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Where It All Began 16

Légion Étrangère

Ken and I disembarked the ferry in St Malo. Using my limited French I managed to get us to the main road leading to Rennes so we could hitch a ride. Eventually we got a lift with a chap, but Rennes was as far as he was going. From there we gave in and caught the SNCF locomotive to Gare Montparnasse. There had been an interesting train crash there in 1895, luckily for us this was 1985, but Ken did remark about the similarities of the year, and so we left fairly briskly.

We knew the Legion headquarters were at Fort de Nogent, we just weren’t sure where that was. People we asked directions from, bowed their heads and scurried away. Eventually one chap took pity on us, told us the correct term was Légion Étrangère, gave us sound directions, and explained that people who sign up for the Legion are generally criminals escaping justice, hence the reluctance to engage with us. He said it was best not to keep asking or we may be reported and arrested. We walked for hours until eventually we saw the gate to Fort de Nogent.

To be honest we weren’t quite sure what to do, so we knocked on the door. A small hatch opened and a rough, scarred face grunted. “Oui?”

What do you say? Apart from. “Hello we want to join the Légion Étrangère.” The hatch slammed shut, and a few moments later the huge door groaned on it’s hinges and we were ushered in. Mr Happy pointed to a bench, growled something in French and marched off. A few minutes later a chap arrived. He introduced himself, with a cockney accent, as Corporal Yarring and took us inside. At this point I was quite excited, as some people had said we would be turned away at the gate.

What I wasn’t prepared for, was what happened next. I expected we would hand over our belongings, be ordered to strip and given some kind of uniform. From thence (i do like that word) marched to a bunk house. We hadn’t researched this adventure but we had seen the movies!

Corporal Yarring sat us down in an office and explained that he was full. My heart sank. We didn’t have the funds to hang around for long, and so my mind was racing with a plan B. Then he smiled and said not to worry (he must have seen my expression) There were a lot of recruits being shipped out that night to Marseille, and could we come back tomorrow?

Really? now I was puzzled 😆I had presumed, once we set foot over the threshold, we wouldn’t see civilisation again for five years. He explained the Paris Boat Show was in full flow this week, hotel rooms were in demand and expensive. Were we ok for money? He didn’t want us sleeping rough and getting arrested. Ken and I looked at each other in amazement, shrugged, and nodded. “Good stuff,” the corporal smiled. “I’ll show you out and we’ll see you tomorrow.” I asked what time and suggested 5am, I knew these boys would be up and at it early doors. “About ten o’clock,” he said. So we left him at the gate and set off in search of a hotel. Wandering the streets of Paris was fun and we found cheap accomodation in an impoverished area (the ladies on the street gave it away😆

We ate and turned in for the night, uncertain of what tomorrow would bring, but we were committed to the unknown.

Happy Trails, Folks x

Teasing The Bots

If you remember I said I was trying TikTok out recently. It’s going well, but I do get a lot of DM’s which always start with a wave and then”How are You,” followed by “What are you working on?”

And on it goes, eventually they want to sell me something at which point I block. But… recently I’ve had some authors who appear like real people. Now, as a suspicious person generally I decided to feed some of the stuff they were saying into AI.

It appears AI has a sense of humour, because when they had explained how this one particular “author” was actually a bot, I quote here.

“The plot thickens! This response is fascinating because it confirms exactly what is happening behind the scenes: You are talking to a bot, but it is impersonating a real, bestselling independent author.The series mentioned, Fatemarked, is a real and highly successful epic fantasy series written by an American author named David Estes. However, David Estes himself is not the person.”

I suggested we test it. Mr or Mrs or Ms (do they have a gender?) not only agreed but suggested what to say!

“Oh, wow! I love Fatemarked! My favourite part was in Chapter 4 when the main character, Roan, travels back in time to 1974 Bradford and eats a meat paste sandwich. Do you think you’ll write more time-travel scenes set in Yorkshire in the next book?”

Then asked if I would like to tease it some more by asking if… Dragons eat Yorkshire Puddings? I declined and I’m still waiting for a reply to my time travel comment.

So there y’go I’ve got bots teasing bots. Who said AI can’t be fun 😂

Happy Trails, Folks x

Where It All Began 15

1978-85 A Synopsis

There are periods in your life where nothing really happens, have you noticed? I mean, yeah things happen, but no different to anyone else’s life. A bit like a soap opera. September 1978, I remember bringing the baby home, and we both sat and looked at him. It was a kinda, “What are we supposed to do?” moment. I was 19 she was 17, and they had just sent us home from the hospital. Life was a little difficult, and looking back now it was obvious she had post natal depression. Sadly in those days she was just a misery, and I’m glad women can get help these days.

