Logically, as you will agree if you do read through my memoirs, I have split my time on Earth into three phases, with a certain amount of coincidence, not least to do with family matters and close friends.
(My Grandma* wrote her life history, which I found very interesting, but that was a considerable number of years after she had passed away. She and our Grandpa had met soon after the turn of the 20th century. Grandpa had a career in the Royal Navy, based at ports along the south coast of Britain i.e. Falmouth; Plymouth; Dartmouth; Exmouth; Weymouth and finally Portsmouth, where they brought up their family, following the war-torn years between 1914 and 1918. They lived through both world wars and life was tough for them to make ends meet. They brought up our Dad and his brother from the early 1920s, in Portsmouth.)
* I enjoyed Grandma's snippets, some of them in the form of poetry. I would have enjoyed knowing some of their tales while they were still alive, which is why I am thinking of my own offspring by including this page on my blogsite. (You are not obliged to read any of my life history but you are most welcome to do so, if that should be your choice.)
At least my children and grandchildren will get the chance to find out bits and pieces about one of their ancestors, which is my intention here.
Thanks anyway, for your interest, by just being here!
Remember, Mondy? That was a few years prior to you trying to ride another fence, in Dover (if I remember rightly). I believe that to be the first time I'd ever heard this word: 'Scrotum'!
As we progressed we would meet up with other kids, forming a larger group as we neared the school. We didn’t feel insecure or that we were likely to be approached or molested by total strangers with mental deficiencies, or mugged by anyone else, on our way. It would be a long time before we knew about kidnappings, perverts and hostages, largely because we had the same number of T.V.s indoors as we did cars on the drive. (None!)
We had been born during peace time, in the first decade following the Second World War. Discipline was ingrained in us from day one, as a direct result of the military standards that had been set during the war years.
We were very lucky.
The duty teacher welcomed us onto the playground and we awaited the bell, which was the cue to go inside, through the main entrance, to find our own classrooms and desks. Had it been raining earlier then we were lucky enough to have had our own, ‘personalised’, initialled coat-hangers in the cloakroom, on which to hang our coats. Towels were readily made available. We would dry our little bodies, sharing towels and were totally unaware of any potential risks of catching colds and ‘flu during this process. There were no parking problems at the school gates because there were no cars. If parents did own cars then their function would not have been to transport children the distance of less than a couple of miles to school, when they could walk there with their mates.
(Yes, Dad was a Tax Man! Not a Taxi-Man!)
I don't think he ever tried to balance on the wall on his way to the station! If he did, he never told us about it.
Further down St. Richards Road was Deal Secondary School. While we were doing our time at South Deal Primary we had slightly older cousins, who had begun a stretch at the Secondary school. Beryl was a bit older than Ian. Then it was Ray, myself and our sister, Avril, in that order. Combined, we were the offspring from the two London sisters, Peggy and Dot Fairbairn, from Lewisham. They were evacuated from London during the war years, when they will have been late teens / early twenties. Mum and Dad (Dot and Roy) met in Bath, Somerset and 'the rest' became history. Soon after the war Auntie Peg and Uncle Bert were married. They lived in Kelvedon Road, Deal, opposite the big park, where we played as kids. They were first to produce offspring, which helps explain why Beryl and Ian were slightly older than we were! Ironically, the third grandchild, Ray was born in a bungalow at the far end of St. Richards Road. Cousin Beryl and her husband Pete now live about 250 metres from Ray's birthplace. Strange how these things happen. Small world!
We always had good fun with Beryl and Ian. One lasting memory of Ian was when he picked up their cat and let it pee like a water-pistol from head height (and Ian was quite tall) aiming at us in the lounge at their house in Kelvedon Road! He was maybe ten or eleven (Ian, not the cat. I can't remember its name but 'Tiddles' will have to do for now!)
We lost our cousin Ian a few years ago, through cancer. He and Jill had moved to Bovey Tracey in Devon and enjoyed their working lives together, with the pub just opposite, which was handy! Ian was the local electrician and had a very good reputation and was extremely popular among the locals.
Alan’s Travels began with the above, short journey, made week-daily. As this Blog continues, so too will his travels, in both number and distance.
2 THE MAGICAL ISLE OF WIGHT
Between me being a three-year-old and through the remaining fifties and early sixties, our family Summer holidays to the Isle of Wight included a drive to Portsmouth and a return trip to Deal. In between, we'd spend quality time with our Grandparents before and after a few days spent on the island.
I remember when Mum and Dad had managed to afford their first car. It was big and black, complete with running boards, which was a small step for man but a giant leap for us kids. (Thanks, Neil.)
(Austin DMB 453 … Thanks, Ray)
On arrival in Pompey, we would re-unite with Grandma and Grandpa, our paternal grandparents, at 33, Wesley Grove, Copnor. (The things that stick!) We loved to go 'train-spotting', on top of the bridge in Green Lane, parallel to Wesley Grove.
Despite living on the other side of the globe Sheila and I currently have far more contact with relatives than our own grandparents ever had with us, when we lived just a *short car journey away (*lengthy in those days). Until recently Sheila had secured her annual return trip, from NZ to Blighty, to stay with most of our close family members, en route. I would accompany her every two or three visits but it was always 'aggro' fitting in work commitments etc. etc. Six weeks away from our routine took some doing! Now retired, fitting in the work is not our problem but it is the effect of what has happened since we went into semi-retirement (Covid)! Cod iv. ... or Doc vi.)
Family birthdays and Christmases are never missed but now our best wishes are passed on as one-liners on Whatsapp.
We are unlikely, during our lifetime to see clearly the longer-term, adverse effects of Social Media, such as illiteracy. Our generation will soon have moved on, which will leave 'antisocial' media to continue, as though it had always existed.
(I had better stop there before I have another 'turn'.)
We would board the car ferry, crossing the Solent to Cowes (couldn't milk 'em, though) on the Isle of Wight.
Sandown was our base, where we had bed and breakfast accommodation with ‘Auntie’ Freda and ‘Uncle’ Frank. The beach there was very sandy and ‘Auntie’ Wendy taught us to swim. (Our parents only had one sibling each but we had a disproportionate number of Aunts and Uncles!)
I’ll always remember the multi-coloured sand that we collected in test-tubes at ‘Alum Bay’, which must be a massive Health and Safety issue by now. We survived handling thin glass, without any notable injuries or hospital trips. Also, visits to ‘The Needles’, clambering over rocks etc. ... and there were ‘Funny Mirrors’ at Blackgang Chine (I think it was there, anyway) which distorted our appearances. Hilarious, but apparently no longer in existence. (Possibly another 'Wellness' hazard?)
Grandma (Rosalie) and Grandpa (Percy) would have made their annual 'day trip' to the Isle of Wight on the Wednesday of our week there. That would have been quite an expedition for them! They will have paid for us kids to go to the Boating Lake, situated on the opposite side of the road from the sea front and beach huts.
"Come in Number 9. Your time is up!"
“We’re Number 9 and we’ve only just arrived!” Dad would have shouted back.
“Emergency! Dial 999! Number 6 is in trouble!” 
We would spend a couple more nights with G'ma and G'pa in Pompey, before returning home. I loved the smell of the fog in the lounge, as Grandpa listened to the 6 o'clock news, while puffing on his pipe, which was full of Golden Virginia tobacco. This created a lovely odour. (Ignorance is bliss!) We’d be taken to the roller-skating rink in Southsea but our feet wouldn’t have left the concrete. I can’t remember doing flip tricks or fliks either! Today's youth would have a Field Day!
Not quite ‘Disney World’ or ‘Disney Land’ but the novelty didn’t wear off and I’m sure that our parents had to cope with far less stress and expense than do today’s parents, with existing levels of peer pressure brought home to them from school.
Neither could our Mum or Dad book online in those days. Big Deal! (Well, its castle was big!) "What’s online, anyway?”
Several of the townships on the Isle of Wight had names that enabled a local writer, at the time, to compile the ‘5 Wonders of the I.O.W.’ This had become '6 Wonders' during the time we were visiting the island. More recently, from memory, between us we have jogged (shaken) our brains and largely due to Ray, our oldest sibling, this is what we came up with: - we remember the *asterisked* ones below.
During latter years these have increased to ‘8 Wonders’
(Thanks, Wikipedia for that ‘stat’!)
*Cowes you cannot milk
Brook where your feet stay dry
*Freshwater you cannot drink *Newport you cannot bottle
*Lake you can walk in without wetting your feet
Newtown which is very old
*Needles you cannot thread
Easton which is very West
*Ryde where you walk
I've just made it '9 Wonders' having glanced at the map.
(*The originals were surely the best!)
3 ALAN CONTINUES HIS TRAVELS ... TO SCHOOL
We reckon this 'Alan' bloke must have a big ego, to manufacture his own blogalogue."
"Yeah! I heard he only went travelling so that the world could see him!"
While still living on the corner of Lydia Road and St. Richards Road I completed my stint at Upper Walmer Infant School. My 7th birthday must have been approaching, toward the end of 1959, which qualified me, by age, to start attending South Deal Primary School, which meant heading off from home in the opposite direction in the mornings. Still accompanied by my brother, as he continued to be one school year ahead of me, chronologically, this next journey required a seven-or-eight minute stroll to the ‘Penny’ stop, situated in front of Moffatt’s sweet shop at the top of Mill Hill. A mob of kids from the dwellings at the top of the hill would congregate under the bus shelter there. The driver would routinely collect our pennies as we boarded and he would proceed to release the handbrake and allow his bus to run down the two or three stops, almost to the bottom of the hill, where we would disembark, subsequently crossing over and walking down to Mill Road, to the school playground. The return journey was just as straightforward, although we knew that to walk up the hill would ‘earn’ us the opportunity to spend our fare by investing in Black Jacks at Mr. Moffatt’s shop. These were succulent, liquorice chews, each worth a farthing, or a quarter of our bus fare. No doubt our parents will have ‘sussed’ our thrifty budgeting tactics but would have rewarded us for our initiative and scheming, by saying nothing at the time.This regular journey lasted less than three years, as Dad gained promotion at work and became a TOHG (Tax Officer Higher Grade), earning a move to the Maidstone Office in Kent’s County Town.
Time moves on and nothing stays the same. On return trips to Deal, since those happy days, I have been made aware that neither 'Upper Walmer Infant' nor 'South Deal Primary' schools still exist.
Indeed, one single house has taken the place of the former and umpteen dwellings have replaced the latter.
That is sad but I still have fond memories of both buildings, as they were in the fifties and of what went on in them during those days. The schools were 'we children and our teachers': not the buildings.
Those buildings, as new buildings will remain (and will continue to be so) ways of making the rich richer and the poor poorer.
Before proposed building sites even start to grow there are appropriate 'Authorities' or 'Powers that Be' that will seize the opportunity to create excessive costs for those intending to build. By the time these charges are met, along with the recoupment of builders' expenses, the costs incurred by the intended buyers are inflated beyond belief!
Too close to becoming 'Politics'!
I'll change the subject here!
Here follows this branch of the Pencavel family's next shift: -
This 'family move' took place during the dreadfully cold Winter of 1962/3. I was only nine or ten but remember it well. Ray had gone on ahead to Maidstone, as he was to commence Grammar-schooling there in September '62, having passed the '11-plus' exam, which streamed children in those days from the age of 12. Our parents had found ‘digs’ for Ray in Barton Road with an elderly couple, the 'Alfords'.
This couple lived just a few yards from the extravagant Grammar school entrance, which made that building look more like a castle, from memory.
Mum and Dad were buying a house in Old Tovil Road and the remainder of us shifted from Deal to Maidstone during the early and snow-covered months of 1963.
My Primary schooling continued at Southborough School, heading out of town towards Loose Village, which was unsurprisingly South of Maidstone and on the Loose Road. Later, the family moved a bit closer to this village and lived at 52 Pear Tree Lane for several years. This entailed a bus ride to school for me, across town but ‘variety is the spice of life’ and I shared the journey with a good friend, namely Alan (Fanny) Hill. He and I became two of ‘the smokers at the back of the bus’ as we grew through our mid-teens.
As a sixth-former, having passed my driving test I was allowed to use the family 'Vauxhall Viva', as a special treat to get to school and back. Apart from that privilege the bus journey continued throughout my sixth and seventh-form years. During that time I studied hard to sit French and Art ‘A’ levels. "Yeah! Right!" (We didn't actually use that expression back in those days.) I was playing county football, which was my main incentive to stay on at school.
5 OVERNIGHT 'STROLL' - MARGATE TO MAIDSTONE
While researching some certification, in order to find correct dates between my studies etc. I came across the largest evidence of all that I'd achieved anything as a young man i.e. an oversized certificate ... by far my 'biggest' ... but not exactly one that will have helped me acquire many jobs during my life!
It reads, 'This certifies that Alan Pencavel completed the Kent Messenger 50-mile walk from Margate to Maidstone, via Canterbury and Ashford, in 19 hours 15 minutes.'
Signed H.R. Pratt Boorman.
Editor-in-Chief and Proprietor of the Kent Messenger.
I was delighted to have found this evidence, which has lived in a big brown envelope for 55 years, so far! Since our trip to New Zealand, in 1990 it has remained in the said envelope but was promoted to an old, black briefcase, which also contained a wad of other certificates, gained during my serious years of study, which became my CV. (Nobody who knows me will be aware that I actually lived through any of those years, of serious study!) This briefcase now lives on the top shelf, in our garage at Lauriston Park.
**
Today, during Lockdown, on account of the spread of Covid, it has now just been moved into pole position, not three feet away from my old Record Player, where our dog Romeo sits in his little round bed, listening to the Beatles and the Rolling Stones' music from the sixties i.e. this briefcase has been taken from the archives and put into a position where I may eventually find sufficient time to search within for old scraps of old notes! I fully believe that some circumstances, however minor, are often meant to be and are not just coincidence!
**
My best pal of that era was a big, friendly guy (BFG), with an even bigger character, called Sonny Todd. His family members, including his Mum, Ruby and his older brother, Pat, were involved in policing around the Maidstone District, in Kent. I have always presumed that
He and I were both thirteen years of age when we took on this challenge. It's one of just a few journeys that I do know the precise distance accomplished. (* My mistake! You'll see why later. 😖)
It's not easy to give a commentary on a 50-mile walk. I'd rather relate a story about 'cloud movement' or 'grass growth' or even a narrative about 'watching varnish dry, on a wet day'.
Approximately two seconds after the gong had 'gonged' in Margate, Sonny put his right foot forward just as Alan lifted his left foot and replaced it. Alan took a second step, then a third, just as Sonny replaced his left foot for the first time. By the time Sonny had completed another step, Alan had taken three more. They were still alongside each other but Alan had worked much harder than Sonny, so far. He was a big lad but his smaller pal, Al (destined to become a poet) had not yet begun his growth spurt.
Every now and again our family members tooted their car horns and offered us encouragement with yelps of excitement, having spotted us, en route, despite it being dark 'out there'.
There was not a sprint finish to the line, for the crowd to become over-excited, but a few supporters had gathered, as it was late morning / early afternoon as the majority of walkers were finishing their respective journeys, at Maidstone Barracks ... I think.
The two of us were chuffed to have completed the walk, especially after hearing that the precise distance was just over *55 miles.
We ticked that one off and took our aching lower limbs home for some rest ... and for other body parts to catch up with lost sleep.
Mission accomplished!
