For many, the building in the background of the photograph shown on the left evokes an instantly recognisable image of Liverpool. Known locally as "Paddy's Wigwam", it is actually the city's Roman Catholic cathedral; and the significance of it from the point of view of this blog is that it was taken from the bedroom window of the hotel in which I stayed during a recent reunion of nuclear test veterans.
I had ridden up on Trixie, on Tuesday, and was lucky enough to have enjoyed good weather during the journey. Less fortunately, however, although I received assurances that a corner would be set aside for her in an underground car-park, that facility had closed a few weeks previously; so Trixie had to suffer the indignity of being shoved into the corner of the rubbish-strewn trade's entrance at the rear (see below left - click photos to enlarge) which didn't compare too favourably with the front of the hotel (below right). In the event, it wasn't quite as bad as it might have been because I could keep an eye on her from my room from time to time.
I had ridden up on Trixie, on Tuesday, and was lucky enough to have enjoyed good weather during the journey. Less fortunately, however, although I received assurances that a corner would be set aside for her in an underground car-park, that facility had closed a few weeks previously; so Trixie had to suffer the indignity of being shoved into the corner of the rubbish-strewn trade's entrance at the rear (see below left - click photos to enlarge) which didn't compare too favourably with the front of the hotel (below right). In the event, it wasn't quite as bad as it might have been because I could keep an eye on her from my room from time to time.
When I heard about the reunion, I passed on the information to the small group which consisted of those with whom I had shared a tent on Christmas Island in the fifties. Three of them planned to attend and I had arranged to meet up with one of them, Barry Hands, for dinner. For whatever reason, the buffet-style meal was disaster; many people (including Barry) queued for over half-an-hour. For my part, I had eaten a decent-sized salad at a motorway service station on the journey north; so, I avoided the queue by settling for a (rather large) pudding.
After breakfast on Wednesday morning, the veterans were invited to assemble in the banqueting suite - which offered us the opportunity to look for former comrades and Barry and I met some ex-Royal Navy chaps who were at the Port Camp at the same time as us.; we also saw one of our former tent-mates - along with his good lady.
Barry and I left before lunch because a Scouse former DUKW driver we had met at a previous reunion had offered to take us on a tour of Liverpool (below - centre) followed by a lovely lunch provided by his wife. Later, on the way back to the hotel, we drove through the area where I was born and visited the actual house (below - left). I hadn't seen the place since 1946.
Later, back at the hotel, we met up with another of our tent-mates, Spud Murphy, who had decided to come up from his home in Kent a day after the rest of us. In doing so he had missed the turmoil of the previous evening and, after an afternoon tea, we decided to pay a little extra to have our evening meal in a more secluded restaurant (below - right).
After breakfast on Wednesday morning, the veterans were invited to assemble in the banqueting suite - which offered us the opportunity to look for former comrades and Barry and I met some ex-Royal Navy chaps who were at the Port Camp at the same time as us.; we also saw one of our former tent-mates - along with his good lady.
Barry and I left before lunch because a Scouse former DUKW driver we had met at a previous reunion had offered to take us on a tour of Liverpool (below - centre) followed by a lovely lunch provided by his wife. Later, on the way back to the hotel, we drove through the area where I was born and visited the actual house (below - left). I hadn't seen the place since 1946.
Later, back at the hotel, we met up with another of our tent-mates, Spud Murphy, who had decided to come up from his home in Kent a day after the rest of us. In doing so he had missed the turmoil of the previous evening and, after an afternoon tea, we decided to pay a little extra to have our evening meal in a more secluded restaurant (below - right).
On a previous reunion, I had managed to get complimentary tickets for our group on the London DUKW tour and their Liverpool equivalent were happy to match their southern colleague's generosity; and, along with four other veterans, I enjoyed an interesting amphibious tour of the city centre and the waterfront area (see below).
During the previous night, I suffered from a rather nasty tummy problem; so opted to miss breakfast in an effort to make sure I could make the DUKW tour; and it seemed to have worked. However, bearing in mind I wanted to be sure to be fit enough to attend a Gala Dinner in the evening, I felt it might be pushing my luck to join Barry and Spud in a visit to the assorted museums in and around the Albert Dock area and decided to spend the afternoon in my room with a bottle of Pepto-Bismol.
In the event, I not only attended the dinner - but managed to eat almost everything which was put in front of me. The only drawback was that I had chosen to sit at the table next to the DJ's music equipment and, as a consequence, Barry, Spud, and I elected to get a breath of fresh air after the meal by going outside to stroll around the perimeter of the hotel. When we got back, a live group had started to perform - which was even louder than the CD stuff; so, we spent some time in a comfortable lounge area - thereby (allegedly) incurring the wrath of others who had remained behind.
On Friday morning, most of the veterans were going home. I, however, had arranged to remain for an extra night in order to visit the area of Liverpool where my family lived after my mother and I returned from north Wales at the end of WW2. So, after saying my goodbyes, I boarded a bus which took me within a short walk of my old school - where I was given the most thorough tour by the school's Development Manager.
