If you’d like to read RockHeart in book form please click the link above, thanks! Alternatively if you want to read individual posts or see photos please use the links on the left of this page. Alan.

In the run up to publishing RockHeart, which I’m trying to tie-in with a trip to #Gibraltar I thought it would be nice to collate a few of the many comments I’ve had about my book, most of which have come from Gibraltarians at home and abroad. To all those who have commented, thank you so much, they have meant a great deal to me.

Dear  Alan

I have now had the opportunity of reading and evaluating your book and will detail my thoughts and publishing proposals.

The very first impression I gained from RockHeart is that it is a very good written and highly competently constructed book. It is most certainly necessary to have such qualities since it presents itself in what are the popular Kindle categories of memoir. It is also worth knowing that, when listing a book on Kindle, one is allowed to place it in two categories. That this book can legitimately appear in at least two sub-categories of memoir doubles its potential appeal and readership.

The style is affable and loquacious, and your cinematic narrative technique hooks the reader instantly. Writing any kind of memoir is notoriously challenging, especially if your intention is to attract a general audience, but you have made this look effortless. This fact alone places the book head and shoulders above others of the same type.

The opening section of any book must do several things and the opening of your book (and by this I mean the first ten percent or so) fulfils all of the requirements perfectly. It really is superb. The ‘Welcome’ is an excellent way to begin your book and will pique the interest of all who read this introduction. Anyone with a military background, or who is familiar with Gibraltar, or has a general penchant for reading other people’s life stories, will find so much to entertain them amongst the pages of RockHeart. When reading your book I intended reaching only as far as the first sixty pages or so in order to get a ‘feel’ for the book but found myself so absorbed with the sincere and honest narrative that I continued reading far beyond that.

In commercial terms the point about having an opening which is both impacting and yet promises more to come, with particular reference to Kindle books, is that some time ago Amazon introduced a ‘Look Inside’ facility in their Kindle books whereby prospective buyers can read the first 10% of a book before deciding whether or not to buy. This is to the huge advantage of RockHeart in that this is such a superbly portrayed, constructed and written opening section that it would have buyers clicking the ‘Buy Now with One Click’ button immediately. As a lesson on how to begin a memoir it is exemplary.

But the book as a whole has a great deal to recommend it, not least your natural storytelling skills, your gregarious nature and zest for life, all of which are evident from start to finish. In addition to the abundance of rich anecdotes and recollections (both happy and sad) your photographs and illustrations give the book extra appeal. Woven amongst your personal stories is a powerful social commentary too – from the attitudes of 1970’s society and the ‘compassion’ of the Royal Navy during that era, to insights into family life, pregnancy and, of course, life in Gibraltar – and this gives your memoir great kudos.

Interestingly, for a book of this kind the range of content is handled most proficiently. You share memories from your early years in the Royal Navy before you met Carol, snippets of your difficult childhood and your relationship with your foster parents, and how your cousin sparked your lifelong interest in Gibraltar when you were only nine years old. The reader then gets a snapshot of the various milestones in your life for the next 40 years, and as well as your love for Gibraltar, the Alameda gardens, and the apes, your love for your family is almost palpable from the outset. From your bohemian days, rubbing shoulders with celebrities, and your special friendships (and the parties), to your iconic cassette tapes, the cockroaches, your stomach ulcer and struggles with alcohol, you have offered a well-balanced piece of work here that will remain in your readers’ minds for a long time. Each story deserves its rightful place in this book and I assume you will have had many more that could have been included too.

There is a danger, of course, in an author having such personal knowledge of the subject matter that he becomes too absorbed in the introspective details, allowing the narrative to suffer. So it is to your great credit that the balance between narrative and execution is well-nigh perfect.

