Vancouver Canada to Buckinghamshire, UK
The plane was filled to capacity with mostly adult holidaymakers and older students embarking on a European summer vacation. On the surface, our flight promised to be quite ordinary, but this particular transatlantic trip was anything but!
Fraught with difficulties
Our plane’s water supplies had
been improperly replenished between flights, and nobody had noticed. Our drinking and bathroom water had both run
dry before we'd cleared even British Columbia’s air space. Adding insult to
injury, neither stereo headsets nor movies had been brought aboard our hapless flight.
photo by kind courtesy of Wikipedia.com
We were most disgruntled travellers! And with a total of 8 hours of being forced
to endure such shabby treatment, we became more indignant by the hour.
Laker's Solution
Sensing our dissatisfaction, the sullen crew sheepishly offered Laker Air’s sincere apologies for our inconvenience – along with free liquor for all adult passengers, for the duration of the trip.
At least we'd feel no pain!
Laker's Solution
Sensing our dissatisfaction, the sullen crew sheepishly offered Laker Air’s sincere apologies for our inconvenience – along with free liquor for all adult passengers, for the duration of the trip.
At least we'd feel no pain!
Two hours and several drinks later, we were served an unappealing meal with an equally unsavory announcement: the bar had run dry of both rum and gin. But happily, though the whisky and vodka would not last long, plentiful soft drinks were available.
The Passenger's Solution
To prevent anarchy, Mark, my inventive seat-mate challenged each passenger to a tongue-in-cheek limerick contest about the “joys and advantages” of flying with Laker Airlines. The devious creativity of this exercise kept saner minds occupied, which allowed the flight crew time to attend to the more belligerent travellers. I decided that
Loud and incessant grumbling promptly ensued.
How much more could Laker torture us?
The Passenger's Solution
To prevent anarchy, Mark, my inventive seat-mate challenged each passenger to a tongue-in-cheek limerick contest about the “joys and advantages” of flying with Laker Airlines. The devious creativity of this exercise kept saner minds occupied, which allowed the flight crew time to attend to the more belligerent travellers. I decided that
Mark was my first good omen for my forthcoming trip.
When the limericks were
complete, they were duly passed, seat by seat, to Mark who then read out each
one aloud, for all to hear. His resonant tones and theatrical delivery presented each limerick in style. And the eventual winner was decided by applause and laughter.
This was my contribution...
This was my contribution...
Fly to UK with Freddie Laker
And you're making a HUGE mistak-e
First, the water runs dry,
Then bland food makes you cry
And infrequent drinks make your head ach-e!
As Mark was busy projecting
his voice so the whole plane could hear him, I fashioned a crown from paper dinner napkins, and later we both held a “coronation” ceremony for the eventual
winner. This and other 'group entertainments' helped to alleviate our boredom for the several hours it took to fly across Canada's endless frozen north.
Even though we passengers were having a blast and steadily getting more inebriated drinking whatever liquor was still available, I imagine that, for our beleaguered crew, it was a very long flight indeed.
Even though we passengers were having a blast and steadily getting more inebriated drinking whatever liquor was still available, I imagine that, for our beleaguered crew, it was a very long flight indeed.
Happy Landings
Much to the delight of everyone on board, our plane caught a tail wind over Baffin Island! We briskly rode the jet stream across Greenland, and catapulted into Britain to arrive at Gatwick over an hour earlier than scheduled.
Much to the delight of everyone on board, our plane caught a tail wind over Baffin Island! We briskly rode the jet stream across Greenland, and catapulted into Britain to arrive at Gatwick over an hour earlier than scheduled.
News of our bedevilled flight
must have reached the eyes and ears of the airport authorities, because we passengers were –
uncharacteristically – shepherded through British Customs in less than 30
minutes. Not one bag was searched!! I was thus ignobly ejected into
the Arrivals area of Gatwick a full 90 minutes before my family would arrive to
chauffeur me home.
Caffeine Please!
Having remained awake drinking the flight's tiny bottles of spirits while helping to maintain sanity aboard, I was weary, somewhat hung-over and in desperate need of caffeine. Even though it meant risking airport coffee in a country whose national drink is tea, only caffeine would do!
