(With Carol in Commonwealth Park, May 2016)

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To think I could slither back into our room (late) without Carol noticing was a bit of a tall order (needless to say I couldn’t) and after being duly rollocked for cutting my timing so fine I jumped into the shower, scrubbed up, jumped out, got dressed and shot downstairs to meet the gang in the foyer. Because that’s how I roll.

Looking at the faces of the ‘gang in the foyer’ I decided the best way forward was to seriously ingratiate and slimily compliment everyone on their sun tans and how relaxed they all looked (as I took their photo) though something told me (looking back at their photo) they were neither impressed of convinced. Carol suggesting we needed to get moving or we’d end up ordering breakfast instead of dinner reaffirmed my suspicions and so we set off to choose a restaurant down at Queensway Quay.

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(The gang in the foyer)

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Turning right (on leaving the Bristol) we crossed the road, walked through an arch and within a few minutes were stood on the balcony of Commonwealth Park looking down on the incredible image it was. During previous walkabouts I had already discovered (and fallen in love with) this amazing outdoor space (see 3:21) but my travelling companions hadn’t and so I was loving watching their reactions, particularly Carols (as in that one instant she had totally forgotten she was annoyed with me). Love it. Although there was a lift to take us down to the park everyone chose to use the steps to enjoy a continuing view of the park which (with the warm evening sun shining down on it) looked beautiful.

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(Through the arch onto the balcony showing the lift and steps down to the park)

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Taking the long way around and then doing something of a figure of eight we all spent a good half hour just walking around, stopping to admire and soaking up the ambience of what could only be described as yet another Jewel in Gibraltar’s crown. Where outdoor spaces were concerned this was right up there with the Med Steps and Alameda Gardens although the latter would always have the strongest of emotional attachments for me. Having said that the design of the Commonwealth Park really was a masterstroke boasting a gorgeous bandstand, turtle pools, manicured gardens and wide open lawns where students could study, children could play and old dudes like me could sit and reflect.

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As we paused to take a few photos I knew by the look on everyone’s faces that they were loving the park and would very probably have liked to have spent longer in there just sitting and chatting in the sunshine but I didn’t bring that up; (if I hadn’t been late back from walkabout they probably could have). Eventually, thankfully, everyone just sort of got up and continued on to the Quayside for dinner and I just toddled on behind them 🙂

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(Carol, Joe and Sheila in Commonwealth Park).

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I’ve no doubt I’ve already used some of these photos previously but (forgive me) I love them that much I’d rather see them twice than not at all.

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As a child if I was sent to the shop for something you could guarantee I’d be gone far longer than needs be – as an adult absolutely nothing has changed; I think it’s something to do with my insatiable curiosity (nosiness) and my penchant for pondering. My granddaughter is exactly the same, when she was little the pair of us would spent half an hour looking down a hole watching ants work.
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Although I was aware time was getting on and that I needed to think about getting back to the Bristol (to get ready for the evening) I still ended up drifting straight past the hotel and continuing on down Main Street trying to make sense of so many convoluted memories. Probably the best way to describe the world inside my head would be to say I felt like Doctor Who having just stepped out of the Tardis; when I look in one direction I see the familiar, when I look in another I see the opposite. I was looking out at 2016 with 1976 eyes – surreal didn’t even come close.

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For a time I paused to look up at a building I had admired several times earlier in the week. It was decorated in blue and white tiles in a sort of left-leaning herring bone pattern although it wasn’t long before that psychedelic image – mixed with my Doctor Who brain – rebelled in confusion and I spun on my heels and headed off down a side street.

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(The English Tea Rooms)

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Something about the side street looked familiar, especially the tables outside a cafe. As I strolled down the street I deliberately slowed my pace to a virtual stop to take a closer look at the cafe and the more I looked at it the more I knew I had sat in there often with the children – but the name ‘Figaro’ meant nothing to me. 

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As I gawped through the doorway (almost to the point of being rude towards people sitting inside) I spotted a piano that immediately brought back a set of memories which began making sense of it all. For a period of time (when we lived at Edinburgh House) my Mother-in-law Babs came to live with us and during that time she did two jobs; one job was playing the piano in the children’s playgroup and just seeing the piano in the cafe reminded me of her. The other job she did (which I wrote about earlier at 2:40) was waitressing in a cafe called ‘The English Tea Rooms’ and now I thought about that I was 99% sure that’s what I was looking at.

