Norwich 1945

I was recently privileged to be loaned a document which was never intended for the public domain and which set out how it was planned for Norwich to be after the war.  

Due to bomb damage there was a perfect opportunity for a complete rethink of the City, some plans which came to fruition.  

Those of you who know Norwich will be aware that the majority of the riverside area is now given over to commercial premises and private housing.  Interesting that all those years ago the river was looked on as a public asset. 

I found this link on Flickr which might be of interest.  The pictures are taken from the 1945 document but some of them may be earlier photos.
Photos 

60 years ago

I was at school when the King died and can remember being called into an assembly where the news was broken.  It was very sad and a lot of girls were crying but I didn't cry as I hadn't really known much about The King and my parents, although loyal to the monarchy, weren't strong royalists.

My father made a television for the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II - the screen was about 10 inches in an enormous wooden cabinet but we were the only people in the road with a telly!  I remember we had flags out at the front of the house.

Snow

We woke up to about 4 inches yesterday and the birds tapping on the window, pointing at their mouths like Simon's cat.  I counted 16 blackbirds on the crab apple tree, the fence and the ground at one point - and one fieldfare.  The photo is one I took earlier ....

During a walk through the village in the afternoon we saw an igloo

 

and a promise of spring in the churchyard.

 Home to a warming cuppa and fruit cake.

 

Mother's letters

A series of draft letters taken from my mother’s notebook between the time of my father’s death in 1994 and her death in 1998 (aged 91).  I have reproduced the letters faithfully, down to the punctuation and capitalisation.

In the words of my eldest brother “I knew she was mentally active to the end (and remember her getting pretty annoyed about some of the topics covered here) but I hadn't realised she was still firing off bombshells to the press.”

We have no reason to believe that these letters were not sent.

Letter to the vicar of Bovey Tracey Parish Church

Dear Mr S.

I have waited a few weeks since my husband’s death to write to you in order to clarify my thoughts.

I am writing about your refusal to hold the funeral service for my husband in the Parish Church on the grounds that he apparently lived outside the Parish boundary. This ruling does not appear to be known by anyone in Bovey Tracey whom I know and in particular not by the local Undertakers.

My husband and I thought the Parish Church a beautiful Church and I wanted the service there, also as many of our family would be coming a long way and many of our friends are old, we did not want the additional journey to the Crematorium and when Mr H. told us that the Committal Service could be held in the Church instead of the Crematorium my children and I thought this an ideal arrangement.

When Mr H. telephoned to say that you would not take the Service we were all dismayed.  My husband after many years of illness had had a very peaceful ending, falling asleep without pain in his own bed with his family around him. The only discordant note sadly came from the Church.

Mr H. said we must have the Service at St Johns, a Church we had never been into and which we knew to be very High Church.  My husband & I have always been Low Church; in fact my husband came of Quaker stock.  Probably fortunately it was the new Priest’s day off & he could not take the service & for various important family reasons the funeral had to be on the Monday.

In the end we had the Service at the Crematorium & it was a very simple & moving service.  My daughter wrote a tribute to her father on which Canon Hosking based his address.  The Chapel was packed; people were having to stand, which may give some indication of the kind of man my husband was, & how much he was loved & respected.

To go back to the reason for your refusal, I have been told of many examples of people from outside the Parish having the Service in the Church.

I can therefore only conclude that when you gave the boundary reason you were being “economical with the truth” & the real reason was because you had not seen us in Church.  You did not attempt to find out anything about us – our age, our state of health, how long we had lived here or what our previous relations with the C of E had been.  2 of my near neighbours are regular Church goers, one being a Sidesman.  If one of them died would you send them to St Johns?  Of course you would not.

At the time all the family were naturally very sad and I think we were justified in expecting to be treated with compassion.

One reads of declining congregations in the C. of E. & I cannot but think that this kind of experience is rather bad P.R.  I know my family is completely disillusioned.  Being very old myself I hope that I have learnt enough not to judge the whole Church on one insensitive representative.

