2:1 (1976) With her eyes glued to mine I said “We’re going to Gibraltar”.

11 Saturday Jun 2016

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19 December 1975. Wedding day at Portsmouth.

Not long after leaving HMS Scylla I met my wife Carol and by 1975 we were married with a child and with another on the way. Carol hailed from South Wales and her childhood had been as insecure and as challenging as mine in many ways (but probably even more miserable) and so we had a certain something in common from day one. It doesn’t take long for two people with those kinds of backgrounds to bond and the closer we became, the calmer I became; for the first time in years I didn’t feel the need for alcohol, more often I’d rather be at home.


Southsea, Hampshire.

Our first daughter Tracey was born at Withybush Hospital, Haverfordwest, Wales and in due course all three of our children would be born in different countries. I loved that.


Early in 1975 we were awaiting the arrival of our second child Samantha at St.Mary’s Hospital in Portsmouth. Carol never had easy pregnancies and was often kept in hospital for extended periods before giving birth which naturally made her feel really low. And although I was there for the birth of my children I always got kicked out after delivery due to post natal complications and so they were always worrying times for me.


Since leaving HMS Scylla I’d had several postings including HMS Vernon, HMS Danae and HMS Pembroke and these drafts often meant me being away from home for extended periods of time. Having been at sea for more than my quota I was due some shore time and with my family growing I requested a particular ‘married-accompanied’ posting. Some weeks went by before I heard anything and then one day Chief gave me news that I had a feeling would lift Carols spirits – and I couldn’t wait to tell her.

Visiting time at the hospital was 2-3pm and so with Tracey looking pretty in a frock, her hair in ribbons and her dolly in hand we set off for the hospital arriving (on time) to find Carol naturally feeling fairly low at being bed-ridden ‘having tests’. These days with the NHS being so depleted of both beds and staff she wouldn’t even have been admitted but back then that wasn’t the case; for those patients ‘kept in’ there was a massive feeling of disempowerment in terms of being dictated to when they could get out of bed, have something to eat or even use the bathroom.

Seeing Carol in that situation was really hurtful to me, she was a proud young woman feeling unnecessarily controlled and though I do ‘get’ that more vulnerable patients need special care sometimes I’ve never ‘got’ the way some professionals in hospitals become power driven and turn into little Hitlers. Not wanting to upset Tracey we put a brave face on the situation, had our rudimentary hugs and kisses and as Tracey settled down to play with her dolly I told Carol I had some ‘good’ news. 

With her eyes glued to mine, barely blinking, it was almost manna from Heaven for me to see the low subside and a slight sparkle of hope come back. Without her having to have a second longer of anticipation than necessary I said “I’m drafted to HMS Rooke. We’re going to Gibraltar”.

1:11 (1974) I’d seen the world’s underbelly and thanked God for Gibraltar

07 Tuesday Jun 2016

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Arriving back in Gibraltar after eight months in the Far East felt like coming home. As we berthed alongside I felt a huge sense of relief to be back where I felt safe and welcome after what had turned out to be a six months nightmare; life had hit me from all of those angles I wasn’t ready for from drink, sex (being come onto by both women and men), being beaten up, almost drowning, being locked up and being in very dangerous situations, all during the time I was grieving for my parents. With no real home left to go to in UK it wasn’t surprising I felt as though arriving back in Gibraltar was like coming home. In some ways I grieved the passing of my naivety, in others ways I gave thanks for my survival. 

It was a paradox in a way. I’d looked forward so much to seeing some of the most exotic places in the world that Cousin Paul had told me about yet ended up seeing their under-bellies and so could no longer see the exotic; my eyes had been opened and I couldn’t close them again. In Thailand I was so moved by their Buddhism that I became Buddhist (and still remain so today) but I would have to have been blind not to be aware of the appalling poverty being shored up by their ‘in-your-face’ sex industry. In South Africa I found the apartheid shocking; while Nelson Mandela languished in jail on Robben Island for trying to stamp it out I was sickened to see that there was still pavements for white people and pavements for black.


