Author Archives: Alan Dixon

2:51 (1977) Some decisions are literally life or death

16 Tuesday Aug 2016

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Towards the end of Carol’s pregnancy we learned there had been an increase in babies born in Gibraltar with spina bifida and that the parents of those children had to make life or death decisions regarding their child; for the child to survive it appeared it would need to be flown to UK for an operation almost immediately after birth. At the time spina bifida wasn’t something they could detect before birth and so naturally it was very shocking and traumatic for parents to be given such news on the spot – doubly so being asked to make that split decision straight away.
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Rumour had it that the ‘spina bifida outbreak’ was as a result of something to do with the water so it appeared all expectant mums were at risk; our fate was in the lap of the gods. Carol and I talked endlessly about our worries and concerns, at length, day in day out, losing sleep about being faced with such an appalling situation. Decades later that tension (to me) still feels like a living nightmare.

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It was against that backdrop I woke up one morning to find Carol really distressed in the bed saying the baby was coming even though it was nowhere near due. I nearly threw up. Naturally I went straight into overdrive, sent for the transport to take her to RNH and contacted friends to mind the children. Once in hospital Colonel Price and his team managed to stop Carol’s premature labour with medication and planned to keep her in overnight to monitor her; six weeks later she was still there. 

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2:50 (1977) It’s those little memories that knit a story together

15 Monday Aug 2016

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I’ve always felt that it’s the little anecdotes knitted together that really give the best overview of a story and tell it well; big events are easy to remember, sort of in your face and difficult to miss out but the little ones (to me) are priceless. For me they are a bit like finding out something you could never have imagined and yet very endearing about someone very famous; I follow a Buddhist path in life and when The Dalai Lama said one of his biggest regrets in life was not being able to have a girlfriend I was blown away.
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Throughout my memoirs I’ve tried to include as many of the major events that I can remember (and there are still more to come); but I’ve also tried to include the smaller day-to-day ones as they’ve sprung to mind because all these things go into the mix which make up my memories of living in Gibraltar. 


(USS Nimitz off Gibraltar)

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One of the smaller day-to-day things that had everyone talking was the arrival of a humongous aircraft carrier from the United States, the USS Nimitz, which it appears was so big that it couldn’t berth alongside and had to anchor off. With a crew of 6000 personnel it certainly put any British warship in the shade and if rumours were to be believed they had race wars and gang warfare onboard. As ‘locals’ there was an element of fascination about having such an impressive visitor to the Rock although the downside was that we avoided going out to eat or shop on the Main Street because we found Americans to be overly loud and too familiar (we didn’t really want to be #bff with people we didn’t know). Another downside was (with no disrespect to traders who wanted to make hay while the sun shone) prices for anything and everything virtually doubled.

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On the upside whenever ships like Nimitz left the Rock there always seemed to be a bargain to be had in many of the eateries – for example a free bottle of wine with dinner. One of our regular troughs was the Lotus House Chinese which even got into the habit of contacting us with their current offers particularly when bookings were down. Although it would never be my intention to circulate spurious rumours about any restaurant there was an occasion when the Lotus House was closed down the day after we had eaten there; sailors being sailors suggested something unpleasant had been found in the fridge but in fairness it wasn’t long before it reopened and it didn’t stop us eating there.


(Royal Naval Hospital Gibraltar)

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Perhaps one last little memory I’d like to include in this post would be to give a mention to the Moroccan painters who periodically would come around Edinburgh House and give all of the flats a fresh lick of paint. The painters who came were really super fast and could paint an entire flat in no time; I can still smell how fabulously fresh the place smelled every time they finished. With a new child on the way it was lovely to have the painters in just beforehand and it certainly wouldn’t be long before Carol had a date at RNH Gibraltar.

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2:49 (1977) Why do I bother writing a memoir?

