Tag Archives: Gibraltar

2:4 (1976) Touch down in Gibraltar felt like landing in a ploughed field

14 Tuesday Jun 2016

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After handing in the house keys we boarded the coach for Newcastle; it would nearly nine years before I had a driving licence and so coaches and buses would become our main source of travel. When we arrived it was lovely to see my sister again; even though
we had been separated and
brought up hundreds of miles apart as children we had reattached as adults and I was so thankful for that. I think that experience very much fed into my current concerns of being separated from my family and the need to ensure it was as short as possible.

For many years now I’ve worked in children’s services and over that time have become increasingly aware of not just the importance of attachment between children to their primary care givers (usually their parents) but also some of the perinatal issues that new mothers experience (e.g severe depression). At 20, I knew nothing of such things but if I had I would not have left my daughter at ten days old or indeed my wife so soon after having given birth. I’m sorry if some of that sounds a bit clinical, it isn’t my intention to be so or repeat similar writing; it’s just something I felt the need to include in order to explain my feelings.


Whilst in the North East I was able to take Carol and the children to meet my foster Dad, Billy, who was (by now) resident at Hunters Moor Hospital, Spittal Tongues, Newcastle following (as mentioned in Chapter 1) three strokes. The last time I saw him was about a year previous when I went north on leave to try to encourage him with his physio but he was having none of it. Whenever I tried to help him with his exercises to straighten his leg he would use foul language and lash out at me; he wasn’t one of those people who wanted to get back up into life again and so the hospital had moved their focus and energies on to people who did. As a result he had now become wheelchair bound and dependent on others for most of his needs. 


What was awesome though was that he loved the children and really took to them, in particular Tracey and made a lot of effort with her which I loved. There was something really delightful seeing them happily interacting with each other; seeing him in his grandad role almost let me forgive the fact that he was pretty emotionally absent as a dad. As the of day visiting my Dad came to a close so too did the week and after really difficult goodbyes to my family it wasn’t long before I found myself sitting on a plane which was preparing to take off. 

I don’t remember which airport I left from but (as always) I do remember the thoughts going round in my head….’they’re all safe and being looked after, they will be back with me before I know it, I’ll start looking for a flat as soon as I land….’. As the plane’s engines revved higher and higher Bowie’s Space Oddity began taking over my thoughts (and still does today whenever I board a plane); ‘Ground control to Major Tom…’. 

When the revving had got to the point that I thought the plane would explode it felt as though the pilot just let the clutch out and sent us hurtling down the runway and up into the air. A few hours later our touch down in Gibraltar (after a sharp turn to stay out of Spanish air space) felt like we were landing in a ploughed field

     

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

07 Tuesday Jun 2016

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

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


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

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


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

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

END OF CHAPTER 1

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

05 Sunday Jun 2016

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


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

 

 

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


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

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

 

 

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

 

 

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

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

04 Saturday Jun 2016

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


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


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


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

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

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

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

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

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

03 Friday Jun 2016

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

 

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

31 Tuesday May 2016

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

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

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

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

img_0147Self portrait

 

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

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

30 Monday May 2016

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

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

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

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

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

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

1:2 (1974) When I saw her I knew Gibraltar would become very special to me

29 Sunday May 2016

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On the 8 January 1974 HMS Scylla led the 7th Frigate Squadron, eight ships in total, out of Portsmouth harbour for what was to be a nine month deployment to the Far East. It was a very emotional departure for most of the sailors as hundreds of families were lined up on the jetty’s and quaysides waving them off to the dulcet sounds of the Royal Marines band. Having already bid my elderly foster parents ‘bye at New Year I didn’t have that lump in my throat like many of the others but I was still amazed at how many people had come to see us off; from standing to attention on the upper deck all I could see was a human caterpillar stretching miles along the Hampshire coast.

Before long we were out at sea, out of vision and so changed into workwear to assume our normal sea going duties. I knew the (English) Channel and the Bay (of Biscay) had reputations of rough weather but after two months surviving the Gale Force storms of Iceland I wasn’t too concerned. Having said that the seas were rough and there were times I felt really sick but stayed focused thinking it wasn’t going to be for long.

As a Stores Accountant most of my time at sea was spent ‘down below’ either in the stores office or in one of our storerooms and so I had to keep nipping up onto the upper deck to see where we were; I didn’t want to miss our approach to Gibraltar. Many of the lads onboard had been in the Navy far longer than me and had visited all of the usual ports on many occasions, including Gibraltar. Their conversations seemed to revolve around the fact that Gibraltar had 365 pubs, one for every day of the year, and that their sole aim during our brief visit was to get ‘mortal’, ‘marinated’ or ‘steaming’ depending on what part of the U.K. they were from. Whether Gibraltar does have or ever has had 365 pubs I don’t know but visiting any of them wasn’t on my itinerary. I was only18 and not a particularly big drinker at that time; on top of that I was more interested in seeing real apes than men mimicking them drunk. I’d seen enough of that with my foster dad rolling home (see Memoirs of a Child in Care).