Having virtually drank my way around half of the world the temptation to visit a few of those 365 Gibraltarian pubs (my shipmates had told me about) and drink myself ‘mortal’ was massive rather than walk the back streets or check out the apes; but although I was aware I had a serious drink problem I didn’t want that to interfere with my love of Gibraltar; worse still I didn’t want to end up drunk in a gutter there and have that forever in my memory. I walked the back streets.

During my brief second visit to the Rock the Chief gave me the maximum time off which in real terms was only a few hours but those few hours (he knew) were so cathartic. Wandering the back streets allowed me to touch base and to get back in touch with myself. I had an almost pathological need to walk and walk and walk to give myself time to think and reflect. Right now Gibraltar was the only place in the world I could do that; to walk those streets that I was becoming familiar with, where ordinary families lived and which reminded me of childhood days in Newcastle. 


Parts of the Old Town were very challenging with their long sets of steep steps; they made me think how physically hard life must be on a daily basis for some of the older residents or young parents with babies. Yes I had problems but so did many other people who couldn’t do anything about their issues. Long after leaving the Royal Navy I would spend over 30 years in the Social Care profession, but that memoir is a long way off.

Later today my ship would sail for UK and on the way over the English Channel I would have a skin-full of ale along with my mess mates during what was known as a Channel-ex. In 19 months I would be back. With my family. To live. For two years. Thank God for Gibraltar.
                                                                

END OF CHAPTER 1

1:10 (1974) Old Town. Gibraltar’s Labyrinth.

06 Monday Jun 2016

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There was something about the Old Town that felt very familiar and safe to me; it reminded me of the back streets of Newcastle where ordinary people live and where I was brought up alongside other kids with big aspirations but limited opportunities.

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In those days we all wanted to play for Newcastle United but most kids settled for a job either in the pits or the local factories, assuming they didn’t end up marrying early because of an unplanned pregnancy. I’d only escaped those natural outcomes because of a seed my cousin Paul had planted when I was about 9 which made me determined to join the Royal Navy and see the world, in particular Gibraltar and here I was.

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Wandering the back streets I wondered if the locals felt they were fortunate to live in such a beautiful place or whether they never thought about it. In a previous memoir I remember describing how traumatised I was at being forcibly taken out of Newcastle as a child and now (here in Gibraltar) it bothered me there might not be enough opportunities for the young people and that they may have to leave the Rock against their wishes to find work; the idea that I was even thinking that spoke volumes.

 
The back streets that afternoon were very quiet, I don’t remember seeing a soul although later when I lived in Gibraltar I learned that in the afternoons people often have a siesta which probably explained the quiet that day. The streets seemed to be on tiers which ran parallel with one another connected by fascinating passages and alleyways, some of which consisted of what looked like hundreds of steps. It was like a labyrinth and I loved it. And I loved that a lot of people had Union Jacks flying in their streets; it made me feel very welcome and at home and clearly Gibraltar saw itself as British beyond a doubt. That Spain had closed its border with Gibraltar very much reinforced that but as previously mentioned I had no desire to visit the place. I hate the whole idea of bull fighting and (as an animal lover) wonder about people who don’t share that view.

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The Cathedral bells peeled twice so I knew it was three thirty and that I needed to make my way back to the ship. I was planning to phone the number I had for a taxi but having realised that Gibraltar was quite a small place I decided that I would rather walk. I’m still not sure whether the ship was at Rosia end or Queensway but I soon found myself standing at the bottom of the gangway and looking up at the Rock.

 
I’m not sure even now whether that first visit was 24 hours or less but I’m very sure of the impact it had on me; no doubt readers also know that by now. I boarded my ship at a couple of minutes to four o’clock to a beaming smile from Chief. As we sailed, a friend took a photo of me on the flight deck. I was off to the Far East and it would be eight months before I returned – but in the scale of things I at least had that to look forward to 🙂

 
What I didn’t know then was by the time I got back to Gibraltar in September 1974 I wasn’t the same person. During visits on the African continent I’d had very bad experiences and likewise in Australia and New Zealand; but those stories are not for this memoir, they are being written in my Royal Navy memoir. I only touch on them to explain the changes in me.

 

Perhaps what is relevant within these tales is that between my two Gibraltar visits that year, other than what I’ve touched on, I was flown home from Mombasa because my foster father had had three strokes and whilst in UK my foster mother died. Returning to my ship in Singapore after compassionate leave I hit the bottle. By the time I got back to Gibraltar I was alcohol dependent and a mess.