Having remained awake drinking the flight's tiny bottles of spirits while helping to maintain sanity aboard, I was weary, somewhat hung-over and in desperate need of caffeine. Even though it meant risking airport coffee in a country whose national drink is tea, only caffeine would do!
In sudden horror, I realized that I
had no British currency on me, and the airport bank had not yet opened for the day. What to do, what to do?!
photo by kind courtesy of creattica.com
In desperation, I caught the eye of a kindly looking older gentleman, and asked him if he would be so kind as to treat me to a cup of coffee, since I had no English money but needed to sober up in a hurry. He not only shared several cups of coffee with me, but also listened politely as I described my bizarre “Laker” flight.
An hour or so later, satisfied that I was capable
of handling myself without further incident, he left me to my own devices. I decided that my rescuer was a most chivalrous knight, and that
his kindness was a second good omen
for my forthcoming EurRail adventure
I usually get 3 such omens before important events!
Mother makes an entrance
My head was almost clear when Mother arrived, a mere 2 hours later than expected. There was something oddly comforting in knowing that even my 3-year absence from England had not in the least improved her punctuality.
The Importance of Being Darjeeling
Tea is revered in my Mother's household. Whenever welcoming a prestigious guest - or, in my case, the prodigal daughter - the best china tea service and silverware was always used. Having spent the previous three years in what Britons like to call 'the Colonies', it gladdened my heart to see that Mama still retained England's olde worlde customs.
Mother moved to England, and became a permanent British citizen in 1952. And now, she was welcoming me home for the first time since I emigrated to Canada. Within an hour of our arrival in Buckinghamshire, she had indulged me with neat triangles of crustless cucumber sandwiches, sliced angel cake and a quantity of delicious Bourbon biscuits. Along with these delectable treats, she also served Indian tea so strong you could stand a spoon up in it!
It might have been the relief of ending 16 hours of travelling that caused my appetite to return. Or perhaps it was the thoughtful splendour and charm of Mom's English teatime table, for she had procured all my childhood favourite foods to welcome me home.
1973-1976
The tumultuous beginnings of my relationship with my Canadian sweetheart had evolved into a snail-mail, long-distance, summer romance. He had returned to Britain in the Fall and asked me to marry him.
We had married in London and had a 48-hour honeymoon in Brighton before he left for Canada, leaving me to complete my medical and say my goodbyes to colleagues, friends and family. Having too little time to sell my belongings, I simply gave away my lifetime's accumulation of 'stuff'. The surprise and delight on the faces of the recipients gladdened my heart, and made the whole process much easier than I'd feared. So, 3 weeks later, when I emigrated to join my groom in Vancouver, I was carrying only 2 suitcases and a treasured original oil painting.
I spent 1973 trying to be "The Good Wife", but - to my chagrin - soon discovered that my new husband and I had completely different views about life. Surpringly, I had genuinely welcomed the challenge of integration, of understanding my in-laws and of learning the ways of my new country. But despite the seriousness of our wedding vows, my husband later confessed to marrying me only to prevent my dating anyone else. He neither wanted nor needed, a permanent commitment with me. At first devastated by his announcement, I eventually resolved to make the most of a less than stellar situation.
So, in Autumn 1974, I enrolled in Vancouver's Simon Fraser University, as a full time student. I loved the mental discipline of learning new material. But my soul deeply craved the avant guard element that had been the heartbeat of my London existence, but was absent from my more sedate Canadian life.
At University, I thus gravitated toward Bohemian types with razor-sharp minds juxtaposed by a zany wit. Those who recognized a kindred spirit in me also devoured books, loved classical music, indulged in "Be-Ins" "Theatre in the Park" and other artistic weekend excursions.
My husband's mood grew darker and more brooding as I spread my mental wings and began to fly! My love was simply not strong enough to 'save' our marriage. So we separated in May 1975, almost amicably.
I was then free to do my own bidding. But that freedom demanded a full-time job so I could eat and keep a roof over my head. My scholarships and bursaries did not cover everyday living costs.
Night classes at SFU, after a full day of work in the downtown sector, provided me with regular academic infusions. And, more importantly, introduced me to a new people, who gave my life depth and filled it with humour.
