Category Archives: travel

3:4 (2016) “Passengers on Flight ZB446 to Gibraltar please make your way…”

08 Thursday Sep 2016

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Of all of my personal passions in life my rescue dog Mowgli is right up there. I found him as a puppy when we lived in India and he was in a pretty bad way having been ran over by a motorbike; he also had a belly full of dirt because that’s all there was for him to eat but worse still he had fleas the size of grasshoppers literally eating him alive. In India we’d had him two years when the time came for us to return to UK so we flew him back – straight into six months of quarantine kennels – where every Saturday I would sit in his pen with him until he finally got released.
(Mowgli, very much recovered from his dreadful ordeals and appalling injuries)

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Though not to dwell on Mowgli’s story (which believe it or not I have almost finished writing but haven’t published online yet 🙂 ) the reason I mention it is because (given his past) I won’t leave him with anyone unless I’m absolutely sure he’s happy and loved to bits. His story is called ‘Beautiful Soul’ which I’ll be finishing off and publishing after these memoirs are completed. Of the very few people in the category of ‘People I would leave Mowgli with’ is an old friend from India now living in the UK called Francis (Fran) who had agreed to come down from London to Wales to look after him; without Fran our trip to Gibraltar in 2016 would just not have happened.


(Fran with Mowgli at Strumble Head lighthouse)

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Fran arrived a few days before our flight and Mowgli was clearly thrilled; they hadn’t seen one another for quite some time and so it was a lovely vision to witness. Mowgli was so excited he didn’t know what to do with himself. During the days before we left I took them both around all of Mowgli’s favourite walks and Fran also got to know all of his little routines, particularly his love of loafing around on his cushion in the garden, which gave me the peace of mind I needed to be able to jet off and leave him.


(Fran and Mowgli on my back garden)

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Finally, on 13 May 2016 (knowing Mowgli was safe and happy) we set off from South Wales and drove up to Birmingham airport where we met Sheila and Joe who had driven down from Nottingham. After checking in and dumping the bags we went off for a meal and a chill out as we waited to board our Monarch flight. It was exactly forty years to the day that Carol had made the very same journey with Tracey and Samantha and at the forefront of my mind was the hope that she loved Gibraltar today as she had all those years ago.

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As I looked out at the Monarch aircraft that was to take us on our short flight south to Gibraltar a million thoughts went through my mind. Memories, feelings, emotions, pains, joys, angers, frustrations – there was so much mental traffic passing through I couldn’t contemplate any of it. So many thoughts that until writing this post today I’d never shared with anyone but myself. This wasn’t just a short flight to me; it was a journey forty years into the past so steeped in emotion that even I didn’t know how I was going to feel or react when we actually landed. Was it really the utopia I had always believed it to be or had I been kidding myself all these years? Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted by a voice over the tannoy: “Attention passengers on flight ZB446 to Gibraltar please make your way………”

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3:3 (2016) I wasn’t counting down the years anymore. I was counting down the days.

07 Wednesday Sep 2016

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Over the months leading up to our holiday in Gibraltar Carol naturally did spend time checking out on the internet all about the Rock – and in particular the Bristol Hotel. There’s a school of thought (which is probably true) that men are hopeless at things like booking hotels because they’d sleep in a doss house if necessary where women are a little more discerning. As it turned out when Carol had closely scrutinised the Bristol Hotel (which I had booked) I sensed the odd note of approval coming through. But that wasn’t to say she was going to like the changes that had occurred on the Rock; it wouldn’t be until our journey home that I found that out. 
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Also in the months running up to May I noticed lots of phone calls happening between Carol and Sheila (as they discussed their ever-nearing holiday) and sensed a certain amount of excitement building up; we’d all been on many a foreign together, some of which didn’t score anyway near 10/10, but Sheila was sounding very positive and it was starting to rub off a bit on Carol. I caught occasional conversations going on which were starting to sound the business: Carol would say “Yes, and because the hotel is in the middle of town Joe will be able to go walkabout if he wants on days when we just want to sit around the pool”to which Sheila nod approvingly. What was also starting to sound positive was Carol becoming curious and openly asking me things like ‘I wonder if Princess Silks is still there?’.

