There’s an old saying that goes something like ‘If you want to really know about someone don’t knock on the front door, go round the back’. I learned many years ago not to be anything other than what I am because I have an appalling memory and so ‘bigging myself up’ is a complete waste of time; for what it’s worth I don’t mind (metaphorically speaking) whether people come to my front or back door (I’m just happy they called in the first place) because I’m the same wherever I am (and I love that friends have often said they like that).

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Digressing a little, I know, but there is a very loosely-connected theme with all that and what I’m writing about today. Wherever I go in this world I love trying to find out a little bit about the country I’m in and their culture and if I’m lucky I’ll get to have a natter to some of the local people – if I’m really lucky I’ll get a cup of tea with said local people and even end up on their Christmas card list! 
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Over the years my nosiness has got me into temples, mosques, crocodile pits (and some very dodgy situations) but those stories are for a different memoir; even on this trip I managed to somehow sneak back into Trafalgar House (see 3:17) to enjoy a little moment with my past. Possibly the point I’m trying to make is that if I’m travelling hundreds of miles to go somewhere I want to make the absolute most of it and I think my thoughts on all that were reinforced when I asked a friend once how she had enjoyed India. “I’ve never been to India” she said. “But you’ve been to Goa haven’t you?” I replied. ” Oh” she said, “Is that in India?”. 

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Not long after leaving Casemates I quickly found myself up the back streets and loving it. I had no idea where I was, or where I was going and I couldn’t care less; what I did know is that I felt totally safe and as though I belonged (a feeling very much helped along by my reader ND who dubbed me an Honorary Gibbo, I felt like I’d been knighted).

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As I moved between the streets and alleyways I knew it was a golden opportunity for me to touch base with some of the Gibraltar which isn’t usually on show to tourists (although heaven help me because in reality that’s what I was). I think the things most people head for include seeing the apes and checking out the beaches and although I was very much looking forward to both of those things – first things first  :). 

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Just being there (in that labyrinth) was so cathartic for me in terms of putting to bed some of the most painful feelings from years ago; yes I was sent back to UK before I was emotionally ready to leave the Rock, yes it took me forty years to come back and yes there had been new developments – but the Gibraltar I’d held in my soul was still very much there and I loved that.

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And as I meandered around my utopia soaking up tall quiet buildings, back street businesses, cobbled pavements and painted steps I was in no rush to leave, why would I be?

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As with most of my dawdling walkabouts I literally had to drag myself out of Irish Town because (such is my personality) I could well have wallowed around in there for hours trying to answer questions from years ago and still come out without any answers. 

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Maybe I’ll never know precisely which restaurant I had my first swordfish in, or where the little shop was that I bought my daughters first frock; and maybe in the scale of things those things aren’t really that important. Perhaps part of Gibraltar’s charm (for me) is that she doesn’t let me know all of the answers to all of the questions I want answering when I ask them, but tantalisingly promises to answers a few every time I return? It didn’t take me long to decide I would be quite happy to make regular trips back to have my questions answered if that’s what ‘she’ wanted 🙂

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Somehow, after leaving Irish Town at the lower end (and wandering around an area I was quite unfamiliar with) I eventually ended up walking though a tunnel which brought me out into Casemates Square. 

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Casemates isn’t somewhere I have any particular recollection of since (as mentioned) in my day the social hub was the Piazza which is really the place I have an affinity with. However as I strolled through the square it didn’t take me long to realise it was very much a vibrant communal area supported by a variety of eateries and watering holes along with very interesting places to visit such as the Glassblowers workshop. 

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Cool goings-on such as buskers and street artists performing for the gathered were also very much in evidence and so I decided the place most definitely got my vote; as a musician myself I always enjoy watching others doing their thing and (knowing how tough the respectable profession of busking can be) I ‘always pay the artiste’. Handsomely. After leaving my tip the look on their faces was priceless.