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(((One of the biggest advantages of social media in the present day is being able to find out things you aren’t quite sure about and so it didn’t take long for me to confirm that the cafe was indeed the English Tea Rooms (Thankyou JJ).)))

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I’m not sure where the time went but I suddenly realised I was now seriously late in getting back to the Bristol and so decided I’d better head straight there and take my punishment like a man. Duly I ran all the way back and slithered into our room in the hope of not being noticed……

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On leaving the Gibraltar Senior Citizens Social Club the temptation to keep walking straight on to Alameda (because that’s the way I was facing) was almost overpowering; I had a real need to spend some time there just to sit quietly and reflect but I knew my travelling companions also wanted to make a visit and so decided to leave it till tomorrow. Tomorrow (I thought) we could all visit the Gardens and take some photos but then (I decided) I would still make a final visit on my own before leaving because I was starting to become really aware that it was nearly time to leave and heaven only knew when I would be able to come back.

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As a child (in care) if I ever went anywhere that I really liked I would often find myself picking up a pebble from the place to take a piece of it home; or I’d scratch my initial on a wall to leave a piece of me behind. Now as an adult I’m absolutely no different, I still do those things and so yes I do have a pebble I picked up on my Gibraltar walkabouts and my initial is indeed scratched in a few places only I know. Staying in touch with my own inner child has always been very important to me not only to help me understand myself but also to understand children and young people I work with in my day job. 

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Apologies in advance for diversifying but just thinking about that reminds me of an anecdote I’d like to share from when I lived in India (2007-2009) and relates to a little girl of about six years old. 

Near where we lived was a school in (what was known as) a slum area, or poor area, which Carol and I supported in providing resources and raising funds. Quite often at the end of term I would take my guitar in and have a sing-song with the children as music is known to support language development and it was something they really enjoyed and looked forward to. 

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(Performing for the children in India 2008)

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After one of these events I said my goodbyes and drove the mile or so home, parking the car outside our house before going through the gate. After going through the gate I looked back at the car and noticed a name had been scratched into the metal in Hindi. The car was a brand new black Suzuki Zen and so you can only imagine the emotions going though me, furiously angry doesn’t even come close. I immediately phoned the school who (outraged) asked me to spell out the name on the car. The Head immediately recognised the name and asked me to return to the school which I duly did.

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When I arrived at the school I was ushered into the Heads office where a very small child stood among several teachers, head down, shame faced.

“She loved the sing song so much that she didn’t want you to leave” said the Head. “She thought by carving her name on your car she would go with you or that you would come back. We don’t understand this but she says she’s very sorry and waiting to be punished”. 

Any anger that Carol or I felt just evaporated away right there and then replaced only by massive lumps in the throat. The staff may not have understood the child’s actions but I certainly did and I’m fairly sure Carol did too.

“I understand” I said “And she knows she has done wrong and feels very ashamed so please don’t punish her but do tell her there will be many more sing songs to come yet”.

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A reader recently said she would miss me and my writings when I finish my memoir. For what it’s worth (as I near the finishing line) I know how she feels because I feel the same way. When I go some of you go with me and some of me stays with you X 

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As I left the Art Gallery I felt more inspired than I had in years. Over the course of my life I’d staged many one-man exhibitions but these were only really possible because they had all been inspired by very powerfully emotive underlying, autobiographical themes and were more about the exorcism of painful memories than the art itself. Since my last exhibition (Journeys End 1995) no other theme had come anywhere near even tempting me to pick up a paintbrush again. Until now. 

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(Detail from Early Days – Boy from Stonehaugh – from Journeys End exhibition 1995. Alan Dixon. My private collection)
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Inspired (at the thought of ‘possibly’ painting a series of positive themed pictures to compliment RockHeart) I almost danced my way up the street towards the Old Town. With my mind in overdrive I’d already decided the works (if I did them) would be acrylic on canvas in my favourite primary colours and include scenes of Catalan Bay, the apes, the back streets, the Med Steps and more. 