1:9 (1974) An Irish Town in Gibraltar? Is that like our China Town in Newcastle?

05 Sunday Jun 2016

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Turning down into Irish Town from the Piazza felt a bit strange but it also felt quite exciting because I wasn’t sure of what to expect. An Irish Town in Gibraltar? Is that like our China Town in Newcastle? I’m very fond of Irish Rebel Songs; I’ve performed many a one at Paddy gigs on St.Patrick’s Night over the years so had an ear cocked to see what I could hear – an ear cocked to ‘see’ what I could hear? (Even that sentence sounds Irish).


With no sounds of the Pogues or the Dubliners coming out of the little doorways I decided my rendition of the Black Velvet Band wouldn’t be required today and so I drifted onwards and downwards on the forage for food. Turns out after the minimum of research that Irish Town was, in its past, more Welsh than Irish and probably only got its name from an Irish Regiment based there. But there was something very endearing about the place as though it had a few stories to tell and secrets to keep and I love places like that.

 

 

Not far down the street I came across a small shop window big enough only for the one child’s frock on display and a few smaller items with embroidery. I stopped to admire the simplicity of the display and the quality of the work which must have taken someone hours to finish. My birth mother was very good at similar crafts and later my wife so I had a fair idea of the commitment and skill needed to make such beautiful things. Later when we lived in Gibraltar my wife almost became a V.I.P. in a shop called Princess Silks on Main Street on account of her always being in there buying fabric to make our girls frocks.


It’s difficult to know though whether little observations like seeing a frock-in-a-shop plant themselves into your psyche because years later – and three days before my third daughter was born – I had a little frock especially made ‘by a lady who had a small shop in Irish Town’. The frock cost me £4 which was quite a lot then and I remember my wife asking me “But how do you know it will be a girl?”. I didn’t know how I knew I just knew, and she was; and though that tale belongs in Chapter 2 – along with a funny one about Princess Silks – I’m hoping I still have photos of my daughter wearing the frock.

 
Irish Town, was indeed full of places to eat and so there was plenty of choice although at 18 I wasn’t particularly a discerning foodie; like most young people I had a penchant for fried food – I still do but try to balance it now with the odd healthy number…(sometimes). Eventually though I sat down at a table outside a cafe which I didn’t choose from reading their menu, I chose it because it was on the corner of a side street going up towards Main Street and it was an interesting place to people-watch. I ordered something to eat and came to the conclusion that I was quite nosy; even years later when I was recently in Gibraltar I spent more time sitting on that bench outside Marks and Spencer people-watching than doing anything else. What’s not to like? 🙂

 

 

Tucking in to my meal I noticed a sign across the street advertising child minding but could never have known (in a million years) that in years to come my wife and I would use their services often. A certain Mrs Doomaleen (sorry if she is reading and I have mis-spelt her name) would look after our eldest daughter prior to her going to play school and occasionally have all of our children for the day when we had a rare break to Morocco.

 

 

As I finished my meal the Cathedral bells peeled three o’clock and wanting to make the most of my last hour of leave I slipped up the side street, crossed Main Street and vanished up into the back streets of the old town.

1:8 (1974) Even in death Nelson watches over his men

04 Saturday Jun 2016

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It was coming up lunchtime by the time I reluctantly left Alameda Gardens; I didn’t really want to leave the place because it was just so opposite to anything I’d experienced in my life. I loved it. My home town Newcastle was cobbled streets, outside netties and bone yards on the Tyne, hardly the beauty of a botanical garden. I didn’t even know there was such a thing as a botanical garden. And now I’d found one I wanted to move in. Having said that being a Geordie is a massive part of my identity and so naturally I am very much connected to Newcastle. I guess if there’s a Ying and a Yang inside us all mine are Gibraltar and Newcastle.


Just opposite the Trafalgar Cemetery there’s a statue of Nelson standing keeping an eye on the Cemetery gate; two of the men who fought in the Battle of Trafalgar are buried there but it wouldn’t be until my visit in 2016 that I would actually go into the cemetery and find their graves. They were Captain Thomas Norman who died in the Naval Hospital on 6 December 1805 and Lieutenant William Forster who died 21 October 1805. I wondered if the Naval Hospital building then was the same one that my daughter would be born in 172 years later? Probably not.


