Tag Archives: Gibraltar

2:56 (1977) Just chatting about the kids

24 Wednesday Aug 2016

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I’ve always been a very big cereals lover, particularly fond of large bowls of bran flakes into which I throw in copious amounts of sultanas and then smother with my (not so) secret ingredient fresh ice cold cows milk. I think it stems back to childhood days when I struggled (or gagged more like) with food (particularly solids); cereals were easy to eat and filled my belly. Why am I telling you this? What’s that to do with Gibraltar? I’m not sure really other than I sense a tenuous connection with what I’m writing about today so maybe as I go along it will become more clear and connect somehow ๐Ÿ™‚ Then again maybe it won’t.
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Back in the seventies fresh cows milk wasn’t as available in Gibraltar as it is now although that may have been due to the lack of cows on the Rock ๐Ÿ™‚ These days that isn’t the case; on my recent visit (in May 2016) I loved being able to walk into Morrisons and pick up fresh milk everyday. 

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If my memory serves me right we had to mix a powdered milk called Nido which didn’t ‘sail-my-boat’ for me and my cereals. In fact I hated it that much I stopped having my beloved bowl full until I got back to UK although I did have to mix the stuff up for Tracey and Sam who didn’t have an issue with it. As well as mixing Nido milk for them I also had to mix up a baby milk called SMA for Benita and so I’m sure I went through (what felt like) months of just mixing up powdered milks – the word torture springs to mind. I suppose if there was one consolation at least that Kenwood electric mixer I bought Carol as a Christmas present (that she was not best impressed with) got some ecky-thump.

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Amidst all of this milk-mixing came baby bottles, sterilisers, broken nights of sleep then later on (and even worse) nappy buckets, liners, zinc and castor oil cream and getting used to having a baby in the house again. Remembering to take all the paraphernalia with you whenever you stepped out of the house was an art; an art bordering on a crisis if you forgot something. At one point I remember thinking our pram should be given a knighthood for services to the cause; it spent most of its entire life with a child in it, a child sat on it and another child holding on to it while its undercarriage shelf between the wheels was literally stuffed with everything a parent could ever need. The term ‘Camel Train’ springs to mind.


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Of course there were times when the older children were at school or playgroup and I was out at work, Carol would just have Benita and could use the little buggy to pop up to Main Street to visit her favourite haunts one of which (as readers will know by now) was Princess Silks haberdashery. Back then it was quite acceptable and safe to leave a pram or buggy outside a shop while you nipped in to get something partly because of the practicalities of getting around inside the shop. 

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As mentioned we were at the stage of still getting used to having a baby in the house again and on one particular day Carol obviously forgot that and sauntered off home without the buggy leaving Benita in it outside the shop. Later when I came home for lunch and asked Carol where the baby was her face said it all. But in the ‘Land of Loving Bambinos’ there was nothing for us to worry about. By the time we got back to the shop she was being slobbered all over by the local people and loving every minute of it. Back home the only way I could get her to wind down and off to sleep that night was BH putting the headphones on her and playing John Lennon at her. (She’s a big fan of his even today ๐Ÿ™‚ ).

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2:53 (1977) From the wilderness to paradise.

20 Saturday Aug 2016

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The very first photo I took of our new daughter Benita was with her sisters Tracey and Samantha and their Mum in – (you got it) – Alameda Gardens. Where else? I guess over the years Alameda has become quite a spiritual place for me in that I’ve always found it a comforting place to be whenever I’ve needed to think things through and so to celebrate happy times there seemed to be a natural progression. 
(1977 July. Benita’s first photo with my wife Carol and her sisters Tracey and Samantha. I love this xxxx)

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As I took this photo – looking at my family through the eye of a camera lens – I felt the luckiest man in the world and that nothing could compare or even come close. Sometimes I could barely believe how much my life had changed in such a relatively short space of time; within just a few years I felt as though I’d stepped out of the dark, frightening and lonely wilderness of childhood and landed literally in paradise. It would always be against that backdrop that I would become fiercely protective of my herd; and as a result I would always see Gibraltar through my eyes as paradise.

