Our English Adventure #3

The ship berthed at Southampton at midday. It was 1964 and the stevedores were on strike, and so we had to stay on board for hours until our luggage could be taken off and we eventually disembarked at the end of the day. Waiting at the foot of the gangplank was another naval officer, who had been waiting since midday for his winter uniform which Dad had undertaken to bring from Cape Town so that he didn't need to have a new one tailored. You can imagine he was slightly annoyed at the wait, but we eventually ended up as good friends and remain so to this day. That was our first experience of a British labour strike.

We were met by a Royal Navy petty officer who put us and the luggage in a 'tilly' - a kind of panel van - and took us to the station. There we were deposited on the platform, Mom, Dad and three young children in a strange land with just a train ticket to Plymouth. We were now on our own. An uneventful train ride took us to Plymouth at 10pm, where it was dark. We only had a few pounds on us and had no idea of its worth - the rest was Rands - no assistance for us in those days, you had to learn by your own experience! Dad hailed a taxi and asked for a reasonable hotel, and soon we were in front of a place which would have to do. Our rooms were on opposite sides of the passage and the whole place smelled of gas - Mom was up all night checking to see that her daughters were still alive - and the next day we left the dingy place in search of more suitable accommodation.

Next stop was a bright and airy hotel overlooking Plymouth Hoe. Lawns spread out before us, with the sea beyond - almost like home - and we explored the seafront, reading about the Spanish Armada and how Sir Francis Drake had spotted it from the very place we were standing. How marvellous to be in a place of such antiquity and history! Meanwhile, Dad went off to work - no settling in - and his first task was to find somewhere for us to live. Two days later, we packed up again and piled into a taxi, which took us to a row of terraced houses in a place called Mannamead. (I looked it up on Google today and it is shown as one of the most desirable areas of Plymouth today. I have no idea how it was regarded in the 60s!) The photo below is of the house we lived in and a view of the interior, prompted by some rare sunshine.

We were now officially living in England!