London 2012 Olympics: torch relay for 1948 Games was a mad, glorious day that lifted a nation Frontier controls were relaxed, the flame's passage sparked parties at the borders and by the time it was ferried across the Channel by HMS Bicester on the evening of Wednesday, July 28, 50,000 people were waiting in a high state of frenzy around the Prince of Wales pier in Dover. At about the same time, young Austin was panicking, wondering if he was going to miss the biggest date of his life. Earlier that month, the 18-year-old carpenter had just started his National Service at an RAF camp near Liverpool when left stunned and "overjoyed at the privilege" of receiving an invite to be one of the 76 torch bearers. He was just a decent middle-distance runner for Godalming and District AC. "I had won a bit on the track but I think if I'd spent more time training than running after the village girls I'd have done better!" he laughs now. His only problem back then was that his RAF drill instructor - "an unpleasant fellow" - seemed so determined to spoil the party. He made life difficult for me to get away because he didn't want me swanning off on leave. So Austin almost missed the last train back to Euston and "was left on tenterhooks" fearing he was not going to make it for his 9.45am start the next morning. Meanwhile, the torch was being carried through the Kentish night, all the way thronged by massive crowds and barely controlled chaos. The flame went out in Dover, but was reignited by a torch in a back-up car; then it was snuffed out again near Challock and had to be resuscitated by, of all things, a firework. At Hollingbourne, outside the Old England pub, a torch bearer was late and had to be ferried by car to catch up. At least Austin had won his battle with his drill instructor and was waiting outside the Horse & Groom in Merrow to make his 1.9 mile pilgrimage to Guildford, as dawn broke on the hottest day of the year so far. It was quite tremendous. Everybody was so happy, cheering and shouting," he recalls. People standing on their cars, perched on top of signposts. Coming into Guildford, hundreds had spilt into the road, the police escort couldn't get through with me and I had to force my way through the crowds to find the mayor who was waiting with a welcome speech. Here I was, only a young lad brought up on a farm, carrying the Olympic flame. I felt like I was doing something wonderful, that I'd suddenly been elevated to what I thought was very high status. Did anyone ask for his autograph? Oh, crumbs. Lots!" he laughs. Later that afternoon, the flame reached Wembley and, watching on television, Austin was amazed when the final runner appeared. He had been hoping it would be the weedy little bespectacled figure of Sydney Wooderson, his idol as Britain's greatest miler. Instead, organisers had chosen a much lesser athlete, John Mark, but one who happened to fit their ideal as an Olympian Adonis. Or as Austin puts it: "Because he was a good-lookin" fella." Even the Queen, later to be the Queen Mother, was shocked, supposedly being overheard to lament that they hadn't given the job to "dear little Sydney." Others, though, simply swooned. Fanny Blankers-Koen, who became the star of the Games, wrote later: "He was a magnificent specimen of manhood. I tried to arrange a rendezvous with him after I'd won my four gold medals but was told he was too shy to meet me. What a pity! That was Mark all right. Later to become a successful doctor, he always guarded his privacy and was far too honourable to ever milk his moment. Still, his rugby pals never let him forget, supposedly once teasing him on tour by setting light to a rolled up newspaper and forcing him to brandish it aloft while running around the pub with a pint in the other hand. As for Austin, there is a happy postscript to his tale. Returning to his camp, that "orrible little drill colonel could not wait to tell him with an evil smirk that the commanding officer wanted to see him. "I thought, "What have I done now, am I late back from leave?." Quaking in my polished boots, I was marched across to see him. "Instead, he said: "Ah Playfoot, relax lad. I understand they've let you keep your torch. Well, we're hosting the inter-command athletics championships in a few days so we're sending you home again to fetch it so you can come back, run around with it and open the championships for us! And there was I thinking I was about to be shot! Instead, I'd got more leave! And more glory. Sixty-four years on, Austin is reliving his 15 minutes of fame, even turning out with Jonathan Edwards, Denise Lewis and Seb Coe for the unveiling of the 2012 torch. "Yes, three Olympic champions," he chuckles. And me! At that illustrious gathering, Austin said all the right things about the state-of-the-art and award-winning design being "a modern torch for a modern Olympics." "But I think mine was the best," he says. And it was - because of the priceless memories it carries and how it reflects the time of a recovering nation's life.