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When I first began writing my memoirs I think I said I wasn’t a particularly skilled writer just someone able to put down a few anecdotes and somehow string them together. As my memoirs have progressed I stand by that but would probably add that in addition to the anecdotes I appear to have a tendency of throwing in my emotions plus plus. When I’ve rationalised that I’ve thought well what is the point of writing memoirs if I didn’t throw my emotions into it? No point.
I say that because there have been times when (almost overcome with powerful feelings while writing about an emotive subject) I’ve manically scribbled massively long paragraphs only to have to go back later and edit them down. The fact many of those feelings have remained so strong after forty years is probably one reason I felt the need to write these tales in the first place although today (as a marginally more mature man) I do now at least edit before I publish. As a younger man I was far less tactful – although no writer I often fired off verbally without properly thinking things through.

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Just thinking about being less tactful and more firey takes me back to many a meeting I had with my line manager, Petty Officer Brian, who over a period of months tried all ways possible to persuade me to reverse my notice and stay in the Royal Navy. Our meetings were always private between us, pulled no punches and became more frequent (and stroppy) as time began running out. The divide between Naval life and Family life was becoming wider by the day.

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Brian: “Alan you have your family to consider”.

Me: “That’s exactly why I’m leaving”.

Brian: “Don’t do anything rash. Think of your career”.

Me: “Every time shit hits my family fan the Navy shove my career in my face to stop me sorting it”. 
Brian: “You look tired. Have a few days leave”.

Me: “My mind is made up and that’s the end of it”.

Brian: “Let’s have a couple of pints tonight at the Fleet Pav. My shout”.

Me: “I can’t I’m organising the children’s Christening with Carol”

Brian: “Ok. Well have a nice evening, we’ll chat tomorrow”.

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As I cruise towards the end of this chapter (and with our time in Gibraltar fast coming to a close) I can still feel the pain of having to choose between the two things in life I’d only ever loved. Of course there was never any contest or competition, my family would always come first in any given scenario, and still does. But that would never take away the personal sense of loss I would carry for the next forty years.

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2:50 (1977) It’s those little memories that knit a story together

15 Monday Aug 2016

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I’ve always felt that it’s the little anecdotes knitted together that really give the best overview of a story and tell it well; big events are easy to remember, sort of in your face and difficult to miss out but the little ones (to me) are priceless. For me they are a bit like finding out something you could never have imagined and yet very endearing about someone very famous; I follow a Buddhist path in life and when The Dalai Lama said one of his biggest regrets in life was not being able to have a girlfriend I was blown away.
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Throughout my memoirs I’ve tried to include as many of the major events that I can remember (and there are still more to come); but I’ve also tried to include the smaller day-to-day ones as they’ve sprung to mind because all these things go into the mix which make up my memories of living in Gibraltar. 


(USS Nimitz off Gibraltar)

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One of the smaller day-to-day things that had everyone talking was the arrival of a humongous aircraft carrier from the United States, the USS Nimitz, which it appears was so big that it couldn’t berth alongside and had to anchor off. With a crew of 6000 personnel it certainly put any British warship in the shade and if rumours were to be believed they had race wars and gang warfare onboard. As ‘locals’ there was an element of fascination about having such an impressive visitor to the Rock although the downside was that we avoided going out to eat or shop on the Main Street because we found Americans to be overly loud and too familiar (we didn’t really want to be #bff with people we didn’t know). Another downside was (with no disrespect to traders who wanted to make hay while the sun shone) prices for anything and everything virtually doubled.

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On the upside whenever ships like Nimitz left the Rock there always seemed to be a bargain to be had in many of the eateries – for example a free bottle of wine with dinner. One of our regular troughs was the Lotus House Chinese which even got into the habit of contacting us with their current offers particularly when bookings were down. Although it would never be my intention to circulate spurious rumours about any restaurant there was an occasion when the Lotus House was closed down the day after we had eaten there; sailors being sailors suggested something unpleasant had been found in the fridge but in fairness it wasn’t long before it reopened and it didn’t stop us eating there.


