3:9 (2016) All Gibraltarians are British but all Brits are not Gibraltarian.

16 Friday Sep 2016

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The MedSteps2016 Challenge is an annual charity event organised by members of the Gibraltar Prison Service to raise money for Cancer Relief. This year was its second year and the idea is that those taking part climb the steps (meaning they do the circuit of going up the steps then back down the road to the start) five times. Each time a lap is completed the climber gets a CR stamp on a wristband they had been issued. Everyone taking part pays £10 which is how the cash is raised for Cancer Relief.
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For weeks before I flew out to Gibraltar I’d been reading on social media about how people were preparing for the event. Awards for the best individual, the best team and the best effort were to be given and so many people were practicing the course in their spare time to improve their performance. Not wanting to show-up any of these fit dudes with my own speed and stamina (yeah right) I made the decision weeks before the event that I would only be doing one circuit (slowly) and that I would use the opportunity to view my old friend (the Rock); I would also take some snazzy photos. Actually apart from the fact that I couldn’t remember how long or how difficult the challenge was I’m not sure my knees would have gone round more than once anyway but after paying my tenner and being given my wrist band I was happy enough to just take part.


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Although I wasn’t quite sure what I was in for I eventually set off and (as I did) one of the thoughts going through my mind was a story I had read recently about a young girl with cerebral palsy who had successfully completed the course; if I needed any inspiration at all she was it. But I didn’t need any inspiration at all because from the very first step I was where I wanted to be, on my way up the Rock, on my own, blessed with the time to see, to think and to reflect on all of those things in my mind which now (hopefully) sit at peace within the first two chapters of these memoirs. It wasn’t more than a few minutes after setting off that I found myself looking out at a breath-taking view of Europa Point and so sat down awhile to ponder as I admired it.


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In writing RockHeart I’d hoped to express the very deep affection I have for Gibraltar and from some of the many comments and emails I’ve received I do feel I’ve achieved that in a few quarters. Having said that although we are all British – (something Gibraltar is extremely proud of and protective of) – the people of the Rock are also uniquely Gibraltarian which is a very special identity in its own right and one I wholly admire and endorse. 

Whatever affection I may have for the Rock and her people will never make me Gibraltarian; neither will the fact that I lived there and have a child born there make me Gibraltarian. But to the lovely reader that referred to me as an ‘Honorary Gibbo’ I thank you sincerely (ND) and take the comment as a welcome compliment 🙂 My feelings for the people of the Rock have always been very well documented though I do have days of self doubt when I feel like a gate crasher and so that comment made my day. Thank you.


(Europa Point, Gibraltar from the Med Steps)

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Everyone who did the MedSteps challenge that day had their own reasons and agendas for doing so. As I looked out over Europa point and the African continent my own reasons were becoming more and more clear. I wondered if I would ever sit in this place again.

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3:8 (2016) Day 1. “Alan wake up! You’re doing the Med Steps.

15 Thursday Sep 2016

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Our first evening ended with night caps in the hotel bar by the pool which was accessed by a sort of flyover walkway; you went through a door from the lounge, up some stairs and then across the street via a glass walkway before descending some more stairs into the bar which was situated in the Bristol’s own private walled garden. That routine would become a regular one throughout the week as a sort of last stop oasis whenever we got back from wherever we’d been. Eventually by the time I ‘hit the sack’ on that first night I was totally cream-crackered. Next thing I knew it was morning!

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I’m not especially good first thing in the morning; my eyes have a tendency of waking up long before my body which always needs a really hot shower to get the old muscles and bones moving. Some of that is about age and arthritis but some of it is also about being someone who totally loves bed, particularly when I wake up in the mornings. Sometimes it can take me a while to drift off at night (because of discomfort/pain in my shoulder) but then (what I find criminal) when I wake up in the morning is that I’m at my absolute most comfortable as though I’ve mounded into the mattress and (although I have a great reluctance to move) I have to get out.