I am going to mention another matter which saddened me. I was so pleased when Mr H. told me that you were Welsh.  I am not Welsh, but I was born in Wales.  I went to School in Wales & I have always had Welsh friends, whose friendship was shared by my husband after our marriage 62 years ago.  We loved Wales & spent many holidays there, & I told Mr H. it would give me pleasure to have a Welshman taking the Service. As with my attitude to the Church I am not stupid enough to condemn a whole race because I was disappointed in one member.

I am sending this letter in the hope that consideration of it might prevent some other family experiencing our distress.

********************************

Letter to a newspaper (probably the Independent).

I have always appreciated J.N’s news reviews.  I am sorry that his column this week made me angry.  I am getting tired of journalists sneering at people who care for animals, implying that therefore they don’t care for people.  In my experience people who have compassion usually show it to all living things.

However, what really made my blood boil was his statement that in the 40’s people didn’t “give a damn” about the treatment of the Jews.  I know he slipped in the words “in authority” but it was obvious from the juxta position to his previous comments that he meant that generation.  Well, at 88 I am of that generation and I wonder what more he thinks could have been done beyond fighting & winning a war.  If Hitler had won I doubt if the Jewish race would not exist in Europe. 

Even in the mid thirties, my late husband and I, young & newly married met young Jews from Germany being sheltered by friends while waiting for permanent homes.  What on earth does J.N. think could have been done at the time.  There are many injustices in the world today which are almost impossible to rectify.

As to his sneers about comfortable middle class oh so English people caring about cruelty to animals I would make a guess they are mainly the same people who subscribe to Amnesty International.

*****************************

Letter to Miles Kington, the Independent.

Dear Mr Kington

In best journalese I am an “88 year old housebound with arthritis widowed grandmother”, so I can probably call you Miles.  In any case I feel I know you.  Don’t worry about my description, I am not hungry or cold & have a lovely family & dear friends near.

I am writing because I have a problem.  Mornings are rather bad & I creep into the kitchen to make my breakfast – tea, toast, fruit juice & to collect my pills & the Independent.

I creep back to bed with these on my wonderful S.S. * trolley.  While eating my breakfast & taking my pills I start to read the Independent – the duty bits first, then you (unless, of course, Andrew Marr is in).              * Social Services

By this stage I feel fine, ready to get up & face my small world.  Now, this is my problem – is this “feel good” effect brought on by my breakfast, my two steroids & one Ibuprofen, or by my laughing out loud at your column?  I think I know.  Keep up the good work & thank you!

******************************

Letter to a newspaper (probably the Independent).

I feel so ashamed of the United Nations, i.e. the Nations which comprise it.  I have worked (Flag Days, Jumble Sales, you name it) for years in support of the U.N.A. & before that the L N U (League of Nations?).  We tried to disseminate information & encourage support for collective security.  When, in my young days, my friends & I campaigned for Sanctions against Italy when Mussolini invaded Abasynia (sic) I never thought that in my very old age nothing would have improved.

I hate war but this is an imperfect world & if there must be military force I have always hoped that eventually it would only be employed in support of collective security & against aggression.

In the 30’s we knew we had little clout as the USA was not in the League.  However their membership of the UN has not made much difference as they still will not risk their skins, unless, of course, there is oil involved.

Of course I do not want our soldiers or soldiers of any other nation to suffer but they must know that one of the hazards of military service is having to fight. 

I have been impressed by the quality of all the professional soldiers of every nationality interviewed by the media.  I think they have been ready to fight to save the long suffering Bosnians, but they have been let down by Politicians.

It is probably too late now to do anything to save the situation.  What a tragedy caused by political considerations.

**********************************

Letter to a newspaper (probably the Independent).

Dear P.T.

In one of your articles you appeared to support old people having to give up all they had to pay outrageous sums for Nursing Home fees.

I would like to put another point of view.  If the old person has enough money to leave to set their family up in luxury it is probable that their income would be enough for their fees without the need to use capital.  The really poor including the (unreadable) will have their fees paid by Social Security.

