The long way round

Whilst growing up my father would set us challenges. He was insistent we became experienced travellers and could hold our own depending on any eventuality. After a year at Trent, my boarding school in England, I asked if I could go and revisit my French family in La Rochelle.

No problem my father said, but it’s going to cost you.

This meant he would be getting me the cheapest way there, I was going the long way round.

I set off from Paddington Station, London via train down to Dover. At Dover I was to catch a ferry across to Calais. From Calais, I would get the train to Paris. Get across Paris from one station to another, via taxi. Pick up my next train from Paris to Nantes, Nantes to Poitiers, Poitiers to La Rochelle. If I missed one train, or the train was delayed, this would kick everything else out. He suggested I take with me my alarm clock should I accidentally fall asleep on one of the journeys. At every leg, I would set my alarm just before arrival at the next destination.

My father's advice was this. Ask if you need help, look business like, check you have your 3 vitals, passport, money, ticket. Don’t talk to strangers.

I was 16.

I don’t remember feeling that nervous, strangely. I had a schedule, I just had to keep to it.

All went according to plan on my way there, Margot my French mother picked me up from La Rochelle train station. 3 weeks later, I was making my way along the same route back again.

My father thought it would be a great idea to get us rucksacks for when we started to travel abroad. The best way to travel, fling it on your back and off you go.

Not so.

These rucksacks were made for people going on a round the world trip I think. They were bigger than we were especially when they were packed with all our stuff. You could barely get them on your back, so top heavy you almost face planted yourself onto the ground.

Julia and I, this was in England somewhere but around about the time we were lugging those rucksacks around the country

Need a hand people would ask, seeing me doubled over as I attemped to get my balance right.

Oh no don’t worry, I’m fine.

Not the idea we had set out to achieve. This was meant to be easy. Rucksack on back, hands free. A seasoned traveller.

Granpop used to pick me up from the train station if I was visiting. I’d arrive and make my way to the exit to meet him. My rucksack towering above me came first, then me. I was always concious of his wheezing and how he would quickly get out of breath with anything strenuous so I’d try and swing it off my back and get it into the boot in one fell swoop.

If this didn’t happen then Granpop would insist on putting the cumbersome load into the boot himself.

No Granpop, I can do that.

He didn’t listen, he was hard of hearing as you know, but not only that he was stubborn.

I thought he would pass out from the strain. Once the subtle fight with the rucksack was over, I’d get into the car. The stilted conversation would begin.

Thank you for picking me up Granpop, I hope you haven’t been waiting long.

A pause, a wheeze, another pause then,

No, dear.

All the time looking straight ahead, we had some clunking of gears, revving, changing down, more wheezing.

The weather has been lovely, hasn’t it, I’d rattle on.

Another pause, at this point, we’d glide around a corner, no change down until we had turned it, then a wheeze, a change of gear, another wheeze and then foot on the pedal and acceleration.

Off we go, down the road. More revving.

I felt like wheezing with him.

At last an answer,

Yes, dear.

Goodness, it took all my energy to keep the conversation flowing until we arrived at 134, Moffats Lane.

The driveway was on a downward slope. Hard handbreak up, another wheeze, engine off, out he would get to open the garage door. You weren’t sure if you should get out the car at this stage or not, but you did. Granpop, back hunched, arms behind him, he’d scurry around to the boot to open up. I’d race him to it.

I’ll do that, I’d say, heaving the rucksack out the boot before Granpop had a chance to.

Then he'd be back in the car to park in the garage. The car would free wheel so fast that you imagined he'd go straight through the garage and out the other side.

Full break to an abrupt halt. Noisy handbreak up.

The front door would open, Granjoy.

Hello, Sally.

How long will you be staying?

Granjoy & Granpop outside 134 Brookmans Park, photo taken from a framed print so not the greatest quality