14 Sunday Aug 2016

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Carol’s grandad Pop spent most of World War 2 in Burma and had been awarded the Burma Star. I first met him in 1975 and over the years we developed a very close relationship; having military backgrounds in common we bonded quickly and would spend hours talking, reflecting or just being. 
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Whilst serving in Burma he had written several volumes of his memoirs which he loaned to me to privately read although after reading them I was so moved emotionally that I offered to publish them for him. Although he agreed I could do that (very reluctantly – if I ‘really’ wanted to) I remember him telling me that to publish his diaries was not why he had written them; in fact he hadn’t written them for anyone to read or even expected they would want to. Writing a short piece every day during years of conflict and misery, thousands of miles away from home in a hostile environment was a massive form of comfort to him; his diary was a world he could vanish into at the end of every day for reasons (which to me) ordinary people would find it impossible to understand. 

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When he died I remember an immense sense of pride in him as the Burma Star Association carried his coffin and gave their mantra to the gathered: ‘When you go home remember for your tomorrow we gave our today’.


(The Burma Star medal)

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Today (in real time about two hours ago) I spent a little time reading some of Pops memoirs and (without compromising too much of his privacy) I photographed the very last paragraph of the very last volume. The entry is from 24 September 1945 (ten years before I was even born) and relays how he feels to finally arrive safely back in the UK. To me that paragraph is just so powerful and yet the reality is that I am the person he hadn’t expected would read his diary or would even want to.


(Pops last diary entry –  typed text is below)


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To compare the content of my writings with Pops would be so wrong and wholly inappropriate; Pop wrote during a world war about events he had seen or experienced many of which he found to be extremely traumatic and from which (I know) affected him all his life. But what he also did, was give me a lesson (whether he knew it or not) in the value of keeping a diary or a memoir in which I learned to write about my feelings and in doing so also learn to manage them effectively.

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So what has this post to do with Gibraltar? Two things I guess. Pops’ boat home from Burma stopped at Gibraltar on the way back ….and if it hadn’t been for him …..these memoirs would most certainly never have been written. For me personally writing my memoirs of Gibraltar keeps me close and connected to a place I very much love.

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2:48 (1977) HM Queen Elizabeth’s Jubilee Year in Gibraltar

13 Saturday Aug 2016

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1977 was HM Queen Elizabeth’s Jubilee Year and naturally there was a lot going on in Gibraltar. Come to that there is always a lot going on in Gibraltar which makes it such a great place to visit; a basic search on Google would almost certainly flag up the Mediterranean Steps Challenge, the Chess Tournament, the Darts Tournament, Classic Car Rally’s and much more. 
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Back in 1977 one of the events that attracted me was the Art Competition which I did contribute to but didn’t particularly shine at; I still have the artwork I entered and when I viewed it recently I made the decision that it was so dreadful I’m surprised they accepted it all which is why I haven’t published it on this post – and probably won’t post anywhere else anytime soon.

However what was important to me (at that time) wasn’t so much winning a prize but taking part with everyone else and feeling part of it all; learning from the experience was also a massive advantage because the following year I entered a National Art Competition in UK and won it. 


(2016 Gibraltar Art Gallery)

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Thinking back though what I loved about the Gibraltar exhibition was how local people painted and drew their interpretations of the Rock and their beautiful environment with such feeling – something they still do today judging from what I saw when I visited Gibraltar Art Gallery during May 2016. 


(2016 Cable car approaching pylon on a non windy day)

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Carol was born on the Queens birthday (21 April) and as a tribute was given the middle name of Elizabeth by her parents. As I was born 13 days after her (May the Fourth be with you) I often referred to myself as her toy boy – particularly just after her birthday when she was technically a year older than me. That period of time between our two birthdays became known as my Toy Boy Fortnight during which I certainly ‘took the rise’ (tongue in cheek) out of Carol although she did always have the girls coming out in support of her and so I was always outnumbered 🙂


(1977 Carol in St.Michaels Cave)

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It was during my ‘Toy Boy fortnight of 1977’ that we decided to celebrate our joint birthdays with a trip up the Rock to see the apes and visit St.Michaels Cave. Carol was 22 and I was 21 but since she was six months pregnant I was very much in an ‘I will look after you and protect you’ mode although that absolutely didn’t bode well with the independent strong young woman she was who seemed to be on constant playback – “Don’t fuss, I can manage by myself”.