Those of us who have little but our modest homes to leave to our children and grandchildren, which my husband & I always hoped to do.

I am 88.  My husband died last year after years of illness and dementia.  I cared for him myself & he died at home.  We had never been unemployed & had paid our taxes & other dues.  We were lucky enough to have good health until our eighties so we made little call on the NHS. 

Our children were born in private Nursing Homes & a large part of their education was private & they also have been lucky with their health so far.  I am telling you this to show that we have not taken much from the State.  It seems unfair that I am terrified that I may end my days in a Home.

At present with the help of a lovely family I can cope, but I come from a long living family (I should really touch wood!).

****************************

Letter to a newspaper (probably the Independent).

Dear Sir

I was pleased to see that someone had pointed out that it is correct to lay bottles down.  So many people (including the Prime Minister) are uncertain on this point that I would like to quote my Mother who, in order to impress on me the need for an object to the verb, used to say “a hen lays eggs & you lay the table!”

The grammatical error which irritates me most, however, is the use of the wrong personal pronoun when used with another person.  This is done so often by people (including Journalists) who should know better that I will again quote my Mother who told me to leave out the other person in my mind & decide what sounded right.

I have always been grateful that when I was educated Latin & Grammar formed part of the Curriculum.  However at the age of 88 I sometimes think blissful ignorance might be less stressful than pedantic irritation.

*********************************

Letter written probably to the Independent.

I am horrified at the behaviour of the two parties’ politicians about Harriet Harman’s young son.  Should Harriet Harman have said to her bright young son “Sorry son you were born at the wrong time & you are entering (unreadable) education after 17 years of Tory rule so that the comprehensive system has been allowed to run down but we can’t allow you to take advantage of what is available because it wouldn’t be like that if Labour had been in power”.  What rubbish!

It isn’t H.H. who will stop Labour winning the Election but these ideological dinosaurs.

As an 89 year old lifelong Liberal now a Lib. Dem I was beginning to lean towards New Labour as I am sure are many “floating voters” who feel the same but the blinkered attitude of the old Left will warn them off.  I would guess that if members are leaving the Labour party it is not because of Harriet Harman’s little boy but because of the abuse directed towards her.  I have thought for a long time that the Labour Party has a death wish.

There are then about 9 pages of letters written in shorthand, which I have tried to decipher but I think are just family letters.

Letter to the BBC re a Radio 4 programme.

Dear Mr Rees

First, I enjoy your Programme “Quote – Unquote” very much & this has prompted me to write to you.

I enclose a copy of a nonsense quote which I have known all my life (I am nearly 90).  I was taught it orally as a child by my father who must have learnt it in his childhood, as one of his sisters confirmed to me.  She could also recite it when in her 70s.

For some reason, probably the advent of Radio, I have not passed it on to my children.  However, occasionally I quote it in some context & I did this in the hearing of one of my daughter’s-in-law, who looked it up in the Oxford Dictionary of Quotations.  This was the first time I had seen it written down.

From somewhere in the past I had the impression it was by Swift but I see it is by Samuel Foote.  I don’t know how far in the past it was quoted in my father’s family as my grandfather died before I was born.  My father was born in 1877.  I should be interested to know if you have ever heard it before, as I know no-one who has.

Unfortunately she didn’t write down the quote so I have no idea what it was!!

Some Samuel Foote quotes below but no way of knowing if her quote was one of these:-

a)  Born in a cellar... and living in a garret.

b)  Death and the dice level all distinctions.

c)  He is not only dull in himself, but the cause of dullness in others.

d)  So she went into the garden to cut a cabbage-leaf, to make an apple-pie; and at the same time a great she-bear, coming up the street, pops its head into the shop. ‘What! No soap?’ So he died, and she very imprudently married the barber.

e)  When house and land are gone and spent, then learning is most excellent.

