simple reason that Ron Fuller was a Train Driver. I was eleven years old and I knew a TRAIN DRIVER!

There is a common perception that no one ever knows a train driver. They tend to be mythical creatures – I mean, do YOU know any? Even when you get on a train, you never see the driver. Well, for the passengers from Eastbourne to Hailsham one evening in 1968, it was a very good thing that the driver remained anonymous because, Dear Reader, the driver was actually me.

Ron the Train hadn’t got off on a great footing with me. I liked him, but that fact that he presented me with a poster of Southampton FC “because I liked football” and took my brother and me to our first live game – Brighton v Halifax Town, again “because I liked football” ignored the fact that I am a lifelong Crystal Palace supporter. But then came the offer to accompany him in his cab on a train journey and suddenly he was a God.

Of course I didn’t really drive the train. I had my hand on the handle that kept the thing moving, but he was in charge all the time. He was constantly checking speed, signals, and all the little lights and buzzers that occasionally went off. It was enough for me to think that I was driving it, but just to be in the cab was something magical. The route, the train itself and maybe even Ron the Train are no longer with us, but my memory will always be there.

And finally a note about their name. Ron Fuller is perhaps the most English name you could think of, if you were born around the same time that I was and share my perception of the world. It speaks of steak and kidney pies, cricket on the village green, post boxes and country pubs. But to me, it also speaks of bicycles and trains.

Thank you Ron Fuller. Both of you.