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In my world I didn’t need any inspiration at all (as you’ve no doubt gathered) but that has never stopped me keeping up to date with Gibraltar news and events on a daily basis which is how I found out that the second annual Mediterranean Steps Challenge event was happening on the 14 May (the day after our arrival). 


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The MedSteps Challenge is a charity event raising money for Cancer Relief in Gibraltar and when I told Carol about it her reaction was swift: ‘Oh you must do that, it’s got your name all over it’. From that point on I had the poster above my office desk to remind me daily not only that I was finally going back to Gibraltar but also that the very day after I arrived I would be at the top of the Rock with the warmth of the sun on me as I looked down on familiar places. 

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The only thing better than looking forward to that was to actually do it. Even just recalling it all in these memoirs is taking me back to the excitement I began to feel in anticipating returning to the Rock. If readers feel any of that excitement as they read I’m happy to share it. Finally I’d arrived at a point when I wasn’t counting down the years anymore, I wasn’t counting the months anymore; in fact I wasn’t even counting down the weeks anymore. I was counting down days. 

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2:60 (1977) Goodbye Gibraltar

27 Saturday Aug 2016

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On 22 November we boarded our plane. After settling the children down I sat looking out of the window at the Rock but I didn’t see it even though it was staring me in the face; all I saw were images. Alameda Gardens, the back streets of the Old Town, Rosia, Montague Pavillion, the Piazza, Catalan Bay……
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As the flight stewardess came around checking everyone’s seat belts she stopped at our seats to make a big fuss of the children who were all dressed in their best and looking gorgeous. Briefly my mind came back into the present moment to enjoy seeing my children being admired before slipping back into its abstract world of memories to the sound of the ever increasing noise of the engines revving up ready for take off. 

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As the plane began to move all my thoughts and words were blanked out and replaced with what felt like a shower of memories coming the other way. Three hours later it was all over. As though it had never happened. 


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Goodbye Gibraltar.

2:54 (1977) Never been closer to divorce or being murdered

21 Sunday Aug 2016

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The Reverend Christopher Jarman RN (no doubt aspiring to become the Very Reverend) was the Chaplain of HMS.Rooke; he was also the designated clergyman who was to perform our children’s Christening at Gibraltar’s Cathedral of the Holy Trinity. As far as clergy go Reverend Jarman was probably one of the most pedantic I’ve ever come across although fortunately due to my work routine I didn’t have to suffer the pleasure of seeing him too often. However Carol didn’t have that particular blessing and had the dubious honour of having to liaise with the man on a number of occasions on the lead up to the big day.
(Cathedral of The Holy Trinity, Gibraltar)

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Thinking back he was the sort of clergyman who had a habit of asking the same religious based questions several times over but just in different ways – on ‘every’ visit. For example today he might ask ‘Why do you want your children Christened?’ while tomorrow he might say ‘what benefit do you see in having your children Christened?’ To answer the question to his satisfaction would be to include several quotes from the New Testament and because such interrogations went on for so long (hours during a home visit of which there were many) I was starting to think he was writing his dissertation (to become the Very Reverend?) on the back of our answers. 

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I’ve always admired people with a strong faith regardless of what that faith is. Within my own path I feel very much in tune and at peace with myself and that’s great for me and I’ve no doubt people with other strong faiths or beliefs feel exactly the same. For me though – although both Carol and me wanted the children to be Christened – I found the process leading up to the service just a bit O.T.T.


If I have a ‘guilty secret’ it’s probably that I’m very sweet toothed with something of a penchant for nice biscuits, which is probably the only thing I ever had in common with the Reverend Christopher Jarman RN (no doubt aspiring to become the Very Reverend) who was not adversed to clearing out our biscuit barrel (much to my horror). 