NB  I have been told by my brother that the quote is d) but with additions, so reads as follows:

SAMUEL FOOTE (1720 - 1777)

So she went into the garden to cut a cabbage leaf, to make an apple pie; and at the same time a great she-bear, coming up the street, pops its head into the shop.  ‘What! No soap?’  So he died, and she very imprudently married the barber; and there were present the Picninnies, and the Joblillies, and the Garyalies, and the grand Panjandrum himself, with the little round button at top, and they all fell to playing the game of catch as catch can, till the gunpowder ran out at the heels of their boots.

A farrago composed by Foote to test the vaunted memory of the actor Charles Macklin.

*********************

A letter to a newspaper, possibly the Observer

Sir
Andrew Rawnsley's "unthinkable thoughts" have stimulated me to make the following responses.

1.  Of course Britain should get rid of her nuclear weapons. They are an anachronism.
2.  What a delightful thought to give away Northern Ireland. Unfortunately, no-one would have it.
3.  A serious thought, this. We should hang on to our seat on the Security Council. If the Nations lived up to the Charter, our troubles would be over.
4.  It would probably be more expensive to move Parliament round the country.
5.  We must hang on to our Monarchy. The alternative is too appalling, just look at America. It's a case of holding on to Nurse .....
6.  I do not know much about drugs but remembering the disaster of Prohibition in the U.S.A. it might be worth looking at the decriminalisation of so called soft drugs.
7.  The money for the Police should certainly not be cut, but Prison money could be more usefully employed e.g. in rehabilitation.
8.  Road building could be stopped but not replacing (?). Living in rural Devon I am less committed to reduction on car ownership. (Oh dear the cult of self interest must be getting to me!).
9.  Health Service money needs increasing but not without limits as that would encourage unnecessary extravagance.
10. All public utilities should definitely be run by the State. Why is Government money always a subsidy while private money is an investment?
11. The Trade Unions should not have more political power. Strikes should not be supported or opposed purely for political reasons.
12. I agree most strongly that Income Tax should be raised combined with less opportunity for avoidance to finance the running of the country, but fairly & rationally. However, as an 89 year old widowed Pensioner paying no Income Tax, I would say that, wouldn't I?

********************************

Letter to a catalogue from which she used to buy clothes.

I am writing to thank you for sending me the £3 which I over paid on my recent order. As it was a voucher which I omitted to deduct I thought I would have to accept the mistake to teach me to be more careful. I offer as an explanation but not an excuse the fact that I am 90 years of age. However your efficiency has restored my faith in human nature.

I am very pleased with the articles but then I always am, though I sometimes wish you made a shorter trouser leg.

**********************************

Letter to her Member of Parliament

Dear Mr N.

I am writing about the free vote which will take place in the Commons on 28 Nov, regarding hunting with dogs. I feel strongly about this & I would hope that in spite of representing a mainly rural constituency, you might consider giving it your vote.

I am not a member of any Animal Rights Project, nor do I indulge in anthropomorphism (nor do I object to humane culling), but I find beyond belief the cruelty involved in hunting down & tearing to pieces wild animals. I cannot understand the mentality of the people who enjoy this & call it a sport & some of whom having lost their case in the High Court against the National Trust on Exmoor, can talk of taking it to the European Court, without any shame.

I may add that Alan Clark is not one of my favourite people but I admire his stand against hunting.

********************************

Letter to the Independent

Dear Sir

I have read the Independent since it started & tho' I do not always agree with its point of view, I am still reading it.

However, today has nearly finished me. I am not a very enthusiastic Monarchist but I prefer the Queen to the ballyhoo of a Presidential Election ending up perhaps with a "Clinton".  It is the insult to the Queen on your front page which I think was quite unnecessary. Not a word in the paper about the Golden Wedding & an obviously deliberate insult in the heading & picture on page 1.  Bad manners will do you no favours.

********************************

This was her last letter before her death aged 91, in April 1998.

 

Lost keys

On Wednesday last week I really wished that I had bought one of those 'key finding' gadgets that used to be popular a few years' back!