Being ex-Naval I see something very respectful about a senior officer looking out for those serving under him and in a weird sort of way that still seemed to be the case (to me) even though all three are dead, purely on account of where Nelson’s statue has been placed. The road junction outside the Cemetery is far more developed now with a couple of pedestrian crossings to help walkers avoid what seems to be a lot more traffic in Gibraltar; but in 1974 I just crossed the road, walked down the hill and went through the archway at Ragged Staff Gates.


Walking along the quayside is something I’ve always loved to do and as a boy in Newcastle I spent a lot of time watching the ships come and go up and down the River Tyne. Looking over at the dockyard I could see my ship HMS Scylla berthed and it was quite surreal to think I would be on her and sailing off to tour the Far East in a few hours time. All the more reason, I thought, to keep walking in the other direction and make the most of my remaining free time on the Rock.

Although it felt familiar the quayside wasn’t especially memorable so much as it was functional, a place where ships berthed alongside and took on stores. I couldn’t have known then that in a few years time I would be living and working in Gibraltar and part of my role would involve me working on this quayside storing visiting war ships.

That quayside may well not have been memorable in 1974 but that was not the case 42 years later when I returned in 2016. It was totally unrecognisable to me following the major development of a beautiful Small Boats Marina, a number of apartment sky-rises and a host of restaurants; indeed I checked out a couple of the eateries and they were excellent, particularly the Waterfront. Come to that I checked quite a few out in the town too and all of them were excellent and catered as you would expect them too. I must admit I went back to Jurys on Main Street more than once and found a lovely little Moroccan restaurant called Marrakech up behind the Gibraltar Art Gallery. With apologies (just jumping a few years ahead here) if I had one disappointment at all it would be that St Michael’s Cabin now no longer serves meals in the evening and has evolved into a day time snack bar but then that’s a story for Chapter 2.

A few shipmates had said that Irish Town was somewhere I should go to eat as there were loads of cafes and restaurants there although I decided to keep an open mind in case they were setting me up; last time I took their advice as a naïve youngster in Flensburg I ended up in a red light area to their hilarious delight although I’m in no way suggesting Irish Town boasts those services. I’m not altogether quite sure how I got there from down on the quayside but I think I asked for directions; when I got into the area I immediately recognised being back at the Piazza and I think it was then that I realised how small Gibraltar actually was (which delighted me). 

Back in 1974 people said there were 25000 people living in Gibraltar which I thought was a lot for a small Nation of 2.6 square miles. Since then I’ve naturally researched to find the correct figure (out of curiosity) and it turns out there was more than that, it appears there was 29000; today there is 32000. On my first visit I wondered where on earth so many people lived but on my visit in 2016 I didn’t need to ask; I think the sky-rises are breeding as they did in Hong Kong. I did walk around the sky-rises but actually preferred the back streets. But I can see why Morrisons opened a store here; my days back in the seventies it was either Liptons or the NAAFI.

1:7 (1974) One day my children would play in Alameda playground

03 Friday Jun 2016

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Back in January 1974 I was in Gibraltar for the very first time and was quickly falling under her spell; I loved the way that the natural beauty of the Rock wasn’t compromised by the fortifications and how it all seemed to work to the eye. There seemed to be canons and statues all over the place and yet they seemed to belong there even if they were outside someone’s house; Trafalgar Cemetery even looked like somewhere a family could have a picnic. What I really loved too (even back then) was the climate, the lifestyles and the fact that I could wander anywhere and feel totally safe. On a recent visit to Gibraltar I revisited one of my old homes (Edinburgh House) and spent almost a wonderful hour chatting about all things Gibraltar including the IN/OUT EU vote.