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“Alan! Wake up! You’re doing the Med Steps Challenge today. Alan!!”. 

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After being unceremoniously evicted from my nice warm bed onto the floor it crossed my mind that for a slim woman, thirteen days older than me, she still packed a clout though looking up at the ceiling the penny slowly began to drop – ‘YES!’. After months of looking at that poster above my desk at work – (that one taken from up the Rock with loads of sunshine beaming down) – I was FINALLY going to climb the MedStepsChallenge TODAY!
“Don’t think you’re going anywhere without a good breakfast in your belly first and don’t forget to take your water” Carol continued.

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Breakfast at the Bristol was a simple help-yourself affair with toast, cereal, fruit and yogurts which suited me really well because traditionally I don’t eat much till lunchtime. However to keep the peace I managed to rammed down a couple of slices of toast followed by a tea and a coffee and just as I was digesting it all the reception lady called over to me that my taxi had arrived. Carol, Sheila and Joe had decided to spend the morning relaxing and sun-bathing by the pool and so as I departed they all bid me farewell and good luck with the kind of look on their faces that suggested I was as mad as a box of frogs; relatively speaking I think they would all rather have stuck pins in their eyes than climb Gibraltar although by the same token they all knew how much it meant to me.


Sitting in the taxi as it wound its way up to Jews Gate was about as good as it could get for me; even a lottery win would have faded into boring compared to that. Passing so many familiar places was such a reassuring experience and seeing new developments was so exciting too – particularly because I thought the ‘modern’ blended in so well with the ‘old’. Seeing so many new high rises reminded me of Hong Kong which (like Gibraltar) only had one development choice and that too was upwards. My initial feeling was a sort of positive fascination with the hope that most of the Old Town hadn’t been touched.


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Ten minutes after leaving the Bristol we arrived at Jews Gate where the crowds were a-gathering and some discerning climbers had already set off on their first lap. As I got out of the taxi and morphed into one of the crowd I felt a total sense of belonging.


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3:7(2016) The Angry Friar

13 Tuesday Sep 2016

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Eventually we got our room keys and bumbled on up to unpack and settle in; the whole place was a bit like #DavidBowie’s Labyrinth with corridors and staircases leading everywhere. It took me a few attempts to find my way from reception to our room and back. But what was lovely was that the retro style in the foyer wasn’t just reserved for downstairs, it was all over the hotel; on occasions when I got lost up the wrong corridor I would find myself looking at an exquisite painting on a wall depicting a view of the Rock in days gone by. The whole building had really been nurtured.

(View from my hotel window)

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Looking out from my room window was to look directly at the Cathedral with the Rock to my left and the new Commonwealth Park to my right (although naturally I couldn’t see the grass as this was lower down – plus I didn’t even know that park existed yet). The room itself was quite nice too with easily accessible wardrobes and its own mini en-suite; it was simple but (for me) perfect! After unpacking my bag and having a shower I did take the opportunity to check out my bed with a few bounces and decided it was perfect too; having said that as an old sailor who has slept on everything from a suitcase to a railway station I’m not the most discerning and so to me any old mattress would have passed the audition.

(Carol outside the Bristol)

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It must have been about 8.30pm by the time the four of us had rested, scrubbed up and met in the foyer ready to go foraging for food; it had been a long old hike for us all when considering the driving as well as the flight – our road trip alone had been four hours up to Birmingham from Wales and so I guess we were all ready for some sit down and pampering. As we came out of the Bristol and up onto Main Street I naturally went right and everyone just followed; I just thought The Angry Friar isn’t far and so we could sit outside and soak up a bit of atmosphere while some nice person went off and brought us four platefuls of whatever. 
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As we walked past the bookshop I glanced in the window at the many books on display telling the History of Gibraltar, the Battle of Trafalgar and the contribution of (both) the Royal Navy (and the apes) to the safety of the Rock. What also caught my eye were the myriad of journals produced by local people depicting their ‘love of their homeland’ either through words, paintings or prose and I found these particularly touching – especially seeing so many offerings from such a small community. At the time I knew I would soon be writing my own memoirs of Gibraltar and so as well as the books in the window being very touching, they were also very inspiring to me; I wondered if one day someone else would walk past that bookshop window and see a copy of my RockHeart?