It was nice to see the old place (below) and interesting to see how many academic buildings and sports facilities had been added in the very nearly sixty years since I left. However, it was sad to see that the house in which I boarded after my family moved from the Liverpool area has been demolished and replaced by some tennis courts and the tower (below - left) seems to need some work done to it.
In the event, I not only attended the dinner - but managed to eat almost everything which was put in front of me. The only drawback was that I had chosen to sit at the table next to the DJ's music equipment and, as a consequence, Barry, Spud, and I elected to get a breath of fresh air after the meal by going outside to stroll around the perimeter of the hotel. When we got back, a live group had started to perform - which was even louder than the CD stuff; so, we spent some time in a comfortable lounge area - thereby (allegedly) incurring the wrath of others who had remained behind.
On Friday morning, most of the veterans were going home. I, however, had arranged to remain for an extra night in order to visit the area of Liverpool where my family lived after my mother and I returned from north Wales at the end of WW2. So, after saying my goodbyes, I boarded a bus which took me within a short walk of my old school - where I was given the most thorough tour by the school's Development Manager.
It was nice to see the old place (below) and interesting to see how many academic buildings and sports facilities had been added in the very nearly sixty years since I left. However, it was sad to see that the house in which I boarded after my family moved from the Liverpool area has been demolished and replaced by some tennis courts and the tower (below - left) seems to need some work done to it.
From the school, I walked the route I took each day to and from the house I lived in before becoming a boarder. Incredibly, the girl who lived next-door, in those days (below left; with 'our' old house in the background), still lives there and she spent some time bringing me up-to-date with the lives of former friends and neighbours.
We didn't chat for too long, however, because the incredibly helpful Paddy Hoey, with whom I had become friendly on Twiiter, collected me in his car and drove me around the area. A previous blog outlines my reaction to the experience; and, to sum it up, I was surprised by how much had changed; however, my primary school (below - lower left) had retained parts which I could still remember. Rather less recognisable, though, were the off-shore wind turbines and the controversial 100 figures dotted around Crosby beach (below right).
We didn't chat for too long, however, because the incredibly helpful Paddy Hoey, with whom I had become friendly on Twiiter, collected me in his car and drove me around the area. A previous blog outlines my reaction to the experience; and, to sum it up, I was surprised by how much had changed; however, my primary school (below - lower left) had retained parts which I could still remember. Rather less recognisable, though, were the off-shore wind turbines and the controversial 100 figures dotted around Crosby beach (below right).
Although the tour of Crosby was memorable, the bus journey back to Liverpool city centre had an ever greater impact on me (as outlined in the aforementioned blog) because of the enormous changes which have occurred since I left. I wouldn't have missed the experience, though, and my nostalgic visit to Liverpool was well-worth the effort and I'm so much indebted to Paddy for his input.
On Saturday morning, after, checking out of the hotel and rescuing Trixie from her unpleasant surroundings, I exited Liverpool through The Mersey Tunnel (above) and headed towards north Wales; where I planned to visit my aunt in the rest-home.
On the way, I caught sight of a sign to The Dale Military Camp on the outskirts of Chester. I was stationed there in 1956; so, headed towards the guardroom; where, despite the overly-pedantic attitude of the former-Gurkha security staff, a young soldier checked with a superior officer and was given permission to escort me around the camp. Hardly surprisingly, it had changed almost beyond recognition; however, I was able to work out where our wooden hut accommodation used to be.
Later, after a brief visit to my aunt, I headed towards Snowdonia and home; stopping on the way to take a picture of one of my wife's favourite spots. I had taken a photo of her sitting on the rock in the background during our honeymoon and, in the spirit of first time experiences, that photo (below left) is the first one I've ever taken with a mobile phone. I suspect I might have to take some measures to clean the lens at some time. In the meantime, somewhat appropriately (bearing in mind where the first photo in this blog was taken) the final photograph was taken from the bedroom window of a charming riverside inn I stayed at on Saturday night on the banks of the River Severn.
The final leg home of Sunday was pleasant - but uneventful.
On the way, I caught sight of a sign to The Dale Military Camp on the outskirts of Chester. I was stationed there in 1956; so, headed towards the guardroom; where, despite the overly-pedantic attitude of the former-Gurkha security staff, a young soldier checked with a superior officer and was given permission to escort me around the camp. Hardly surprisingly, it had changed almost beyond recognition; however, I was able to work out where our wooden hut accommodation used to be.
Later, after a brief visit to my aunt, I headed towards Snowdonia and home; stopping on the way to take a picture of one of my wife's favourite spots. I had taken a photo of her sitting on the rock in the background during our honeymoon and, in the spirit of first time experiences, that photo (below left) is the first one I've ever taken with a mobile phone. I suspect I might have to take some measures to clean the lens at some time. In the meantime, somewhat appropriately (bearing in mind where the first photo in this blog was taken) the final photograph was taken from the bedroom window of a charming riverside inn I stayed at on Saturday night on the banks of the River Severn.
The final leg home of Sunday was pleasant - but uneventful.
