Monthly Archives: July 2016

2:23 (1976) Finally to Queensway, Gibraltar

09 Saturday Jul 2016

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It’s sometimes really hard for me to remember things from so long ago and then write them down in the right order so please do bear with me if continuity is compromised occasionally. 
(At Trafalgar House with the children)

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Part of the problem I guess is that (yes) I am an old fart and so the white cells aren’t as sharp as they once were. But another challenge I have is that I write in real time (by which I mean my blogs aren’t planned or prepared. I literally just sit down for an hour every day with my iPad and even I don’t know what I’m going to write about until I start. For me that’s the real essence of a memoir in that it becomes a collection of thoughts and anecdotes rather than a story; it’s also a very cathartic experience for me in that for that hour every day I am in (my beloved) Gibraltar. (I doubt if I could write a real story to save my life). Anyways, that said…on we go.
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Our leisure time in Gibraltar was always going to be lovely for us all because there is always somewhere different to go, something different to do and it truly is a wonderful place to raise little children; I’m so convinced of that there are times I think I should have worked for the Gibraltar Tourist Board. (Oh, in case you missed it in previous posts – I ‘loved’ being a young Daddy).

However, as well as the fun days there was also practicalities to consider such as balancing my job with our family life. Although our flat at Trafalgar House was lovely with its views over Alameda Gardens it was always a challenge for Carol when I wasn’t there to get in and out with the children, the buggy and all the paraphernalia that goes with that. 



(Tracey playing outside our caravan)

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((It’s worth making a note here that the seventies was a very sexist period in time; in UK I remember waiting at a bus stop on my own with our (3) children and when the bus arrived several people got off to help me on – Carol in the same situation would often be ignored or left to struggle on her own)).


(Sisters xx Tracey with Sam. Top photo inside our caravan with the Rock out of the window).

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After a few weeks at Trafalgar House (I don’t remember exactly how many) we finally got the news that we had been allocated a Navy caravan and were thrilled; it was one stop away from a married quarter. The caravan site was situated on Queensway not far down from Rooke barracks and so it meant Carol was going to have far easier access to places – for example the NAAFI which was just up the road past Rooke opposite Edinburgh House. Recently when I was in Gibraltar I went searching for the old caravan site but I found a bus terminal had been built on the site.


(Above are a few photos showing our life in the caravan. I loved the one I took from the outside looking in at Carol through the window that shows Carol folding a frock and me holding a camera in the reflection).

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It was once we had moved onto Naval property that we finally started connecting with other Naval families and becoming part of a social network; I think living up at Trafalgar House had sort of stunted that. And life on the caravan site soon became a lovely ‘norm’ for us all; Tracey would play outside again and the view of the Rock from our lounge window was to die for. Life was good.

2:22 (1976) Nuffield Pool and Europa Point

09 Saturday Jul 2016

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Nuffield Pool was where I found out I had developed a stomach ulcer from my years on the booze. When I look at photos of the pool I can still identify (even now) the exact spot I found that out – half way up lane six facing toward Rosia. That recollection is particularly clear and very poignant to me since said ulcer very nearly killed me; the fact that I neither drink alcohol or smoke today is my personal thank you to the doctors who literally saved my life.
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As a young adult I was an excellent swimmer – naturally you have to be a strong swimmer to be in the Royal Navy in the first place. As well as being a leisure facility Nuffield pool was also the venue for the Armed Forces swimming galas and it was during one (as I was swimming up the third length of a four length freestyle race) that my abdomen felt like it had been stabbed with a carving knife leaving my innards feeling as though they had liquidised with hot fluid. Somehow (Heaven knows how) I finished the race by literally crawling to the finish line in total agony (amid Carol’s horror) taking last place after having led for the first two lengths. Not long after that event I found myself in RNH (Royal Naval Hospital Gibraltar) having some very unpleasant tests (at the same time our baby daughter Sam was admitted for surgery) but I’ll come back to that story later in my memoirs.

(Tracey running away from me after I’d fished her out)

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Probably one of the most defining memory’s I have of Nuffield Pool isn’t my favourite, in fact looking back it’s one of my worst memories and not something I’m especially proud of. To cut a long story short I wanted my daughter Tracey to get in the water so I could begin teaching her how to swim but she wouldn’t get in. In those days I wasn’t the most tolerant person and to my eternal shame (although my daughter has long since forgiven me and we laugh about it now) – I lobbed her in! 