(Carol with Sheila and Joe ordering their meal)

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At some point we crossed Convent Place and found a free table outside the Angry Friar where I took a few photos of my three companions. Sitting at the table I looked up at the accommodation above the pub and reflected back to 1976 when I had applied to rent it for my family but it failed the Navy inspection. Glancing around at some of the other tables outside the pub took me back even earlier to 1974 when I was on my way out to the Far East aboard HMS Scylla; one memorable evening saw one well-oiled matelot get up onto one of the tables and entertain the gathered with a ‘Zulu Warrior’ (striptease).

(Sheila and Joe)

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“Alan the waiter is waiting for your order” Carols voice brought me back to the present day, “We’ve all ordered and now we’re waiting for you”. “Oh sorry love, I was miles away, yes please fish and chips” I replied. It was the first meal of our stay and (even though I would have been happy to sit outside the Friar and eat raw squid) my fish and chips were really lovely. As a (boring) non-drinker, non-smoker I do love nice meals out (and good cups of tea) and so it was a great start to the week. The week! Even just saying ‘the week’ brought an immediate touch of reality to the fact that I would only be in Gibraltar for one week and so had to make the most of every day. Just acknowledging that then made my stomach sink. And just writing that did the same thing because it reminds me these memoirs are very close to coming to their end.

(View from the Angry Friar)

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For now though as the day ended tomorrow, day one, was on my mind. It was the MedStepsChallenge.

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3:6 (2016) The Bristol Hotel, Gibraltar.

11 Sunday Sep 2016

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The Bristol Hotel (Wikipedia tells me) is Gibraltar’s oldest hotel established in 1894 and until 1932 was the flagship hotel of the Rock until the Rock Hotel itself opened in that year. Without going too deeply into the Bristol’s history it was used as the RAF headquarters during WW2 and then for a short time after the war declined as an establishment before coming back into its own again from the 1960s onward following financial investment.


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Looking around, as I stood in the foyer, I felt as though I’d stepped back in time to an era I was familiar with, felt safe in and loved. This beautiful 120 year old building, with its 60 rooms, had retained its lovely retro ambience despite its ‘modernisation’ (receiving a hot water supply, a bigger kitchen and a bigger pool); its beautiful chandeliers and stained glass windows reminded me of Raffles in Singapore where (for some bizarre reason) I ended up in (and which no doubt is the reason the Bristol felt so familiar) although that story is for a different memoir. 


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I’d chosen the Bristol for no other reason than it being close to the town for Joe and Sheila (who are in their 70s and 80s respectively) because they both enjoy to go walkabout when it’s not too far. Carol isn’t in the best of health either and so I knew she too would appreciate being near to Main Street for whenever she wanted to browse the shops or just go for a stroll.


(Images of the Bristol hotel- all my own from May 2016)

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Having been on holiday often as a foursome I knew all three of my fellow travellers loved lolling about around the pool during the day when the weather was warm – and they all knew I preferred to go walkabout and meet the natives – so they were really thrilled at the private subtropical garden with pool and bar. First impressions from all of us on the Bristol Hotel were really positive and those impressions remained with us throughout our stay – not least because the rooms were lovely and the breakfasts were good but also because the staff were very friendly, accommodating and helpful. 


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Speaking of staff when I finally got to the reception desk to check in I began talking to the lady about the Mediterranean Steps Challenge I was doing the following day, or rather she began talking to me. ” Oh sure” she said. “You’ll love it, I do all the time, maybe I do tomorrow too. Take taxi cab to Jews Gate in the morning after breakfast, I will book for you. You want morning call I will give for you. Till then here is your room key, you can fresh up, have nap then eat”. Been a while since I’d been pampered to that degree, but I loved it.