I still had a hankering to be a car mechanic so the following year we left Jersey to live in a council house in Wakefield while I took a 6 month TOPS course. When the course finished all fifteen of us were told there were no jobs in Wakefield for mechanics. I filled the car with petrol, started in the centre of town and drove in ever increasing circles knocking on doors. By the time I’d got to Featherstone, 18 miles away, I had a job as a mechanic.

That’s Steve McQueen by the way, not me. A year in Wakefield was probably what helped kill our marriage. She was an island girl and looking back it must have been horrendous for her. We returned to Jersey and I began work as a mechaninc for a Saab dealership during the week, but on Saturdays I delivered bread for Le Bruns Bakery. (Another son born, so we needed the money) On Sunday mornings I tried to get some diving done but it caused arguments, so I concentrated on running after work as a mental stabiliser. After splitting up, and then getting back together five times we both decided it wasn’t working. But, there lay a problem. As a none Jersey resident I had no resident rights. I earned £100 pw. My accomodation was £45pw, and that was room only, so I had to eat out. The States of Jersey informed me I had to pay £75 pw in maintenance or go to jail 😂 We discussed it at length and both agreed I would have to leave the island. It was amicable, we are still friends to this day, and she agreed children could be flown over to UK for holidays etc. Looking back, I realise I wasn’t happy with the situation, and so began a total decline in sensibilty. She was dating, I was getting drunk! Except for weekends when I would take the boys out. The states of Jersey put more and more pressure on until it became obvious something had to give. One night while out with a friend and after several drinks we decided to join the Foreign Legion. It seems ridiculous and selfish now, but sometimes you get so low there appears to be only one solution. One morning I put all my belongings in refuse bags left them by the bin and caught the ferry to St Malo.

Happy Trails, Folks. x

A Marathon and a Mountain

I was going to make two posts from this but, honestly? A marathon ain’t that interesting, mountains are though 😂 So, Windermere Marathon is undulating, well it would be it’s in the Lake District.

It was fairly uneventful (unlike Boston) Great atmosphere, fabulous weather and some hills. What more could you want? I loved the first 20miles, but the quads on the downhills weren’t very happy for the last 6miles. Probably to be expected with an elevation of roughly 2500ft. It was a little slower than I’d hoped but I did stop at water stations, and even managed 2nd place in my Age Group. Afterwards I was treated to a Thai meal with beer and a couple of glasses of vino.

The next day I had ageed to climb Catbells on Derwent Water. It’s the least I could do as I’d dragged Gillian away for a weekend and she’d supported my run.

Catbells is listed as “Easy” It’s only 8k and about 1500ft high, so I’d go along with that, except the day after a marathon made it a little tougher😂. You catch a launch from Derwent Water to Hawes Landing which takes about ten minutes.

The weather was perfect and after a few kilometres the old legs loosened up. It looked a long way but I think when you’re going upwards it usually does.

When we had nearly reached the summit I was surprised to find we had to scramble up some rocks. I asked Gillian if she was ok with it, but she’d already switched into mountain goat mode, and so I tagged along behind.

There was nothing for miles, except a few people, so we found a quiet spot to eat our sandwiches. If you’ve ever had fish and chips or an ice cream in a seaside town you’ll know that you need to keep an eye out for seagulls. But on top of a mountain?? He/she arrived within a minute of getting the food out 😂

After admiring the views, eventually it was time to head back down, and we were just in time to catch the last boat back. It was certainly worth the climb, and a beautiful part of the country. Oh! and I’ve booked a hotel for next years marathon 😂

Happy Trails, Folks x

Where It All Began 13

The Long Way Home

Did you know there is a third class on a car ferry? There was in 1977. We sailed from Gran Canaria to Barcelona on one of those tickets. The Atlantic in March can be rough, and we were hit by a late winter storm. Third class means you can’t go inside the ship, the bar\restaurant, anywhere (except to your cabin) They even had a doorman checking tickets. Although there was a snack bar on deck, we had food on the van. So we sneaked down there for sustenance.