(Royal Naval Hospital Gibraltar)

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Perhaps one last little memory I’d like to include in this post would be to give a mention to the Moroccan painters who periodically would come around Edinburgh House and give all of the flats a fresh lick of paint. The painters who came were really super fast and could paint an entire flat in no time; I can still smell how fabulously fresh the place smelled every time they finished. With a new child on the way it was lovely to have the painters in just beforehand and it certainly wouldn’t be long before Carol had a date at RNH Gibraltar.

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2:49 (1977) Why do I bother writing a memoir?

14 Sunday Aug 2016

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Carol’s grandad Pop spent most of World War 2 in Burma and had been awarded the Burma Star. I first met him in 1975 and over the years we developed a very close relationship; having military backgrounds in common we bonded quickly and would spend hours talking, reflecting or just being. 
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Whilst serving in Burma he had written several volumes of his memoirs which he loaned to me to privately read although after reading them I was so moved emotionally that I offered to publish them for him. Although he agreed I could do that (very reluctantly – if I ‘really’ wanted to) I remember him telling me that to publish his diaries was not why he had written them; in fact he hadn’t written them for anyone to read or even expected they would want to. Writing a short piece every day during years of conflict and misery, thousands of miles away from home in a hostile environment was a massive form of comfort to him; his diary was a world he could vanish into at the end of every day for reasons (which to me) ordinary people would find it impossible to understand. 

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When he died I remember an immense sense of pride in him as the Burma Star Association carried his coffin and gave their mantra to the gathered: ‘When you go home remember for your tomorrow we gave our today’.


(The Burma Star medal)

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Today (in real time about two hours ago) I spent a little time reading some of Pops memoirs and (without compromising too much of his privacy) I photographed the very last paragraph of the very last volume. The entry is from 24 September 1945 (ten years before I was even born) and relays how he feels to finally arrive safely back in the UK. To me that paragraph is just so powerful and yet the reality is that I am the person he hadn’t expected would read his diary or would even want to.


(Pops last diary entry –  typed text is below)


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To compare the content of my writings with Pops would be so wrong and wholly inappropriate; Pop wrote during a world war about events he had seen or experienced many of which he found to be extremely traumatic and from which (I know) affected him all his life. But what he also did, was give me a lesson (whether he knew it or not) in the value of keeping a diary or a memoir in which I learned to write about my feelings and in doing so also learn to manage them effectively.

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So what has this post to do with Gibraltar? Two things I guess. Pops’ boat home from Burma stopped at Gibraltar on the way back ….and if it hadn’t been for him …..these memoirs would most certainly never have been written. For me personally writing my memoirs of Gibraltar keeps me close and connected to a place I very much love.

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2:48 (1977) HM Queen Elizabeth’s Jubilee Year in Gibraltar

13 Saturday Aug 2016

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1977 was HM Queen Elizabeth’s Jubilee Year and naturally there was a lot going on in Gibraltar. Come to that there is always a lot going on in Gibraltar which makes it such a great place to visit; a basic search on Google would almost certainly flag up the Mediterranean Steps Challenge, the Chess Tournament, the Darts Tournament, Classic Car Rally’s and much more. 
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Back in 1977 one of the events that attracted me was the Art Competition which I did contribute to but didn’t particularly shine at; I still have the artwork I entered and when I viewed it recently I made the decision that it was so dreadful I’m surprised they accepted it all which is why I haven’t published it on this post – and probably won’t post anywhere else anytime soon.

However what was important to me (at that time) wasn’t so much winning a prize but taking part with everyone else and feeling part of it all; learning from the experience was also a massive advantage because the following year I entered a National Art Competition in UK and won it. 


(2016 Gibraltar Art Gallery)

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Thinking back though what I loved about the Gibraltar exhibition was how local people painted and drew their interpretations of the Rock and their beautiful environment with such feeling – something they still do today judging from what I saw when I visited Gibraltar Art Gallery during May 2016. 