The rush-hour bus commute from downtown Vancouver to the campus on Burnaby Mountain was crazy in those pre-Skytrain days. I was the one strap-hanging and catching up with my reading assignments during the 90-minute journey. Of course, after the insanity that was London Transport, I welcomed busses that were clean and ran on time.
SFU operates on a trimester system, so I was able to maintain my small connection with sanity, throughout the glorious summer months. I revelled in the beautiful mountain view that is visible from many parts of the campus, and also enjoyed the modern award-winning architecture of the 7-year old university.
Despite my dedication to my formal education, it was my self-taught job skills that reaped the best and most unexpected benefits. My bosses discovered that huge, clunking computers didn't scare me. So they offered me a generous financial package to remain in their employ for the entire year that it would take for them to pack up the whole company and move to Ontario. They offered, but I declined a position at Head Office, in Toronto. My soul belonged in the west and I was totally in love with my new province!
Making Decisions
So, I put together a plan to travel all over Europe in the summer of 1976.
Below are my decisions:
Travel Plans
My mode of travel was to be via EuRail, not because I loved train travel, but because it was economical, and frequently the quickest way to travel from town to town within countries in Europe.
Prior experience of British Rail's delays and breakdowns had negatively coloured my expectations of EuRail. But, with few choices available for student paupers, I staunchly decided to be brave and hope for the best!
My SFU student card permitted me to purchase a cheaper second-class EuRail pass. But since I anticipated spending hundreds of hours on trains in Europe, I treated myself to the 'luxury' of first class upholstery and seat suspension. Unknowingly, I had made a very wise decision.
Phone calls
The hallway phone began to ring shortly after Mother had poured my third cup of tea, as old friends and family members welcomed me back home to England. Having abandonned the comfort and familiarity of the country that had been my home for 20 years, I soon discovered that others knew as little about my new homeland as I once had - before I'd emigrated.
But though I had grown to love my new province and country, I was shocked to realize how deeply my leaving had impacted others. To comfort and reassure them, I told them about my life in Canada.
British Columbia, to the west of the Rocky Mountains, is a mountainous province, filled with picturesque lakes and rivers thanks to the effects of plate tectonics. Its broad valleys were gouged out during the Ice Age. And, for over 20,000 years, its many terrains were inhabited by bands of Native People, who walked gently upon it and left only footprints.
On BC's prairies and northern region, the harsh climate imposes its iron will upon all who live there. Ignore it and you die. Fail to stock your winter pantry and you will go hungry for months on end. Fail to procure firewood, warm parkas and boots for winter and you will freeze.
The people who live this way, tend to be straightforward and practical, in both speech and habit. They are good neighbours, when someone is in need, not out of pity, but simply because it would be unthinkable to watch your neighbour die.
Captain Cook was the first known white man to see British Columbia a mere 200 years ago, when he sailed the west coast of North America, looking for a North-West sea Passage. Explorers and government agents later followed the overland route, travelling along the same river that Scottish Simon Fraser traced, from its source to the ocean. The mighty Fraser River that bisects the province bears his name.
British Columbia, though politically younger and less sophisticated than England, has its own charms, and I had grown to love being there. Her people were mountain people, observers of ever changing weather patterns, and the movement of animals, as they hunted, fished and farmed the land. With nature in abundance, BC's main industries were resource based: Forestry, Fishing, Mining and Farming. Life in Canada was very different from my experience of life in industrial Britain. Here, Nature cannot be subdued, only respected.
Mother was to drive me into London the next day, and with the many surprises in store, I would need an undisturbed and restful sleep.
My head was almost clear when Mother arrived, a mere 2 hours later than expected. There was something oddly comforting in knowing that even my 3-year absence from England had not in the least improved her punctuality.
Gatwick to Hazlemere, Buckinghamshire
27 miles (67km)
En route home, we stopped
at a Little Chef Restaurant for lunch, which Mom and John seemed to enjoy. As my stomach was still lurching from the flight, I refrained from eating anything till it settled. After battling traffic for a few hours, we eventually arrived at our Buckinghamshire home, just in time for tea.
photo by kind courtesy of worldoftak.ning.com
Tea is revered in my Mother's household. Whenever welcoming a prestigious guest - or, in my case, the prodigal daughter - the best china tea service and silverware was always used. Having spent the previous three years in what Britons like to call 'the Colonies', it gladdened my heart to see that Mama still retained England's olde worlde customs.
photo by kind courtesy of afternoonteatable.com
It might have been the relief of ending 16 hours of travelling that caused my appetite to return. Or perhaps it was the thoughtful splendour and charm of Mom's English teatime table, for she had procured all my childhood favourite foods to welcome me home.