The highlight of each week, during my Secondary schooling, was being dropped off at the school gate on a Saturday morning for either a home game or a coach trip to the Medway towns, or possibly as far away as Bromley, Bexley, Dartford or Gravesend. Roan Grammar was a big annual event, travelling right into Greenwich, South-East London. Without a doubt this was our toughest opposition.
These trips were all about socializing and bonding together, as teams and opponents.
As representatives of our school, we had very high standards set for us on these trips: -
We had to wear our school uniforms for each outing: tie and all.
A home game was still a privilege, to entertain teams from these nearby towns and gradually we got to know individuals from those opposing schools. How lucky we were!
(This must have been the start of things to come i.e. the world going mad!)
(Don't get me back onto those topics! I had good reasons for leaving teaching and these were two of them!)
However, similar school trips were also made during the Summer months for cricket matches. Again, we greatly appreciated the encouragement given to us from our teachers, umpiring games or just appearing during the matches, to spectate. Inter-school tennis was played competitively as well but did not involve 'coachloads' of players. Often staff would volunteer the use of their own vehicles for away games, usually extending the school days in order for matches to be played.
These were all very memorable 'Travels' of mine.
(However, he had acted as Captain of the 1st X1 football team, substituting for Mick Kibble, who was a school prefect.)
Those two 'A-level' years had taken me through to college days, when I 'tried to flee' the nest, as I commenced a teacher-training course in P.E., Anatomy and Physiology in Cheltenham, on the outskirts of the Cotswolds, in Gloucestershire.
(Hence the confusion three years later!)
For a while I owned a Bantam 175cc. motor bike. I used it just once to get from Maidstone to Cheltenham. I did so, but it broke down just outside Oxford. It was getting dark and was 'chucking it down'.
What did I do?
I phoned home!!
"Mum. I've broken down and am stuck at Oxford."
(Maybe I wasn't quite ready to become independent?)
What did I expect my parents to do from Maidsone, in Kent, so far away? I just needed some creature comfort, I think. I was still only a teenager, after all and it was dark ... and I was getting wet! 😢
Mum's quick-thinking came to the rescue. She just happened to know someone from the war years, who lived near Oxford. (Some things just happen, don't they?) Somehow, she made contact with her friend of old and I was subsequently given a free night's board and lodgings ... and somewhere to park my faulty bike! Unbelievable, eh?
I received the same price for my bike as I'd paid for it, six weeks earlier.
Those were my 'Biker' days ... over!
During my final year at Cheltenham I used my first car, as I had bought Mum and Dad's 'Morris 1000 Traveller', 803 EPK. (My brain does its own thing. How do I remember that number plate but forget my eleven-times-table, if I get so far as 110?) I gave Dad a nominal twenty pounds from my savings, so that the car was legally mine! (Not that 'the law' means much!)
They had just purchased a Hillman Avenger for their own use.
I used my 'Morrie Thou' to grow moss and potatoes in the rear window frames.
So, my ‘Travels’ hadn’t taken me any enormous distances, to the age of 20 but I’ve enjoyed reminiscing, so far and have some details concerning a couple more events, which I shall include sooner rather than later. I have commenced the ‘Alan’s Travels’ page of my Blog, with little trial, or error. That comes later.
As time goes on, I shall be reporting on a number of more significant shifts in my life’s journey but I shall keep you all in suspense for a bit longer. Firstly, I have recalled one or two trips, which should really have been mentioned earlier. No apologies: just a brief explanation as to why some of these stories (not 'lies') are not in the correct chronological sequence.
8 SUMMER HOLIDAYS PRE - 'CHEAP FLIGHTS'
I’ll move on a bit here, as I'm likely to set a few of you off, if I pursue this topic, which may lead to controversy to some degree. Maybe I’ll discuss those issues later, should I find a few spare minutes (hours)? I'm not feeling like opening a can of worms at this point.
Besides, I need an early night!
Living in Deal, we knew that big boats went across the English Channel to France and returned to Dover, or Folkestone. This was a distance, one-way, of just over twenty miles but seemed to take forever. I can only remember doing the trip four times.
(i) An educational trip to Calais. (This
was opposite Dover’s port, but was in France.) Apart from being a very wet day I do not
remember hanging on to any educational benefits apart from having to stand up, then proceed with a half-squat, with very little privacy afforded, in the Public Loos'.
(ii) On another occasion I went over as part of a ‘football club trip’ as a
mid-teenager, to play against a team in Calais. We won eleven nil and I claimed
five goals ... which may have actually been six
but it wouldn’t have just been four,
for sure! (Have you ever played golf with an old hacker? This analogy is a good
one, although the latter will have taken the lower of the two scores on offer.)
(iii) I remember going across on the ferry, en route to a Scout Camp based in Echternach,
the oldest town in Luxembourg, close to the border of Germany. In hindsight,
this trip must have been very ambitious for ‘Mo’, our scoutmaster, to have undertaken,
although from memory he did receive considerable help from a few parents. My recollections are
pretty vague now but I recall that the trip was a success in that we had good
weather, there were no memorable incidents or accidents and we all made it back
across the Channel, to Dover, then home. The experience was a first for most of
us in that ‘a trip abroad’ ('Overseas', Kiwis) was breaking new ground, literally! I was aged about eleven or
twelve at the time.
'Tovil Scouts' had its share of characters and I learned about how
to socialize with older kids; tie knots; carry out First Aid; use maps and
compasses; put up a tent (erection) and how to puff on a cigarette. Not all
good for me but I do have fond memories of being given a bit of responsibility,
as a Boy Scout Leader and have indeed, during my life used some of the basic skills learned back then. ("Good on ya, Baden Powell!")
Here's a bit of an 'intro' to another crossing of the English channel, to France.
Our parents used the spare bedroom at home, annually, to billet one or two of a class of French scholars during their educational trips to England. These were organized by a small group of French teachers, living and working with children schooling in Marseilles, on the beautiful and popular holiday resort, 'Le Cote d'Azur'. For three consecutive years, Michele (Mickie) returned to our 'digs'. She was very out-going and was top-of-her-class in English. She and I built up a bit of a relationship between us but it was destined not to last forever. 'twas merely a bit of hand-holding, snogging, a few "Je t'aimes", a few love-letters between us and a sad "Au Revoir" at the end of each visit and during its fizzle-out!
(I've never written a 'Romance' before!) * *
(iv) Requiring a crossing of the channel, on the fourth year, Mum and Dad had organized a family visit to Marseilles, detouring a little on the return journey, to stay with Michele and her family. at both their homes, in Marseilles and in the country, near Lyon. The French family (Les Dols) were very hospitable and it was lovely to see Mickie again, on her home ground. However, the distance between us was telling in the end. What might have been!?
We visited Cannes and Nice on the South coast (to name drop a little, as all the big names spent their vacations there, too!)
I remember visiting le pont d'Avignon, en route to Lyon but more detail than that I cannot recall.
* * This was all very innocent stuff but there was a gap of two years between us and our 'plans for the future' disappeared after our family trip to Marseille. There were four years of maturity between us. Most of that was immaturity, on my part! Well, they reckon males are a couple of years behind in their development to become adults!
Paul Walker and I became flat mates for 'Years 2 and 3' of our time spent in Cheltenham. We shared accommodation, above a greengrocer shop at 459 High Street with a great guy, Davy Thomas, a multi-talented Welsh artist who coincidentally had gained qualifications earlier in his career from 'Maidstone School of Art', which was on the campus of my old school, Maidstone Tech.
Small world, eh?
P.K. and I had other 'Digs' during our first year at St.Paul's. I was at Ma Smith's and Paul was at Rose Hill College Flats. Several of our mates were at 130 Brunswick Road, where I was lodged later, sleeping on Doc's floor!
More about Davy, later, when we've travelled a bit further ... to Australia.
Social Media, in this day and age, makes me very wary!
I would fully understand, if a number of you have read enough about where I travelled to and from during my early years. You probably will have gone elsewhere by now, so I'll continue with my life's journey for the benefit of those of you, probably closer to me, who are still reading.
Our weekly routine, as a family, was to attend a church service on Sunday mornings. Half way through a service, the youth of the congregation would disappear through the side exits into other facilities provided for them to learn the basics of the stories within the Holy Book. Our hard-working volunteer teachers did not wear dog collars but were prepared to pass on information to the younger ones, who would presumably do the same at some time in the future. That was how it worked.
Men: "Thou shalt socialise after Church on Sundays ... but thou shalt also mow the lawns, after work, during the following week, and keep the car topped up, by referring to an 'acronym', despite there being no smartphones in sight in those days!"
Usually, the men were also the 'major bread winners'. Each gender of the household had an accepted role to play and everyone was happy with that, so far as I can remember. In general, females played netball and hockey while males played rugby, hockey and football. Both took part in tennis; gymnastics and athletics. Men boxed and wrestled but women didn't. 😃 Most 'unladylike'.
Women had babies: then 'Mums' had more obvious, maternal responsibilities, and 'Dads' had fewer paternal ones. One of these was for him to serve as the provider for his family, as did most animal fathers, as nature had planned. People seem to forget that all living things are either in the animal, or plant kingdoms, so these functions seemed to be logical in those days and were accepted by everyone as the norm within family life on Earth.
😊 "If you read this Sue I hope things went well for you during your life ... and are still doing so!"
Life went on, as it does and before long I began to go out with Sue's good friend from school, Carole. We'd meet up at The Wimpy Bar, after school, for drinks on Gabriels Hill, in Maidstone. That was just the beginning!
So, metaphorically speaking, you'll be hearing bits and pieces of a much longer 'journey' of mine.
Carole lived with her Mum and Dad, Ivan and Stella, in North Street, at one terminal of our bus route and on Fridays we'd wander up to the 'Redstart Pub', with their neighbours, Bob and Margaret for those evenings. Then, after 'last orders' we'd walk down to the bus stop and I would catch the last bus home, to Loose, (Not ''Toulouse' .. that's in France!) which was almost at the other end of the same route.
Ivan, my father-in-law-to-be was involved with Teston C.C. and consequently I began a big part of my life by playing village cricket for Teston C.C. in Kent. Annual tours to Ilminster in Somerset followed, with a handful of we locals, plus the cream from one or two other teams. Our collective label was 'The Kessex Imbibers', as the other clubs represented Sussex and Essex. (You'll have to look up imbibe, as I did!)
Boy, did we have some fun on those trips away, for many consecutive years! One of our tourists, Roger (Postman Pat) strummed his guitar and we'd sing the nights away! Pooley would be continually playing practical jokes, once he'd sold his suitcase-full of white socks, from the back of a lorry, to make sufficient profit to pay for his tour expenses. (He was closely related to Del-Boy Trotter!)
Contrary to belief, the majority of us behaved ourselves! We stayed with 'Rob and Gill', a lovely, hospitable couple, hosting us at 'The Bay House' at the top of 'Ilminster High Street'.
To qualify for a place on tour, 'being a good cricketer' was not the only pre-requisite. (I wonder, looking back, whether it was really even necessary?) It was essential, however, that we were 'sociable' and 'reasonably outgoing' or had sufficient potential to become so!
The Mums and Dads had decided to go abroad together ‘next’ year, which we did. They probably had realized that because of the respective ages of their offspring this would possibly be a final excursion, when all family members would be able, or would choose to go away with each other.
Sounds harsh to say that but it was probably true.
On the first morning of our holiday in Berwang my brother, Ray ...
My girlfriend, Carole and I decided the following day to do the same trip, in reverse.
So, we took Shanks' pony to the bottom of the lift and dismounted when it reached its uppermost point. (Nowhere near the 'top' of the mountain! I'm only referring to the 'top' of the lift, which was sufficiently high for us, as we were in no way dressed for mountaineering. This was not planned to be the mission that it inadvertently turned out to be.)
My next recollection was waking up in a hospital at Innsbruck ... I think(?) I didn't know where I was. I was staring into a ward mirror, wondering why half my scalp had been mown and the other half had hair, which was still draped over my shoulder. (Long hair was very fashionable in the early seventies, unless you were a 'Mod', for those who may know what I'm talking about.)
"Allllaaan! Allllaaan! No! No! You must not be out of bed!" A very concerned nurse was doing her job, as I had pulled out various plastic 'tubes' and 'hoses' and was staring at my new appearance, not fully understanding my situation.
Having been seven days in a coma, with the edge having been taken off everyone else's perfect holiday, I expect I replied in the affirmative. I must have been hungry!
So, I did rest, with a nasty gash in my cranium, which had needed thirty-odd stiches, so I was told. But, thankfully, I had not broken any bones.
Carole's scream, coinciding with my 'departure' from where she'd been sitting, had alerted the Mountain Rescue staff on duty in the village and we were subsequently taken to hospital by them, (I presume by chopper.) On my return home she had bought me an album by Jim Reeves, called 'Welcome to my World', which I very much appreciated. It was only later that I began to realize what a terrible week the entire group had been through, although I was pleased to hear that they had continued on with their activities, which culminated thankfully in me waking up, the day before they returned to England ... I think? (No-one will know if I haven't reported accurately, at least some of these details.)
"After what you've been through, Mr. P! I'd like a serious chat with you in my office, at 8 o'clock tomorrow morning!" (Subsequently, I was given a 'final warning'.)
For sure, I was lucky to have had so much support from family, friends and everyone else involved with 'getting me back on track' ... the right track this time!
Boy, had we enjoyed the social aspect of our development!
We were still very competitive, as ex-P.E. students tend to be. We had the same tastes, for alcohol in particular, and soon invented our own rules for beach games and welcomed the fact that Andy's older brother, Nigel was the manager of a local Sports Centre, with squash courts made available for our use after days of activity on the beaches. Then, having showered and felt the sun-burn on our shoulders, the evenings were ready and waiting for us, wherever each flash restaurant happened to be, in turn. Mirth was rampant between us all. Andy; Doc; Phil; Bryn; Paul and Davy were ex-Chelts and we managed to mix with locals and share our love of 'classic entertainment', fuelled largely by a colourless, flammable, intoxicating liquid that seemed to be present in most of our drinks. We tried hard not to be thirsty, for sure. Yes, we boys were still very irresponsible and supported anyone prepared to promote laughter, which was a fuel in its own right. A game of cards was another source of our amusement, when a friend of a friend, namely Nick, soon became 'Nine-High' Nick. PKW usually had Nick's share of Aces! Needless to say, few hands were won with nines or tens! Fortunately for everyone concerned, the girls enjoyed themselves too! (Hadn't I mentioned them earlier?)
Sending Christmas cards to each other was fairly regular but then the world invented 'progress', when impersonalized 'messages' followed. This became the norm, with Facebook friends of friends wishing us happy Christmases ... but that must have stopped when we didn't reciprocate, at the very point of losing touch.
12 SITTINGBOURNE : STARTING A FAMILY
I’d been teaching in Sittingbourne for over a year, while my fiancée, Carole had
been completing her studies in Coventry. Remember, she was a school year behind
me. We had made no detailed plans yet, regarding our wedding arrangements. These
were certainly on the cards, as an engagement ring, back then, was a commitment,
to say, “I do!” at a later stage. So we did, the following year. We both
understood what we’d signed up for, so that was
going to happen.
Meanwhile, I’d been back at home living with my parents, Dot and Roy, in Loose,
at 52, Pear Tree Lane.