A set of car and house keys were 'lost', not by me I hasten to add but by R.  We spent two days searching for these keys, ringing round family and places we had visited to see if they had been found.  The house was searched from top to bottom, under sofas, in drawers, even in the freezer.  The cars were searched, under the seats, in the boot, down the back of the seats ....

Our days were reconstructed in detail and we felt sure we knew the last time the keys had been in use but, one of the afflictions of old age being memory loss, there was no certainty of this.

The first night, we lay awake until 3 am discussing possibilities but by the second night, anticipating sleeplessness, we decided we had to let it go.  Not so easy, every toss and turn woke us with minds spinning as to places we hadn't looked.

It was decided that a new set of house keys would be cut from the only set left as soon as businesses opened after New Year. 

I went out to my car this morning to put some supermarket bags in the boot (I like to keep them there so I don't have to remember to take them every time) and thought 'I'll just do one more search' - not having done this myself up until now.  I lifted out my spare shoes, two umbrellas, some new windscreen wipers and there they were - the 'lost' keys!

All that stress over the last few days, which could have been put to better use!!  I think a reward of some sort is called for ......

The plumber cometh?

In July/August of this year I mentioned to a plumber acquaintance that the kitchen tap needed replacing as it had virtually seized up with limescale and also the bathroom wash basin taps needed replacing as the chrome finish had discoloured.  OK, he said.

Early September he asked if he could come round to inspect the taps so he knew what was required.  OK, I said.

The penultimate day of September he rang to ask if he could come 'after 10 am' the following day.  As we were planning a rare long weekend away I asked if he could be more specific and we eventually agreed a set time.  He was early for this appointment which bode well, looked at what was required and went away, saying he would contact me when the taps arrived.  OK, I said.

A week or so later I received a phone call, asking if I could take photos of the taps with certain measurements and email them to him.  OK, I said.

It then went very quiet until around late November when two boxes were delivered, containing taps - followed by a phone call asking if I would inspect them and advise if they were suitable.  OK, I said.

Inspection duly took place and plumber advised of suitability and asked to let me know when he could come and fit them.  OK, he said.

It is now a week before Christmas and there is still no sign of the plumber coming to fit the taps.  The kitchen cold tap now completely refuses to work at all and has been dismantled to the extent that it takes a large spanner to turn it on.  Not very convenient if I need a glass of water in the middle of the night!  I have today resorted to writing to Father Christmas with a plea for new taps for Christmas and just hope that he will say OK.

HAPPY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!

Found in my memories box!

This was written in 1977 so will not read as cynically as I might write these days! 

It all started when my husband* said “why don’t you come away with me.”  I should explain that he is a pilot with a cargo carrying airline and his company allows wives one trip a year with their husbands.  The aircraft operate rather like a tramp steamer, hopping from one port of call to another, dropping off cargo and collecting a new load.  As the flight was going on a round trip to Hong Kong and it was mid winter in the UK, the idea of a couple of weeks away from the cold and fog was very appealing.  However, there were details to be arranged, most important of which would be a visa for a certain Middle East country.  As we had been given only a few days’ notice, frantic phone calls and telexes were exchanged and we eventually received the information that it could all be fixed up when we got there.   

So, with a suitcase packed for all eventualities we set off to the airport at 7.30 on a cold, windy, rainy February morning.  The aircraft was carrying what seemed to be Hi Fi equipment for Hong Kong (coals to Newcastle, I thought) and it was going to be a working trip for me, as chief cook and bottle washer, which included tea at very frequent intervals for the crew of three.  I took the orders, weak, no milk, 1 sugar and lemon for the Captain, weak, milk but no sugar for the 1^st Officer and strong, milk and two sugars for the Engineer.  Tea was requested to be served 20 minutes after take off and thereafter as regularly as I care to make it.  As we had an eleven hour flight I was going to be busy!  Having solved the eccentricities of the “hot cup” and avoided scalding myself on the first attempt, I settled down to enjoy the flight.  As the cargo bay opened directly on to the flight deck there was no feeling of being shut off and I felt I was participating in the whole thing.  My first fright was as we climbed, some large drums of paint or similar sent out loud cracking noises due to pressure changes which had me leaping onto the flight deck, where it was all explained to me.  The next fright was a slight pressure leak around the door (quite normal I was told) which the Engineer quickly stuffed up with paper towel!  I caught myself wondering whether British Airways had to do the same, and what the reactions of the passengers would be! The tedium of the flight was broken, apart from the tea and sandwich making duties, by being allowed to sit in the pilot’s seat and having the dials etc explained to me.