In a brief moment of doubt I remembered (apart from it being over twenty years since I’d painted a picture) my hands were now quite arthritic and so I wondered whether I could even hold a paintbrush let alone drive it to create a dozen paintings. Having said that I’m no writer yet have now written 120 posts for RockHeart and so why not?

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Not far past the Art Gallery (on the next parallel road further up the Rock) I came across a Moroccan restaurant called Marrakesh which had been newly commissioned. Although I wasn’t overly mad about Moroccan food Carol certainly was; she’d hoped to revisit Tangiers during our holiday but that wasn’t possible because of time restraints and so I knew she would love to have a meal out there. Since we were eating out at Queensway Quay this evening I figured she would enjoy to go there tomorrow night and so I photographed the place and the menu before moving on.

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One of the amazing things about Gibraltar today, I’ve found, is that even when you are walking amongst the old there is also often something very new to see; after leaving the Marrakech I’d expected to continue on into the narrower streets of the Old Town but ended up in another quite newly developed spacious seating area that seemed to fit in with its older surroundings. Later in the week when I revisited the area it was lovely to see it all lit up with electric lights.

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Continuing on my walkabout some of the streets, although incredibly quiet, could have come straight out of London City Centre they were so Georgian and pristine; some of them looked as though they housed the offices of solicitors, accountants and the like, maybe they did, and so it was quite refreshing to come across the Gibraltar Senior Citizens Social Club. What was even more refreshing was the notice on the outside welcoming visiting senior citizens though sadly the club was shut otherwise I’d love to have become an ‘Honorary Visiting Wrinkly’. If any members are reading please do add my name to your members register and I’ll call in and sign it as soon as I return. Thank you 🙂

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One of my most satisfying pastimes is to walk incognito (or anonymously) around places where no-one knows me so that I can quietly observe my surroundings and the people in my vicinity. That’s not to say I don’t like meeting new people or bumping into people that I know it’s just sometimes I find being unknown is very creative because (selfishly) I can absorb without having to give anything out. Within my profession (social care) much of my time is spent with people and so it’s very much a treat to have time on my own; in UK sitting on a bench in the middle of a shopping area is more than just my guilty secret, it’s my absolute indulgence, and many an hour has been spent people-watching from the bench outside Gibraltar’s Marks and Spencer.

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(Gibraltar Main Street. A ‘people-watchers’ dream)

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As I left the Bristol and walked up towards Main Street I paused on the corner when I heard children singing in a room upstairs; ‘Row, row, row the boat gently down the stream…’. 

Just leaning against the wall listening to the children was wonderful but it was also a stark reminder that my days in Gibraltar were now numbered; only last week I was singing that very song with children in my day job and would probably be singing it again to them in less than a weeks time. Not wanting to wait until the song ended I continued on down Main Street with the sound of the children’s voices happily singing away and gently fading as the distance between us grew.  

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(The road to Gibraltar Art Gallery)

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As I strolled down Main Street I could see that my beloved bench (outside Marks and Spencer) was occupied by whom I would affectionately term ‘wrinklies’ (in other words people of the same age as me) no doubt doing exactly what I would be doing if I was sat there – ‘people-watching’. Almost on impulse I decided to just take a right turn up towards the Old Town and was delighted to come across The Gibraltar Art Gallery.

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The Art Gallery was a small affair but was very much in celebration of local artists. The works on display were wonderfully varied including contemporary collections, abstract pieces and work focused specifically on images of the Rock. Mediums were varied too with oil and acrylic paintings, screen prints, sketches and more. 

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Looking around the Gallery I loved all of the pieces and found them to be a massive inspiration. In my mind I had already decided to begin writing this memoir (RockHeart) as soon as I returned to UK but never (in a million years) did I think I would ever paint again since I hadn’t picked up a paintbrush in twenty years. And it had been forty years since I had sketched the Rock. But as I near the end of my writing I look forward more and more to once again creating images; images that complement RockHeart and that mean something to me. Paintings, drawings and sketches of Gibraltar. And, who knows, maybe one day it will be my paintings hanging up in Gibraltar’s Art Gallery.