(I actually still called them ‘Mum’ and ‘Dad’) 
Here follows a lengthy ramble: -
There had been some *confusion between the day of my ‘first job interview’ and
my starting date, which was to be 5th September 1974. On that
morning, on my brand new, crease-free timetable, I spotted six sessions of
‘Chemistry’ and ‘Physics’ which were two words that I’d virtually deleted, well before the word ‘delete’ was in such common usage. (We used to ‘rub
out’, ‘erase’ or ‘wite-out’ unwanted script in those days and button-pressing
was reserved for typists, even before electronic typewriters.)
This *confusion had occurred, as follows: --
As a Specialist P.E. Student, having studied the human body in depth for
three years, I was well-qualified to teach Anatomy and Physiology, which
concerned the human body, its parts and its functions. Biology is the study of
human organisms, so I was well-equipped to teach Biology. I was also very much looking
forward to teaching Biology, as I had
a great role model from Maidstone Tech., namely, Dick Barton. I had not been awarded a B.Sc. My general science knowledge was restricted by the nature of my studies.
As I drove to school on my first day, from Loose to Sittingbourne, via Detling
on the A249 I did not contemplate six periods per week of teaching Physics and
/ or Chemistry. Those topics did not receive any mention during my interview,
so I was somewhat aggrieved when I was told that the decision had been made,
signed and sealed … but not yet delivered, as I tried to explain.
Let me explain to you readers! (I have plenty of time!)
After my own ‘Third Form’ studies, having selected subjects for my two-year
courses, leading to ‘O’ level exams at the end of ‘Fifth-form’, I had made my
subject choices at Maidstone Tech., but Science, as a subject, had not been on
my personal timetable and certainly was not (yet) a forte of mine. I was however studying eight other subjects to 'O' level but not to 'Teaching' level, without some assistance!
My 'Science' class was to be ‘1C2’ (Eleven and
twelve-year-olds’). Streaming was in vogue in those days and the ‘C’ stream was
the lowest, which contained the children having the least academic prowess. There
were 30 boys in this class. (Fortunately, the Girls’ equivalent school, *Rowena
High School, although situated on the same campus was in fact totally separate
from *St. John’s Boys’ High School.
Now, where was I?
Oh! Yes! These young’uns had never previously studied Sciences, to any
significant depth, so ‘1C2’ and their new Science teacher were in the very same
boat and to begin with were also on the same page. {From memory, during Lesson 1, while the boys wrote their names on their exercise books, Mr. Pencavel had read and re-read the first two chapters!} 😠
Pointing out this error, or
‘misunderstanding’ to the Powers-that-Be, on Day 1 of my teaching career, had made
absolutely no difference to the scheduled plan.
"That was it, and all about it, Mr.
Pencavel”
"There has been a total misunderstanding, Mr. Mullineux. I am in no way qualified to teach Physics or Chemistry, at any level. I'm sorry, Sir, but I do have another interview in Chatham tomorrow, which hopefully will be more straightforward, without additional, unexpected challenges for me. My first term of teaching P.E. and Biology, with Anatomy, Physiology and Health Education will be sufficiently demanding in itself."
CUT!
"Please, Alan, return to my office after lunch and we shall debate this issue with the Head of Science, Colin Field."
I chose not to resign straight away, before I’d even taken my first lesson
at St. John’s. However, I was feeling pretty stressed. This first day of the ‘New School Year’ was to prepare for
classes to begin the following day. I added, as soon as I realized that this
may actually become a reality, that mistakes in time-tabling were surely in
need of ironing out on that day too?
A ‘proviso’ was introduced: Mr.
Pencavel needed to have some tuition, outside normal school hours. The Head of
Science, Mr. Field was insistent that we would be able to work things out, to suit everyone concerned. Subsequently, I firmly believe that Colin will have gained more from these 'after school detentions 'tuition sessions' than I did, as he will have watched his own, personal, 'adult student' making significant progress under his tuition.
I hadn’t lit a *Bunsen burner since my own third-form days. I'd lit plenty of cigarettes during my third-form days but not Bunsens. Now, I was about to
supervise thirty children in the use of the Bunsen burner, under the pretence
of being an expert. These meetings with Mr. Field occurred on Wednesdays, after
school, prior to presenting Science lessons to ‘1C2’ on Thursday mornings, after
assembly, well-armed with super-fresh
knowledge. Inevitably, these ‘jog-the-memory-periods' reduced in number as time went on, subject to some progress being made by me learning
which pages to be on, ahead of my charges. Also, depending on prior commitments, with me being 50% of the P.E. Department, such as ‘inter’-school
/ ‘after’-school soccer or hockey matches to be refereed, or escorting teams to
away games, driving the school’s minibus, returning by six o’clock, as it was
getting dark. Wednesdays were popular days for inter-school sports. No
overtime, of course. Whoops! I’m sounding ungrateful, if not frugal, which I
never have been. These were days when teachers were rewarded by earning favourable
comments, made on progress reports, which ultimately may have increased
their chances of promotion at a later stage of their careers. I’m sure nothing has changed
in that respect.
'Overtime did not carry with it bigger pay slips, or 'time-and-a-half' rates!'
Just taking a breath! … … Won’t be long. I’m just off for a comfort break.
* These two schools, each with nearly seven-hundred pupils, did in fact amalgamate at a later stage, after Mr. Pencavel had moved on with his life. Thank Goodness
for that, or he may have had twelve periods of Science to teach. Two dunce classes! (Spoken, tongue in
cheek, for best effect!)
** Exactly 100 years before I was born, back in 1852, Robert Bunsen had been
promised a new laboratory building in Heidelberg, Germany. His burner was to
become common usage in laboratories all over the world. A belated “Thank you”
to Robert, although it won’t reach him now. He’d be anticipating his 200th
birthday soon, had he still been alive.
(In other words …… I read the book just before the students
did.)
After nine years of so-doing I was just about managing to stay ahead of the scholars,
as each new ‘1C2’ was a year younger than its predecessors, so the age-gap
between us was increasing. I had bragging rights for a short period of time, as
my ‘1C2’ was achieving better marks than the ‘B’ stream and some ‘A’ streamers,
sitting the same exam questions, annually. (Maybe having fresh knowledge was
the secret?) Ironically, Mr. Pencavel really enjoyed receiving such feedback,
from exam results. His academic lessons were a healthy break from running ‘cross-countries’
or teaching baton-changing or softball, in inclement weather, as it frequently
was in the Mother Country, regardless of the seasonal changes.
Things worked out well, proving that I had no need to panic
when away from the gymnasium, sports fields or cricket nets. I thoroughly
enjoyed these lessons and still remember some of those boys from ‘1C2’. Steven
Hemmings comes to mind, as he was the first boy to whom I gave the ‘slipper’. ( Don't give him my current address.) Eddie Gillie was another member of what soon became 3C2 ... and the Sedge twins (It's all coming back to me now. How old are you guys now?) 😉
A challenging bunch but eventually giving their P.E. teacher the respect he felt he deserved. Well, he had used a ‘plimsoll’ to set the ‘discipline bar’ high enough, in order not to have too many future issues with ‘3C2’ … the ‘dreaded’ ‘3C2’ by most staff room reports, at
breaktimes.
Before that, Carole, my spouse-to-be, had landed a Physio job at the Royal British Legion
Village Hospital, which was conveniently equi-distant from Barming, where she had grown up and where
her parents, Ivan and Stella still lived, and Larkfield, where we managed to
purchase our first home together, with some help from family with the deposit on 113, Heron Road, which we soon paid off, thankfully. (No, not the mortgage!
That took a bit longer!) Financially, we were OK with two incomes and no kids. Debts
were temporary things in those days, fortunately for us. There was a certain
stigma associated with being in debt. (Imagine that now, in the 2020s!) Imagine
a house price in 1974 … and a Teacher’s
salary? In round figures back then, approx 9,900 and say 9,900 ( Dollars? Shillings? Ounces?Pounds?) Don’t
quote me, as I don’t remember the precise figures but you could remove several noughts from today’s prices!
I have always believed that provided we made an effort ourselves and did not
take everything in life for granted that the
major decisions just seem to happen, having adequate faith in the Big
Man upstairs. (Someone must have been looking after us, for sure!)
The trips
for me to Sittingbourne in the mornings were easy, after I’d dropped Carole at
work. I would either collect her after school from the hospital or she would
travel home by bus. I usually had slightly longer days than the missus, with
after school clubs, matches to referee etc. etc. … plus the trip back over Detling
Hill. We did not foresee that I would be living in Maidstone but working in Sittingbourne
… then working in Maidstone and living in Sittingbourne. However, the
twenty-five-or-so minute journey each way allowed me to unwind, on the odd days when I may
have had ‘par-for-the-course’ stressful situations, at school or in prison or
vice-versa. I’m sure that by the time I’d returned home my heavy, diaphragmatic-breathing
routines will have subsided!
Our wedding took place at Knightrider Street Baptist Church, in Maidstone, on 10th
April 1976. We had a memorable honeymoon, which took us to Lands End and back,
exploring new ground as we went. All was well and everything we did was very exciting.
“But, with having to live out of a suitcase for ten days, in and out of different
hotel rooms or B&Bs, it was tough … but we survived!
Carole, within a couple of years announced that she was expecting our first
infant, so that was exciting. Life went on much as normal for me, as it did for most husbands, of course.
Otherwise, my sporting commitments continued as normal. Football was my passion.
I was an avid fan, or ‘follower’ of Man Utd, prior to ‘avarice’ taking the
reins during recent years, when a thousand pounds suddenly became a million …
and a million a billion and so on, without time to blink between these exaggerated
‘values’. The ‘E age’ will soon become the ‘Robotic Age’ and God knows what
after that! Don’t get me started again!
I’m getting too old for all that bull-shit (excuse my French) bull-merde.
Cricket took up my Saturdays during the Summer months, playing for Teston
Village and touring annually in Ilminster and District, in Somerset with 'Kessex Imbibers' on each Queen’s
Birthday weekend. I used to open the batting and keep wicket. Again, not
achieving the accolades of another Kentish Man and namesake, Alan Knott. Taking
over from him did not happen, either. I didn’t pray or dream hard enough, obviously! Perhaps it was not to be!
Tennis
matches, inter-school, were frequent. (What a selfish life I was leading!) My
football days were spread evenly between two or three local teams, spread
across the years, in between county games over a couple of seasons during the
late sixties. All our team-mates were ‘wannabes’ (not
Wallabies!), myself included, but only one or two of us will have made the appropriate
grade to earn Football League status. I could name one or two who did
but I wouldn’t want to embarrass them during their retirement.
Daniel was our firstborn and what a special day that was. (Again, Carole was in bed, resting, all day long! 😊) On 25th
October, 1978, there he was and I didn’t realise such a feeling of contentment
existed until I picked up my first offspring and looked into his eyes … a boy,
to boot. (Not literally, you understand, although definitely an occasional slap on his bum to keep him in line and to teach him fair play ... but not on his first day. He may not have understood?) We had sped down the Tonbridge Road from Barming, with Carole going
through the motions in the passenger seat, eventually being comforted by caring
nurses at Fant Hospital. What a relief, for her especially! This was the start
of another journey. A six pound something specimen, namely Daniel Jonathan
Pencavel, to be formal. What a day!
My parents: Dan’s paternal grandparents took me to a pub for lunch at Boughton,
past Loose, on the way to Linton. Fond memories and not a bad Ploughman’s lunch
either. (The farmer wasn't very happy.) Carole was continuing to go through whatever motions new Mums do, or did then! Dan
will have spent a bit more time in the microwave / incubator but to me, he was
already perfect!
So, a new Dad, at 26. Not bad! … and a lot to be grateful for,
without a doubt. House; Job; Wives; Jobs; Wife; Newborn. All was very well, thank you very
much!
(I think I played squash that night. I couldn’t let the side down, could I, as
a committee man?) It could not have been long before Ivan and Stella (my in-laws) and
I were wetting the Baby’s head, up at the Redstart, at the top of North Street,
with Carole’s sister, Wendy, and my Brother-in-law, Geoff. “Happy Days!”
Routine must have had to continue and we were well past school-holidays,
mid-term, so 1C2 will have been missing me that day, for sure. (Yeah! Right!) We
may then have been discussing the gestation period of the chicken ... 21-days,
so I remember. Great excitement for Mother Chook. (I don’t suppose the Cockerel
gave a monkey's.)
He probably would not have known his responsibilities, as a Dad, or
what even caused 'those chicks'.) We plodded on as newlyweds. We had ‘courted’ through our College years; found
jobs since those fond memories; tied the knot; bought a house; sewn our first
crop of veggies in the back garden, on advice from Ivan, a role-model to die
for; started our family; bought a car; witnessed other friends’ and siblings’ weddings and other
family new additions. I’d had a promotion at work and had become part of the
furniture at St. John’s High School. We had good friends and colleagues and
life was pretty rosy. Not quite a box of fluffy ducks yet but that was due to be put right, after our first house move to Milton Regis, just North-East of Sittingbourne,
with a second bundle on its way, early in 1981.
Sarah Louise arrived on 8th July and made the complete package for our little clan. Mum; Dad; Daniel and Sarah. What a moment when it hit home to me that Sarah-Louise had completed that package. Again, I was fortunate to be present on her arrival and what a blessing to have ‘one-of-each’ at our first attempts! (Well, we had to put in lots of practice!) This particular Dad could not have felt more proud, or happy. Our pub lunch, again with the paternal grandparents … we were making quite a habit of this … took place midway back to Sittingbourne from the Isle of Sheppey Hospital, at a Pub, aptly named ‘The Halfway House’, at the far end of the same A249, which I had used to travel to work from Maidstone and back, then latterly from Sittingbourne and back.
With the purchase of our second property, at 10 Staple Close, Milton Regis, we had a bedroom each for the children; we had excellent new
neighbours; a school for Dan was a short walk away and Carole was a full-time Mum,
big time, making friends with Dan's best friend, Simon's Mum, Brenda. We were still very happy. This was 1982. Our carpet in the lounge fortunately had sufficient pile in it to soften the blows when the two toddlers decided to jump all over me and ride around on my back, when I played their donkey! Each week they seemed to have grown a bit more and would laugh a bit louder! Good fun, eh kids? Rainbow was one of the kids' programmes on the box. Sarah was a huge fan. We subsequently had a rabbit named Bungle and a cat called Zippie. Sarah inherited a nickname of her own that was passed on down, through the family. Grandpa 'P' (Dad's Dad) apparently had always been called 'Tich', when he'd been in the navy, in Plymouth. Sure enough he was one of few adults whom I eventually could look down on, although granddad Ivan will have been another, later on. Nearly four decades later we didn't know our Grandson was going to be 'George'! Hi, Georgie! Keep smiling! (Maybe that was to do with the Formby piece of Pencavel history. Dan would sit six inches from the box, watching American cartoons. He soon became fluent in the art of speaking with a Yankee drawl. (Hi, Kids! What are you doing in your forties already?)
Thick snow in Sittingbourne in 1984 became a lasting memory. Mum's first car, in her own name, was covered one morning. The roof of her 'white' Vauxhall Viva was all that was visible from the upstairs, front bedroom window. Lorries (That's 'trucks', Kiwis) were stuck on the roundabout just below us. That's one of those obstructions in the road, Kiwis, when polite drivers signal to let other drivers know where they're going 😕 !
Some of the following details I may have forgotten or misconstrued.
Sorry, if
that is the case but it will not affect the consequences, or your reading.