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Happy National Day #Gibraltar 10 September 2016

10 Saturday Sep 2016

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Always with you in spirit as a life long friend to celebrate your unique identity, self-determination and Britishness X 


3:5 (2016) Hello Gibraltar. Good to be back.

10 Saturday Sep 2016

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As the plane took off from Birmingham I suppose I was full of ‘what ifs’ but totally adamant this was the time; this was my time. As the flight crew came around asking me if I’d like coffee or sweets the whole journey began taking on quite a surreal element. I began realising that although this flight was about as massive as it could get for me it was just another day at the office for everyone else; having said that I was thankful I wasn’t too transparent and was able to hide how I felt. Although I’ve spent months writing these memoirs trying to get to the bottom of my feelings in real life I’m really quite painfully shy. 
(Carol)

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I looked over at Carol who was gazing out of the window and wondered what she was thinking; after all it was she and the children (not me) who had made this very same journey forty years ago to the day. I wondered if she was reflecting on that day in 1976 or whether she was more into the present still wondering if she was going to love or hate the changes on the Rock. Just then the same thought passed through my mind – what if I hated the changes? What then? I couldn’t go there.

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“Your drinks Sir” a voice said. As I turned around one of the flight attendants stood smiling at me with a tray of two red wines and two coffees. Her smile was really beautiful (as all flight attendants smiles are) and I wondered if they are taught how to smile like that during their training. No prizes for guessing who the red wines were for as Joe and I settled down with our coffees (and me with my thoughts).

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Some time later as I was coming round from a doze I heard the Captain speaking over the tannoy telling us we were beginning our descent into Gibraltar even though it didn’t seem (to me) as though we’d been in the air five minutes. I think I must have still been conditioned to the long haul flights we used to have to take when commuting back and forth to India but I wasn’t complaining.


I’d never flown into Gibraltar before but was aware of the reputation it had; the short runway sticking out to the sea and the dodgy turn needed to stay out of Spanish airspace. But just as I was pondering all the ‘ifs-and-buts’ ….we landed – in one of the smoothest landings I’ve ever had! When the plane eventually parked and the doors opened I stepped out and looked up. It was almost like a dream come true. I’d finally got back. The lump in my throat felt as though I’d swallowed an apple.


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(Carol and Sheila)

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Passing through the airport terminal was quite a quick process compared to most other countries I’d been to and within about fifteen minutes we were in the transfer vehicle on the way through town to the Bristol Hotel. During the journey my eyes were literally everywhere as I continually asked our driver for clarity on just about everything I saw: “Isn’t that Queensway, isn’t that where the Fleet Pav was?”. I think he was quite relieved when we arrived at the hotel and he was able to kick me out. 


(Washed out and exhausted in the foyer of the Bristol Hotel)

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Standing in the foyer waiting to check in I looked out of the door at the Cathedral where our children were Christened. Although I felt totally washed out and exhausted from the journey as I looked at the Cathedral I was instantly back there (in 1976) and knew my connection to the Rock was as strong as it was on the day I left. It was so good to be back. 

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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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3:2 (2016) “You’ve done what!!”

06 Tuesday Sep 2016

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Carols first reaction to me telling her I’d booked Gibraltar was shock. Her face was a picture for about ten seconds, almost as though it had been frozen in time, then I got both barrels: “YOU’VE DONE WHAT!!!!!!! I told you I didn’t want to go back in case it had changed for the worse and it upset me. We didn’t TALK about it, why didn’t we TALK about it, why didn’t you CONSULT me first?” (or words to that effect – with a few other expletives). We both knew if we’d ‘talked about it’ it would never have happened which is why I took the bull by the horns. For me the idea of never going back was unthinkable.