Good omen number 3 was now fulfilled which
boded well for my forthcoming adventure!
1973-1976
The tumultuous beginnings of my relationship with my Canadian sweetheart had evolved into a snail-mail, long-distance, summer romance. He had returned to Britain in the Fall and asked me to marry him.
Our Valentine's Day marriage and my emigration from UK to Canada, had shocked my family.
We had married in London and had a 48-hour honeymoon in Brighton before he left for Canada, leaving me to complete my medical and say my goodbyes to colleagues, friends and family. Having too little time to sell my belongings, I simply gave away my lifetime's accumulation of 'stuff'. The surprise and delight on the faces of the recipients gladdened my heart, and made the whole process much easier than I'd feared. So, 3 weeks later, when I emigrated to join my groom in Vancouver, I was carrying only 2 suitcases and a treasured original oil painting.
I spent 1973 trying to be "The Good Wife", but - to my chagrin - soon discovered that my new husband and I had completely different views about life. Surpringly, I had genuinely welcomed the challenge of integration, of understanding my in-laws and of learning the ways of my new country. But despite the seriousness of our wedding vows, my husband later confessed to marrying me only to prevent my dating anyone else. He neither wanted nor needed, a permanent commitment with me. At first devastated by his announcement, I eventually resolved to make the most of a less than stellar situation.
So, in Autumn 1974, I enrolled in Vancouver's Simon Fraser University, as a full time student. I loved the mental discipline of learning new material. But my soul deeply craved the avant guard element that had been the heartbeat of my London existence, but was absent from my more sedate Canadian life.
photo of Simon Fraser University by Christobelle in 2010
My husband's mood grew darker and more brooding as I spread my mental wings and began to fly! My love was simply not strong enough to 'save' our marriage. So we separated in May 1975, almost amicably.
photo by kind courtesy of www.guarding.co.uk
Night classes at SFU, after a full day of work in the downtown sector, provided me with regular academic infusions. And, more importantly, introduced me to a new people, who gave my life depth and filled it with humour.
The rush-hour bus commute from downtown Vancouver to the campus on Burnaby Mountain was crazy in those pre-Skytrain days. I was the one strap-hanging and catching up with my reading assignments during the 90-minute journey. Of course, after the insanity that was London Transport, I welcomed busses that were clean and ran on time.
SFU operates on a trimester system, so I was able to maintain my small connection with sanity, throughout the glorious summer months. I revelled in the beautiful mountain view that is visible from many parts of the campus, and also enjoyed the modern award-winning architecture of the 7-year old university.
Despite my dedication to my formal education, it was my self-taught job skills that reaped the best and most unexpected benefits. My bosses discovered that huge, clunking computers didn't scare me. So they offered me a generous financial package to remain in their employ for the entire year that it would take for them to pack up the whole company and move to Ontario. They offered, but I declined a position at Head Office, in Toronto. My soul belonged in the west and I was totally in love with my new province!
British Columbia had extended me an opportunity
that would take much hard work and perseverence
that would take much hard work and perseverence
but promised to be a lot of fun
I blessed my good fortune!
In addition to three academic evening courses, I familiarized myself with the brand new computer that my company had purchased prior to their cross-country move. I was part of the team that made sure important company documents were magnetically backed up. As a result, 1975-6 proved to be an extremely busy and highly successful year of learning for me.
With proper economies, and my end of job severance package, I calculated that I would be able to indulge my dream of travelling overland throughout the continent of Europe. For the first time since arriving in Canada, I felt like a woman in charge of my own destiny! How ironic that my first concrete travel plan involved leaving my beloved chosen country. But, I definitely return...for the Fall Trimester.
My difficult and often lonely marriage had been a blessing in disguise. It had brought me to Canada, where I immediately felt that I'd finally "arrived home" - a feeling I'd first experienced in Alhambra during my 1972 trip to Morocco.