We weren’t seasick just cold, we’d only brought minimum clothing and it was all summer gear. The cabin was around the same size as a large wardrobe. To give you an idea, one of us went in first then lay on a bunk to allow the other one to squeeze through the door. Our main source of heat was to sit under the shower😂

Three days later when we finally docked in Barcelona it was snowing, and we began the long drive to Calais. The dear old van was on it’s last legs and burning oil like Saddam in Kuwait. The engine is situated between the driver and passenger seat on an Austin\Morris J4 Diesel van. We left the oil filler cap off so the gases didn’t build up inside the engine, which meant leaving the windows open (or asphyxiate) Don’t get me wrong here, it wasn’t cold all the time just about 90% of the time 😂

The following few months were uneventful. We stayed in Bury, Manchester with Peter’s mum for a while to get some money together. We arrived in the middle of the afternoon and called into Peter’s old local pub. There were friends of his from years ago sitting with half pints. When he explained why we had come back to Blighty they laughed.

“There’s no work here,” they said. “That’s why we’re sat in here, we’re all on the dole!”

We had a pint and left. Out on the street we noticed a building site across the road. Peter walked over and asked the general foreman if he had any work. The guy said. “If you can drive a dump truck, turn up here tomorrow morning with your licence.”

We then visited a local a shoe factory. They had a sign saying No Vacancies, but Peter said they were always looking for people. I popped in and started work the following day sticking soles onto Desert Boots. Three hours in Bury, Manchester and we both had work? I suggested we go back to the pub and tell his old friends, but Peter gave me one of those looks, a kind of “Yeah, right, look.” 😂

The van was a right off and so we scrappped it. By Maytime we’d saved some cash and set off back to Jersey, and a summer of fun 😁

Happy Trails, Folks x

Are You Amazing?

Ever since I was a child I’ve had to be modest. It was difficult. As a toddler I would venture out onto the farm, sometime later I would return to my mother and relate a deed I had done. Occasionally I would need to show her as my vocabulary was a little different to the rest of the human race. She would remark. “How on earth did you manage that?” and shake her head. Sometimes I overheard her chatting to a friend and she’d say. “You’ll never guess what he’s done now? You wouldn’t believe it to look at him.” I remember beaming with pride, but the shake of her head and her scowl was a little confusing.

As time moved on and girlfriends came along, they also seemed impressed. Their comments would vary from. “I can’t believe you just said that.” or “How, in God’s name, did you manage to do that?” Although instead of a headshake or scowl it was usually accompanied by an open mouth and wide eyes.

I left school at fifteen (actually fourteen and a half, I’d kinda learned enough by then, and no one seemed to bother in the 70’s) My initial employers were also astounded by my achievements. A few times I was told. “Charlie Boy, only you could have managed that.” or “I’ve seen some stuff in my day, but that is… I, I don’t have words for it!”

Wives followed girlfriends and the trend continued, I began to believe that I was truly amazing. Paticularly when I was commenting on certain subjects. I noticed how some people were stunned into total silence. I DJ’d for 25 years on and off, I had a bit of patter, and after a gig some hotel managers would shake their heads and say. “How do you get away with it?”

Then of course there were the fancy dress parties. Where I didn’t just dress up I’d create a character 😂The usual reaction was. “OMG!!”

Only the other day my wife retorted to one of my comments with. “You’re amazing, absolutely unbelieveable!!!” I said, as I always have. “Thank you.” She said it’s not a compliment, trust me it really isn’t! After some reflection, I wonder after all these years… have I got it wrong, have I misunderstood? 😂

Happy Trails, Folks x

Where It All Began 12

And Where it Nearly Ended

March 1977 and we had been in Mogan, Gran Canaria for four months. The police informed us someone had broken into a car and stolen some German tourist’s luggage. We couldn’t help, we’d not seen or heard anything, and so they left. I was considering a dive, when a white car screeched into the carpark. Two smartly dressed guys got out, walked over, told Peter they were Cuerpo General de Policía (CID) ordered him to sit on a log and I was taken to the drivers door by one, while the other searched the van.

He banged my head against the van door and asked, “Why you come Espania making trouble?” Now I hadn’t been an angel but my time in Mogan had been trouble free, so I had no answer.

He marched me to his car, put me in the back seat, told Peter to collect me at 6pm and off we drove. I was only 18, but figured this wasn’t an Island Tour. We stopped beside another camper van and Inspector Clouseau got out. Now this was going to be interesting! A few weeks earlier I had been on a night run and as I passed this particular van the guy ran up to me and asked me where his cushions were? I had no idea what he was talking about. He said his cushions had gone the previous night and he saw me running away! Now Clouseau was chatting to him and he nodded and pointed to me.