To look now at certain specifics, the content of this work is very good indeed and you have done well to fashion a personal book which will appeal to a broad-ranging audience. Your finely detailed descriptions of the sights and sounds of Gibraltar, compared with NE England, and the UK generally, paint a vivid picture, and it is clear to see how you became so captivated by its beauty within your first 24 hours of being there. In all autobiographical works the content has to be emotive and entertaining, and this is unquestionably the case with your book. You have encapsulated so many ups and downs of your life and shared your experiences with emotion, relish and plenty of humour. The whole creation process must have been most cathartic for you. As a result you have created an emotional and lasting memory for your daughters to keep and pass on to their children. And while this is all practical in its own right, your book is also given something ‘extra’ because of your writing talent and your charismatic personality.

In summary, therefore, this is as good a book of its type as I have read for some time and far better than the majority of hopefuls one encounters. It will be particularly strong in the Kindle marketplace simply because it is difficult to find fault with it. It seems to possess everything required to be successful and one cannot praise more highly than that.

For all these reasons I feel that now is the opportune time to publish your book and that Kindle is the most suitable platform that could be used in order to attract the kind of audience who will find your book appealing.  Thus, I would be more than happy to publish this book on Kindle for you. For a book to be truly accepted by the Kindle readership it needs to be professionally and expertly published.

As two unabridged copies of #RockHeart landed on my desk I flipped gently through a few of the pages and reflected back on the many solitary nights I had spent writing this chunky 330 page memoir. Finally forty years of memories and experiences of Gibraltar were not just tucked away in my head. In an almost surreal,  out of body experience I held ‘my’ Gibraltar I my hands.

For readers and supporters interested in obtaining a copy of RockHeart I’ll update progress as always here on my website. Kind regards Alan.

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It’s Christmas Day 2016 and its 6pm. It’s exactly the day and the time that I knew back in May I would be sitting down writing my final post for my RockHeart. I don’t know how I knew that, I just did.

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It’s been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life to relive and recall my memories of Gibraltar and sometimes it’s also been the most emotional. Some people may even say at times I’ve been over emotional but I make no apology for that. As I’ve sat down almost daily to write there have been times when some issues have touched on a nerve and left me almost so buried in emotion its come out all over the page but for what it’s worth it was never contrived. If I’ve written emotionally it’s because I’ve felt it. But what has been even more rewarding than writing (for me) has been reading the comments made by readers which have very often kept me going at times when I very nearly stopped. Thank you so very much for that X 

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It was in 1964 (as a 9 year old little boy) that I first heard about the Rock that was Gibraltar; my cousin Paul was a Leading Seaman in the Royal Navy and he’d been there many times, it was his favourite place. I’d sit agog with eyes widening as he told me about how this massive great Rock sat on a lump of land only a few square miles in size and how its small community shared the place with wild apes! He’d go on to tell me about Singapore, Hong Kong and Bangkok but one way and another I’d bring him back to telling me the same stories over and over again about that big Rock with the wild apes on it.

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Today, in 2016, as I sat in the taxi taking me to the airport I thought of my cousin Paul as I looked out at the Rock; the mist had descended taking away it’s beautiful, sunny, warm image giving it an eerie look as if to cushion the fact that I had to leave – I could almost hear the Rock whisper ‘Why would you want to stay somewhere this miserable Alan?’ to which I thought ‘You should know better than to even think that let alone ask it’. I don’t make a habit of talking to rocks but in Gibraltar’s case I make an exception. 

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My own first visit to Gibraltar was in 1974 as a young Royal Navy sailor and I was totally smitten by it; it was everything Paul had said it would be and even more as well. As was tradition (back then) after leaving Gibraltar I sailed out to the Far East (just as Paul had) visiting Singapore, Hong Kong, Bangkok and many more places before finally calling back (once again) at Gibraltar en route back to UK and I loved it, I just loved it. On my travels around the world I’d been in serious danger on more than one occasion, very nearly being killed on two; but when I stepped ashore on the Rock I didn’t just feel safer and happier than anywhere in the world, I felt at home. 

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Looking out of my taxi window the mist seemed to be getting worse by the minute and (crossing my fingers) just for a moment the thought crossed my mind that they might cancel my flight; but then as we crossed the runway that thought evaporated away as I spotted my aircraft sitting there waiting for me like some spider waiting for a fly to land on its net.