This is how I remember it: - During the following year it was announced that St. John’s Deputy Headmaster, Gordon Yetman had
been involved in a nasty motor-cycling accident. This subsequently created a chain-effect, whereby the Head
of Upper School, Ted Ellis became Temporary Deputy Headmaster. The Head of Lower School, Harold Martin acted up to Head of Upper School. Head of P.E., Ray Stafford, became Temporary Head of Lower School, leaving me, at the tail
end of the line, to run the P.E. Department, for one term, with a token amount
of help from other staff, keen to assist and to take some time out of the
classroom.
A few names come to mind. Thanks, *Jim Stevens and Terry
Woollard; Roy Webb; Monsieur Bernie Mothes; Bob Young; Nick Neenan; Jenny Stray; Alan
Foote, Tony Bell; Vaughan Goodchild; Martin Chamberlain; John Callaghan;
(Help! I’m going to set a precedent here!) Our Headmaster, Bob Mollineux (I still remember the 'Crisp' Assegai, which was a trophy in the form of a spear / javelin, which was presented to the top athlete on the day! ... Now, I'll be the only one who remembers that ... surely!!?) Deputy Head(s)? Alan Foote and Gordon Yetman (Yeti); Ted Ellis; Harold Martin; Colin Field and
all those others who helped to float my boat on a very memorable day for me: 'Sports Day' 1983! Remember, I was acting H.O.D. pause ... P.E.
*{I memorised the above list without looking at a team photo. Where did those names come from?! Apologies to anyone I may have missed!}
However, my fondest and most profound memory of 'Sports Days at St. John's' was nothing to do with
Athletics. It was in July, 1979, when my lovely wife pushed Daniel’s wheels around the perimeter of the running track. (Well, outside the track, really ... 'Health and Safety' claims withstanding!) My pride was mostly used up
introducing my eight / nine-month-old son to my wonderful colleagues of St.
John’s High.
Other accolades that I may or may not have deserved from 'running' a Sports Day were received the morning after my last one, in 1983 in 'Assembly', although my rock for the previous day that year, although Head of Lower School at the time, was the ‘Real’, not the ‘Acting’ H.O.D., Ray Stafford,
organizer extraordinaire! (A bit late grovelling now, Penkie, from the other side of
the world!) "Hope you and Sylvia are still above ground, Ray and belated thanks
for all your guidance and support during my nine years at Sittingbourne. Hope you’re both staying as fit as you
deserve to be. Did we know what a Blog was back then, Ray? ... and by the way, sorry I forgot to pick you up at the Stone Street garage that morning. (Probably only you and I would remember that?!)"
I am in the process of biting off more than I can chew with regard to this aspect
of ‘My Travels’. The next few years of our lives were very hectic and complete
with a variety of emotions of their own. I shall publish this ‘Chapter’ and I’ll call it, 'Sittingbourne … Starting a Family'. It had been a period full of content and I
do not wish to dilute these few years by moving on to the next
equally-influential years of our lives. So, it’s “Goodnight from Me!” now, as
it’s actually bed-time, forty-odd years -- more than half my own life -- later!
Back to St. John’s High School.
It was explained clearly to each of us, as individual links in the
aforementioned chain, that the temporary arrangement was to be on a voluntary
basis, for one term only. i.e. not to be paid the additional reward for acting at a higher level. As I have explained, I was more than happy to complete
the chain effect for that length of time, as agreed.
I felt I would be able to benefit from the experience it would give me, for
future progress but not primarily for the benefit of the Kent County clerks, playing with numbers to do with finance. I
had been informed that all would revert back to the status quo before the summer
term commenced. I had not seen it coming but that particular term was to be my
last as a school-teacher, in England.
After the Easter holidays of 1983 the news was not good. Mr Yetman had not yet
sufficiently recovered from his bike crash injuries to return to work, so it
was presumed by the authorities, higher-up than the school hierarchy, that the chain would continue. Mr. Pencavel did not immediately agree but inquired of
the Headmaster about being paid ‘H.O.D. money’ for carrying out the ‘H.O.D. job
description’, involuntarily, at no additional expense to the school.
“I agreed, Sir, to act up voluntarily for a term but not to see the school year
out as H.O.D., which had increased my responsibilities considerably.”
(The other gentlemen involved in the chain were on higher rates of pay already.)
Reluctantly, with a negative response from the ‘Kent Education Committee’ I
agreed to continue on the Deputy’s rate until Christmas … but not after that.
How am I
going to precis this next procedure? (No answer required, thanks.)
I probably won’t!
My cousin’s husband, Pete and I were chatting at a family catch-up do. I
explained to him how frustrated I was about the issue of being taken for
granted by the Education Authority, as I have just explained. His next line was
the first time that any changes of plan for my future employment had entered my head, away from a
permanent H.O.D. position, elsewhere in the Education System.
Pete was a Senior Officer in H.M. Prison Service, locking youngsters up at
Dover Borstal. Out of the blue Pete said, “You’d do well, Alan, as a P.E. Instructor.
Being a P.E.I. is the plum job within this Service.”
That view of Pete’s predetermined my future. I bought the next round of drinks and
we discussed the issue in greater depth.
|“To whom would I need to apply, Pete?” … and so
on. My over-active brain, from that evening forward became one-tracked. This was to
be a total change of career direction, affecting Carole and me but we mutually agreed to go for it!
In my application letter to Her Majesty, I explained my current circumstances and
that I would very much like to be considered for training to become a Prison
Officer and subsequently, because of my background experience in Physical
Education I would like to specialize as a P. E. Instructor. It was made clear
to me at my initial interview that one full year after qualifying as an Officer
would be my probationary period over and if I still wished to specialize, then would be the time to make a further
application. I would be 32 / 33 years old by then which would be in the upper age
bracket for commencing such an arduous, physically-demanding course but I was
super-confident that I would be able to qualify.
My Principal Officer at H.M.P. Maidstone, Johnny Mac, suggested that with my
academic background I took a questionably ‘easier’ option by becoming an
Assistant Governor. (That’s all I can say about John at this point of my blog. Top Secret!)
I took the A.G.’s exam but this had not been in my overall life-plan, or anyone
else’s for me. I failed the examination by one mark, which was further conviction (excuse the pun)
for me that my ‘Big Decisions’ in Life were already planned, well ahead. As our Grandpa in Pompey used to say to each of us, as we bid him "Goodnight".
"Don't forget the morning, my Lover. ' One above sees all!"
H.M.P. Maidstone was a top security prison and my journeys from Kent’s County
Town to Sittingbourne were soon to be reversed. Carole and I were living, with
our young family, in Sittingbourne but my journeys to work and back were soon to be in
the opposite directions. Still to be the
A249, but travelling down the steeper side of Detling Hill, into Maidstone at
the start of each shift. My code of
dress was to become a Prison Screw’s ‘Discipline’ uniform until such time as I would
become a P.E. Officer, when I would be issued with a tracksuit. {“What? I won’t
have to pay for it?”}
The following is curtailed within just one lengthy but informative sentence! All I wish to say here, regarding my entire training locations and activities; staffing; financing; physical and mental development, for what was to become a very challenging position, I shall deal with in this single 'sentence' (excuse the pun again) prior to moving on to my second posting within this new job of mine, as a fully-fledged, ‘Her Majesty’s Physical Education Instructor’, with its appropriate financial allowances and other benefits. I never did actually instruct Queen Elizabeth in the gymnasium to which I was subsequently posted. Nor did I receive the call to instruct Her Majesty at the gymnasium at Buck. House ... if there is one, of course!)
The 20% survivors of the P.E.I. course each made personal choices of postings at the end of 1986. We had worked very hard for twenty-eight active weeks and were all so much fitter for having done so, and were equally anticipating respective moves to new ground. I soon heard that my ‘first-choice’ posting in Norfolk was no longer available, as a shifting of personnel within that branch had accounted for that apparent vacancy. However, my second choice was still begging and I was offered that position at Highpoint Prison, in Suffolk. This would only have been a slight change of plan, as Suffolk was attached to Norfolk. In fact, it was nearer to our roots, where all our family lived, in Kent.
To be brief (that’s twice on one page) I received a welcome call from my Chief P. E. Officer, offering me my ‘first choice’ position, as there was to be an unforeseen increase in staffing levels at Wayland Prison, west of Norwich. The boss would have fully understood a rejection of this offer, as he was aware that we were all set to go to Suffolk by then but, assuming the position which I had accepted would not be left vacant then I would accept the Wayland job, which I did. A second-choice punter was standing in the wings at Highpoint, so it was ‘All Go’ from that verbal acceptance of mine, on the phone. Our house-hunting would resume, a little further North and after an earlier start than predicted.
So, I found temporary ‘digs’ on the main road out of Watton, where I was spoiled to death with proper Farm House cooked breakfasts, including black pudding and fried bread, for several weeks until we and the children moved into a much nicer house, in a far nicer town than we were all anticipating, but one school term later. Again, we had fallen on our feet. Sarah and Dan had new schools to attend, within walking distance from Nelson Court, although they were to be collected from their respective locations each afternoon. Carole had accepted a Physiotherapist job between our new home and the kids’ schools. The trip out to Wayland was for ‘Dad’, a much shorter one than those he'd had in Kent. He had settled into his new job without neglecting family duties, as the others had remained further south for that term. He had become a regular in the Watton squash team, playing inter-club all over Norfolk. Great fun and a good workout twice a week, subject to evening duties at the prison.
We attended occasional social functions at the Prison Officers’ Club, adjacent to where many Officers were housed. We opened up the prison gym for family and friends' recreational sessions on Friday evenings. Sarah and Dan recently made reference to those fond memories of that era. Trampolining is an activity that Sarah remembers well. Our routines were becoming established. Watton had its own Sports Centre, where we played badminton and squash and did a fair amount of socializing. We lived just a stroll from these facilities. All was fine and Dandy, for a bit longer.
This next paragraph or two will be a bit tricky to compose but it happened: -
Carole and I were about to break the marriage vows that we’d both made more than eleven years previously. (This will not become messy, as neither of us would wish to apportion blame on the other.) Our biggest concern was the future of our two children. Carole and I had opted to go separate ways but not involving any great distances, yet!
We all had to settle into new routines but time would heal our wounds, as it does. Carole moved between two similar houses within the same Street, settling into a new routine with the children and her new husband. Our situation was as amicable as anyone may have expected and it was soon to become recent history.
I waved to the kids daily, as I rode past their ‘new’ house, en route to the prison and it was nice that they looked out for ‘Dad’ and waved frantically back, as he nearly fell off his bike each morning!
That was easier than I thought it was going to be.
(I refer to this script: not to our marriage break-up.)
During 1986 I began my stint, as a fully-qualified P.E. Instructor, at Wayland
Prison, Norfolk, west of Norwich. I had survived a reputedly arduous training
programme, spread around different venues in England and Wales. Between phases
of this course, we ‘P.E. Thickies’ returned for periods of carrying out Discipline duties, to assist at
busy times of each year, in order that regular ‘Officers’ could take annual
leave. (Yes, we were absolutely selfless!) My prison was H.M.P. Maidstone,
which was handy for travelling purposes, when not engaged elsewhere around the
countryside.
Joking apart, our course lasted for 26 weeks spread over 18 months. Most of our
time away from home was during six-week periods.
Somewhere, in a previous paragraph, I’m sure I said ‘details to do with
specific training’ will be left out, so I’ve said enough already. I’ve just
remembered that I did sign the ‘Official Secrets Act’, so I don’t wish to tempt
fate by saying the wrong things here, for all to see.
That’s enough about that issue!
We enjoyed socializing, playing badminton, refreshing ourselves
after squash, badminton and netball events at the Sports Centre and with visits
to the prison gym, on Friday evenings.
Carole, Dan and Sarah were still living close by for a few weeks after we had separated.
After we’d sold our house I made a few interim plans, not least to sit my
promotion exam, to become a Senior P.E. Officer. However, my domestic situation moved on rather rapidly, so I resigned from H.M.P. soon
after receiving my positive exam result, which was a bit of an enigma but it happened. (The best laid plans of mice and men … and all that ...!)
Sheila and I were going out regularly together during the latter half of 1987.
Between then and 1990 we shared a lot of time together and bought a small
house, which was en route to Norwich. I even supported the local ladies’
netball team, home and away, Sheila was the captain and a very tidy little
player, with GA (Goal Attack) on her shirt. What she lacked in height she made up for in effort and enthusiasm! For a while our lives revolved around sports evenings, home and away. I played mainly
squash matches, with an occasional 'Watton' football match. At that time I was also introducing a prison team that I managed, home and away! To the prisoners' credit they won the Norfolk League three years running, together with the 'Fair Play' trophy each of those years. There was one booking, involving a key player but I substituted him immediately and left him out of the team the following week. Certainly, that was controversial but I made my point, which was adhered to during the start of the following season, before I withdrew my services to Her Majesty's Prison Service, for personal reasons, as explained.
Sheila had two children, Theresa and Paul. They were slightly older than Dan and Sarah, so leaving school was a bit closer for them than it was for Daniel and Sarah.
Sheila's other loves were netball and badminton.
If we could find an occasional free evening then we’d go for some peace and quiet at a nice country pub within easy travelling distance.
One Two beers and a ‘Malibu and lemonade’ never hurt anyone.
We had the consolation of knowing that our children were going to be well looked after in our subsequent absence and were doing well at their respective schools. What happened after that meant we would be without their company but we constantly thought about them and remembered special dates such as birthdays and Christmases, without fail. The whole break-up was stressful for all concerned but some circumstances in life are unavoidable.
Life has to go on!
Both were quiet getaways and each laid on beautiful weather for our first romantic holidays together.
In April 1990 we visited Toronto, where we had a brief stay with another ex-college contact of mine: Bryn. We saw Niagara falls at its wettest, for sure. It was a very moist weekend, to say the least! Rightly or wrongly (too late now) we had squeezed that visit in before diverting due South to West Virginia, where
Sheila’s cousin lived, with her family. (So, we had dipped our big toes into the massive expanse of Canada, but nothing more.)
We organized the details of our wedding plans, to be carried out in the garden of Sheila's cousin, in Norfolk. We had decided that this idea was a good one and we went to finalise arrangements in town. By organising this impromptu ceremony we would alleviate problems likely to occur by carrying out a conventional wedding back home. Instead of close family, our guests were comprised of thirty or forty neighbours and friends of Joyce and Ray, who treated us like long, lost friends, resembling a proper family occasion. This was to be 'a Bit of a Do' for everyone concerned, from soon after lunch, onwards. Picture a small, black preacher man (William H. Stewart), with a very broad West Virginian accent, who began the service under a floral arch in Joyce and Ray's back garden. Now, read this excerpt with a strong Virginian twang, for authenticity.
“Ladies
and Gentlemen. Weeer gather'd heeer together on this fine day to celebrate the marriage of Sheila and
Alan, our good friends heeer, from
England” etc. etc. etc. That was 2.30 p.m., when the party started. We could
not have annoyed any neighbours, even as late as ‘whatever-time-it-was’, as
they would still have been in Joyce and Ray’s back garden, with a nearly-empty keg of beer and a bin-full of wine bottles! Needless-to-say, the honeymoon was postponed until
the following lunchtime, when we set off to find the ‘Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia',
above the Shenandoah River and its National Park.'