 

In 1974 I would never have thought that more than forty years later I would be writing about those lovely first impressions and that as recently as yesterday (2 June 2016) my writings would have been read by literally hundreds of people – which is as a direct result of two Gibraltarian people in particular (Kev and Jess) who I thank sincerely for promoting my writings to the community. Although I always write a page a day I’ve been so moved by that volume of readers that I’ve made a promise to myself not to miss a day unless I’m too sick to write (No pressure then); but as I said in my Welcome post I don’t profess to be a writer, just someone stringing a set of anecdotes together into a memoir (that if I’m honest I never thought more than half a dozen people would read). Thank you for reading and becoming a part of it all. I so appreciate it x

 

And so here I was lapping up the few hours leave Chief had granted me with the sun on my face and with only the sound of birds and the odd airplane in my ears before the Cathedral bells struck eleven; when it did I was still sat on that concrete bench I had found in Alameda Gardens near the cacti. I’d been off the ship two hours and had spent most of that time sat on my backside either in the Piazza or sat on my backside in Alameda but you know what, I was loving it. I hadn’t even been in Gibraltar 24 hours and had fallen in love with the place. Every time I sat down somewhere I was either just soaking up the quiet and the ambience or pretending to be a local in the hustle and bustle of Main Street; I had only been given six hours leave, two hours of that had already gone by and I’d morphed into a different human being. A Gibraltarian Geordie?

 

Thinking I needed to make the most of the short time I had I got up to wander. Crossing the little arch-covered bridge I admired the ornamental fountain with steps either side before meandering down past a corner that would one day be a children’s garden complete with a Bee Hotel. Some of the flowers gave off scents I had never smelled before which were so amazing to me – as were the delicacy of the plants themselves – but then, as mentioned previously, the only plants this Geordie Boy had ever seen in his impoverished homeland was the ones that ended up on the dinner plate.

 

As I carried on down to the lower of the paths in the garden I came across a children’s playground with very traditional resources of swings and a slide. One day I would visit that playground almost every day with my children and would have a lovely collection of photographs of them playing there; and as much as I am tempted to upload those lovely photographs now alas they are for my second Chapter (1976-78).

 

For now it was still 1974, I was still an 18 year old sailor on a few hours leave and I was on #walkabout. And loving Gibraltar.

 

 

1:6 (1974) Feeling accepted, as though I belonged

02 Thursday Jun 2016

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Taking a walk through Alameda gardens is something -he says trying to hide his bias and failing miserably – everyone should do at least once in their life; it should be on their bucket list alongside visiting the Taj Mahal (and climbing the Mediterranean Steps of course). That’s probably not the sort of thing people would expect an 18 year old sailor to say and I don’t deny my shipmates found it just a little odd; there is sometimes a certain expectation on testosterone fuelled young men to do what most people expected testosterone fuelled young men to do.

 
But one of the fabulous things about life in the Royal Navy is that everyone loves and respects each other’s passions in life. Sportsmen are supported, artistic achievements are applauded, all sorts of individual and team efforts are encouraged from chess and long distance running to rugby and the Field Gun Crew.

 
Many of my friends new something of my childhood days and how as a result I loved to wander, climb, discover, meet new people and just enjoy the beautiful aspects of our world as a sort of cathartic way of diluting past pains and replacing negative memories with lovely ones. There was a sort of unspoken understanding. Throughout my life I’ve often found peace in writing and in the arts as can be seen on my website spailpinfanac.com and my skills with a pencil were always very much appreciated by my shipmates; I often illustrated their letters home to their loved ones.

 
Looking up from Alameda gardens I could see quite an imposing triangular building which I later discovered was Trafalgar House. I could never have known that one day I would live there with my family. After the RN failed the flat above the Angry Friar I went off and found another one on the top floor of Trafalgar House and it passed their inspection. It wasn’t long before I set up my arty corner.

 
Alameda gardens are not exceptionally vast but are very beautiful; they are built on a gentle slope almost in front of the Rock Hotel. The Rock Hotel has a reputation of being very exclusive to wealthy people and looking up at it from Alameda I would never have thought that in a few years time my wife and I would have the occasional evening out there when we could afford it. Casting my memory back I think they had a steak night with bingo on a Friday and it was a real treat if we were able to get a sitter for the girls, dress up a little and enjoy a walk out from our home at 21 Edinburgh House.