(1977 Carol descending King Charles V Steps)

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So although it was quite a windy day we took the cable car up to the top of the Rock but as we travelled further and further up the wind became worse and worse. By the time we approached one of the pylons our cable car was swinging (almost at right angles) from left to right and it was clear the car was going to hit the pylon. At that the cable car attendant opened the door and used a pole to push the car away from the pylon as we went past it and as he did that Carol found herself literally looking through the open door straight down in terror at Alameda Gardens. When we finally got to the Apes Den and got off the cable car Carol (ashen faced) said that there was no way she was getting back on it.

(1960 King Charles V Steps)

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It took me some time to reassure Carol that we could go back down to the town via King Charles V Steps and that we didn’t need to get back into the cable car; the fright had been such that I have no idea how she didn’t give birth on the spot. Eventually though she did calm down enough to enjoy the visit and also enjoyed the trek back down the Rock via the steps with those breath taking views. But it would be a long time before she got back into the cable car.

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2:47 (1977) If I close my eyes right now…I’m back there

12 Friday Aug 2016

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Since writing these memoirs I’ve realised that memories are not always related to actual events or actions, they are also related to feelings. Without getting too deeply into psychology (which isn’t my area) I suppose it’s a little bit like how a pop song from the past may evoke a particular emotion; for me I only need to hear the first few chords of John Lennon’s Working Class Hero to touch base with my roots and morph back into the rebel I was as a younger man.

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Looking at a photo from the past (especially one of those yellowy ones) gives me enormous pleasure and takes me straight back to that time, that place, that event and those people. But sometimes I like to just close my eyes and let my imagination take me back. 

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After our second culture-vulture trip to Morocco I remember it being lovely to just be home again in Gibraltar living our normal lives again – whatever normal was. I guess what comes close to explaining that is imagining having a week off work on leave and not being booked to go anywhere; these days I think people would call that a Staycation? 

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Our year to date had been far from normal and as Carol’s pregnancy continued it looked as though the future months could be unpredictable too; (for me) the times when we did very little were equally as important as the times when we were buzzing around doing all sorts. As a music lover a similar analogy to me is that the silences in a song or instrumental speak as many volumes as the sounds.

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Although I know the quiet times in life can be brief I’ve never let that stop me taking advantage of them. Often I’d sit out on our balcony at Edinburgh House and look up at a fantastic view of the Rock as I listened to children playing in the quadrangle below – particularly at stressful times. It wouldn’t be unusual for me to sit out until the sun went down, the children had gone in and the world fell silent through a warm tropical evening. If I close my eyes right now…I’m back there.

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2:46 (1977) Yogi Bear (GIBAIR) to Fez

06 Saturday Aug 2016

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Like most people I’ve always known that if I fell off my bike I’d need to get back on it and the quicker the better; that whole concept is a sort of unspoken rule in life for not accepting failure or that something has beaten you. Getting back on a bike is one thing but getting back into an aircraft for a third flight after two dodgy ones in a row is something else – especially if you are the superstitious type. Clearly Carol wasn’t because even after her recent experiences she was not about to pass up the chance of a Naval Wives Trip to Fez, Morocco and was one of the first to put her name (and mine) down.


(1977 Carol in blue and white top smiling boarding Yogi Bear)

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When the big day came there was about twenty of us waiting at the airport looking over at what was affectionately known (to Naval personnel and their families) as ‘Yogi Bear’. Whether it was true or not I’m unsure but back in 1977 it was said that Gibraltar Airline consisted of just one plane emblazoned ‘GIBAIR’ which is why it was given that (typically Naval) nickname ‘Yogi Bear’. As we all stood admiring our plane – and tried to guess its (considerable) age – our Captain suddenly came into view wobbling and tripping his way across the tarmac as though he’d had one too many. No, I’m sure he hadn’t…he just looked like he had…didn’t he?


(1977 Fez from the air)

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I can’t admit to Morocco being my favourite destination because as mentioned earlier (in these memoirs) I’ve had far too many negative experiences on the African continent; but Carol didn’t have my history, she loved the place, needed a real pick me up and so a trip to Fez was exactly ‘what the doctor ordered’. Even though I wasn’t especially looking forward to the trip I was very relieved when (after rattling its way down the runway) our eccentric looking Captain managed to lift the plane off the ground into the air. 