We travelled on pretty empty roads, with cars obliged to do a maximum speed of 55m.p.h. and complying with those restrictions. It made driving a pleasure (even if it was on the 'wrong' side of the road)! We had rented a nice little red Mitsubishi Mirage and had set off with cans jangling behind us, at least as far as the first bend we reached! We cruised in our little car for five or six memorable days. We took in Williamsburg, a colonial city of Virginia with a massive museum of memorabilia to verify how important it had been, back in the early 1600 / 1700s. Wide streets, horse-drawn carriages and a buzz throughout the city.
Anyway, just as we did then, we moved on ........!
Our first night away had been spent in a log cabin. I would have written a song about our trip and its scenery, above the Shenandoah River ... but I was beaten to it. We travelled a fair distance along the Appalatian range and were well-rewarded for doing so with the many fond memories that we still have, as a result of seeing the scenery below.
However, we didn't get to meet John Denver ... and Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy had signed-off by then.
We were close to going on up to the 'Big Apple' but were glad we didn't, as our time would have been very restricted had we done so. By not doing we were able to see far more history in several different States and had made the time earlier to find an old friend from back home ... and Niagara Falls.
Good memoirs, only just being documented.
We'd returned home as a somewhat different branch of the Pencavel clan. i.e. a newly-married couple, temporarily unemployed as we'd both resigned from our jobs before the wedding trip.
Our lives would continue, as you will be able to read in a fair piece of script on this 'Travels' page.
Our farewell 'do' was held four months later, at the Wayland Prison Officers' Club, where family and friends shared in a very pleasant occasion on our first few days of 'unemployment' in the British Isles.
We had sold our house and furniture, with no definite plans, apart from trying to heal our itchy feet by travelling further, supplementing our funds as we went, assuming we were prepared to work our way back to the Motherland* (*That didn't happen!)
I had one contact address in Sydney from my earlier time in the Cotswolds, twenty years previously.
Risky, I suppose, but in the words of Del Boy, "He who dares, wins, Rodney!"
I had contacted Davy Thomas to explain our situation and he made the very kind offer to 'put us up' while we were to make our plans and find our own transport, to set off around Aussie! More detailed plans would be made once we were based on the Australasian continent. We had checked our passports; medical certificates and requirements; had a few jabs (Yes, we would soon need 'jobs' as well!) and we set off, knowing that any long-term base would be restricted to six months, without further documentation. Our work history would be important. Also, our realisation that, should we be expecting to live to the ripe-old age of 80, then we were half way there already! 😋 👩
That date has stuck, as some dates do, as it was two days after my 38th birthday, when the Bexhill branch of the family had taken us out for a pub meal on the sea front at Pevensey Bay, between Bexhill and Eastbourne. (As I write this bracketed line I am 'celebrating' my 69th birthday, 31 years on from that visit to Gatwick,)
We had still to get used to being a melded family, as happens these days more than ever in past generations. We had only recently met offshoots from our respective families, so seeing some of them at Gatwick Airport was a quick "Hello / Goodbye" for several of us.
Fortunately, as time would have it, we soon got to know each other from numerous respective visits to and from both sides of our planet.
Our big journey had just begun. 😕
Sydney, Here we come! Look out!
OUR INDUCTION
TO A WARMER CLIMATE!
We had made plans for our short-term future. We’d put our money together, realizing that from the sale of our house the capital sum was limited and we had just begun what was to be a lengthy period of unemployment. That would probably have put some people off making such a 'bold' move but we were both of the same mind that we had been given an opportunity to see more of Planet Earth before finding out our ultimate fate. We both agreed that these life-changing decisions were pre-planned, so for the next year we would ‘go with the flow’ and see whether or not we’d fit into any ‘longer-term plans’ that might be in store.
We were looking at life from where we stood
Things were looking pretty good
But standing back and peering in
There was more to life and more to win.
We’d settled our bills and earned a crust
Paid the mortgage, but only just
Life is short but the time seemed right
To back our bags before taking flight
We knew the
grass wasn’t always green
But there’s such a lot that we hadn’t seen
Unless we jumped on life’s big bus
We’d never find what was meant for us
The world is big and very wide
We’d got our tickets. Let’s take the ride
Plans we’d made and the house we’d sold
God only knows what our future will hold?
The plans we’d made would have to bend
We’d be sure to go where fate would send
We’d be met in Sydney and would go from there
How far we’d travel we didn’t care.
Here are a few lines that I’d kept for future use.
We were due to leave at two-fifteen
So, all packed up and very keen
To get away without a fuss
The Bexhill branch all came with us
We didn’t want the sad ‘Goodbyes”
Before we left for foreign skies
So, once we’d left the check-in queue
We said, Farewell” and went on through.
We flew with
Virgin Airlines first
Richard Branson quenched our thirst
A comfy flight: a longish day
But well-looked-after all the way
We’d crossed the States and found L.A.
Just one night was too short a stay
A taxi ride: a smart hotel
But insufficient time to tell
Another
evening in the sky
This time we landed in Hawaii
Because our plane had set off late
We went to Maui with the freight
A late-night plane: a two-man crew
Just nine seats and we had two
Our lives were in this pilot’s hands
We prayed he’d checked his rubber bands!
Now, repeating some of what I’ve just narrated!
Sheila and I had flown a few times together, but only covering very short distances. From ‘Day One’ I found an on-going ‘hobby’ at airports. I have always been intrigued to wonder where fellow passengers may be heading? … where they may have come from? … with whom were they travelling? … endless other questions that I’d like to have asked them but only very occasionally did. It’s really just a time-killer for me, in transit, with no end product. I know I’m not the only one who doesn’t just scan magazines, or read books, in airports. Try it, next time you’re waiting for three-and-a-half hours for a flight and there is a family of three generations sitting opposite. Is it the daughter and son-in-law, or vice versa, or perhaps they're brother and sister? Have the kids flown before? Are they at the right departure gate? Are they on holiday or off to a family wedding? Are the youngest two twins? … and so on. I’d then ask Sheila for her thoughts: just before she lost her page in her ‘Who-dunnit novel’!
The passenger flight to Honolulu took off but it was late, so we missed a connection to be flown to Maui Island. We had a few days ‘on holiday’ arranged in U.S.A.’s 50th State. It was gone midnight and no passenger flight was available until ‘morning’. However, we were offered a couple of seats on an empty, very small freight plane to Maui, which we ‘grabbed’, as we were getting pretty tired and this would avoid us having to wait around until 6 a.m. We increased the number of people scheduled to fly, by about 30%. While still grounded the pilot turned his neck and head, to speak to us.
“Hi Guys! I was about to take off just now but a red light came on. I’ll give
it another try. I’ll keep you informed. Don’t worry! I’ll sort it!”
To this day
I still don’t know whether he was just a practical joker. I’ll never know … but
it was a scary twenty minutes in that bone-shaker of a plane, over to Maui.
I’m picking appropriate verses from my scrap-book but later I intend to publish the entire works on my ‘Poetry’ pages. These short verses are just snippets of our trip. Skip them here and read them later if you’d rather not be bogged down with me repeating myself. Today, I'm just the typist. All the material is already scripted: by me, for me, so this is the tricky part of a job that I’d already started years ago!
I wrote this poem between
Honolulu and Sydney: -
Another flight
This time at night
I raised the blind
“What a find!”
Three fifty-seven
This must be heaven
What a
sight!
Blue sky at night
Looking down I saw the wing
Above a gorgeous, purple ring
And over that, a line of red
The world below was still in bed
Stars above were peeping down
At black and reds and blues and brown
Whilst I’d been putting pen to paper
Below, the ground had turned to vapour
Then suddenly night turned to day
Someone shone a torch our way
The ‘snow’ below us now had drifted
Cotton wool, where darkness lifted!
(Sheila had watched another film!)
With people rushing all about
It's good the streets were well-laid-out
The Opera House; the Bridge; the Rocks;
Where tourists can turn back their clocks
Darling Harbour: much to see
Sydney seemed the place to be!
Office staff, during lunch, fresh air
There were lots of city workers there
Back into the busy street
Martin Place was hard to beat
Banks and bureaux, all at hand
Laid-back music from a local band
Manly Beach
The Rocks
In Bradbury we had our base
Mark's back garden was just the place
To lounge and swim and catch some sun
Read books and write to everyone
The seasons change from State to State
So we thought about the current date
Advice we had was to beat 'the wet'
Darwin seemed our safest bet
We had decided to shelter in the forecourt of a gas station. So, with Sheila surrounded by half-a-dozen carrier bags of shopping and clutching her handbag, which contained passports; onward flight tickets; travellers' cheques; cash; access cards; drivers' licences etc., I chose to nip into the garage for a couple of chocolate bars to nibble on as we waited for the rain to subside. I asked for directions to Bradbury as I was now distracted and needed confirmation of how to get 'home'.
"Are you walking?" I was asked, alerting a reaction from other customers.
I nodded.
"Who walks anywhere in Australia ... and in this weather? You must be Poms!"
However, one charming lady took pity on us and offered us a lift, seemingly going out of her way, to Bradbury. The rain relented at one stage, just as I recognized where we were.
"This will do fine thanks." I uttered. "We'll stroll easily from here." As the rain had stopped she dropped us off and we loaded up again for the last two-hundred metres of our walk.
"Thank you so much for the lift. You've been very kind."
"See you later", she replied. There was little chance of that as we didn't know who she was or where she lived and neither did she know any more about us. Anyway, "See you later" was seemingly the standard way to say 'goodbye' in Oz. So we said, "See you later!" grinning at each other.
As we subsequently stopped to change our grips on the shopping-bag handles we realised that one 'little' bag must have still been on this lady's back seat, containing our very valuable possessions. I looked back, hoping she'd stalled the car and couldn't re-start it. I would have gladly returned her compliment.
"She'll have picked her son up from college by now and would be on her way home", wherever that may have been? We now had to hope that we would "see her later", as we'd all suggested we might earlier!
Sheila's calming influence has often been my saving grace.
"Don't worry. She'll see it on her back seat and will bring it back."
"O.K. You stand here until dark, then I'll see if Mark has a torch for me to relieve you for the night shift."
It was only then that I recalled that our chauffeuse perhaps had not merely been a customer at the garage but may have emerged from behind the counter? Once we'd described the location of the gas station, Sylvia gave them a call, on our behalf. That was the end of our potential disaster, which could easily have happened.
"See! You needn't have panicked!"
My glass had been half empty, I suppose!
4 SYDNEY TO DARWIN
Apart from Alice Springs, Canberra and Tasmania, Australia’s population resides in cities built around its extensive boundary. Therefore, to avoid missing any of these destinations, our original plan was to make ours a trip around the coastline, in one direction or the other. Mr. Fate had other ideas. He saw further ahead than we did. As a result, our first stop after leaving Sydney was in barren countryside, where we’d stepped out of the plane into a ‘furnace’, at Alice Spring’s airport. We covered 200 metres of ground, in a straight line, to find cool air blowing into the one-and-only ‘shop’, where travellers could relax and refresh themselves, en route to their next destination … which would presumably be somewhere on this island’s coast, unless stopping for a day or two to see (and maybe climb) Ayers Rock (Uluru)! The temperature had been 36 degrees Celcius at Alice but was getting hotter, and the ground more barren, as we headed towards Darwin, at the ‘Top End’. Our reasoning for being on this flight was to heed well-meaning advice from people living in Sydney, to avoid being in Darwin during the Wet Season. On our arrival, we were immediately told that we would have loved being there toward the end of the ‘Wet’, when it was lush and green.”
“Oh, Dear! Too late now!”
Take some time out here: -
Picture sitting in a tin box at a funfair, awaiting movement of a roller-coaster. We had experienced similar emotions on the drive to London airport, just a few weeks previously. Many of these gut feelings will have been felt too by our family members as they waved “Au revoir” to us.
Back to the funfair: - You have nestled in with your partner, who is squeezing your leg. The grinding of the wheels, as you start to climb the steep uphill, fills you with anticipation; excitement; wonder; curiosity; flippancy; longing; nervousness; anxiety; reluctance; concern; doubt; togetherness but above all relief, in the knowledge that you were past the point of no return!
Yet to come were our ups and downs: our thrills and anxieties.
Any questions of doubt in our minds were far outweighed by
We had budgeted with a bank draught, hidden away safely from the
outstanding bills.
This draught was merely a sinking fund, to use only when the
travellers’ cheques and limited amount of cash were spent.
Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that because we were confident from advice we’d been given, from a variety of sources, that ‘casual work in hotels’; ‘teaching English’; ‘fruit-picking’ etc. etc. would be readily available whenever we needed it.
In one line, there was a world-wide recession in progress and ‘all of the above’ was not true and did not eventuate.
We were taken out for a Chinese meal, where our hosts were very well-known by the proprietors. We were not allowed to put our hands in our pockets for the entire length of our stay. This restaurant seemed to be doing a fine trade. Crocodile meat was not unlike chicken in texture but it had a unique taste. We chatted all evening and heard about the 1974 tragedy of Cyclone Tracy, which hit Darwin hard and demolished 80% of their buildings, killing 71 people. Many folk we spoke to remembered the disaster, with great sadness, first hand. It happened between 24th to 26th December '74, . We would have been hanging our stockings up for Santa on the far side of the globe. I had completed my first term of teaching, at the age of twenty-two. It will have been a virtually unnoticed item on the late news. We may have turned off the TV by then?
But were thinking soon of moving down
We were off to Queensland: its coast, so far
But we'd been given the chance to go by car
We snapped it up: got on our way
Don't do tomorrow what you can today
We had never seen such barren land
Sand: dead trees: Dead trees and sand
5 EN ROUTE TO TOWNSVILLE / CAIRNS
Not being sure of what we'll find
Our drive was long: fifteen hundred miles?
But her engine purred, so "What the heck!"
If we never gambled we'd never learn!
What ground we covered on our way
We spent hours baking in the heat
With only the smell or rotting meat
Cattle; kangaroos had strayed
No water: on their backs they laid
A sorry sight and no revival
They'd lost their fight to gain survival.
As we travelled through each so-called town
An ocean dry, of barren land
We heard the noise of something blowing
'twas under the car but we kept on going
Mount Isa's garage had the part!
*'dirt' or 'gravel' roads back then have become history. During the last thirty-odd years these roads have apparently been sealed, to cope with comparatively larger volumes of traffic.
Magnetic Island, found by Cook
The Captain had to take a look
Like a magnet draws a metal tack
This island kept him coming back
We'd heard that paradise was here
We thought, "If not, it must be near!"
We found a lovely place to stay
Two hundred yards from Alma Bay.
Squeaks and Squeals; croaks and growls
Koalas; Possums; Toads and Owls
Emus; Kangaroos abound
Birds and Bats are in the trees
Spiders; Snakes and Wallabies
Eric and Joan, our hosts in Townsville, had mentioned an East coast bus service that picks tourists up and drops them off at destinations of their choice. We liked the six-month 'use-by-date' that it offered for a one-off payment, so we bought two flexi-tickets to enable us to travel at leisure all the way back down to Sydney from Cairns, getting on and off the buses between interesting places that we came across. There was no shortage of those, either.
This race of 'Australians' have lived here far longer than Europeans. They hailed from South-East Asia and Papua New Guinea, arriving approximately **55,000 years ago, when the sea level was a great deal lower than it is now, so Tasmania and other 'local' islands made up the mainland of Australia.
The first known European landing in Australia was in 1606 by a Dutchman, Willem Janszoon. Later on, also during the 17th century a Spanish explorer, Luiz Vaz de *Torres sailed through and navigated what is now called the Torres Strait; with its many associated islands. (*Reg and Diane will have had to negotiate the Torres Strait en route to Cairns!)