At 26, I had learned that I could survive on a new continent, without the support of family, and despite the treachery of some who proclaimed friendship but whose actions were those of enemies. Though their untrue words and cruel actions had wounded me at the time...
My life
now resembled
a plant
s
t
r
e
t
c
h
i
n
g
through cracks in the asphalt
towards the warm sun for the
first time. And suddenly,
I realized how much my
entire being needed the
warmth of that sunshine
towards the warm sun for the
first time. And suddenly,
I realized how much my
entire being needed the
warmth of that sunshine
Making Decisions
So, I put together a plan to travel all over Europe in the summer of 1976.
Below are my decisions:
- traded my spacious one-bedroom apartment, close to work, for the cramped quarters of shared digs, closer to the University. I thus travelled less far in darkness after my evening classes.
- allocated my accommodation savings towards buying my return plane ticket to London, UK.
- purchased the book "Europe on $10 a day" and made a list of countries and towns to see.
- pre-purchased a second plane ticket with hotel, in northern Sweden, to see an iron mine.
- pre-paid a luxurious 3-day cruise to the Greek Islands in July
The die was cast once I had committed
time, energy - and money - to my dream!
Travel Plans
photo by kind courtesy of inkwells.net
Prior experience of British Rail's delays and breakdowns had negatively coloured my expectations of EuRail. But, with few choices available for student paupers, I staunchly decided to be brave and hope for the best!
My SFU student card permitted me to purchase a cheaper second-class EuRail pass. But since I anticipated spending hundreds of hours on trains in Europe, I treated myself to the 'luxury' of first class upholstery and seat suspension. Unknowingly, I had made a very wise decision.
Phone calls
The hallway phone began to ring shortly after Mother had poured my third cup of tea, as old friends and family members welcomed me back home to England. Having abandonned the comfort and familiarity of the country that had been my home for 20 years, I soon discovered that others knew as little about my new homeland as I once had - before I'd emigrated.
But though I had grown to love my new province and country, I was shocked to realize how deeply my leaving had impacted others. To comfort and reassure them, I told them about my life in Canada.
* * * *
Beautiful British Columbia
photo by kind courtesy of bcpowersports.com
On BC's prairies and northern region, the harsh climate imposes its iron will upon all who live there. Ignore it and you die. Fail to stock your winter pantry and you will go hungry for months on end. Fail to procure firewood, warm parkas and boots for winter and you will freeze.
photo by kind courtesy of maijasmommymoments.com
Captain Cook was the first known white man to see British Columbia a mere 200 years ago, when he sailed the west coast of North America, looking for a North-West sea Passage. Explorers and government agents later followed the overland route, travelling along the same river that Scottish Simon Fraser traced, from its source to the ocean. The mighty Fraser River that bisects the province bears his name.
British Columbia, though politically younger and less sophisticated than England, has its own charms, and I had grown to love being there. Her people were mountain people, observers of ever changing weather patterns, and the movement of animals, as they hunted, fished and farmed the land. With nature in abundance, BC's main industries were resource based: Forestry, Fishing, Mining and Farming. Life in Canada was very different from my experience of life in industrial Britain. Here, Nature cannot be subdued, only respected.
My BC university built in 1967 atop Burnaby Mountain, near Vancouver, boasted a magnificent view of the Coastal Mountains and the temperate rain-forest that covered them. I loved to walk the trails around the campus because my heart truly felt 'at home' amongst those tall evergreen trees. So much so, that I had gallantly taken a skiing course the previous winter.
photo by kind courtesy of www.allposters.com
But sad to say, I was absolutely dreadful at skiing! Any serious mountain escapades would need to be conducted during the other three seasons. Winter was definitely not my season!
* * * *
By the time I finished chatting on the phone, sharing my adventures and listening to those of my callers, both my body and mind were spent and begging for sleep. So I skipped supper, took a long, hot shower and headed to bed early.
Mother was to drive me into London the next day, and with the many surprises in store, I would need an undisturbed and restful sleep.
Coming Soon!
June 3 - 17
England to France
At the British Museum
Shopping in Regent Street
Getting about in Britain
England to France
At the British Museum
Shopping in Regent Street
Getting about in Britain
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