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It was when I returned to Gibraltar in 1976 to live on the Rock with my family (for two glorious years) this beautiful little Nation (that same one I was smitten with on first sight) began moving into my DNA. It was a time steeped in happy irreplaceable memories – some of which I’ve managed to recapture in these memoirs – and when I look back at that time I realise as a family we very nearly morphed into locals as it appeared we knew more Gibraltarians than service personnel.

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As I stepped out of the taxi at the airport I caught sight of my reflection in a window. Pausing a moment I thought about all of the really nice people I’d met during the past week who had taken the time to talk to me and make me feel welcome – many of whom have become firm friends (and who six months later I’m still in touch with). I thought about many other people too who I didn’t get the opportunity to literally meet but who had engaged with me on Twitter during the week and who still remain virtual friends via the Internet. Being received by total strangers in that way just gave me a wonderful sense of belonging that even at my age I totally love.

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Boarding my plane I turned at the top step to take a last look at ‘my’ beloved Gibraltar; even covered in mist it was still everything it had always been to me and everything I wanted it to be. Minutes later I was physically in the air with my body speeding at hundred of miles an hour towards the UK leaving my heart and soul behind on that beautiful mist covered Rock. But that’s okay. I’ll be back often to visit them – and I won’t be leaving it forty years before I do.

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Thank you Gibraltar X Bless you. Lots of love. Alan.

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If I was asked what I did after spending over an hour looking out at a panoramic view over Gibraltar from HM Queen Elizabeth’s viewing point on the North Face I wouldn’t be able to tell you. If I was asked what I ate for my supper on that my last evening in Gibraltar or even where I ate it I wouldn’t be able to tell you that either. 

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I have a vague recollection of walking back down through the (increasingly familiar) labyrinth that is Gibraltar’s lovely Old Town, occasionally pausing to sit down and reflect but other than that I couldn’t elaborate on anything else about my walk back because my mind had (now) switched to emotional mode. 

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My usual evening routine over the past week normally went something like: shower, change clothes, dinner out, nightcap, bed – and though I have no doubt that’s what I did, I don’t remember a bar of it. I don’t even remember going to sleep; in fact my first awareness since sitting in the Old Town labyrinth on Friday afternoon came late morning on Saturday when I found myself looking out over Commonwealth Park on an initially overcast morning which (by lunchtime) had morphed into a typically beautifully warm and gorgeous Gibraltar day.
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As I looked around me it was almost as though I was looking through a kaleidoscope at every photo of every memory and every experience I’d ever had in Gibraltar; it was as though I was looking at a 40-year calendar being flicked at speed from 1976 to 2016 and I was totally powerless to stop it.

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On one level (or another) I knew that our hotel keys had now been handed in, bags packed, flight tickets checked, transport to the airport confirmed and we were (in effect) in transit. The realisation my departure from Gibraltar was imminent filled me with dread, horror, grief and a feeling of loss that reminded me of being dragged kicking and screaming as a child out of my hometown Newcastle only to be raised in Nottingham because that’s where the work was for my foster dad. 

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(The plaque in Commonwealth Park)

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Aware that Carol was thoughtfully beginning to think ahead I internalised my feelings. “Alan you’ll need to try and get a nap on the plane because we don’t get into Birmingham till after 10pm and you have a four hour drive from the airport” she advised. I smiled and nodded in agreement. 

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A car horn sounded. It was the taxi for the airport.

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A glass is never half empty, it’s always (in my opinion anyway) half full; although quite a sensitive and emotional person, sometimes easily hurt (even at my age) I’m not irrational and I do have a very optimistic personality. No sooner had I thought that I had less than twenty-four hours left on my beloved Rock I immediately rethought that thought (if it’s possible to rethink a thought) rephrasing it in my head into “WOW I’ve got twenty-four hours on the ROCK!!!”. 

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On that fabulous note I continued on my walkabout (onwards and upwards) up the North Face – on a trek I’d never done before and so as well loving having had my rethink of ‘having been given a whole day on the Rock’ I was also loving that I was going off into unchartered waters – somewhere I’d never been before.