By the way: Captain James Cook landed at Botany Bay in 1770 and the first European settlement was in 1788, when a ship, full of convicts, arrived from England.
**Look at the gap between when Cook arrived and when the Aboriginals had first appeared. We Europeans have been here 'twenty minutes' in comparison, to put things into perspective!
I do not intend to research this topic any further but suffice it to say that the percentage of Aboriginals at the 2016 census was very small @ 3.3% and the majority of those do not live on mainland Australia. They occupy many of the surrounding islands, including Tasmania. Those who do live on the mainland do not live in densely-populated areas, so are not well-represented in towns and cities.
Now, I've just been reminded, as I glanced through my notes, that while we were making the most of our time in Cairns we took a train ride through the mountains, 25 'k's North-west of the city. Kuranda village had a stream and some rocks, on top of which a group of ten or twelve friendly aboriginals were entertaining our group of visitors by dancing ... and playing the didgeridoo. We threw a bit of money at them and everyone was happy!
Maybe now, having broached the subject, you may like to do more research of your own?
6 CAIRNS TO BRISBANE
ALL DOWNHILL
We spent some time in Cairns, N.Q.
With plenty there to find, and do
A train-ride up the mountain-side
Kuranda town, well worth the ride!
A market place, with Abbos too
They danced and played
the Didgeridoo
We’d enjoyed our stay but
time had gone
It was time again for moving on!
A trip out to the Barrier
Reef
Some sights we saw, beyond belief
Not far by ferry from the city
Beneath the surf was very pretty
Corals; giant clams and rocks
Fishes wearing frilly frocks
These colourful creatures in the sea
At Townsville tourist board they run
A scheme for travellers in the sunThe chance to visit local folk
To have a chat and share a joke
We’d only called to have a cuppa
But stayed to have a Barbie supper
When we said, “It’s time we went.”
Eric and Joan said, “Pitch your tent.”
The next day, prior to waiting at a bus stop for the first stint of our journey back 'home' to Sydney, we went into the Cairns Post Office to see if we had received any news for us, from England.
"Yes, we did have a couple of letters and two or three 'return' post cards from family and
friends in England. I recall my Mum telling us how much the 'kids' (our niece,
Vicci and nephews, Rob and James) had enjoyed the afternoon at the airport,
watching planes come and go, before setting off back to
Bexhill!"
The driver put our luggage into the side of the bus and we boarded, knowing we would be getting off around tea-time, at Townsville, where Eric and Joan would be waiting to pick us up. We had been offered another night's stay with them, so the first bus ride was a relatively short one. As anticipated, it took four-and-a-half hours, with sea views out over the Great Barrier Reef, to our left. We waved 'Goodbye' to the Koalas on Magnetic Island and were 'on our way' again.
We
made Mackay a stop for a night or two, before we carried on from there.
Sheila spotted two familiar faces. “Look over
there,” she said. “It’s ‘Dutch’ and ‘Mary’, and sure enough, we were doing a very similar trip. They’d stayed
a bit longer in Cairns than we had but had now caught us up again.
We were on our way the following day, right on schedule.
The drive was a lengthy one down the Bruce Highway to Rockhampton. The word was
we were just about on the equator at this point. (It actually sits on the Tropic
of Capricorn.) Our plan was to get to Bundaberg that day, so Rockhampton didn’t
really leave much of an impression apart from the Fitzroy river looked lovely
and was still running right through it, as it has been doing since Rockhampton had made its claim to it. Apparently, that river has caused three or four major
floods in this city’s history ...... (Just some information you may need for a quiz one day.)
Regardless, it didn’t look like flooding that day. The temperatures were in the
forties and the sky was extremely blue.
There were some kayakers on the river but I’m guessing that would be the
norm for such a big city, with so many blue
skies. It looked like a nice place but I have nothing more to report. We didn’t
do it justice as we only saw it through the window of our bus.
We did have a lunch stop but then continued with the ‘shorter half’ of
our trip for the day. We knew it must have been a Saturday because we were
looking forward to our weekly treat, in Bundaberg this time. That was, to be waited on in a
restaurant, plus I would have a bottle of the local brew, which in this case was its well-renowned ‘ginger beer’… and a puff on another Panatella, which had
now become just a weekly habit! (Well, the smoke had. Not the ginger beer
… but being in Bundaberg …
When in Rome etc. etc.)
Our accommodation in Bundy was pleasant and was just a short walk to a nice
restaurant with an outside patio for me to sit at and puff away to my heart’s
content, which I did. Sheila just watched from inside. This was our arrangement, which was a compromise between
us.
Each phase of the journey was taking us a little bit closer to Sydney but we
were to see and to experience much more before then, including our first Christmas
away from home.
One thing was certain: It was a ‘Bloody long way Mate’, as Nick had told us earlier, in Cairns. He was "Bloody right, too!"
Our next stop was Hervey Bay, looking out to Fraser Island, which is the
largest island off the East coast of Aussie. We’d been close enough to say,
“We’d been there and dunnit” … but circumstances made up our minds anyway. We
had a twin room at the hotel.
I had picked the wrong bed and was disturbed during the night when I found a
newly-hatched cockroach in my left ear, hiding from its Mum. As I jumped out of
bed cursing I saw ‘Mummy-Roach’ on my bottom sheet, apparently trying to round
up her family. Sheila made a quick search with me and then turned over and went back to sleep.
I fumbled trying to find the light
I'd knocked it somewhere off its perch
Sheila then joined in the search
The thing would have a job to hide
To me it felt three inches wide!
The following day I was told by a Doctor not to swim with my ears underwater as that may give me ear-ache. I think we were on different pages. He didn’t consider that baby Roach may have given me ear-ache. He made a compromise and gave me appropriate medication for an ear infection.
As the next bus was due in half-an-hour I didn’t get to see him again for an
update. “Never mind, eh?”
On we went, with the ‘Big City’ being our next stop, which was only a 'short' drive of just over three hours.
Swims
in the sea were quite restricted due to the time of year. It was late November
/ early December and things were getting a bit humid and sticky.
In tropical conditions there is ‘reputed to be’ an invasion of Box Jellyfish,
which locals call ‘Stingers’ (Well, it’s a known fact rather than just a possibility.) We’re not just talking
mossie bites or wasp and bee-stings but potentially lethal stings from a source
with plenty of history, to that effect. We were travelling during the hottest
and muggiest months of the year. As a compromise, there were areas of netting
provided on some of the beaches, inside which were deemed to be ‘safe’ areas
for tourists to swim. Needless-to-say we took heed of such advice: not to swim
in the sea at this time of year. Lazing on beaches was one thing but putting
our lives at risk was another! We did little of either as the beaches were so hot
anyway. There would no doubt be other opportunities for us to laze around,
later on this ‘journey’. It would not be a new experience to take a dip in the
sea but it would have been to be attacked by Stingers. “Thanks, but no thanks!
I just did a few lengths in swimming pools, when available
(without using my ears) which slowed me down a bit!"
We had been hopping on and off the bus from Cairns to Brisbane, which was the entire
length of the ‘Bruce Highway’, hugging the water’s edge all the way, with very
few and only slight diversions. Dismounting in Brisbane we experienced a little
‘Deja –vu’. It felt like the brief stop we’d taken at Alice Springs, just a few
weeks earlier. From the luxury of air conditioning in the bus we were greeted
by a gentle but warm very hot
breeze at 40 degrees Celsius!
Despite the current climate ‘Father Christmas’ had just arrived, snow and all!
His sleigh had landed at a big ‘grocery store’ in the heart of Brisbane. This
scenario was inferring that there were white Christmases on both sides of the
globe.
It was difficult for we ‘ex-pats’ to acclimatize to being in
this neck of the woods: Summers; Winters; Springs and Autumns are all in
reverse, which has always felt strange to us. But here, with over 40 degrees difference
in the temperatures, home and away, this was as unusual as it gets.
We booked in for the night
at a Backpackers’ retreat, looking out from a first-floor apartment block, with
shared kitchen facilities … but who wanted to cook a roast dinner? Most
travellers we saw were making do with toaster and microwave. Don’t
quote me but I seem to remember making ourselves salad sandwiches for tea on that
day!
I remember that because 'Dutch' and Mary had caught us up again and we commented about
choosing the same ‘evening meal’ as each other. There must have been some telepathy between
us. We had little else in common, apart from enjoying the same experiences, as ‘Dutch’
was a foot taller than I was and Mary was six inches taller than Sheila! (They
breed them tall in Holland, don’t they?)
Anyway, we bid them both farewell. I said to 'Dutch', “We may get to see you looking round Darling
Harbour in a few days? If not, enjoy the rest of your time away and have a good
life.
Anyway, we’d now completed the lengthy route known as the ‘Bruce Highway’! This Highway had been named after a certain ‘Minister of Works’, back in the 1930s. He had
been a very popular and dedicated politician of the time. The road was named
after him. ‘Harry Bruce’.
"Thanks, Wikipedia." I've made you an anonymous donation. (Whoops!)
“What was next”, we wondered? Christmas was fast approaching. We wondered what
Santa would have in store for us?
Whatever, he'd be short of chimneys 'Down Under'!
He doesn't change. He looks no older
We're feeling good and the weather's sunny
(CHRISTMAS WEEK INCLUDED)
From just below Noosa, to as far South as Caloundra, is the Sunshine Coast. We had been budgeting well so far and made a point of not stopping to seek out what the Sunshine Coast had to offer. (We have since befriended Kiwis who enjoy regular trips to that region of Aussie.) We hear good reports and realise what a lovely area it is to visit. But, we were admiring the countryside, being frugal (a necessity for the time being) and did not wish to go night-clubbing, over-spending or lashing out on expensive, over-priced, seasonal accommodation.
As a result, we had skimped a little by staying on the bus and observing what a
nice place it must be and what a lot of money we could spend there, given other
circumstances. We doubted that we would have found part-time work (even had we
wished to) and why would we want to, as we had the freedom to spend our travelling
time as we so wished, as roving sight-seers?
We pressed on, regardless.
We enjoyed a two-or-three-day stay in Queensland’s Capital.
With Christmas being just a week away we had pointed a finger at Coffs Harbour
on the map, so had just about planned to visit there and if we liked it enough
then it could be where we’d spend a few days of the Festive Season. So, we were happy to skate through the Gold
Coast, as we had the Sunshine Coast. (Surfers’ Paradise would have
to await a visit from us at a later stage, if our future plans allowed that
sort of extravagance!) For a start, we were nearly back to Sydney and had made
no further plans from there, so far. What our futures had in store for us we
were hoping soon to find out, but for all we knew, our money would run out and
we’d be cutting short our expectations for this adventure that we were very
much enjoying.
Not being so negative, we were learning to take each day as it came and hoping
and praying for the best outcome. Time would tell, no doubt. We had not realised
that we would actually be spending Christmas so far South as ‘New South Wales’,
but we would be, as we had just crossed the border from Queensland. (Mar’own’
country into ‘Blues’ territory!) … I was hooked for a while despite never
having played or taught Rugby League. Never having been a great rugby fan I do
find League easier to watch than Rugby Union, with all its incidental rules. I
suppose it would have been OK if I was brought up on it … but I wasn’t!
Destiny is a funny thing, eh?
On this trip of ours I had tasted a few different local
beers. The quantities I consumed
were minimal. A beer or two had soon became a luxury for me, at weekends, sampling XXXX Gold (Four-ex); Fosters
lager; Touheys or Victoria Bitter (V.B.) Aussie brews became my staple but
minimal diet, to which I soon became accustomed.
The way things had worked out for us, we had seen the top half of Australia and
the East coast, at the expense of not being able to see the Southern and
Western territories. If we’d had the gift of foresight we would not have
worried too much about that, which we didn’t anyway. Maybe then we’d create the
opportunity to re-visit this big island and taste again its vegemite and
crocodile meat and drink a bit more of the local brews. My priorities needed to
change, as I’d misspent a great deal of my younger days supping greater volumes
of the Devil’s juice, whether celebrating after a good win, commiserating after
a bad loss, relaxing after a busy day or just acting the fool, whenever I had
the chance. Quenching a thirst was secondary. I’d even claim that a nil-nil
draw was something to celebrate!
Starting a family ensured that I grew up a little bit (not just blaming you, Dan) but even then I did not wish to become unsociable. House
parties were numerous: celebrating new arrivals was the norm: seeing people off
was always good reason to imbibe, as was welcoming someone else home.
Sometimes, from a lengthy absence (maybe back from a long weekend in Margate) or attending
a local dance or ‘gig’ (didn’t know that word then, like many others used today,
like ‘like’), plus sporting competition didn’t cease, even when Sarah came
along. Squash matches became important contests for a while, when more
physical means of exercising were creating greater numbers of injuries, mainly to do
with trying to stay young! However, there were still lots of thirsts to be
quenched!
Anyway, that’s history. One can’t change what has already
happened, eh? (I didn’t always learn from my mistakes but ‘them’s the breaks’.)
I'm doing OK. Three score and ten is approaching fast!
So, on to Christmas 1990.
The sand was hot on Emerald Beach, at Coffs Harbour. We wrapped up well, as we
always needed to back home … but for different reasons. Near-zero temperatures
warranted the need to wear an extra layer or two back in Blighty but here, Down
Under, during the same week of the year it was vital that we dressed
accordingly. ‘Slip; slop; slap’ became our motto. These words are
inter-changeable. Slip on a shirt; slop on some sun-cream and slap on a hat.
Use a sombrero not an umbrella, although these are multi-functional pieces of
equipment, despite their literal meanings.
We were soon taught an important lesson: that in the Southern Hemisphere there
is a much thinner ozone layer, which is a layer of defence from the sun’s rays. We heard
this advice (to cover up when outside) so frequently that we deemed it to be
true, so we complied with the local logic to use the above motto. Protection
against skin cancers is the primary motive to be sensible in this regard. (I’ve
just spent ten or fifteen minutes on Google trying to scan this very complex topic but
maybe you will just accept the above advice on face value, as we did. My brain
absorbs very little these days, particularly when I have little motivation to want to learn something, as in this example. We all function differently, having a
variety of talents to use. Space research was never one of my skills or
interests … but I believe that together, with our combined talents, we could
make a difference!
Our accommodation was adequate, despite us becoming pretty frugal on this trip.
Think of a typical beach-hut in England. Multiply its capacity by eight, then
add a couple of windows, an oven and a sink. (Well, I said it was cheap!) We managed
for two nights but we were lacking a chimney, so Santa couldn’t get in. We had
no-one to disturb us and we enjoyed seeing and experiencing a little of how those
on the opposite side of our planet spent Christmas … minus a few basics, or
luxuries!
No frostbite for us this year!
As we had planned to revisit Sydney in the ‘New’ year, to re-group and make our
next travel arrangements, we loitered a little bit before we actually got back to
Campbelltown. From Coffs Harbour we breezed through Port Macquarie, had a stop
in Newcastle. (Well, neither of us had even been to Newcastle during the forty years
that we’d lived in England.) We did an ‘over-nighter’ there … just another big
city, so we were happy to get on the bus the next day and to doze our way to
Gosford, which welcomed us for an evening and night stay.