(2016 Cable car approaching pylon on a non windy day)

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Carol was born on the Queens birthday (21 April) and as a tribute was given the middle name of Elizabeth by her parents. As I was born 13 days after her (May the Fourth be with you) I often referred to myself as her toy boy – particularly just after her birthday when she was technically a year older than me. That period of time between our two birthdays became known as my Toy Boy Fortnight during which I certainly ‘took the rise’ (tongue in cheek) out of Carol although she did always have the girls coming out in support of her and so I was always outnumbered ๐Ÿ™‚


(1977 Carol in St.Michaels Cave)

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It was during my ‘Toy Boy fortnight of 1977’ that we decided to celebrate our joint birthdays with a trip up the Rock to see the apes and visit St.Michaels Cave. Carol was 22 and I was 21 but since she was six months pregnant I was very much in an ‘I will look after you and protect you’ mode although that absolutely didn’t bode well with the independent strong young woman she was who seemed to be on constant playback – “Don’t fuss, I can manage by myself”.


(1977 Carol descending King Charles V Steps)

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So although it was quite a windy day we took the cable car up to the top of the Rock but as we travelled further and further up the wind became worse and worse. By the time we approached one of the pylons our cable car was swinging (almost at right angles) from left to right and it was clear the car was going to hit the pylon. At that the cable car attendant opened the door and used a pole to push the car away from the pylon as we went past it and as he did that Carol found herself literally looking through the open door straight down in terror at Alameda Gardens. When we finally got to the Apes Den and got off the cable car Carol (ashen faced) said that there was no way she was getting back on it.

(1960 King Charles V Steps)

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It took me some time to reassure Carol that we could go back down to the town via King Charles V Steps and that we didn’t need to get back into the cable car; the fright had been such that I have no idea how she didn’t give birth on the spot. Eventually though she did calm down enough to enjoy the visit and also enjoyed the trek back down the Rock via the steps with those breath taking views. But it would be a long time before she got back into the cable car.

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2:42 (1976/77) Hello 1977. Happy New Year!

30 Saturday Jul 2016

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As 1976 came to a close I found myself reflecting back on the year with its ups and downs, it’s emotional roller coaster rides, it’s achievements and disappointments; within these memoirs I’ve probably only just tipped the iceberg but then my intention in writing them was never to delve too deeply. If I mange to convey to readers how much I love that lump of Rock we call Gibraltar, it’s people, it’s climate and it’s diverse lifestyles then I have achieved one objective; if by the end of Chapter three readers are able to understand why it took me forty years to go back then I will achieved my goal.
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Naturally (in order to keep continuity) there are things I would ‘love’ to share (NOW) but can’t because it would ruin the overall story for readers so I do hope people understand I’m not trying to hide anything; my tales are true (not fictional) and everything will come out in the end; meanwhile I really do want everyone to enjoy their time on my journey with me – it may be of interest to some folks that currently there are about 163 daily readers and the website has been visited 3000 times during its short life.

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When I touched on how convoluted 1976 had been I wasn’t only talking about for me individually; I was also talking about for Carol personally, for Tracey personally, for Sam and also for our family unit as a whole. We had been through incredible uncertainty and strain during the year and had to cope with very swiftly changing emotions which would probably have buckled many people if not split families apart but if anything the challenges and issues throughout the year had brought us even closer together 

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Throughout 1976 we had lived in six different addresses, been technically homeless, were forcibly separated for almost two months and had both of our 21st birthdays apart. We started the year with one child and finished it with two; for Carol particularly she started the year pregnant and finished it pregnant again and after the worries we had following Sam’s birth I was (quietly) more than nervous. For me I had finally achieved the promotion I had dreamed of for years only to put in my notice to leave the RN a few weeks later.


(1976/77 Christmas/NewYear. Edinburgh House, Gibraltar)

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It’s an endearing custom in the Royal Navy that Naval wives will often refer to their husbands as their shipmates do; nick names are very vogue. Someone who’s surname was Clark would be called Nobby, someone with the surname of Williams would be Bungy; to Carol I was Dixy for almost the entire time I was in the Navy; (my youngest daughter is now 39 and still calls me that). 