We landed at 1 am in Oman to find only minor officials on duty, none of whom spoke English, so we handed over our passports and were drive to a very welcoming bed.  At 9 am the same morning, we awoke to an insistent knocking on the bedroom door and on staggering to open it, found a very beautiful local policewoman outside, who asked that I should dress and accompany her to see the Chief of Police.  In a slight panic we dressed and were escorted to a police Landrover.  I was not allowed to ride with my husband in the back but was ushered into the front between the policy lady and a stern policeman driver.  I was feeling decidedly uneasy as we bumped out way over the rough roads to the airport.  The Police Chief turned out to be a charming man, but he wanted to know why I had no visa.  We explained the situation but this wasn’t good enough and we were told that I would have to see the Chief Immigration Officer.  We discovered later that quite a few people had been hitching rides to and from the Far East and arriving in this country without visas and it was very unlucky that I was the one they picked on to “make an example of.”  Anyway, we were all piled into the Landrover, this time without the police lady as I think they realised I wasn’t going to make a break for it, and set off.  100 yards up the road, the policeman swung off into the bondu and drove towards what I was certain was the local gaol.  I immediately had pictures of being locked up in a small airless cell with dozens of locals with bread and water being pushed through the bars, but he drove round the back to some small houses, stopped and got out.  We sat there for a while feeling hot, sticky and more than a little hungry until he suddenly appeared again in a gleaming Datsun, bedecked with dangling furry things and charms etc and invited us to climb in, saying he thought we would be more comfortable.  He was obviously very proud of his car and his 8 track stereo which he played at full volume all the eight or so miles to the town, stopping occasionally to chat to friends and wave at other police patrols.

The Immigration Offices are set in a very imposing modern building with mosaic floors, high ceilings and long corridors.  The Immigration Officer was ex Hong Kong police and had obviously been used to dealing with hardened criminals.  He sat us on the other side of his large desk and proceeded to tell us that he was going to complain to the Foreign Office about me, there would be a diplomatic incident, the aircraft would be impounded, the Captain personally would be fined $100,000 and I would have to leave on the next aircraft.  At this point I burst into tears, which I think was the best thing I could have done, because he softened somewhat and after a stern lecture he said he would stamp my passport and allow me to stay until our aircraft left, two days later.  Feeling much relieved, we were driven back to the company’s rest house, where we spent a pleasant couple of days sitting in the sun.  Even so, I was even more relieved when we got out to the aircraft to leave for Bangkok, only to find that one of the engines wouldn’t start.  At that point I very nearly refused to leave the aircraft again as I was convinced that this time they would lock me up.  However, we dashed over to the air terminal where we just caught the Chief of Police before he went off for the normal three hour “lunch hour” and explained the position, whereupon I was given permission to stay until the aircraft was mended.  To cut a long story short, we had to wait another 18 hours whilst a ground engineer was flown out from UK with parts and the poor man then had to work on the aircraft in boiling temperatures, having missed a night’s sleep.  He promptly fell asleep in the bunk when we finally got airborne and slept for the entire next leg.

Our next stop was Bangkok and we only had about 18 hours on the ground during which time we had to sleep but we did manage to go shopping for rubies!  The jewellers were like Aladdins caves to me and I could have spent hours just looking, but we were soon back in a taxi heading for the airport.  The driving in Bangkok is bad and our driver was appalling.  He had apparently been working all night and was ill, and kept dropping off to sleep and awaking with loud retching noises!