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As I left the square (to the wonderful sounds of a pots-and-pans junk band) I decided to suggest to my travelling companions that we try one of the restaurants there for dinner this evening; I knew they were keen to try as many different places as possible during their stay and I was sure they’d also love to know more about the glass-blowing and when they could go to watch. Leaving the square I decided not to walk up Main Street because I had a feeling I’d be walking back down it this evening; I turned left up the back streets and headed for the Old Town. 

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Walking back to the Bristol after our evening meal at the Gibraltar Arms just felt so relaxed (compared to how life can be in the UK with police sirens and noise all over the place); and it was one of those really starry nights that always add something special. It would become our custom to have a night cap in the Bristols own bar at the end of each day and to talk about what people wanted to do the following day which is where we headed to; as the week rolled on the girl behind the bar soon got to know our order for two red wines and a couple of coffees for Joe and me and more or less got the kettle on as she heard us approach.

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With the following day being Sunday everyone still felt they wanted to spend a bit more time relaxing and chilling around the pool during the morning (except me of course) and so I decided I would be going walkabout around the back streets although my plans are always a work in progress. The fact that I may plan to go to a particular place means absolutely nothing because (as previously admitted) I’m quite easily distracted and could end up anywhere – and very often do.

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In the morning after a (wonderful) second night sleep I woke up with an acute awareness that our week on the Rock was starting to go past too quickly for my liking and so I shot out of bed into shower, powdered my nose and hit the breakfast bar. At some point we all ended up breakfasting together although I’m not a big eater first thing in the morning. Carol, Sheila and Joe had brought down their towels, kindles, books, flannels and related paraphernalia ready for a morning of slobbing by the pool – I had what I stood up in. 

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After a couple of coffees and a yoghurt I left the others stoking up on copious amounts of toast and jam, cereals, fruit and whatever else wasn’t nailed down after which no doubt they would lie down horizontally all morning on their sunbed before wondering where their bout of indigestion came from around lunchtime. I didn’t need to witness that sight today because I was sure at some point we would be going up the Rock to see the apes 🙂 Meanwhile for me it was out the door to discover places ‘Where no man had gone before!!!’. Sorry about that…my birthday is May the Fourth (be with you); and anyway even if I had seen it all before I wanted to see it all again.

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With no particular plan in mind I set off and within a few minutes found myself back in the Piazza nosing toward Irish Town; something was telling me it was a good place to start and I also had a driving urge to see if I could find that little shop where I had Benita’s first frock made before she was even born (see2:52). 

By now I’d already been taking a few photos of my walkabouts for my Twitter page and noticed they were starting to be enjoyed by a few local people so I thought I’d continue the trend. I turned down into Irish Town, walking slowly down the empty street to soak up the memories of forty years previously. Today it was very quiet with only a few people about which really suited me well because I just wanted to look around in my own time; in its day however Irish Town was very much a social and business hub even as recently as the seventies. 

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I remember a restaurant down there where I took Carol for our second wedding anniversary (which was on 19 December 76) and we first tasted (what we thought were very extravagant and posh) swordfish steaks. Whenever I have them now it mentally takes me straight back to Irish Town. As I looked down the street I wondered if that restaurant with all the chairs stacked up outside waiting to open up was the swordfish one.

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Sadly although I walked up and down a couple of times I couldn’t find that little corner shop where I bought Benita’s frock; I guess I’ll just have to (book a flight and) come back again one day and make it a priority 🙂

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It had been a long day by the time I finally got back to the Bristol but that was still not the end of it. As Carol sat up in bed after her afternoon nap with a cup of tea (made with the fresh milk I’d bought at Morrisons) she shared a conversation she had had with Sheila and Joe while I was out galavanting. “We thought tonight we’d go down Main Street towards Casemates to explore and find new places to eat. The Angry Friar was alright but we want to see lots of eateries” she said. “Sounds like a plan” says I at the sound of a great idea.