(1977 Snake charmers in Fez)

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Landing in Fez was one of those memories that has seared itself into my psyche and not something I’ll ever forget in a long time. The runway resembled nothing short of a ploughed field which is exactly what it felt like landing in; as we hit the ground and then continued on for a further couple of hundred yards it was though we were all being given a smacked backside before being allowed off. When we finally did get off we had to walk through a couple of hundred yards of donkey muck to get to the entrance of what later transpired to be the Medina (walled city). I wouldn’t have minded the donkey muck so much if I had been wearing wellington boots but I was wearing my ‘million-milers’ (moccasins) which sadly had to hit the dustbin at the end of the day.


(1977 Tanned leather drying in the sun. Fez tannery)

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Spending the day in the Medina was a magical experience in many ways, the snake charmers, the tiny passages and ancient buildings coupled with the smells, sounds, and market trading of exotic spices and goods transported me back centuries into the past; it was almost as though time had stood still.


(1977 Transported centuries back into the past as though time had stood still)

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Fez is famous for its leather tanneries and so naturally we visited those to see the processes; Fez is also known for its hand woven rugs and carpets although what I found quite disturbing was that very small children were employed in making them. We were shown the children’s sleeping quarters and told they were well looked after and given several hours of education a day too but as a parent that didn’t ease my concerns. I’ve never felt it was my place to judge the culture or traditions of others and I’ve come across very young child workers before in the Far East but having said that I am absolutely against it and don’t buy any goods made by them. Although my own childhood was far from rosy seeing children in situations like that actually made me reassess my lot. 


(1977 Me outside the Royal Palace, Fez, Morocco)


(1977 Carol in the Medina, Fez, Morocco)

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On a high note one of the high lights of my day was having my photo taken outside the Royal Palace; to me that was really cool. But the best thing was really that Carol had once again had a fabulous experience in Morocco that she still cherishes to this day and it came at a time she really needed that lift.

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2:45 (1977) Family-time, Me-time, You-time, Us-time. It’s how we roll.

05 Friday Aug 2016

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Carol’s week away to see her Dad had been neither easy nor pleasant; he did listen to her (at times) and comply to a certain degree but (since he was very much alcohol dependent) monitoring him had been constant and exhausting; by the time Carol arrived home she looked totally drained. The fact she knew he would revert as soon as she was out of sight was to be an ongoing concern for Carol and (as a pregnant mum of two) additional stress was something I would rather she didn’t have to cope with. I decided I needed to think of ways to ease some of Carol’s stress perhaps by making sure she had some ‘me-time’ to herself and we had some ‘us-time’; a day trip might be nice? Morocco? She loved Morocco. Mmm.
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As a family we were all thrilled to be back together and celebrated by focusing on some quality family time with trips to the beach, Alameda Gardens, the Monkey den and some of our other favourite haunts. We also just spent time together at home which was lovely; I was never someone who would ever be comfortable at being separated from my family.


(Royal Naval Hospital, Gibraltar)

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By now Carol was four months pregnant and under (consultant) Colonel Price at The Royal Naval Hospital who she trusted, respected and liked very much. She felt he listened to her and understood her concerns better than any other doctor she had ever had. Quite soon she would need to have check ups as she had never had easy pregnancies; I suppose we both had a few concerns although at this point in time chose not to discuss them. One practical worry I had was that we lived on one side of the Rock and the hospital was on the other but I guess I still had five months to get my head around that. 

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It was almost as though by fate that the Naval Wives Club announced they were arranging a trip to Fez, Morocco. Even I couldn’t have made that up 🙂 

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2:44 (1977) Carol was very relieved she was home, so was I.