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As I looked back at Moorish Castle I knew I would loved to have gone inside for a serious exploration but (because time was now very much against me) I also knew that I daren’t otherwise I’d have spent my whole day in there. I’ve always loved how they light the castle up to celebrate current events or to pay respects to nations undergoing tragedies; although the castle has a very well documented history it also remains very contemporarily relevant today.

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Accepting that some things must be left for another day I continued on and it wasn’t long before I came across the World War 2 Tunnels where I found the guide standing outside. 
“How long is your tour in the tunnels?” I asked. “At least an hour, more if you ask lots of questions” he replied. Knowing I would most certainly want to ask lots of questions I politely said that I would visit another time and although saddened that I couldn’t go in today it wasn’t something I wanted to rush. 

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(A rope swing I found in the middle of nowhere and sat down on for a ponder)

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What was beginning to transpire was that there’s a whole swathe of history on this part of the Rock that I had no idea about and although my memoir isn’t about that I was starting to become frustrated realising that the more I learned the less I knew. That thought only became more exacerbated when further on up the Rock I came across yet another tourist information attraction – The City Under Siege Exhibition.
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This amazing exhibition is situated in what is thought to be the very first building the British built on the Rock and depicts brilliantly what life was like for both the military and the local people in the early 1700s during the Great Siege. On display are several 3D models giving a realistic vision of the times and there is also a theatre show though sadly on my visit it was closed. One of the top attractions of this particular exhibition is some actual graffiti carved on the walls 300 years ago which is still readable today; the finest example of this was a drawing of a galleon by Sergeant Major Ince who was also accredited with being the architect of the Great Siege Tunnels. 

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Again, although I had little time to stay and study more (yet promised myself again I would be back) I began to realise that many of the names of places in Gibraltar were to honour her famous sons and daughters including the individual apartment blocks of what was once Edinburgh House and clearly Ince’s Hall; past industries were also remembered for example Lime Kiln Road.

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Knowing it would be years (if ever) that I got the chance to return to Gibraltar I looked over this beautiful little Nation from exactly the same spot as Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth 2 did in 1954, a year before I’d been born. Though very different people I’ve no doubt we both felt the same way.

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It didn’t seem like five minutes since I’d left the Alameda and found myself having my evening meal with Carol, Sheila and Joe at (once again) Jury’s on Main Street – a place that over the course of a week we had all become extremely found of. The food and customer service were always excellent and of course we never forgot their honesty in looking after our expensive camera after we forgot to pick it up, leaving on the table. Sure enough there it was behind the bar waiting to be collected in the morning from a smiling member of staff.

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During dinner the conversation revolved around how much everyone was enjoying Gibraltar (which I loved) and with tomorrow being our last ‘full’ day how they would like to spend the morning shopping. Readers will know by now (as a people-watcher who would rather be parked on a bench) I’m not someone who particularly likes shopping but I nodded my approval thinking ‘yes there may be some trinkets I’d like to buy for the children’ – after which I could sit on a bench (people-watching) and wait for everyone else to finish 🙂 

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Knowing the shopping expedition would end with lunch (probably at the Gibraltar Arms) after which everyone would want to slob around the pool (panic-tanning) I knew exactly (looking up Moors Castle and the North face of the Rock) where my final afternoon would be spent. Seeing me gaze skywards Carol asked “Are you really going up there?” yet before I had the chance to answer she had already answered her own question in her head. “Mad as a box of frogs”, she conceded “I’ll wave to you from poolside”.

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Sure enough the following day (Friday 19 May 2016) after traipsing up and down Main Street carrying everyone else’s shopping bags we finally landed-and-lunched-out at the Gibraltar Arms where I viewed my sole purchase – which now resides on my fridge door (see above) and there are no prizes for guessing what it was. A little later (back at the Bristol) – after checking everyone was comfortably ensconced on their sun loungers with drinks and books to hand – I picked up my bottle of water and turned to wave adieu, which I did, absolutely honourably, totally unfazed by their snoring, then hit the road.

