I AM THE STORIES OF MY LIFE

Onward, what came next? I don’t recall the sequence now, but I bused through the countryside heading south, visited the Isle of Man, watched the Isle of Man TT races at the beginning of June. Have you heard of the TT Races? This is a motorbike race that has a course through mountainous terrain challenging the best of riders. It is a thrill to watch and in 1964 it was Mike Hailwood. I remember standing with many onlookers near a humpback bridge and watching as the riders came speeding round the bend almost touching the ground as they crossed the bridge. It was engraved on my memory.

Reaching the outskirts of London I landed on the doorstep of Aunt Daisy, perhaps I should say not a relative but a dear wartime friend of Mum and Dad’s. She lived in Wallington, Surrey. A retired schoolteacher, who of all the people I lived with was the kindest of heart, most formidable lady I have ever met before or after. Without question, she took me in, and I became part of the family. Aunt Agnes, Daisy's Sister, the cook of the household, Uncle George, well I don't really know what he did for a living, but he was a part-time bookie which seemed to keep him very busy. Aunt Daisy, who spent her retirement days creating a beautiful garden or volunteering or going to church, and then came me, who had to get out there and find my feet. Learn the bus routes or the train routes and get a job so I could experience more.

Having joined a Temp agency, I quickly got a head start on my new learning curve. One day I would be on the Green Bus to the dockyards working as a secretary in the overheated offices beside the Tannery. What an atrocious odour, hides being tanned with urine and bleach....UGG! But the result was beautiful soft leather for gloves, handbags, shoes, created by master craftsmen not far from the tannery.

There were Lawyer's offices, Doctor's offices, sometimes in the center of London near Trafalgar Square or along Oxford Street. So much to see, so much to do. I loved visiting the markets, Spitalfields with covered stalls of antiques and craftwork, Covent Garden, selling fresh vegetables and flowers and of course Billingsgate where they sold meat and fish. You could hear the shouts of the "sellers" all around the area, calling out their wares in the singsong voices of the Cockney. It was a cacophony of sounds but was in a way musical.

Lots of leg work kept me slim and strong. Once I had a large sketchbook and put all my little souvenirs, pictures, pins, badges of where I went. It has disappeared in the years but the memories remain. The cawing of the Ravens at the Tower of London, and the guards dressed in their full uniforms at each corner. The Ravens protect the Tower but their cawing is ear-splitting. Westminster Abbey is a priceless gem, a beautiful Cathedral, the sound of the organ and the young boys of the choir practicing the Requiem is a memory I can still hear and cherish. Buckingham Palace, you can stand there for hours hoping to catch a glimpse of the Royals. London Bridge, ahh but that was sold to an American and is now somewhere in the States. What a pity. Well, I guess that brings the song to mind " London Bridge is Falling Down".

By August I had purchased a Bicycle and had saved enough money for a trip to Europe. My cycling adventures took me through the lovely hedge-row lanes outwith the City. Many days I would pack lunch and cycle to gardens open to the tourists. July and August had been beautiful months, soft rains and warm sun created gardens heavy with the scent of roses and lavender amongst the many varieties of blooms.

Then nearing the end of the warm months, it was time to stretch my adventurous genes again and I booked a ticket on a hostel tour of Europe. This journey would see me and my companions choose different places to stop, work, enjoy then off again to the next country. Packed, ready to go, I took the tube into the City for what was a fun and eye-opening trip.

Brussels was our first stop after the channel ferry. Guess you don't need to worry about that anymore, just take the train from London and travel through the Eurotunnel. Cannot imagine what it must be like to travel under the English Channel 31 miles. In any case, our ferry was from Dover to Ostende. By the time that trip was over, I had become friends with a number of my fellow hostellers. One memory still pops to mind of us needing the washrooms and running because we heard there were few and they were multi-use. That was a totally new concept, but if desperate do what the Belgiums do. Then on our bus again to Brussels.

We soon found our abode for the first night but were definitely not impressed. Brussels at that time was not a clean city, but we had expected a clean hostel. Unfortunately, we found our beds had not been changed. It took a lot of courage on our part to go down to the Manager and converse in our best french to explain our disgust. They were changed, we found food checked out the city because it had wonderful historic buildings and beautiful fountains. Our cameras took the best of what we saw and ignored the filth.

Next day we travelled to St. Anton Von Arlberg, an alpine resort. It was a dream of mountains touched with snow, little villages scattered up and down the hillsides, churches with magnificent spires ringing out on the hour and clean, crisp air. We were to stay here five days and work in the hotel. Our digs were clean, the food delicious, the people friendly.

Following a lovely quiet sleep, we began our chores. Making beds which easy as you took the duvet which was a sheet cover stuffed with a puffed down-filled bag, gave it a shake and threw it over the balcony railings to catch the cold air and warm sun. In the evening you returned to fold it and lay it ready at the end of the bed. We cleaned the toilets, dusted the room, mopped the floors and on we went to the next room. It was a fantastic job because you could take a few moments to look out over the mountains and enjoy.

I must impress upon you all that this journey was not to earn money. Your work paid for your stay and your food. One or two scenic places I remember in Austria were Oberammergau, a town in the Bavarian Alps. Once a decade the whole town performs the Passion Play. One citizen is chosen to play Jesus for once chosen grows his hair and beard to play the part properly. It so happened that we were there for this wonderful historic performance and it was not only a great spectacle but moving.

The other city was Munich, the Capital of Bavaria. It has an annual Octoberfest. We were not there for the festival but I can assure you the celebrations must continue all year as we enjoyed many beer fests during our short stay. A short aside to the wonders of Austria, I met a very handsome farmer one evening, Anton, oh I was taken, all I will say is you can talk without many words when you want to. Another tidbit, my Uncle Herman, yes a friend of the family, had taken patience and time to teach me German. Perhaps I did manage to use it more than my mind tells me I did, but now, all I can do is sing..."Ich weis nicht was soll es bedeuten, dass ich so trauig bin". It is a beautiful song to hear but sad to know that the maiden intended was the sailors to come to grief.

Our Bus toured through Spain where we stopped at a small village and were able to stomp grapes, we touched on Italy, visited Liechtenstein, saw the lights of Monaco.

The memories have faded, I cannot find the few pictures I had but I know that they will remain in my heart and mind forever. It was my first taste of hosteling and truthfully the best and cheapest way to see those countries. But it was wearing thin as my pockets emptied and we all knew the time was up. Promising to remember each other, we returned to London. Our promises lasted for a while but Tempus Fugit.

As I read my written story, I reflect on what I did. My adventure had started in May and now it was September, only September? I was back working and living with Aunt Daisy once more wondering, "What do I do now?"