Years later, when living in Gibraltar with my family, I recall whenever ships were in port we didn’t go anywhere that sailors may happen to be, in fact we positively avoided those places but then that’s another story and a tale for Chapter 2.

I don’t remember the exact date we arrived at the Rock other than it was in January but there’s a guy who owns a shop in Gibraltar (opposite John Mackintosh Hall) selling photos of Royal Navy warships would probably know for sure. What I do know is the minute that someone spotted the Rock from several (nautical) miles away my eyes were glued to it; and the nearer we got the less I blinked not wanting to miss a moment of our arrival (or end the awe I was feeling).

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As we berthed alongside I looked up at this massive Mediterranean lump of Britain in the sun and knew then Gibraltar would become very special to me.

1:1 (1974) I screamed inside with delight. I was going to Gibraltar.

28 Saturday May 2016

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It was January 1974 and I was serving aboard HMS Scylla (F71), Flagship of the 7th Frigate Squadron. By then I’d been in the Royal Navy for about two and a half years and had served on Scylla for the previous 13 months.
During 1973, following a major refit, Scylla had been on work-up and trials at Portland which was pretty draining for the crew. It was the Royal Navy’s way of putting a warship through its paces to check its systems, weaponry and crew readiness – ensuring (to put it bluntly) that it was ready for war. Some of the exercises went on for hours and hours and necessitated men having to wear additional heavy clothing, head gear or masks and remain at ‘action stations’ for very long periods of time; needless to say we were all glad when it was over. It wasn’t too long though before we were rewarded with a couple of courtesy visits to Brest (France) and Flensburg (Germany) prior to escorting HM Queen Elizabeth aboard HM Royal Yacht Britannia around Scotland.
Flensburg, Germany 1973

Escorting HM Royal Yacht Brittania. The Queen and Duke in the foreground, Prince Andrew watching.

Significantly that year we had also taken part in (what later would be referred to as) the Icelandic Cod War during which we had been rammed by the Icelandic Gunboat Aegir. The Icelanders only had five gunboats which were small compared to a Leander Class Frigate but were all fitted with ice breakers capable of causing serious ruptures. Although we had sustained damage the affected compartments were shored up and we continued then completed our tour of duty regardless.


HMS Scylla during the Icelandic conflict


My Ink Painting of the Icelandic conflict

Sometime in the autumn of ’73 news of our next deployment came through and all-to-a-man were delighted to hear we were finally off to see some sunshine, particularly after the drain of Portland Trials and the chills and gale force storms of Iceland. Come January ’74 Scylla was to lead a deployment of 6 warships and 2 RFAs (Royal Fleet Auxiliaries) out to the ‘Fez’ (Far East) calling at an amazing selection of places including Sierra Leone, South Africa, Mombasa, the Gulf, Singapore, Hong Kong, Bangkok, Australia and New Zealand.

Particularly exciting for me was the very first (and very last) stop on this fabulous trip – Gibraltar; that big Rock where the apes lived. I screamed inside with delight, then phoned my cousin Paul.

Welcome

27 Friday May 2016

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There are a million reasons why I love Gibraltar. Her beauty, her history, her people, her apes; how could I not love her apes? Is such a thing even possible?
Some of my million reasons come directly from feelings, memories and emotions which began when I was a boy of about 9 listening to my Royal Naval cousin Paul telling me tales of his travels; he’d been all over the world but his stories about the Rock of Gibraltar fascinated me the most. In the mind of a little boy the idea of a massive rock with apes on it was awesome – ‘…what…and people live there too?’  I knew then that I would join the Royal Navy and I would see the world, especially this Rock of Gibraltar with its apes.

More of my million reasons connect to when I was a teenager and saw the Rock for the very first time from a warship and later when I was fortunate to live there with my family in the seventies. Recently, in 2016, I realised an absolute dream and finally returned to the Rock after an absence of forty years and although I was nervous I shouldn’t have been. I felt safe, relaxed and that I belonged, as I had always felt there.

I’ll never profess to be the most skilled writer but for me that isn’t too important; my memoirs tend to be a collection of anecdotes strung together over a theme and in this case over most of my lifetime. My aim is just to write my story and touch on some of those million reasons I love Gibraltar because when I write, I’m there.

Over three chapters (1-1974, 2-1976/77/78, and 3-2016) I’ll be going back to HMS.Rooke, the Fleet Pavillion, St.Michaels Cave, Europa Point, the Mediterranean Steps, the back streets of the old town……the Small Boat Marina…Main Street…Oh, and if you want to tag along…. you’re very welcome. X Alan 🙂