As we finally greeted in the New Year on the balcony of 21 Edinburgh House Carol asked “We’ll be alright Dixy won’t we?”. “Yes, love, we’ll be okay” I replied hugging her and looking up at the Rock. The new year couldn’t be any more challenging than the last one. Could it?
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2:40 (1976) The winds of change are blowing…

28 Thursday Jul 2016

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(1976 Alameda Gardens Gibraltar. Carol, Tracey and Sam. An absolute favourite photo xxx)

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As 1976 rolled on it was lovely to see the children increasingly bond as Sam became more aware of her surroundings (and the people in her life) and Tracey began enjoying having a sister; Carol too was very much more settled now that we were finally ensconced in our married quarter at Edinburgh House.



(1976 Fleet Pav Gibraltar. Carol, Me, Babs, Betty and Jim Simm)

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For a short time Carol’s Mum Babs came to stay with us when life was very difficult for her; she had separated from Carol’s dad Viv and I guess she just needed to get herself together. For Carol to allow her to come was quite an act of kindness because they’d never had the strongest of relationships, Carol was far closer to her Dad and (in truth) was more concerned about him but it was Babs who asked to come and stay. If I remember rightly Carol put a caveat on the arrangement that Babs needed to get a job and fund her own needs and so for a time she worked in the English Tea Rooms; I think she also played the piano a couple of times at the play school for a backhander. During her stay we naturally brought her into our social circle and had many an outing with her around our haunts but eventually (after a few months I think) she decided to return to UK. It’s never easy having a house guest for an extended period of time and so I guess (without being unkind) we were glad to have our lives back; I think due to her being older she was quite intolerant of little children and so the arrangement could never have been long term.


(1976 At home in Edinburgh House)

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Sometime during September 1976 Carol found out that she was once again pregnant and though we were shocked we were also thrilled; as we pondered some of the challenges of having three children at the age of 22 we also thought about the advantages (one being we would still be relatively young when they were adults and our grandchildren arrived). 
But without racing ahead with excitement (which I did anyway because I was a bloke and nothing was going to get in the way of my joy) we had to start thinking about practicalities; the baby would be due in July 1977 which in Gibraltar was a hot month and probably not the most pleasant for a heavily pregnant woman – and if Carol had pregnancy complications requiring her to stay in hospital for periods of time I was going to need support with the girls. Always lurking at the back of my mind was how I felt shocked and let down by the RN when they refused me leave after Sam was born and nearly died; as that thought pervaded all my senses I suddenly became terrified of something horrible happening and me not being there for my family.

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As if by fate I think it was about mid-October 1976 when the RN introduced a brand new exit strategy for servicemen wanting to leave the Navy; if a man gave 18 months notice he could leave freely, without penalty and with an exemplary discharge. The winds of change were blowing….

2:39 (1976) HMS ROOKE – A short history (with a little help from a friend)

26 Tuesday Jul 2016

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(HMS ROOKE Crest)

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When I think of the very close emotional connection I have to Gibraltar it would be natural to think that (since I was based at HMS Rooke) I had a keen interest in the history of the establishment. To be really honest I didn’t back then but I do now (since writing these memoirs) and that’s largely due to a reader (William Serfaty) sharing his amazing historical knowledge with me. 


(Gibraltar Naval Dockyard)

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Even up until quite recently I had forgotten how extensive HMS Rooke and the Naval dockyard was in 1976 and it wasn’t until I googled a few photos (below) that I remembered about the size of the warehouse complex within the Base. Having said that since it was our responsibility at HMS Rooke to ensure warships passing through had everything they needed it’s not surprising the storage facilities were massive particularly when a ship like HMS Hermes docked as she did in 1976.


(1976 HMS Hermes docked at Gibraltar)

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One thing I love – and that is really cool for me – (in writing these memoirs) is having readers message me with ‘their’ Gibraltar stories especially when they are from the same time I was there (1976/77). As mentioned William (Serfaty) did that and his recollections were so historically interesting and relevant to my ramblings I wanted to share them here:

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“I was also busy bringing up a family in Gib in 1976. I had a building company which was in joint venture with a Glasgow builder. Our main cooperation was on building HMS Rooke which we were completing around then.
Rooke was started early in 1969 at the junior ratings end (NORTH). On Saturday June the 9th the labour force was withdrawn. The frontier closed. It took more than a year to prepare accommodation to find a new labour force and another to bring in the necessary 5,000 people to Gib to get working again. 