(A little smile but she’d never let me forget that I lobbed her in) x

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As recently as this week Tracey referred to that ‘baptism’ (tongue in cheek) as child cruelty because she knows it winds me up and we both have similar wicked senses of humour. Today (as a childcare professional) I cringe even thinking about it but do console myself that it WAS forty years ago and she now sees a funny side to it. (And she’s a great swimmer 🙂 ). And yes, I know, the photo is awful 😦


(The swimming pool today)

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On my recent visit to Gibraltar (May 2016) I walked past Nuffield Pool on my way to Europa Point and was really pleased to see it had been nicely refurbished. It looked great. From the roadside it looked as though it was now a private complex (although I don’t know if that’s the case) and I think someone told me the name had changed too. As much as I admired it I didn’t feel as though I could knock on the door and ask for a dip – but then given some of my past experiences in the place that was probably no bad thing. It was good to see that it was being so well looked after though – just like so much of Gibraltar today. I loved that the water fall still cascaded down from the Rock, some things never change.


(Tunnel to Europa Point)

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After passing the swimming pool there’s a tunnel which eventually leads to Europa Point and although I have no recollection of ever going that far in the 70s with my family it seems inconceivable not to have done so. My only real memory of Europa was of the lighthouse and so I was amazed to see how much was going on there today. I had no recollection of the Mosque and wondered if that had been built after the 70s? The cafe was definitely not there (before) and the bus terminal looked as though it had been recently upgraded. I think what shone out for me above everything else was the new Gibraltar University, a gorgeous building right on the sea front. If a student cannot be inspired there, then he will never be inspired.
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IMAGES OF EUROPA POINT TODAY


2:21 (1976) The mystique of Catalan Bay

07 Thursday Jul 2016

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As mentioned earlier Catalan Bay was (and still is) my favourite beach in Gibraltar and whenever I think about why that is I suppose it’s partly to do with the mystique of the place. The first time I ever went there I walked the beach and then wandered around the little village with its coloured houses and church but didn’t see a soul. Looking back there was probably a perfect explanation for that (for example it may have been ‘siesta’) – I don’t know – but the whole place was very enigmatic to me. If you ever walk around a place and don’t meet anyone it can be a very surreal experience; in the absence of people or knowledge your mind fill the gaps and make things up. 
(With my daughter Tracey. Catalan Bay 1976)

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Looking up at the water catchment on the Rock behind Catalan village my creative mind would go into overdrive. Had there been a landslide that had sent all the people into the sea but left the buildings empty but intact? Pompeii or what? No, of course not but I guess some places just capture your imagination and Catalan Bay did for me and still does. I don’t think I ever did meet a real live Gibraltarian ‘Catlander’ until 40 years later in 2016.


(A stock photo. Catalan Bay)

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Something that added to the mystique of Catalan Bay (particularly for Tracey) was when we would walk through the tunnel to get there. I don’t remember the name of the tunnel but it was quite a trek and literally went through the Rock from somewhere near Rosia (?) or the cable car to Sandy Bay. I must try to find it again when I return. For Tracey, as a little 3 year old, it was almost like something out of the ‘Lion, Witch and the Wardrobe’ walking through a very, very long tunnel to come out to a ‘Palace’ at the other end – Caleta Palace of course, now more mundanely named Caleta Hotel.


(My photo taken from the cafe at the top of the Rock. Catalan Bay. May 2016)

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Catalan Bay has naturally been developed since 1976 and today has several more eating places than in those early days – very good eating places I have to add. But regardless of progress there is still (very much) a captivating air about this little place that gets my whole hearted approval. For those brave enough (or daft enough like me) to take a dip – the water is a bit choppy to say the least. Once a year (I can’t remember if it’s Christmas Day or New Years Day) a load of locals charge into the water for a little self flagellation although I’m not sure why; but then why not? For those with good knees there’s a set of steps that go up from the beach between a few of the little houses to the top road where Caleta Hotel sits. I did go up the steps to check out the view but my endearing memories are of spending times there having picnics with my young family.

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READER UPDATE FROM NIKKY DANINO (Many thanks): Dudley Ward tunnel takes you from La Caleta to Europa Point. I don’t think they allow pedestrians nowadays.