The flight to Hong Kong was uneventful but I was rather disappointed that we had to land on the runway from the sea direction, rather than heading for the chequer board in the middle of the skyscrapers and then suddenly turning to approach the runway from the land.  We had a bit of luxury in Hong Kong and, after bathing and changing, we spent a couple of hours sitting in the lounge at the top of the Sheraton Hotel watching the lights on Hong Kong island.

A small incident took place on the way out through Immigration in Hong Kong.  I had, in my handbag, a penknife and this was picked up on the x-ray machine which all the baggage had to go through.  A small Chinese lady rummaged in my bag, produced the knife, opened it and went into consultation with her colleagues.  Oh dear, I thought, here we go again.  I tried to explain that it was for cutting up lemons for the Captain’s tea which, to my relief, she accepted and then tried to close the penknife again.  Her small fingers couldn’t manage it and she handed it to me; I snapped it shut whereupon she uttered a scream and covered her eyes with her hands, no doubt expecting to see my fingers drop to the floor!

Our next port of call on the round trip was Karachi where again we only had a night stop.  I was very tired by this time and after a superb meal we crashed out in the motel.  Sometime in the early hours, we were woken by a scuffling, rustling noise and, on putting the light on were horrified to see a large rat on the table opposite the bed, trying to gnaw its way into the polythene bag which contained the butter and cheese we had brought off the aircraft to keep cool.  As the light went on, the rat shot off the table, scuttled across the room and disappeared.  Being too tired to do much about it we dosed off again, to be woken a second time by the same noise.  This time we came wide awake and hurled an empty lemonade can at the rat, which shot off the table again and this time went under my bed.  I was horrified by this and after taking my courage in both hands, I hung over the edge of the bed to see if I could discover where it had gone.  I could see no holes in the wall and we eventually assumed that the rat lived in the divan base of my bed!  We decided to leave the light on but needless to say I didn’t get much more sleep that night.  When we told the receptionist next morning, he shrugged his shoulders, and we assumed that it was quite a natural occurrence for them.

A brief refuelling stop in Baghdad and hours flying over nothing but sand, Istanbul was our next stop.  We stayed outside the city and caught the train to take a look at the bazaar.  We were minutely examined from head to toe by the other passengers in the carriage who seemed fascinated by our jeans and shoes!  Unfortunately it had been raining and the streets were awash with mud but we picked our way through to the Bazaar which was a huge arcade filled with little shops laden with all kinds of goodies, leather ware, brass, copper, rugs, cheesecloth clothes etc.  We were immediately recognised as being ‘tourists’ and as it was off season, we were pounced upon as soon as we set foot inside the arcade.  Men were clutching at our sleeves and whispering in our ears and we nearly backed out again rapidly until one of them asked if we were Australian.  Upon our reply that we were English, they all faded away in disgust and we were left to browse without being disturbed!  Despite our slight mortification at being considered the poor relations, we did manage to find a few bargains.

When we finally emerged, blinking, into the open air again, we found that we had come out in a completely different part of the town to where we went in, consequently had completely lost our sense of direction and could recognize no landmarks.  We could find no-one who spoke English and wandered around for about two hours until eventually we fell exhausted into a taxi, told the driver the name of the village where we were staying and indicated in sign language that we wished to go by train.  He appeared to understand, but after travelling for ages, we arrived at a hotel with the name of our village!  By this time we had more or less given up, but a stroke of luck as we set off again, we recognised a Mosque and there was the station.

Our last evening in Turkey was made very pleasant by the motel proprietors who invited us to eat with them and their family.  About 20 of us sat down to a huge spread of lamb, dozens of vegetables and salads and many bottles of delicious wine.

The rest of the trip was uneventful and, apart from being ogled by the burly Austrian handlers in Vienna where we stopped briefly to unload some cargo, there was no more excitement. 

Our family was pleased to see us back.

* now ex husband