03 Wednesday Aug 2016

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It was sometime during January or February (I think) that Carol flew home to the UK for a week to see her Dad and to see if she could talk some sense into him; since his wife Babs had left him he had hit the bottle big time and wouldn’t listen to any of the family. I can’t say I was overjoyed about Carol flying at three months pregnant but I understood her need to go home and so had to put those concerns to one side. I’m fairly sure I took some leave that week but no doubt also had the support of friends and the Naval Wives Club with the girls.
(1977 Out and about with the children in gibraltar)

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Carol wasn’t the best air traveller in the world in fact to date she had only had one flight in her life and that was out to Gibraltar. Her brother John had arranged to meet her at London Heathrow and take her back down to Wales but things didn’t go quite as smoothly as hoped. I learned later from Carol that the undercarriage of the plane wouldn’t go down on the approach to the airport and so flight staff had to rip up the carpets and belt it with a sledge hammer till it did. I can’t imagine what went through people’s heads as they watched that let alone a novice traveller. 

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Back in Gibraltar I had a week on my own with the girls and though my memory of that week is quite sketchy I do know we got out and about a bit. I hated being separated from Carol but needs must and my main focus of the week was to occupy the children and ensure they felt secure while Carol was away. 

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Carol’s week away was far more emotionally heavy than mine, she had always been close to her dad and the break-up from his wife had been very distressing for him. Without going up that road it had been a quite cruel experience for him and so Carol had a lot of work to do to get him to ease off the booze. Having alcohol dependent issues myself I understood where Viv was coming from in terms of him hitting the booze; sometimes we all need to drown our sorrows. Unfortunately once he had started drinking heavily it was extremely difficult to encourage him to stop particularly when there was little incentive to offer him. I didn’t envy Carol’s lot.

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Of course this was in the days before mobile phones or Internet and although (I think) we had a couple of phone calls we didn’t discuss anything in depth; I probably reassured Carol the children were fine and she probably said something similar about her Dad. We wouldn’t really have a good talk about it all until she came home.

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When the day finally arrived for Carol to come home I took the children to the airport to see her plane land. Just as it was touching down I said to the children to wave to Mummy on the plane and as they did the plane revved up and took off again. As the three of us watched the plane go back up into the air I remember saying something stupid like ‘Ah that was a practice, they’ll be landing in a minute’ although my stomach was in my mouth. When it happened for a second time I was almost at the point of projectile vomiting and finding it almost impossible to explain things to the children. Finally the plane landed on the third attempt and it later transpired that the pilot was inexperienced at landing in Gibraltar while trying to avoid going into Spanish air space. After two dodgy flights and a week trying to sort out her dad I think it’s fair to say Carol was very relieved she was home; so was I.

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2:43 (1977) Yes, I know love. Book your flight and I’ll ask for leave.

31 Sunday Jul 2016

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And so here we were, at the start of a new year, expecting our third child in July (which I had already decided was another girl) and enjoying the safe security of family life in the beautiful outpost of Gibraltar. After the ups and downs of 1976 we both really did just crave some ordinary family time; time when our biggest decisions would be about which beach we should go to at the weekend or what we would eat for dinner. We wanted ordinary family time when we could enjoy life as the beautifully close knit family we had become and even laugh out loud at each other’s funny little ways.
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(Eastern Beach, Gibraltar)

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At the time I think our daughter Tracey had far more funny little ways than the rest of us partly because of her age and the naivety that comes with being a child of 4. Periodically (sometimes because of the heat) I would shave off my beard and one morning I did that before the children got up. When Tracey got up and saw me she said “Daddy where’s your beard?”. Touching my bare face I said “Oh dear I’ve forgotten to put it on, I’ve left it under my pillow”. Immediately she went to our bedroom to try to find it and became quite upset when she couldn’t – it took me a lot of cuddles and explanations to get myself out of that sticky situation! 
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On another occasion when Tracey wanted to do something but was told she couldn’t she pulled the kind of face that looked as though she had eaten a wasp. I don’t remember whether it was Carol or me who said “Tracey, wipe that look off your face” but the next thing we knew was that she was in the bathroom wiping her face with a towel trying to do exactly that. From that incident onwards we were very careful how we worded things – and just so that readers don’t think she was permanently emotionally damaged by such incidents we often talk about them now and laugh at the memories 🙂


(1977 Carol and Sammie. Alameda Gardens, Gibraltar).