(Photos I took at Catalan Bay May 2016)

2:20 (1976) Eastern Beach, Bambinos and the Hacienda

05 Tuesday Jul 2016

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On the weekends when I wasn’t on duty we would often walk around the North Face for a day out at either Eastern Beach or Catalan Bay. Although Catalan Bay was my favourite it was a far longer walk for Tracey (“I only have little legs Daddy”) and Carol; naturally then Eastern Beach was a more regular haunt. It also had (correct me if I’m wrong) a coffee take-away place called the Hacienda Bar (?) which is the building on stilts in the the photos. On my recent visit (May 2016) I didn’t have the time to explore Eastern Beach and so couldn’t verify the name of the beach bar or even if it is still there.
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Thinking back I suppose Eastern Beach is the Bondi Beach of Gibraltar because of its size; it’s by far the longest beach, stretching over the border to Spain, and although I’m not fond of big beaches it does have its saving graces. Because it’s so open (I seem to remember) it has a lovely breeze – and because the sea comes well in it wasn’t far to take the children for a paddle. 


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When I look at the photos on this page I’m literally back there as a young Daddy and (as I’ve grown older) I’ve had times when I’ve really grieved the loss of that role – it’s no exaggeration to say there have been times when I’ve bawled my eyes out. Indeed just recalling and writing that memory has glazed my eyes over but then I never expected that writing this memoir would be easy going all the way. 


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These were very special times which I very much doubt my writing skills will ever be able to convey properly. I absolutely loved to see my children in their matching frocks and hats, all of which Carol hand-made from materials she would buy at Princess Silks on Main Street. What I also loved was how local people loved the children too and would often ask to ‘look after bambinos’ while Carol and I had a break for a swim or a walk. 


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Of all of the personal photos readers will see in these memoirs the ones on this page are the most emotionally powerful for me; while (as said) I often grieve the passing of my ‘young Daddy’ days I also cherish these images and spend many hours just looking at them. I have copies on my phone so that I can see them anytime I want to. They were taken forty years ago, long before mobile digital camera phones and so I’m very, very grateful that somehow they’ve gone the distance and survived.

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I make absolutely no apologies for today’s blog being heavy on the photos; it was lovely to have my family with me and sometimes I do think a photo says more than a thousand words. When I look at these photos I see Carol happily writing letters home, I see my little girl Tracey with a beaming smile and I see my baby Sammie taking her first steps. Priceless! And I’m sure by now readers will recognise my watch 🙂

2:19 (1976) I love that my children had some of their Early Years in Gibraltar

04 Monday Jul 2016

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Gibraltar is a fabulous place for children, and for parents to bring up children – (it’s also fabulous for adults like me who never grew up); I say that last bit tongue in cheek (because in my profession we often say that ‘brilliant Childcare workers never grow up’). Now at the ripe old age of 61 I still work with children and young people and have absolutely no intention of growing up.
* (Carol holding Sam as Tracey looks on)

 
Readers will know from my earlier writings that my own childhood took place in the cold back streets of Newcastle during the 50s and 60s and so (with that in mind) I loved the idea of my children having the opposite – and you couldn’t get more opposite than Gibraltar; indeed many of my Gibraltarian readers tell me of halcyon days during their childhoods and you need only to do the minimum of research to discover that life for children and young people on the Rock is still full of sunshine and opportunities.


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In 1976 our children were very little (one age 3 the other just a few months) and one of their favourite things to do was to go to the beach or somewhere else they could paddle in the water and cool off from the Mediterranean sun. Gibraltar has six absolutely gorgeous beaches and naturally we spent a lot of time on all of them; my personal favourite beach was always (and still is) Catalan Bay but we did chop and change often to give the children variety. 
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But as well as beaches (and I do have some beach anecdotes planned for later in these memoirs) we also took the children to places where they could paddle to cool off; Nuffield Pool was very much a regular haunt and its brilliant to see how much it has been redeveloped today although I don’t think it’s called Nuffield Pool now.


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But one other place we often went to was (if I remember rightly) somewhere called (I think) Montague Bay (?) which was just a short walk down Queensway from HMS Rooke. It was a sort of enclosed concrete quayside with deck chairs on it and where you could climb down steel ladders for a dip in the sea water. The problem is though that when I’ve asked people in Gibraltar recently about it they don’t recognise the name and when I visited the Rock in May 2016 it was no longer there due to developments. My memory is fading but I think it may have been somewhere around where the Waterfront/Marina is now. 