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Stepping off the cable car when it finally landed I was aware of Carol and Sheila chattering away – although I don’t normally pay much attention unless I hear a key word (for example lunch, dinner, snacks) and as we walked down towards Trafalgar roundabout I heard a key word. 

“We need to think about LUNCH” said Carol to which I immediately spun round and whispered “Jury’s?” before spinning back and nonchalantly continuing my stroll. It was a bit like planting a seed. 

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Convinced she had thought of the idea herself Carol continued “How about Jury’s, we loved the food and their service – and they were really good about looking after my camera after I left it there”. With nods of approval all round we continued on down Main Street, pausing only to admire the guard at the Convent before finally plonking ourselves down at a table outside Jury’s.

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Even before a waiter had come out I noticed a gorgeous dog chilling out by the table next to ours which turned out to be a rescue dog. His owner had popped into Jury’s and he was quite happy to sit outside and wait for him to come back. One of the things I’ve loved seeing in Gibraltar during this holiday was so many people walking their dogs (often up Main Street at night) and when I’ve spoken with the owners most of their animals are rescue dogs. It’s a theme very close to my heart as my own dog Mowgli who I brought back from India (of all places) was a rescue dog and who has been my constant companion ever since giving me infinite pleasure now for 9 years. Long may Gibraltarians continue to enjoy the company of their beautiful rescue dogs.

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Browsing through the menu we all felt that since we were going to a fancy restaurant this evening on Queensway Quay for dinner our lunches should really be more of a modest affair. However, since we all had the will power of a gnat (and made the excuse that the morning had been particularly long and challenging) that’s not quite how it worked out. 

Without a guilty thought in site the four of us (hit the trough) indulging in cheese burgers, chips chicken and pasta (all of which was top notch and fabulous – as we had come to expect from Jury’s) before rolling back to the Bristol where my companions decided they all needed to take their daily siesta and so I waved them all off to bed. Not being one who does siesta, I turned on my heels and within minutes was where I was most comfortable. On walkabout.

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By the time I got to Carol she was naturally shocked and very upset and in quite a bit of pain so we swiftly took ourselves up to the cafe for support. My immediate concerns were around infection and so the quicker she was seen to the better; I suppose I was also really concerned that the incident hadn’t marred her day out too much or worse still her holiday but I wasn’t going to find that out just yet.
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(Carol with her war wounds)

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The minute we walked into the cafe the staff were immediately attentive in coming over to us, steering us to a table and ensuring we were all as comfortable as possible; the first aid box was swiftly brought to our table and Carols wounds were duly cleaned and checked. Before long the ‘Head Honch’ appeared from somewhere and (although a bit irritating in the way he tried to laugh the incident down) he did reassure us that these ‘small’ attacks were common and not too much to worry about. Just at the point he looked as though he was about to perhaps question Carol on her common sense in wearing a short-sleeved top I think he caught my eye and offered us all free drinks; to which I suggested perhaps a biscuit would be nice too?

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Not long after the drinks had arrived we were all a lot calmer and Carols wounds (though still painful) were at least well cleaned and unlikely to become infected. As we sat chatting (and slowly getting round to smiling about it all) the Head Honch returned to check we were all okay and we thanked him (and his staff) for his support. 

Actually I thought he was a very funny man (which always endears me to people) but what was even funnier about him was his almost ‘Manuel (of Faulty Towers fame) approach’ – or how he could stifle his laugh and appear serious and professional whenever he realised he had overstepped the mark and his customer not thinking he was funny. When I told my granddaughter about him she responded by saying “LMAO” whatever that means.

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After tea we left the cafe and went straight back to the apes for Carol to take more (close up) photographs of the apes???!!! 

“Are you sure!” says I. “Has it not put you off?”. 

In receiving no answer I gathered that it hadn’t put her off, it hadn’t spoiled her day and hadn’t spoiled her holiday at all and that was good enough for me. 

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In the cable car on the way back down the Rock the lady looked happy and chilled; she had faced her nemesis and mastered her cable car fear, she had taken the close up photos that she was really happy with and most of all could almost smile about her incident. And as she smiled so did the apes as they waved us off.