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Whenever Carol knew the Reverend (no doubt aspiring to…..) was visiting she would always prepare well in advance by stocking up with nice biscuits and warn me in no uncertain terms not to touch them; on one occasion she even descended into ‘hiding’ her stocks in a cooking pot right on a top shelf in the kitchen!!! Shocked or what?!?!? I was truly hurt that her trust in me was questioned. (But I found them …….and ate them :p ).

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On his final visit before the Christening service the Reverend (no doubt aspiring to become the Very Reverend) sat in our lounge with his tea as Carol went off to get the nice biscuits from the cooking pot on the top shelf in the kitchen. After finding out (to her horror) that the biscuits had gone she shot over to the NAAFI to get another packet and got back before her absence was noticed. 

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When I got home at teatime the air was blue. I don’t think I’ve ever been closer to either a divorce or being murdered then or since.

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2:52 (1977) Will you make her a frock to match her sisters please?

19 Friday Aug 2016

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I don’t know about other people but whenever trauma comes into my life my mind tends to automatically block it out and then go into a practical mode to manage it like some sort of safety mechanism; as a result my memories of Carol being in hospital for six weeks are very sketchy. Having said that perhaps the one thing that does resonate all these years later was how much Carol trusted and liked her consultant Colonel Price; she would often say he listened to all of her concerns and gave her all the time she needed to express them. What is probably more clear to me (hopefully without coming across too selfish) are the things I needed to cope with as a result of being on my own with the children during that time.

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One thing I definitely felt was that the Navy were only supportive to a point; they wanted me back at work quick smart and as fast as possible. I was allowed a certain amount of leave but was given no choice about having to make arrangements for the children in the best way I could by asking friends and the Naval Wives Club for help and I totally hated that; mainly because I was terrified the children wouldn’t cope very well because so many different people ended up being involved in their care. Also my own history of having been brought up in care didn’t help either.

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Facing the attitude of “either you make arrangements for your children or we will” left me feeling totally disempowered and beholding to virtual strangers; it was reminiscent of the last time my family needed me (when Sam was seriously ill and almost died but they wouldn’t allow me home). The pattern that was emerging was one I found frightening. Since putting in my 18 month notice to leave the RN I did think that there may be times when I questioned my decision – or even reversed it – but that was becoming increasingly unlikely.

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I suppose the fact I didn’t go into meltdown could be credited to the Royal Navy (for giving me the skills to manage traumatic situations) although in hindsight I did see it as something of a paradox because to my mind they created the crisis in the first place. 

My days evolved into taking the children ‘somewhere’ for their day, going to work (and worrying about them all day at the same time I worried about Carol all day), collecting the children after work, taking them to see their Mum – or arranging a baby-sitter at times I went on my own – and finally getting home for bedtime routines with the children before flaking out myself.

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This attitude of the Navy’s regarding compassionate situations wasn’t anything new to me; a situation from my distant past was also informing my responses. Before I ever met Carol I was abroad when the Navy flew me home from Mombasa because my foster dad Billy had had three strokes and been taken into Mansfield hospital. However when I got back to UK my foster Mam Katie had been taken into Nottingham hospital for an operation. Whilst in UK I found myself travelling from home to two separate hospitals twice a day which was exhausting physically and emotionally; the situation became worse because my Mam died and I wasn’t allowed to tell my dad in case he had another stroke. 

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When I didn’t return to my ship on the expected date the heavies were sent around to my house. Eventually I was given an extra two weeks leave and ordered to return to my ship which by then was in Singapore. Inside those two weeks I buried my Mam, sold everything my parents had owned, banked the money for dad and gave up the lease on their rented house. After arriving in Singapore I was punished for being late; it wasn’t long after that I began hitting the bottle. Although this tale is from one of my other memoirs (Memoirs of a Sailor – which I’ve currently placed on pause to write this one) I’ve included it because I’ve felt it is relevant.