As I walked around Alameda I felt as though I was in that film Labyrinth with the fabulous David Bowie; the paths through the gardens were both wide and narrow winding around beautiful tropical plants, herbs, shrubs and statues. Every so often there was somewhere to sit and just think, reflect or ponder. I sat on a concrete bench along one of the slimmest of paths where there were a variety of amazing cacti. As I admired the cacti I saw a group of young scouts walking along one of the other paths a few yards away. Some years later I would be asked to design a First Day Cover for the same Scout Troop and although the artwork wasn’t particularly brilliant I was pleased to be asked. Being asked to do something like that felt like being accepted, as though I belonged.

1:5 (1974) I’d found paradise. I’d found Alameda.

01 Wednesday Jun 2016

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Although situated in the Mediterranean Gibraltar can have very cloudy, rainy days yet it wouldn’t matter to me if it snowed I would still be out and about. There’s a particular cloud they call levanter that (if my memory serves me right) I think is peculiar only to Gibraltar and looks a bit like a sort of halo that sits around the top of the Rock blocking out the sunshine for an hour or two before dispersing.

 

My day off had started a bit overcast but I was confident it would pick up as it went along; sure enough the sun had eased its way through at some point as I had been pondering life and watching people from my bench seat. With the sunshine warming my face I got up and continued my stroll, heading up Main Street through Convent Place and past the Angry Friar, a place I had heard my shipmates declare they often began their rat-arsed nights out.

 

There’s a side door to the Angry Friar on Main Street (if that makes sense) which when you go through leads up to a flat/apartment above the pub. As I passed the door I looked at it for some reason but could not have known that in three years time I would walk through it to look at the flat upstairs and offer to rent it pending a successful inspection by the Royal Navy. As it turned out the flat didn’t pass the inspection so I wasn’t allowed to rent it; I remember feeling gutted that (because it had failed) I couldn’t get a Family Passage (FamPass) and had to continue looking for a private letting pending a married quarter. But today, in 1974, I could not have known that. Neither could I have known that I would again stand outside that door in 2016 to watch the Guard Ceremony.

 

Further on up Main Street I passed John Mackintosh Hall and came to Inces Hall where one day in the future I would watch a live concert by an Irish trio called the Batchelors. As a musician myself I love live music and going to gigs regardless of who is performing although I do have favourites; I’ve been a John Lennon fan all of my life and love the idea that he married Yoko Ono in Gibraltar. I also love that my daughter was born in Gibraltar but as I continued my walkabout on past Trafalgar Cemetery I could never have known that then.

 

Just past the top of Main Street I came to quite an impressive set of steps which I would discover was the entrance to one of the most beautiful and well presented botanical gardens in the world, and certainly the most gorgeous, peaceful place I had ever seen or been to. As a Geordie Boy from the back streets of Newcastle the nearest I had ever been to anything green was my dads leeks in the allotment and so what I felt when I walked into this garden could never be over-estimated. Id found somewhere that had a profound effect on me, a place that would become very special in my life and in my heart. I’d found paradise. I’d found Alameda.

1:4 (1974) As the Cathedral bells peeled…

31 Tuesday May 2016

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On day two of our visit we were scheduled to sail at 5pm and so Chief gave me the day off; he knew how much I’d been looking forward to visiting the Rock. “You did a great job on store ship yesterday Dixy, be back by 4pm lad” he said. I loved Chief! As I left the ship at 9am for 6 hours shore leave in Gibraltar I felt as free as a bird; died and gone to heaven would be no exaggeration.

 
#Walkabout has always been a passion of mine, particularly when I have no particular place to go or route in mind; I love people watching and just going where the flow takes me. As I’ve grown older and developed more confidence I quite love chatting with people I’ve never met before but even as an 18 year old I was quite gregarious. I think I probably have the Royal Navy to thank for that side of my development because when I joined up I was very shy, reserved and sorely lacking in confidence and self esteem.

 
Coming out of the dockyard I had no idea where I was in relation to anywhere else but that didn’t matter to me because my plan was to go anywhere (and everywhere) I liked and then at about 3:30pm phone that number the taxi driver had given me. Knowing what I know now Gibraltar has changed quite a lot over the years and so where I came out of the dockyard may have been either somewhere around Queensway or Rosia but no matter because within minutes I found myself on Main Street.