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The views from the top of the Rock truly are staggering – as speaks a man who has seen many a fabulous view on his travels around the world. As already mentioned (and I don’t care if sound repetitive and boring with this one) on a 360 degree turn viewers can enjoy the most awesome images not only of Gibraltar but also of both Spain and Africa too. 

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Being on the terrace at the top reminded me of being at the top of the Med Steps in that it wasn’t somewhere I wanted to leave anytime soon (on account of me loving it, loving it, loving it) but as Carol, Sheila and Joe moved onwards towards the apes I duly followed on.

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Stepping out into the apes domain was a wonderful blast from the past, everywhere I looked there were monkeys in the frame either feeding their faces, playing with their friends or being mischievous with the visitors. It took me back to the first time we took the children to see the apes only this time it was me feeling like a big kid full of excitement instead of them. To see these beautiful little animals living happy and free in their own habitat is very rewarding and to share that experience for a short time is an absolute privilege. But however placid and playful these little macaques appear they are (at the end of the day) wild animals and can attack. And one did.

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For a time I was leaning on a wall looking down at an area about ten foot below where half a dozen young apes were feeding on fruit; periodically I’d look up to watch the parent apes as they sat high above on a rooftop enjoying the views in the lunchtime sun. Sheila and Joe were nearby strolling up a slope to get a closer look at an ape that was sitting, posing on a wall while Carol (camera at the ready) was walking down a slope to try for close up pictures of some of the other individuals. 

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What we didn’t know (at this point) was that the very first baby ape of the year had been born that morning and so the troop were naturally nervous. What we were also unaware of was that two of the senior males had had a serious fight shortly before we arrived, one of whom had apparently needed medical attention which also added to the tension and increased the anxiety of the other troop members. 

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Looking down the slope I saw Carol about twenty feet away focusing her camera on an ape a few feet away from her; several other apes were nearby which made me feel very uncomfortable so I began making my way slowly toward her but I was never going to get to her in time. In a split second a young female (we later found out was on heat) had jumped on Carol and bit her on the arm; seconds later it jumped on her for a second time digging its nails into her other arm…..

After stepping out of the cable car at the top of the Rock everyone (for some bizarre reason) needed to visit the loo; I’m not sure if it was the change in altitude or on account of them drinking too many cups of tea at breakfast but first stop, the loo it was. Although I didn’t need the loo I’m really glad the others did because otherwise I would have missed the chance of seeing a really cool sign outside the door; (I’ve never denied having a warped sense of humour).

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Somehow (though I’m not sure how) our appointment with the apes was further delayed when we all ended up on the upper terrace looking out at the summit and the beautiful views around the Rock. I think what happened was that one of us (who had no idea where they were going) led the way from the loo and the rest of us (like sheep) followed…..I’m not even sure if it wasn’t me 🙂 What was really nice was being able to catch a shot of Sheila and Joe as they looked over towards Spain; although it isn’t a country I’ve ever been to Sheila has fond memories of many a holiday there.

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Standing on the terrace Carol was in good spirits having mastered her fear of the cable car (and even having enjoyed the ride up); continuing taking advantage of her new found confidence she wasted no time getting to work with her camera and taking some great shots of the peak and surrounding areas. Throughout my memoir I’ve tried to use only photographs I’ve taken myself but perhaps (at the end) as an appendix I will include a page of the photos Carol took because they are very fabulous.

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Although Carol seemed to have got over her fear of heights I think Sheila and Joe were still struggling with a bit of vertigo. I noticed when I took a series of photos of the three of them that both Sheila and Joe seemed to be clinging on to Carol as though they were going to fall down the water catchment but it was lovely to see them both manage a smile as they clung on.

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It is quite weird sensation being so high up and leaning against a relatively flimsy railing; somehow Carol talked me into posing for a shot and I think the only reason I was smiling was because my heart was in my mouth forcing my face to stretch into a grin shape. Uncomfortable with that photo I took my customary selfie for my Twitter page with the area around Commonwealth Park in the background (although the background isn’t especially clear). I figured this new selfie would compliment the one of me at the top of the Med Steps and so I only had the North Front summit to climb and decided I’d have a go at that later in the week. Meanwhile I was late for an appointment with some very furry friends.

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