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Sammie too was growing into a lovely little child with the kind of curiosity you would expect to see from someone nearly a year old, she was into everything and her eyes were like beacons never missing a trick. She was one of those children who (because of her will power) would always get to where she wanted to go even before she could walk and who never had a problem having her needs met or even getting her own way. Like Tracey she loved the stimulation of going out to the beach or to Alameda Gardens and would always take those opportunities to ‘people watch’ (which is something I think she gets from me – I can sit happily on a park bench for hours doing just that. In fact there was once, but don’t tell anyone, I sat in a doctors surgery waiting room for an hour with nothing wrong with me just to guess what other people had wrong with them). Funny thing genes.
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Evenings and weekends then were often geared around the children as more and more we would venture out to places we hadn’t visited before. Quite a few times we walked through the Rock via a massively long tunnel from (somewhere near Rosia I think) to Sandy Bay/Catalan Bay. Carol wasn’t particularly keen on going through the long tunnel but the children found it quite stimulating and different although walking one way was enough so we’d usually catch a bus home. By now Carol was about 3/4 months pregnant and so the longer walks needed to be scaled down a bit.
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I suppose it’s never a healthy thing to take anything for granted and I’ve now long since stopped doing that. Just at the point we were enjoying family life Carol’s Aunt contacted her to say that since Babs had left him her Father Viv had been seriously hitting the booze big time and the whole family were concerned because he wouldn’t listen to any of them. As Carol looked at me I saved her asking the question and just said “Yes I know love. Book your flight and I’ll ask for leave”.
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2:42 (1976/77) Hello 1977. Happy New Year!

30 Saturday Jul 2016

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As 1976 came to a close I found myself reflecting back on the year with its ups and downs, it’s emotional roller coaster rides, it’s achievements and disappointments; within these memoirs I’ve probably only just tipped the iceberg but then my intention in writing them was never to delve too deeply. If I mange to convey to readers how much I love that lump of Rock we call Gibraltar, it’s people, it’s climate and it’s diverse lifestyles then I have achieved one objective; if by the end of Chapter three readers are able to understand why it took me forty years to go back then I will achieved my goal.
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Naturally (in order to keep continuity) there are things I would ‘love’ to share (NOW) but can’t because it would ruin the overall story for readers so I do hope people understand I’m not trying to hide anything; my tales are true (not fictional) and everything will come out in the end; meanwhile I really do want everyone to enjoy their time on my journey with me – it may be of interest to some folks that currently there are about 163 daily readers and the website has been visited 3000 times during its short life.

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When I touched on how convoluted 1976 had been I wasn’t only talking about for me individually; I was also talking about for Carol personally, for Tracey personally, for Sam and also for our family unit as a whole. We had been through incredible uncertainty and strain during the year and had to cope with very swiftly changing emotions which would probably have buckled many people if not split families apart but if anything the challenges and issues throughout the year had brought us even closer together 

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Throughout 1976 we had lived in six different addresses, been technically homeless, were forcibly separated for almost two months and had both of our 21st birthdays apart. We started the year with one child and finished it with two; for Carol particularly she started the year pregnant and finished it pregnant again and after the worries we had following Sam’s birth I was (quietly) more than nervous. For me I had finally achieved the promotion I had dreamed of for years only to put in my notice to leave the RN a few weeks later.


(1976/77 Christmas/NewYear. Edinburgh House, Gibraltar)

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It’s an endearing custom in the Royal Navy that Naval wives will often refer to their husbands as their shipmates do; nick names are very vogue. Someone who’s surname was Clark would be called Nobby, someone with the surname of Williams would be Bungy; to Carol I was Dixy for almost the entire time I was in the Navy; (my youngest daughter is now 39 and still calls me that). 


As we finally greeted in the New Year on the balcony of 21 Edinburgh House Carol asked “We’ll be alright Dixy won’t we?”. “Yes, love, we’ll be okay” I replied hugging her and looking up at the Rock. The new year couldn’t be any more challenging than the last one. Could it?
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