Consequently Rooke was quite recently completed when you arrived in the mid -70’s.
The demolition of the Old HMS Rooke was still in progress at June 69.

Built by Whatlings (Overseas) Ltd. in Joint venture with Constructors Ltd.

Whatlings was a Glasgow civil engineering firm later taken over by MacAlpine’s. It has been taken over by the Government. The plan was to move the Essential Services and Police and Fire Station there”.

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I’d like to extend my sincere thanks to William for sharing his story which (for me) really compliments these memoirs and which I hope readers also enjoyed reading. Perhaps to finish this (more historical) post I thought I’d include some data from Wikipedia:
“HMS Rooke was the naval base at Gibraltar. It was commissioned in 1946, succeeding HMS Cormorant, and operating until becoming a Joint Service Base in 1990. The Royal Navy closed the base and paid it off in 1996 and it is now headquarters for the Gibraltar Defence Police. The base is named after Admiral George Rooke who led the Anglo-Dutch Capture of Gibraltar in 1704.


(2016 Revisiting Rooke in May 2016)

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POST UPDATE:

Since publishing this post reader Sandra Capano updated me (see comments on this post) to say Rooke was currently closed? When I asked my Twitter friends if anyone knew what was going on I had an update from a follower/friend Jess on Twitter who updated me that Rooke is being handed over to @GibraltarGov to be used for Essential Services.

2:38 (1976) Between being a husband, a father and a sailor there was also some Alan somewhere

25 Monday Jul 2016

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As a child one of the things I found great comfort in was drawing; over the years I had developed considerably good artistic skills and had a very sharp eye for perspective. At sea on warships I would often illustrate letters home for shipmates or even design tattoos for them that they would then have done in the Far East. Later in life (after release from the Royal Navy) I would win a National Art Competition in the UK and work as a freelance illustrator for local, regional and national press (for about 15years alongside holding down a full time job) but to put that in context it was in Gibraltar that I honed my skills. Skills which were far easier to hone than those needed to play the guitar.


(Ms.Grace. Watercolour)

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I mentioned earlier that Carols passion was dress-making and (after the children were in bed) she would often sit at her sewing machine making frocks for the children or dresses for herself; it was then that I would sit down at the table and draw. During our time in Gibraltar I took part in a few local art exhibitions including one in 1977 celebrating HM Queen Elizabeth 2 Jubilee Year although I don’t think my abstract style was quite what the judges were looking for. On the bright side though taking part in those exhibitions brought me to the attention of people who liked my style and so (amazingly) I did get a couple of commissions including one from the Gibraltar Scouts for a First Day Cover. Although fine pen work wasn’t quite my skill (I did try to get out of it) I somehow managed to produce it and (all these years later) I’m glad I did. It will never go down in history as a masterpiece but (having a love of Gibraltar, art and philately) my copy is very much a treasured possession. 

(First Day Cover Gibraltar Scouts)

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Readers will know by now that (although I write this blog nearly every day) I never plan in advance and have no idea what today’s theme will be until I start writing. I suppose the reason I wanted to include a note about my art was that (looking back at the last couple of posts) I seem to have concentrated only on my career and my home life and I didn’t want readers thinking I was totally obsessed with them alone, there was also a bit of Alan in the equation somewhere. In fact art became such an obsession that as I grew older I studied several painters in depth (Van Gogh and Richard Dadd to mention a couple), produced umpteen books and staged three biographical exhibitions until finally in 1995 I was ‘arted-out’ and just stopped. Some of the last paintings I did were of Carol called Ms.Grace (above and below).

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(Ms.Grace. Ink and acrylic)

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(1995. My daughters at my final Art exhibition ‘Joirneys End’ next to my painting of the month).