* (Photo of Montague Bathing Pavillion signposted by Nicky Danino & her Mum via Twitter. Many thanks X Alan)

All of the photos on this page are all taken at ‘Montague’ and so if any readers recognise the place or can shed more light I’d be grateful. I think one of the main attractions of the place was that it was so near that we could pop down in the evenings after I finished work. Halcyon days 🙂
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One of the things I truly love about Gibraltar is that my children had some of their early years there.

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PLEASE SEE THE READERS MEMORIES PAGE FOR MORE PHOTOS AND READERS MEMORIES OF MONTAGUE BATHING PAVILLION

2:18 (1976) Hard Talk

02 Saturday Jul 2016

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I can’t deny being shocked and saddened when I realised how traumatic things had been for Carol during our separation; to think I hadn’t been in a position to help her was frightening and heartbreaking. And while I couldn’t forget how vulnerable our family was while ever we were dependent on the Navy I didn’t want to spoil what we had finally got. Here we were in beautiful Gibraltar with a two year posting to look forward to and although I did need to analyse carefully my ever changing circumstances (in terms of my ‘work-home life-balance’) I had to keep those good bits in mind to ensure our stay in Gibraltar was a positive one.
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As a serving member of the armed forces the Royal Navy’s interest in me would always be (first and foremost) military (since their primary role was the defence of the United Kingdom and I had a part to play). But that didn’t mean to say they weren’t interested in my well being or harmony within my family life. Just acknowledging that took the sting out of personalising the issue; after all I’d been in the Navy five years, loved my job and the culture and I understand how things worked. I was well liked, well respected and later in the year I was due for promotion so naturally the Royal Navy was a massive part of my identity.

What had changed, however, was that I was now a married man with children and therefore my priorities were changing and were now very different to when I first joined up. That wasn’t the Navy’s fault but what I needed to do was get a grip on it all.
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For me the whole thing was a massive learning curve; as a family man I now had to develop the skills of anticipation, to be able to look forward and spot obstacles or issues that might negatively impact on my family, and begin to think more about prevention than cure. From that moment on that is exactly what I did. After talking through things I think Carol recognised that she was actually a very strong young woman underneath which (despite the catalyst to finding that out being so dreadful) was something she was proud of and could (and would) now build on.
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Being able to talk things through together had been a real tonic. It had lifted a lot of anxiety and fears and bonded us even more closely together. Whatever was around the corner would never be as frightening as where we had come from because we would tackle it together and with that in mind we could now finally look forward to our two year posting in beautiful Gibraltar.
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2:17 (1976) My faith had been shaken to the core

01 Friday Jul 2016

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One evening when the children were in bed Carol and I began talking about how being separated had been for us both. Carol really complimented me for keeping my head and not hitting the booze when things got tough because I was still quite vulnerable in that direction; I praised her too for managing the children on her own through difficult times in the often unforgiving environment of Geordieland. With not having any extended family to speak of we only had each other to top up our ’emotional bank accounts’; praising each other was one way we were able to build up our self esteem and continue bonding.
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During our separation we had both had our 21st birthday without the other and both had tough challenges and decisions to make without having the other for support. It had been quite an isolating time for both of us but for Carol it turned out to be extremely worrying too.

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Not long after I had arrived in Gibraltar our baby Sam had begun having seizures and become extremely ill, so much so that it wasn’t known if she would survive. Tests were inconclusive and so a diagnosis or prognosis wasn’t possible. Things became so scary for Carol after being convinced by the medics that we may very well lose the baby she contacted SAAFA (Sailors, Army, Air Force Association) and asked them to request the Royal Navy to send me home on compassionate grounds.

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SAAFA contacted the Commanding Officer of HMS Rooke on Carols behalf, explaining the circumstances, and requested compassionate leave for me. It was refused. The reply from Rooke said that I would be given compassionate leave only ‘if the baby died’. The effect of this response on Carol can only be imagined; our child may die, she would have to face that dreadful prospect alone after which she would have to manage her grief until I got home after I had been told by a total stranger that my daughter was dead. What an awful thing to cope with.

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Of course I knew nothing of all this at the time, because the Navy didn’t inform me, but as Carol spoke that evening it all starting making sense; particularly when I thought back to my birthday and the Bootnecks wouldn’t leave until after I had opened my telegram. They must have thought Carol was updating me and were wary of my reaction. As it turned out Carol’s telegram was only a genuine birthday message and so they left me be.

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As I slowly took in the implications of what Carol was telling me I was outraged; so much so that later in the year the Royal Navy would learn just how sickened I was; how much my love and faith in them had been shaken to the core.