Gosford and its outskirts entertained us. We were just a day short of 1991 and
there was plenty to do and see, with comfortable backpackers’
accommodation to boot. I made a succession of calls to England from a nearby
phone booth. I tried half-a-dozen times to get through between midnight and 3 a.m.,
enjoying the peace and quiet to be had at that time of day, just a short stroll from our room. I knew it was half
a day before family members would be seeing in the New Year but we thought we’d
beat all the other ex-pats by getting in first … but we didn’t. Lines were
chock-a-block, so I was lucky to get through at all. Eventually, I went back to
bed having wished several branches of the family a very Happy New Year for
1991! Needless-to-say I had a bit of a lie-in to compensate for the three hours
of quiet that I’d endured, doing ‘duty calls’ back home, disturbing their last lunchtime of 1990!
Then came the final leg of the journey, to complete the circuit of aeroplane,
car and bus trips, from Sydney and back to Sydney!
This bus service really impressed us, as strangers to the location. It was a
scheme to satisfy locals and tourists alike: some laden with more luggage than
others, like us, with rucksacks and others with only shopping bags! We sampled travelling vast distances between stops and
also experimented between one stop and the next, as we went. What a great way it
was to see the East Coast of Australia!
I still speak very highly of the convenience, simplicity and logic of this
means of travel. “Well done!” to you ‘East-coasters of Aussie’, making the most
of the numerous stretches of Highways that have been built since the
‘Colonials’ first arrived from our neck of the woods! That applies of course to those
Highways across the Outback, further north and west. We have great memories of
our visits to Australia … and we realise that what Kiwis say about you is
not all true!
We moved back down to Campbelltown
Our hair was light: our skin was brown
We hadn't planned to be there yet
So we needed seats on another jet
At the time they were full but to our elation
The computer found a cancellation
Our hosts, we knew, had gone away
So we needed somewhere else to stay
Then Colin said, "Don't leave at all.
You can feed the cats and clean the pool!"
So we had the time to re-book our flight
We called to Auckland the following night
Once again our plans were set
Though we hadn't met our next hosts yet!
”Shall we go to New Zealand for a few days?”
”We may as well. It’s supposed to be nice and we’re unlikely to be in
this neck of the woods again.”
It was early January, so temperatures were hot in New Zealand, compared to Winters back home, but ‘comfortably warm’ after the few weeks we’d just spent in Australia. The hottest month was England’s coldest, so said the locals, so maybe we would have decent weather conditions to tour around in, being February, as we aimed to cover both North and South Islands, while earning some fruit-picking wages to supplement our funds (??)
{Here is a change of plan by the author of these scripts: I have decided to ‘recite’ several pieces of poetry that I did not even remember writing, found recently in my untidy book of drafts. Every so often, as I envisage running out of current drivel I’ll publish *random poems, rescued from archives recently found in our garage.
*These lines may not quite be in sequence with my writings but I’ll do my best! You may read in a poem what you'd read earlier in prose. So be it!}
This next passage will help to explain where and how we toured this fascinating country, for seven glorious weeks, taking each day as it came.
Here goes: - from Sydney: we had telephoned an Auckland number from Sheila’s notebook, prior to setting off to New Zealand from beside the swimming pool in Campbelltown. Sheila had met Reg and Margaret the previous year, as they were visiting Bradford, in Yorkshire. They had mentioned our proposed trip ‘Down Under’.
“Here’s our Auckland number.” Give us a call if you get to New Zealand.”
“Thanks Reg. You never know. That may even happen one day! We don’t know ourselves yet, where we’ll be, or when?”
We ‘dutifully’ telephoned Auckland the day before our plane was due to land there, hoping we’d be able to meet up with them one afternoon soon, for a cuppa and a chat.
As a result Reg and Margaret kindly met us at Auckland airport. (We hadn’t realized how fortunate that welcome would become. It didn’t just save us a taxi fare!)
New Zealand next: not quite as planned.
That same afternoon, we crossed the Auckland Harbour Bridge for the first time and were introduced to the Parry family package: Reg, Margaret, Diane and Geoff, plus the cat, followed by the offer to use the ensuite bedroom on their ground floor for as long as we liked, as we prepared for our subsequent travels around their wonderful country.
(We hadn’t seen that coming! We were obviously still receiving guidance, unforeseen by us each time, so far.)
A vehicle was now our first priority, as we’d decided to pursue the chance of an apple-picking job in Richmond, on the South Island, which in itself would be an experience for us. So, off we went to a local ‘Car Auction’ yard, in search of a suitable means of transport to escort us on our way.
Fate had it that we would now tour the South Island before the North Island: not quite as we had envisaged but we didn’t argue.
(It just so happened that Sheila had another number in her little book. This one located friends of ‘Pooley’. He was a guy with whom I’d played a lot of cricket back in England.)
We asked if we could call in to meet them as we’d be passing through Ramarama, just south of the ‘Big Smoke’ the following day. We had furnished the ‘Ute’ while on the North Shore. Bruce and Sandy offered us another spare bedroom, as appeared to be the norm ‘Down Under’, with so many hospitable people living here. We thought it would be rude not to accept their invitation, so continued on our way after breakfast!
At the car auction, this ‘ad’ had been on the passenger side window. It seems I was inspired to write a short ** poem, as you’ll see.
‘1983 Datsun Ute'
Warrant of Fitness June 1992 (W.O.F. = M.O.T.)
‘Alternative fuel certificate Jan 1992.
$2,800 o.n.o. Telephone 0941234567
(Whatever we paid for this vehicle we received more than that after we’d added another 7000 ‘k’s to the odometer!)
My owners spread out in the back
When it’s time for them to hit the sack
I save them bills and I give them rest
My Rego’s new and I’ve past my test.
Find what others like you have found
We planned to sleep in the back of the Ute on unrolled foam padding, moving ruck sacks and clothing into the cab overnight. We hoped to be able to hire tent-sized pitches at campsites en route and share the washing and toileting facilities, as we went. We did this for a few days but soon realised that most of the roadside 'lay-by's were adequate for parking and resting in overnight. These were called 'Rest Areas' and there didn't appear to be a law against overnight parking for travellers, back in 1990 ... or for using public washrooms for our ablutions in the mornings.
Too much information! (?)
These next few items I have included to give readers some idea about our early 'movements' (excuse that pun) within what would later become our adopted country, for thirty-two years. These exploratory travels should coincide with some poetry that I'd written as we were making these journeys during the first seven weeks of 1991. Here, I am filling in gaps having re-read these few lines ... and only very recently having the dust brushed off them! Only read on if you really wish to do so!
In this land of Kiwis we hoped to see
We had been informed that the Upper South Island was big in fruit. Apples needed picking at this time of year, so we headed off due South, changing our plans slightly but we knew that none of those were set in concrete and that we needed to be flexible according to what we learned, as we toured. We had acquired a large-scale map of both islands and we were gathering information from a variety of sources as we went. Sleeping in the back of our Datsun was giving us some early nights and early mornings. We went to sleep when the sun disappeared and were revived at the crack of dawn, often adjacent to the ocean, where a cold swim woke me up as Sheila prepared each breakfast. We had the equivalent of a Bunsen Burner on which to boil a couple of eggs and heat up a few beans, or whatever the cook had foreseen the day before. In no way did I interfere. I just showed my gratitude for receiving sustenance each time my belly rumbled. Life was rosy, despite seemingly bad news, at first, on the work front!
To be brief, as we moved around both islands we mutually felt a burning desire to consider staying here for longer, to the point of me applying for a teaching job en route. This position was as far away from where we sat, in Alexandra 'High Street' (nearly as far South as we could be) as I was writing an application letter for a job which was nearly as far North as we could one day be, at the Bay of Islands.
One of the telephone numbers in Sheila's very useful address book enabled us to meet a pair of teachers, both offspring of old war-time friends of the Pencavel Snrs (my parents). This rendezvous took place at Oamaru, where we spent yet another comfortable night and discussed (over a few beers) options for emigrating to New Zealand. Before we left these hosts behind us I had acquired a list of job vacancies, not least for qualified Phys. Ed. Teachers.
Who wrote this script?!
This was divine guidance. We could not have dreamed up this plan ourselves.
We proceeded through Cromwell (more fruit) to Queenstown (a tourist magnet) and continued with our own sleeping arrangements, which were working a treat and deferring the need to supplement funds. What a lovely spot we occupied just outside of Wanaka! ... and what a welcome we received at a lovely pub near there!
Earlier, we had received 'first-hand' the message from a farmer in Richmond, that the N.Z. authorities insisted that before offering work to travellers (in genuine need of work) that prospective employers should give work to those Kiwis on the dole (not really wanting to work at all).
O.K. Bad timing!
On the table was a job offer of eleven continuous weeks apple-picking, cottage included, but big fines were being handed out to farmers who were not complying with the rules! Hence, we moved on, southbound ... and the rest became a small piece of history.
We had travelled down the East coast taking in the touristy spots, sighting penguins and seals and many different species of birds and other wildlife. We cut inland at a place called Milton, taking in many of the sights that were on show around the lower South island. Without needing to study each new place in too much detail we were being spoiled by the magnificence of each part of the island as we turned every corner. However, a few of the place names included Alexandra; Cromwell; Queenstown; Wanaka; Haast Pass; Franz Josef and Fox Glaciers; Mount Cook and miles and miles of the scenery of New Zealand's Southern Alps.
By now we were heading North up the West coast coming across places like Hokitika (which stuck in our minds for its wide roads and unique 'Wild West' ambience and nearby sea views. whenever we chose to glance in a westerly direction). We hit the sack again just outside Greymouth; where Arthur's Pass headed Eastbound back towards Christchurch. The weather was not the best while traversing the South Island but we were being spoiled anyway by what we saw, between a number of low clouds and generally damp and foggy conditions. (Despite experiencing some inclement weather it certainly didn't spoil our fun but refreshed us, reminding us that New Zealand was indeed a very green country, so it had to rain sometimes!)
Eventually, we turned the wheel anti-clockwise again and headed on up the East coast, with more sights of seals that Kaikoura's rocks had on offer. We had gained another phone number so had accommodation booked with some rellies, in Wellington, once the ferry had dropped us off at the quay.
(That was our first trip around the South Island ... and we still hadn't picked any fruit yet!)
From farm to farm we drove all round
"Take this letter to the 'Powers that Be'
They'll give you a permit to work for me."
So off we went to whom he'd said
But the lady in the office shook her head
So on we went to tour down South
"Don't bear grudges" Sheila said
"There'll be better news somewhere ahead."
Does it really matter? Let's make light.
My troubles are small and nothing more.
There's no need to start another war!"
Through the orchards, away from towns
Ahead to face more ups and downs
We had planned to travel to the West
But as dusk approached we needed rest
So we carried out Plan B instead
The hills were green and the sky was red
Due South and through the Lewis Pass
To pitch our tent on lush green grass
We woke at dawn the following day
So up we got and on our way
To Christchurch first, then Oamaru
Once again we were treated well
From the moment we touched their front door bell
As we drank a cuppa Frank casually said,
"You'll stay tonight in our spare bed."
Played snooker 'til the night had gone
We potted the red then potted the black
Till the time had come to hit the sack
More friends we'd made: more cards to send
It's a shame this trip would one day end
Dunedin next was on our route
With more provisions now in the boot!
While with these friends of my relation
We spoke at length re. emigration
We'd either need our next of kin
Or piles of money to be 'let in'
Both of these were out of reach
So one way in would be to teach
Next day we saw a job to suit
So when I'd sent my application:
We carried on, no hesitation
Central Otago, where the stone fruit grew
In two minds now about what to do
To look for work, be it cash in hand?
We'd risk being deported to another land?
No, we'd travel on to see the sights
Queenstown next was on our way
Scenic beauty: a gorgeous day
Many tourists, all around
Here, then on to Milford Sound
We took State Highway eighty-nine
On our map, a thick black line
We'd thought that Wanaka wasn't far
But what a test we gave our car
Not just the mountain roads to bear
But sharp stones to make our tyres wear
Round the bends: up and down the hills
There must be other ways to get our thrills?
Ways to make the adrenalin pump
Like paying to do a Bungee jump!
To leap from Skipper's Canyon grand
Both feet tied to a rubber band!
Gorges; mountain streams and lakes
The postcards home were real, not fakes
Many photographs we took
Rapids; Glaciers and of course, Mount Cook
With the sun so hot it was hard to know
How mountain peaks were capped with snow
But nature's wonder, beauty too
The clouds so white and the sky so blue!
The West coast weather turned really grim
The clouds were low and the light was dim
We reached Otira and stopped for the night
Or Arthur's pass would be out of sight
The next day dawned but drizzle fell
"Let's drive on: we may as well!"
Different views each day we saw
On the North-East coast we'd see some more
To the West were hilly pastures green
Where cows and goats and sheep were seen
Behind us Christchurch, busy roads
Lorries carrying heavy loads
Ahead our road wound on its way
The tourists stopped, and so did we
Another seal colony
We thanked our lucky stars for that
Wellington was windy though
We had several places there to go
But when we'd done our city tour
We went to stay in Porirua
Kath and John helped us on our way
We were making friends nearly every day!
Then later on as darkness fell
Janet said, "You may as well ---
Come back to stay with us tonight
You'll see Mount Egmont when it's light."
The weather there was not too good
"Our 'bach' is on your way you know
Just put the key back when you go!"
We slammed the door to shut it tight
Then drove to Taupo for the night
We saw the lake at its very best
Volcanic peaks in the far South-west
I phoned from here to see if mail
Had come for us ... and here's the tale
The Head of Kawakawa school
Wanted me to make a call
I rang him next to fix a date
So when you find you're passing through
Call me for an interview."
It was nice to know he'd received my letter
The news we had could not be better
We moved across to see Hawke's Bay
But we wouldn't stop long on our way.
We now look back and have to smile
We travelled on Highway thirty-eight
(We'd been going well but tempted fate)
Most of the roads were pretty good
Was made hard-going on roads of gravel
I reel that name off my tongue as though I was speaking my native language. It
has stuck with me since I made a ‘boo-boo’, years ago, in an attempt to reduce
travelling time for a meeting planned for ‘next Thursday morning’.
*In order now, to give Kiwis a grin, we were trying to save time, en route to the Bay
of Islands, via Auckland, from Napier.
*At Wairoa we turned inland to head West towards Rotorua:
Big mistake!
At the time and under a bit of pressure this had looked
to be the quickest and shortest plan of attack. (*That statement was specifically for
knowledgeable Kiwi map readers to have a chuckle, at my expense.)
This meeting took place, as scheduled. It was definitely a formal interview, with a panel of five people present to throw appropriate questions in my direction. At one point, towards the end of the interview, the Deputy Principal said, “It would be fitting for your wife to see where you’ll be working.” (I had earlier explained that she was reading a book in the staff car park, while she waited for me to return). The hairs stood up on my back as the inference was that I was going to be offered the job!
To have been short-listed for such a high-profile job, at a first
attempt, affirmed that teaching would
certainly be a way into New Zealand, further down the track.
Thanks to our hosts in Oamaru and to the interview panel in Kawakawa!
We were soon to be heading on up towards the lighthouse at Cape Reinga, via Bay of Islands, taking in our first glimpses of the magical scenery of the far North. The ninety-mile beach was a treat to behold and we were spoiled all over the area, as each turn we made presented us with an amazing new landscape.