(My beautiful family. Carol with the children in their pink and white frocks before their sister arrived)

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Throughout the duration of Carol’s pregnancy I had decided (almost decreed) we would be having another daughter and so while she was in hospital I tripped off down Irish Town where I knew a lady who made children’s clothes kept her little shop. I explained to the lady that our new daughter would be arriving soon and asked her if she would make her frock in pink and white with embroidery on to match frocks that her sisters had. Duly the lovely lady made the frock which was beautiful and for which she charged me a very reasonable £4. When I told Carol she said ‘Why do you keep thinking its a girl, what if it isn’t?’. I don’t know how I knew. But I knew.

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After six weeks in hospital Carol eventually came home and between then and when the baby arrived there were a couple of false alarms which naturally sent me into panic mode. Then on the one day I decided to think ‘yeah, yeah’ and turn over to go back to sleep it turned out to be the real thing!!! When it finally got through my thick head that ‘this was it’ I sorted the transport and we just got to RNH in time; Carol was rocking so much in labour that she almost gave birth in the lift. Literally as we got into the delivery suite our daughter Benita arrived. Our family was complete 🙂 

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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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2:46 (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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2:42 (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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2:36 (1976) The Military Wife Abroad

22 Friday Jul 2016

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When I think back (though I didn’t realise it at the time) Carol’s experience of Gibraltar was a totally different one to mine (as naturally it would be); my days were all about serving in the armed forces (and whatever came with that) while hers was all about being a mum, a wife, a housekeeper, a cook and a million other things. To use her words ‘We were sometimes on the same bus journey but looking out of different windows’ and that probably explains why when we had family time we made the absolute most of it.
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The role of the military wife abroad isn’t really something I’d ever thought too deeply about until recently when I was writing about childminders and pre-school playgroups (which ironically feature quite highly for me now in my present day profession); to a large extent (due partly to the sexist culture in the armed forces at the time) there was certain expectancy on wives be seen in a certain way, to do homely/wifely/motherly things and conduct themselves in a manner the service approved of. Just writing that looks so offensive to me now and reading it back speaks volumes on how dreadful the pressure must have been on Carol and other military wives – particularly since they hadn’t ‘signed on’ or ‘taken the oath’. I suppose if I was to comment now I would say that whatever freedoms and equalities women have achieved since those days they fully deserve.

(1976 Carol and the child’s enjoying a break in the shade)


(2016 The same spot 40 years later?)

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One of the things I found most attractive about Carol when I first met her was her strength; life hadn’t been easy for her and she had long since stopped suffering fools gladly. Although mindful of being a military wife she was also very much her own independent person expecting (rightly so) to be treated respectfully. Life for her was very much about the children and me, and to that end much of her time was spent (one way or the other) on us all. 


(2016 Princess Silks. Carols favourite shop)

I think I’d mentioned previously Carol made all of the children’s clothes in really nice fabrics that she would take a lot of care in choosing, usually from her favourite shop #PrincessSilks on Main Street. That shop is still there today and even bigger than it was then as it now has a cellar (full of rolls of fabric and other haberdashery). But as well as the children’s clothes she also made her own clothes including evening dresses for the formal social functions at the Fleet Pavillion. Whenever we went out to those social functions I was immensely proud of how fabulous she looked and likewise whenever we were out with the children I totally loved the way they looked so gorgeous and were made such a big fuss of by everyone we met; #veryproudhubbyanddaddydotcom 🙂


(2016 Mothercare, previously the Emporium)

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To some degree sewing was very much a passion for Carol (since she trained as a tailoress) but having the children to manage meant she had to plan her sewing time and literally timetable it in. Much of her day was spent walking from Edinburgh House to Bakers Passage (dropping Tracey off at Mrs Dumoulin’s nursery), doing the shopping at Liptons, walking home, feeding and caring for the baby, making my lunch, eating lunch with me, doing housework and preparing an evening meal, walking back up to collect Tracey and perhaps finally calling in at the Emporium (now Mothercare) to buy little bits and let the children choose sweets. Some days for Carol squeezing in a pot of tea with cake in the English Tea Rooms was a serious treat and so I guess compared to her life mine was pretty cushy, I was just a sailor and thankfully not a military wife.

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