It’s an odd thing to say (having already said that I honed my skills in Gibraltar) but since my recent visit to the Rock (2016) I have started sketching again…images of Gibraltar ๐Ÿ™‚

2:37 (1976) Promotion, pride and pain

24 Sunday Jul 2016

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Running in parallel with the life of a military wife runs the life of the serviceman and whilst I had little conception of Carols trials I don’t imagine she had much conception of mine either unless (of course) real issues arose on either side and then we would discuss them. As far as we were concerned family time was sacrosanct and not reserved for the moans and groans of daily life but one thing (about my working life) that was on our joint agenda was my promotion.

(1975 HMS Pembroke, Chatham, Kent. Leading Rate Professional course. Me, far right)

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When I first joined the Royal Navy I had no real interest in promotion, my goals were more about seeing the world and then later getting drunk at every opportunity. After meeting Carol, however, things changed and she would be quite direct in asking me what I was going to do about my advancement; I also felt that now I had a family I should do whatever I could to better us all and so between her encouragement and my need to improve our lot I took my Leading Rate course and passed. The process after passing the course for Leading Rate was that individuals then went onto a sort of waiting list and accrued a certain amount of points each month; the points list was published in Navy News every month and when an individual finally got all his points he was promoted.


(Sometimes when I open the wardrobe it is as though time has stood still).

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In September 1976 I received my promotion and was immensely proud of the shiny gold anchor on my left arm sitting above my first long service stripe (badge); a Leading Rate with one stripe is known in the Navy as a ‘One Badge Killick’ and carries quite a lot of respect from both those above and those below. What comes along with that respect (naturally) is more responsibility and it wasn’t long before I found myself leading a small team of men and standing in for the Petty Officer when he was absent.

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Apart from the esteem I got from my promotion – and boy (from the point of view as a kid brought up in care) it certainly healed a few wounds – another benefit was the pay rise; there had never been a time as a family when we hadn’t struggled and so it was lovely to have some spare cash to treat ourselves occasionally rather than see all of our money going out on bills. Around about the same time as receiving my promotion I also received a really good tax rebate because my daughter Samantha had been born just before the end of the tax year on 31 March. In celebration of our new found fortune I bought Carol a truly beautiful eternity ring of three sapphires and four diamonds set in gold; I don’t remember which jeweller I got it from but suffice to know it was excellent quality and was bought in Gibraltar.

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In chinese culture they talk of yang and yang being sort of necessary opposites that don’t always compliment one another; in western culture we might think of ‘opposite sides of a coin?’. While there were the obvious benefits to my promotion there were also very new challenges – AND ongoing underlying, unresolved issues I still needed to address. 

One of the new challenges I had was disciplining people who were previously my peers, my friends and occasionally even my babysitters. Phil Bamford comes straight to mind; as a single guy he was often on the lash in the week and so often late to work in the mornings. After giving him several warnings I found myself in the unsavoury situation of having to take him in front of the skipper and him having to explain himself which naturally resulted in him being punished. I don’t remember if that had a long term effect on my relationship with Phil but I don’t imagine it did it any favours.

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Probably more concerning than the new challenges were the ongoing unresolved underlying issues which I detailed in my memoirs at (2:17) and (2:18). The pride I felt at my promotion to Leading Rate in the Royal Navy was immense; it was (for me) the biggest achievement of my life and held strong connections with my childhood days having time with my cousin Paul (See my Welcome page) who had also been a Leading Rate. But my pride and love of the Royal Navy was in constant permanent conflict with the pain I felt inside from when my daughter was seriously ill and the Navy decreed I would only have been allowed home if she died. Worse still, and very worrying, was thatthese two sets of feelings were on a collision course and very soon it would be decision time.

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I’ve been asked many times why it took me forty years to return to Gibraltar but I’ve never found that question very easy to answer; having said that just reading that last paragraph back seems to begin touching on it. I guess for many years it’s been on my mind but for all the reasons I found to go there was as many reasons not to. In writing these memoirs I do hope to answer the question. Meanwhile I’ll close my blog today with a poem I wrote in 1995 (which is included on my ‘Songwriter’ page on my primary website spailpinfanac.com).

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QUESTION

So do you reflect or do you pretend

To have sorted your life and can now comprehend

Mistakes you have made and are able to blend

The peace with the pain to survive to the end
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