[originaltext] I went to Fariburn in 1948, it took me twenty hours by bus. I

I went to Fariburn in 1948, it took me twenty hours by bus. I sat by a fellow about my own age, 24. He told me his name was Karl Packer, but he told me hardly anything else.
    He disappointed me because he had so little to say. No opinions, no memories, no tales to tell. Had his home, education, the war and so on left no mark on him at all? It was very puzzling.
    The next time I went to Fariburn was in 1974. By plane of course. The President was going to "open" the new town, which had taken 26 years to build. I sat next to a man of about fifty, whose face was a book.
    The face was brown and lined. There were lines of worry and of fear perhaps. But over them I saw  success and power. I guessed he was the boss of something. Perhaps he hadn’t expected the big job or hadn’t wanted it. He had done it well, no doubt. The thing had clearly taught him the power of decision, command. We started to talk...
    The next two hours were for me the most interesting, even exciting. He kept me silent, open- mouthed with wonder.
    Our plane landed at Fariburn, I shook his hand and thanked him for making the journey so pleasant. I mentioned my name.
    "The pleasure was mine," he said "! was chief engineer here at Fairburn until last year. I built the new town. Karl Packer is the name. Haven’t we met before somewhere?"