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Of course I knew I would get that reaction and I was ready for it, in fact I had long prepared for it (for years!) but my primary aim was to take away Carol’s concerns as quickly as possible and put her mind at rest. I began by reassuring her that (judging from what I could see on the Internet) there had been massive change but all of the changes had been positive. 

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“Yes Carol, Gibraltar has changed love, but so have we too. And that old Rock is like an old friend, just like Sheila and Joe who we don’t see very often but love it when we do….which …is why… they’ll be coming with us”. 

At that I think I detected a little glint in her eye but what came out of her mouth was “But Joe is in his eighties and struggles with his mobility now”. 

“Which is why I’ve booked rooms at the Bristol Hotel bang in the middle of town” I replied.

“You know if I don’t like the changes I’ll never go back again don’t you” she said.

“Yes love, but I’ll take that risk” I said.

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As the shock began to ease I put the kettle on to make a cup of tea. “It’s a lovely idea Alan” Carol said “and I don’t want you to think I’m unappreciative it’s just that its so sudden I haven’t had time to get my head around it”. I gave her a hug. 

“Don’t worry love, we’re not going just yet. It’s still a few months away so you have loads of time to Google search Gibraltar and the Bristol Hotel. It’s May when we fly. In fact it’s 13 May 2016 when we fly. Exactly forty years to the day that you flew out with the children to join me. Difference this time, is we go together”. 


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3:1 (2016) ‘Happy Ruby Anniversary love. We’re going to Gibraltar’.

05 Monday Sep 2016

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During the ‘absent years’ between 1977 and 2016 I would often broach the subject with Carol about revisiting Gibraltar but for a variety of reasons it just didn’t happen. Naturally in the early years we were so broke even a holiday in the UK took enormous planning and a lot of saving up for; if we were lucky we would get the kids away camping in Wales (Carols homeland) but only if I could supplement our money by working in the fields for a couple of days (on our arrival) or doing a gig in a local Welsh pub. No denying life wasn’t easy financially or emotionally, we didn’t have much in the material sense; but what we did have was each other and an incredibly close mutually-protective bond which so often helped dilute the hard times; money couldn’t buy that.
(An incredibly close bond)

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The very first occasion we did have a little extra money was (about 1986) when Carols Grandmother left her a small amount in her will; as Carol hadn’t travelled widely she wanted us to all have a holiday somewhere we hadn’t been before so we had two weeks in Turkey. Later when the children were grown and had left home we naturally had a bit more money and were able to travel more; holidays then included a few trips to Crete, Gambia, a further visit to Turkey and then (of all places) India where (after about a dozen holidays there) we actually ended up living for a couple of years but only because I was offered a job as a singer. 


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Throughout those years my own yearning to go back to Gibraltar never subsided, quite the contrary, but Carol wasn’t keen. She worried that it had changed beyond recognition, that she would hate the changes and that it would damage all of the positive memories of the Rock she had cherished all of her life. It was very much a barrier for years to us even having the conversation.


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Meanwhile on many of our foreign holidays our close friends Sheila and Joe (aka Sheelee and Joseffi) joined us; we got to know them because Sheila used to work with both Carol and me when we were all employed by Social Services. Although they are older than we are (Joe is in his 80s though Sheila is younger than him) we’ve always remained close.

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The 19 December 2015 was our 40th wedding anniversary; it had been forty years since we tied the knot in Portsmouth Registry Office (for the princely sum of £12) after which we had our union blessed in the Royal Naval Dockyard Chapel. On this prestigious anniversary I’d made the decision (Heaven help me) to ‘take the bull by the horns’. A few days before the big day I texted Sheila to ask if she and Joe would like to come to Gibraltar with us as I was thinking about surprising Carol; I got an immediate ‘yes’ reply. (So I booked it!). 


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On the big day we decided to have a Chinese take-away at home with our feet up watching a movie and just as Carol was devouring her last prawn cracker I happened to say ‘Happy Ruby Anniversary Love. We’re going to Gibraltar’.

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