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Scrubbed up (and out the door) we walked up onto Main Street, turned left and soon began seeing familiar places; one of the first being (to Carols delight) Princess Silks. For the next ten minutes (standing outside the shop) Carol recalled her fond memories of the place to Sheila and Joe and how she would spend hours inside choosing fabric and buttons for the children’s frocks and her own evening dresses (see 2:36). Probably the cherry on the top for Carol was pointing to the very spot outside the shop where she had left our youngest daughter Benita in her buggy after coming out of the shop and going straight home forgetting she even had a baby (see 2:56).

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On the other side of the street the (very British) Marks and Spencer appeared to have expanded their floor space massively (compared to what it looked like in the seventies) and it wasn’t long before Carol asked “Where’s Liptons gone?” – which immediately explained how Marks had grown. What I loved about Marks and Spencer wasn’t the shop but the bench outside it that I have fabulous memories of occupying while people-watching as Carol went off to window shop or (on pay week) to enjoy a bit of retail therapy. *People-watching has remained a passion of mine all of my life and is most definitely up there as my guilty pleasure 🙂

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(Joe, Sheila and Carol at the Gibraltar Arms).

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After walking a few hundred yards further down (the immaculately clean and beautifully presented) Main Street the ladies spotted the Gibraltar Arms and after checking out the menu decided that was where we would eat this evening. As it turned out we were all so impressed with the service, the food and the ambience that we would later return to the place several times more during our week on the Rock. 

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For me, having dinner sitting outside the Gibraltar Arms was far more than just eating a meal (as good as that meal was) and looking around at what I’ve always thought of as my most favourite place in the world. It was a personal experience that bordered on the spiritual.

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Walking back to the Bristol from Morrisons I decided to go a different way to the way I’d come; I thought I was unlikely to get lost but even if I did I didn’t care, Ive always been something of an easily distracted meanderer (although I did need to get back with the milk before too long). 

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I still couldn’t really get over the scale of the new high rise developments and (looking up at some of the apartments) I wondered if the residents felt they were very lucky to live where they did or whether (to them) it was just a sort of norm and didn’t think about it. Eventually (after reflecting back on how happy the present incumbent in Edinburgh House was with his apartment) I decided the residents must be very happy with their homesteads. 

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The view I had of the Rock (as I began my walk back) was awesome and so I imagined the views for those people living up in the air must be amazing; thinking about it the views from Trafalgar House (when I lived there) were to die for – such is life for the residents of the Rock. Pondering that theme I paused for a few minutes as I looked up at one particularly lavish looking apartment block. Having worked in social care for the past thirty years I’m not so naive to think everyone in the Gibraltar community lives the life of a wealthy resident and have no doubt that some families struggle like anywhere else; indeed there have been times when my family and I have seriously struggled in the past. I suppose I wondered whether it would have been any easier being broke and in debt in paradise than being broke and in debt in a run-down council house in Nottingham. Probably not.

(Wonderful memories of the Piazza)

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Although I wasn’t certain about where I was I had a fair idea (after climbing some steps) that I was heading toward Main Street; and it wasn’t long before that was confirmed. Almost as soon as I crossed a road I ended up in a place I knew very well and had lovely memories of – the Piazza! Standing in the middle of this wonderful outdoor space took me straight back to the days of when my children were little and we’d all have cold drinks in the warm sunshine. Back in the 70s the Piazza was very much more the communal meeting place than Casemates (which seems to have taken over that mantle) and it was here that very often my ‘bambinos’ would be carted off by local women (children are very much adored in Gibraltar) for a walk down Irish Town or up Main Street while I had a ‘respite’ from parenting 🙂 

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Mindful that I needed to press on (and knowing I would probably be back to the Piazza several times during the week just to sit and ponder) I upped and went off up Main Street with a head full of happy times – very amused (as a Geordie-Boy) to catch a glimpse of the Newcastle Building Society out of the corner of my eye. Why Aye Man.

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