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The afternoon was warm. No it wasn’t, I’m lying. The afternoon was hot, baking hot and I knew the further I went up the Rock the more exposed to the heat I would become so I decided to make a plan. Even though I never stick to plans my plan would be to do things in stages (even though I never do things in stages). Having sorted all that out I set off down Main Street (with my bottle of water), turned right somewhere just before Casemates Square and swiftly found myself (where I’m always very much at home) smack-bang in the middle of that wonderful labyrinth called the back streets; a place that could well have been designed by David Bowie himself.

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If I tried to explain what it was that I loved about the back streets of Gibraltar I’d be here all day; in fact (truth be told) I’d need to write a totally separate book (which now I think about it I might just do). Meantime though if I were to offer a brief (plausible) explanation – Gibraltar’s back streets are (first of all) very reminiscent of the streets in Geordieland where I was raised and so feel very safe and familiar to me. Secondly they are also oozing mystery which I love; so many times I’ve gone from knowing exactly where I am going to becoming totally lost up some dead end within seconds and (strange as it sounds) that’s something that fires my imagination – more so if I bump into someone I don’t know! Lastly (though very much not least) is the sense of belonging I feel from seeing Union Jack flags in house windows and steps patriotically painted in British colours from years gone by. I’m a British man out enjoying a stroll in a distant, small yet beautiful part of our British Nation.

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Slowly but surely as I navigated the back streets, got lost up a few alleys and had help from a fabulous group of teenage boys to guide me through a housing estate I finally managed to find my way up to Moorish Castle which I decided (as part of that plan I never had) would be my first Pitt Stop. 

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(A favourite view showing my old abode of Edinburgh House)

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As I looked down on a lovely panoramic view of Gibraltar the reality that within twenty-four hours I would finally have left this beautiful place and that my reality would be consigned to history hit me hard. Very hard.

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Within seconds of stepping off a bus (full of chattering people heading into town) I found myself in the magical silent world that is Alameda Botanical Gardens, such is the wonder of Gibraltar that you can do that. 

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In addition to the dozens of mini communities that make up her diverse population of 32000 human beings this beautiful little Nation also boasts dozens of mini Nirvanas including Commonwealth Park, the Upper Rock Wildlife Park, the Mediterranean Steps (and many more) all of which readers will know by now are among my favourite places to spend time. But of the fabulous outdoor spaces in Gibraltar there’s no question of my all time favourite place (and the one I take myself off to more often than not) – Alameda Botanical Gardens. 

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The sound of silence coupled with the sounds of nature in this gorgeous utopia are probably the first things that become apparent as you enter; there are rarely a lot of people about but those that are there tend to respect the peace and space of others leaving the audio space free for the bees to buzz and the water to trickle.

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The design and beauty of the Alameda is without question staggering and these gorgeous 15 acres only seem to have improved since being commissioned in 1816 even after a lull during the 1970s; a restoration in 1990s which included the adding of a zoo brought along new life and charm and a recent new indoor development continued the very well thought out progress of this wonderful resource.

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The basic concept behind the idea of creating the gardens was initially a recreational space for off duty servicemen and their families and a shady place of leisure and rest for local people away from the hot sun. Naturally times have changed over the past 100 years and it could be argued that the original aims may be less relevant today though still remain excellent motives.
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I imagine everyone has a very favourite place in this world and a very good reason for that place being their favourite place; for me I guess the Alameda is that place because of its very powerful emotional attachment resulting from spending hours and hours in there watching my children play. I walk all over the gardens, check out virtually every flower and shrub, smell every scent and most importantly ‘see’ those days-gone-by (in my minds eye) sometimes through tears when my children played in that old painted rowing boat.

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Conscious my visit to the gardens was my last visit possibly for years, or even worse still for ever (because I’m never complacent about the future) I sat down at a favourite bench and listened to the sound of water trickling and bees buzzing. Sometimes that’s all I want to hear.

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