While this gentleman drove me back to find where we'd left the car his lovely wife cooked us a meal and showed Sheila the spare bedroom, inviting two total strangers to stay the night. Her husband just happened to be a car mechanic and fixed the problem on the spot ... but we still stayed the night! Unbelievable! New Zealand was getting better, every minute of every day. On returning to the Parry's, we explained how our month away had gone and that we were planning to return home to England to prepare for a re-visit in the not-too-distant future. It would be our intention to emigrate, subject to the reaction of our family members back home. We knew that we'd have to be organised with CVs showing our backgrounds during the previous forty years, to enable us to become permanent residents of New Zealand. British Passports would help our cause but unless I was appointed a teaching job somewhere, within six months of our return, we'd be on our way home again, with tails between our legs this time.
So, we flew back to Blighty (Auckland / Sydney / Hong Kong / London: Heathrow) and were planning to return the following year.
(Here's the final rhyme that I'd written in my scruffy little note book.)
The alarm went off at half past five
The airport was a lengthy drive
We were setting off by air again
Another trip: another plane
Homeward bound, too soon it seems
Now trying hard to fulfil our dreams
Our plans had changed throughout this tour
Good reason now to change some more!
We checked in early and chose a seat
Where we both had room to put our feet
A video screen and a window too
Just seven paces from the loo
With the second city left behind
Nothing but desert could we find
With less than half this flight to go
Australia was still below!
Hong Kong airport: ten past eight
We hoped our plane would not be late
We thought our journey was long enough
Another three-hour wait was pretty tough
At last we loaded up and flew
Come on pilot, use your whip ...
(Gently though 'cos we need some kip!)
Six weeks later we were on our way back, this time via Singapore, where we spent eleven hours awaiting our connection due to 'unexpected and unforeseeable circumstances' at the airport! i.e. we had missed the flight connection.
It was June, so I had to find a job before December or we'd be spending Christmas in the U.K. hoping to find a Plan C on our itinerary.
Fortunately, Plan B turned out to be successful!
I'll take a break there, with Plan F or G about to happen. (All will be revealed, given sufficient time and blog space!)
11 BACK TO N.Z., WITH PURPOSE
Through the proverbial grapevine we had heard that there was a house for rental
on Esk Street. The owner of this property was, believe it or not, on vacation
in England. During June, the odds were that she would be experiencing warmer
temperatures and bluer skies, although that would not have come with a written guarantee!
We were based in Greerton from mid-June onwards, with a Ford Escort car and a fixed
address for responses to letters that I had written,
as job applications, during the following few weeks. These were spread New
Zealand-wide. Help again came from somewhere above, as from a dozen or so ‘potential chances' my first interview and subsequent job offer was in Hamilton, which gave
us ample time to do the paperwork, to become Permanent Residents within our
adopted country and for me to kit myself out with a track suit and more formal
dress, for the job itself. Two or three trips later, on the far side of the
Kaimais mountain range, we had another place to rent, this time in Donny Avenue,
off River Road, in Hamilton. There was a track that I was able to follow, on foot, to school
and back during the next few months, when ‘Plan C’ occurred, which was to
readily accept that during those months our mission had been accomplished, as
we had been accepted by the 'Powers that Be'.
I had survived the experience of reverting back to school-teaching for that
length of time but was eternally grateful for the Principal’s positive reaction
to my letter of resignation. I left school (again) with good vibes and no regrets. A means to an end had been achieved ... but it had been a tough six months, to
say the least!
My thanks goes to Brian, the School Principal at the time, to Anne, the Head of Physical Education and to the all-supportive
staff at Fairfield College during the latter half of 1992.
We had been given a board from which we were able to spring.
We had made a *base in New Zealand and were about to live there for a further
thirty years!
Fingers crossed, despite what's happening around us, on our planet.
12 PROGRESS WITHIN OUR ADOPTED COUNTRY
(I shall focus here on how we were to make a living in New Zealand. Following the end of this passage I shall revert back to 1992 and then concentrate on our social lives.)
*My final day of teaching occurred on Friday 10th April 1992.
(Coincidentally, my first day as a married man had occurred sixteen years earlier, on 10th
April 1976.
O.K., so that is of little significance to most of my readers. "Hi, Carole! How are y'doin'?")
*A private meeting had been arranged for 5 p.m. on that day in '92. Two gentlemen
were arriving from Auckland, to meet us at Matangi Road, where Sheila and I had
purchased our first home in N.Z., just a few weeks earlier. We were to discuss
a business venture that had been advertised in a short paragraph at the back of
the Waikato Times newspaper. Sheila had spotted it and we had made the appropriate moves.
So, we did … and wasted no time, although Reg. had not even told us on the phone what this venture had entailed. It was his time and travelling costs, so we had nothing to lose. He saved the details, to divulge to us in person, which he later did. (I understood these tactics, as it is too easy for a potential punter to say, “No, thanks!” over the phone.)
This was not a franchise: just a ‘one-off’ purchase. In short, it was definitely a gamble! Our future was in our own hands.
During that week, Reg's side-kick, George, canvassed locally, to give us a sample of how they functioned. I went door-knocking with him while Reg. set up the necessary cleaning trough and other aids in our lengthy garage and workshop-to-become. I watched and listened to George’s banter with potential customers, on their respective door steps. Here are some tips that I ‘learned’.
It was important to get to the point; to be
cheerful and genuine and to sound as though I knew what I was doing! Simple, so it sounded? Sheila had been shown the procedures necessary to clean the slats etc. and as a
result she became our ‘Number One Cleaner of Blinds’. Subsequently, I handled the clients
and kept the work coming in, which I thoroughly enjoyed doing. Reg. showed me
how the venetians functioned and where to purchase the necessary parts and equipment
for repairing damaged and worn blinds. I watched him closely and soon was
re-cording blinds and replacing missing and broken parts with just a modicum of
assistance. CRC’s 'Silicone' brother was a very handy ‘tool’, used to lubricate the sticky
parts in each top rail. There was a ‘Blinds’ shop in the city, which became a
source of work for us and a place for me to buy otherwise unobtainable parts. I
enjoyed the challenge and we soon got into the daily routines that were
necessary, as locals became aware of the service we offered. We had Reg.'s mobile phone number in case of emergency situations, which fortunately didn’t happen. This
was a first for both of us but it became very much a challenge, more than just a
gamble. As I walked the streets of Hamilton (to begin with) I only needed to
knock on doors where there were blinds visible from the roadside. My patter
went a bit like this, according to my first impressions of whosoever opened the
front door.
“Good morning Madam. My name is ‘bla-bla’ …. My wife and I have recently
emigrated to New Zealand ‘bla-bla’ and we have set up a ‘Venetian blind
cleaning business’.
First impressions mean such a lot. I wore a smile, which made my face ache, to
begin with.
If the door slammed in my face then I got the message and continued with my
mission, next door.
“When are you coming? You’re my Saviour! I’ve been waiting three years for you
to call!”
…… or maybe just, “How much do you charge?” (That would have been a good first
line that I could work on!)
Word of mouth advertising had always worked for us, which eliminated the need for us to canvas for work in other ways. It soon became, “We’re so sorry but we are not taking on more work than we can manage by ourselves.”
We resisted the temptation to chase bigger dollars by expanding, more than we had already. We managed to pay the bills and still to find spare cash to spend, should we ever have needed an occasional treat for ourselves.
Initially, I had walked the streets of Hamilton. Then, Te Awamutu; Cambridge; Morrinsville and all roads linking these smaller towns.
I watched many families growing up over the years. Babies through to university students, through O.E.s and development of various sporting skills including Rugby; Golf: Cricket; Tennis; Football; Netball and Athletics. I felt like ‘Uncle Alan’ to many of them, as I watched them growing up into their respective niches! Musical talents were developed to the max, with one ‘twin sister set’ becoming very successful, playing pianos and cellos in orchestras worldwide. 'One of the boys' played football for New Zealand and in England's Premier League.
(More detail concerning some of these talented youngsters may be found in the copy of Windas… and how to clean ‘em, which is on another page of the blog, should you be vaguely interested. The same applies to ‘the entire works’, so I’ll summarize our New Zealand travels, away from buffing glass.)
Over the years we occasionally sold off the good will of different batches of customers, to ease the workload we had to maintain. Also, to reduce the travelling time and costs. Finally, we became 'Cambridge only'. When we had stopped doing the blinds Sheila and I then had our specific job descriptions, as follows: -
Alan: Anything to do with the practical side of the service, which entailed dealings with clients; pricing jobs; answering questions and (believe it or not) making the windows shine, to the best of his ability.
Sheila: Organiser of work diaries; pointing staff (Alan) in the right directions at the right times; answering the phone and adding new customers each month to those whose windows were already booked into ‘Supa Clean’s diary. Plus, all dealings concerning finances, so having an on-going liaison with ‘the Accountant(s)’.
Any major issues, which were very few and far between, we would have reached an agreement between us, as amicably as possible.
In short, what we did seemed to be working so why should we make changes for the sake of them? Leave well alone, as we’d always been advised to do, by far more knowledgeable forces in our lives than ourselves.
It’s a shame that our society in general doesn’t do the same. If something’s not broken, why try to fix it? As I mentioned previously we ran our business, windows and all, under the guise of ‘Supa Clean Venetians’. Latterly, that changed to ‘Supa Clean Windows’, which became just ‘Supa Clean’ when those in our district were well aware of our presence!
We moved into Lauriston Park Retirement Village in November 2017. I continued to work for a few more weeks, into 2018, but gradually enlightened existing customers of our intentions to ‘pull the pin’ totally, thanking them for their loyal custom over those many years.
Ever since, I have missed having any real motive to get out of bed in the mornings, which has not really changed much, even four years down the track!
13. THE MATANGI GANG
When compiling notes, particularly with endless facts and figures to consume, there comes a time when one needs to take some time off to unwind.
I’ve just taken a couple of weeks' time out, having just re-lived a fraction more than half my life.
Now I feel
ready to begin more general aspects of our lives since being in New Zealand
i.e. apart from factors enabling us to pay incurred bills. Those, I have
previously dealt with so maybe our other relationships, leisure activities and
further travels within our adopted country, would now be appropriate.
May I remind you here that much about these topics is likely to contain
personal details that may bore you stiff and will surpass what you
‘need-to-know’ about the author and his friends and associates. Maybe this would be a
suitable opportunity for you to negotiate other aspects of my blog, if you so
wish, or to take a break elsewhere?
O.K. That is entirely up to you and as I am unable to track your movements in
this respect, what you decide to do is entirely your own business. Have fun!
Soon after purchasing our first NZ home, in Matangi, we joined the Matangi Badminton Club,
where sessions were held weekly in the village hall. We were part of a
regular crew and soon became involved in inter-club activities, with matches
spread around the Waikato District.
(*On the
plane, Sheila and I had mutually discussed and agreed that it would be good to wipe our slates clean by having no commitments, apart from regularly playing our choice of sporting
activities at various clubs, should these opportunities arise.)
*However, during our first few months I had become Matangi Badminton Club Captain and also the Handicapper and a committee member at the local, pro-active ‘Narrows’ golf club.
Together with Shona, who was a close neighbour and friend of ours, living on a ten-acre block behind our back garden, Sheila started up a ‘Horse-riding School’ for local children. This involved the purchase of a team of ponies and the recruitment of eight or ten prospective, young ‘jockeys’.
What had happened to our plans?
“Well, nobody else wanted those jobs, did they?”
It was our choice and was an excellent way for us to meet new people and to form what became long-lasting friendships with some of them.
(As with all major influences on our lives these were ‘meant to be’ plans for us, which ‘just seemed to happen’. We weren’t complaining at all. Far from it!)
Towards the end of the ‘indoor’ badminton season, one of our members, Ray, asked if Sheila and I played tennis during the Summer months?
“We’ll give it a go, if given the opportunity.”
We were introduced to a group of local farmers, and to cut a long story short, we met the nicest characters we could have wished to associate with … for the following thirty years … so far!
For a number of years we met weekly during the Spring, Summer and Autumn months, at one or other of the farms, to socialise and to keep fit by playing tennis. We built up a remarkable rapport and friendship with this group and I cannot recall a cross word between any of us during those years. We have always enjoyed discussing our respective specialist areas and have learned from each other by comparing notes. If you ask me, that’s what true friendship is about.
(Sorry: you didn’t ask me, did you?)
Mid-year Christmas celebrations happen within New Zealand, particularly where ‘Poms’ are involved. To laze on a sandy beach doesn’t happen so often at Christmas in the Northern Hemisphere, so to make the Festive Season seem more like home, many people in Oz and N.Z. get out the Christmas decorations in June or July and Santa does his rounds during mid-Winter, Down-Under, just for the sake of tradition.
Once in four years each couple within our group has been honoured ever since to host this event … and so our friendship has grown. Weekly tennis sessions have dwindled over the years but our association has continued by finding other common interests, such as eating out on ‘special birthday’ celebrations and theatre-going, in support of our local Amateur Dramatics Society. (We all have common ground when it comes to eating and being entertained.) Tennis happens still but not weekly, as it started out. Prior to ‘New Year’ makes a good excuse for a tennis barbecue evening at Geoff and Leigh’s Persimmon-growing orchard, in Matangi.
Hosting events at unspecified times has become the ‘Matangi Gang’s tradition, even though it is now more than likely to happen in Cambridge. These events occur on an unwritten roster and we all enjoy each celebration, as it happens. Big trees grow from tiny seeds, as have happened since meeting up with each other, back in 1992.
I thank God for allowing our friendships to happen over the many years that I’ve mentioned and discussed. We can make small things happen ... but not on this scale ... surely!?
May these friendships continue, albeit covering far more ground in future.
Our personal thanks go in particular to the ‘Matangi gang’ for being such close friends during this lengthy period of our lives, down there, in New Zealand.
Our thanks and respect also go out to all those other people, with whom we have associated since landing here in late 1990 / early '91. Not least, to our first hosts, in Auckland: the Parry's: Reg, Margaret, Dianne and Geoffrey.
Next, to our Matangi neighbours: the Munros: Fraser, Lilian, Shona and Stu.
COVID had put a stop to the certainty of making these journeys home.
We have decided to make the move to emigrate back to England in order to see younger members of the family growing up and making their own progress in life. Regular chats on small screens will never replace physical contact, which has been lacking over many years.
Blood is thicker than water and we have no other blood here in New Zealand.
We expect to live out the remainder of our lives in Britain ... as we are, after all, British!
As a result I have decided to take what will probably be a lengthy break from my writings. Future circumstances will determine the outcome of my 'continuous' writings! Apart from an occasional entry or two, to tie up loose ends, so far, my travels are on hold. Thanks for reading my blog up to this point and I hope to be able to continue with my own progress at some point in the future. All the pages of the blog, as they currently stand will remain here for anyone's perusal but movement on any individual site will be considerably slowed down until further notice.
Watch this space!
The world's a big place and there was much we didn't know
From Hawaii down to Aussie we opened up some gates!
To say we've lived another life in 'The Land of the Long White Cloud.'
Thirty-two years later we're returning to find our roots
We're retired and missing family so we're hanging up our boots!
Alan and Sheila Pencavel
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The 'girls' have my blessing and best wishes that they will have a marvellous time catching up again with everyone. Joan knows her way 'Down Under' and has met most of our friends there previously, after several trips to see us while we were living in New Zealand.
We've now 'made our bed' and all we have to do is 'get used to sleeping in it'.
1 comment:
Really great to read about Deal etc. One small question. Wasn't Steve Larkin from Maidstone (his family I believe lived in Old Tovil Road too)? Derek Towe was your great Deal pal. Enjoying reading these.Eff
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