 
Main Street, Gibraltar is one of those world famous streets a bit like Boogie Street, Singapore or even Times Square, New York; it stretches from Casemates Square at the bottom to Trafalgar Cemetery at the top or the other way around depending on which end you start at and is literally peppered with shops, cafes, pubs and bars. Enhancing this wonderful street is John Mackintosh Square, affectionately known as the Piazza, which (along with Casemates Square) is a social hub of outdoor tables and chairs where people often wile away an hour or two. Further up the street is the beautiful Cathedral of the Holy Trinity; further up still is the Convent Square where the ritual guard ceremonies take place.

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I took a seat on one of the many public benches to just soak up the atmosphere and touch base with how I felt at being somewhere I was already beginning to feel spiritually connected to. Looking over at the Piazza could I ever have known that in  a few years time I would be sitting there with my three daughters having cool drinks as local women screamed ‘bambinos’ in delight and took them all for a walk. Glancing over at the Emporium could I ever have known then that I would take my children in to buy them sweets and that when I looked again at that building in 2016 it would be a branch of Mothercare. As the bells of the Cathedral peeled could I ever have known that my children would have a triple christening there in 1977; could I?

1:3 (1974) The British will rule as long as the apes are here.

30 Monday May 2016

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My first ever visit to Gibraltar was (unfortunately) quite brief, just a couple of days really which was the norm for warships heading out to the Far East. On arrival one of the first tasks was to ‘store ship’ which was a phrase used to take on stores that we (my department) had pre-ordered. Literally everything from frozen foods, fruit and veg, clothing, spare parts and nuts and bolts needed to be humped off the jetty onto the ship then ferreted down below to various storerooms and fridges.

 
The process of ‘store ship’ required ‘clear lower decks’ which meant that everyone got involved, formed lines and took part in getting the stores onboard by passing/throwing boxes, bags and containers from pallets on the quayside all the way down to the relevant store. The downside of this wonderful joint effort was that as soon as the stores were onboard and in the vicinity of the relevant storeroom everyone (apart from the stores department i.e me) could bugger off and go ashore. Needless to say it would be some time before I had checked off all of the orders and stowed away the goods by which time the crew were well on their way to being half cut in one of Gibraltar’s 365 pubs.

 
In some ways it was quite fortuitous for me that my ‘run ashore’ was delayed because I had no desire to go drinking; I wasn’t fond of the smell of booze or being in the company of drunks. When I finally did get ashore my first thought was the apes and to that end I jumped straight into a taxi.

 
On the way up the Rock to see the apes the driver pointed out things he felt I would find interesting as drivers do in the hope of receiving a tip. I had every intention of tipping him anyway but was very happy for him to educate me just the same. In pointing to Spain he said that Franco had closed the border back in 1972 but I wasn’t phased by that because I wasn’t into politics and had no desire to visit Spain. As we neared the apes he changed the subject telling me that Gibraltar’s rock apes were actually macaques and there were hundreds roaming wild. “If the apes ever leave the Rock then so will the British and so we have to take care of them” he said as we pulled up, “And watch your camera our they will take it”. At that point I realised with horror that I had forgotten my camera.

 
Since I wasn’t taking photos I sat on a wall to watch the troop and it wasn’t long before (what seemed to be) a family of apes came over to inspect me and see if I had anything worth pinching. When they decided I didn’t and that I was no particular threat they were happy just to carry on and do their thing. Some of the older adults sat observing the ships in the harbour while some nipped fleas out others’ fur. Younger apes played like children, wrestling with each other and play biting if there is such a thing. “It’s to do with them sorting out their pecking order” my driver informed me. I was fascinated and loved watching them. I wondered why people couldn’t take a leaf out of their book.

 
For a while my driver asked if there were other attractions I wanted to see but he eventually stopped asking as he realised I was totally happy sitting on a wall watching the apes and admiring the view of the harbour and the town below. He must have been bemused because it was quite late when we left the apes den after several hours and that I was happy to pay his (quite high) fare with a generous tip. When he dropped me off he shook my hand and with a big smile gave me his phone number in case I wanted to go back to see the apes. Forty two years later I still have the piece of paper with his phone number on it. More importantly I still have my wonderful memories of sitting alone for hours with the apes and feeling very privileged to do so; and I still think people could take a leaf out of their book and care more for each other.