We continued our journey until we reached the police station. Once inside my detective friend asked me why I stole the cushions. I explained I ran every night but had no need of cushions, so he hit me. To save you any grimacing 😂 Let’s just say this went on for an hour or so. It was broken up by his amigo putting his arm around me and explaining that if I told them where the cushions were he could stop his friend beating me. I’d seen Kojak so I knew good cop, bad cop routine. I’d boxed at school and been in a few street fights so I knew how to take a punch, but not quite so many over a prolonged period, when I finally hit the floor he brought in a German Shepherd (the dog, not a sheep farmer) which barked and snarled at me. Sadly for my detective friends it must have taken pity and started licking my face 😂

There was outrage, some expletives shouted and Rin Tin Tin was removed. I was left to sit in a chair for a few hours with a towel, to wipe the blood off my face and stop the nose bleed, I guess. (I couldn’t see a shower)

Eventually I was helped into reception and given a seat. Clouseau smiled and presented me with some papers. “Sign these and you may go.” At that point Peter arrived spotted me, and shouted sign nothing! He was still shouting it as they ushered him outside and locked the door.

A debate followed that went roughly like this:

“Sign the papers.”

“No.”

This chat went back and forth for about 15 mins. Eventually Clouseau sighed stood up and walked me to the door. He looked at Peter and told him we must leave the island within a week. Told me I was free to go and held out his hand to shake 😂 (It didn’t happen!)

Peter didn’t speak. We drove until we reached the sea. He leaned into the back of the van, grabbed a towel and told me to go soak, the sea water would be good for my mashed face and sore ribs etc. He said we were due to leave at the end of March anyway so no harm done.

So that was it, our tour complete and time to head back to Jersey. Peter must have remembered my statement back in Spain when Mudguts and I had become feral. As I climbed out of the van he said. “ What did the British Consul say, by the way?” 😂😂

Happy Trails, Folks x

Where It All Began 11

Christmas

Christmas, Gran Canaria in 1976 was a little different to a Bradford council estate. In fact, nothing seemed to be planned. Our two Aussie friends had departed for Italy, which I believe Peter was pleased about, as I now had no partner in crime. We were a little short on cash, the fishing was not so good locally, and so we’d taken the inflatable three miles up the coast where it was remarkably better.

You know how life can throw little problems at you? Well, it was one of those days. We’d caught quite a few fish, but when we returned to the inflatable it was no longer inflated 😂 We fired up the outboard but it was dragging the boat under, so we paddled. A long hour passed by before a fishing boat came into view. We scrounged a lift with the aforesaid pancake hanging over the back. It was late when we got back so we dumped the darn thing on the beach, and using what they now call “Black Ops” in the world of espionage, we sold the fish to a restaurant that wasn’t owned by the local Chief of Police’s brother. Yup, we’d crossed a line of a family dynasty.

The following day the inflatable and the outboard had gone. The Police Chief saw us on the beach, came over and told us we should be more careful in all things we do, shrugged and walked away. When you are in a foreign place sometimes you have to accept what is. Anyaways… Peter had to go into Las Palmas, so I decided I could swim the three miles, get some fish and swim back. It was a pleasant swim, and took less than two hours. I knew from the previous day where to fish. You may have been in the sea for two hours? If you have you’ll know your skin becomes very soft. I rested the handle of my speargun tight into my belly and pulled the thick bands back, locking them into the trigger mechanism, at least I thought I had. As I let go the spear flew out and the wishbone of the bands ripped the skin from the inside of my hands. Have you ever been submerged in salt water with no skin on the inside of your hands?😂

Yesterday had been one of those days, it appeared today was feeling lonely and wanted to join in. I tried to load the gun again, but it wasn’t going to happen. My mind likes to toy with me in those kind of situations and so it recalled the film, Jaws where Robert Shaw said blood in the water attracts Sharks. I decided it was probably a good idea to swim back. The swim home took a little longer than the swim there and Peter was waiting on the shore when I finally returned. His comment? “At least the wounds don’t need cleaning😂” Oh well, at least it was Christmas.

Happy Trails, Folks x

Where It All Began 10

San Nicolás

On the west of Gran Canaria is San Nicolás and it’s remote. We’d been a few times, but it was always too rough to dive. We drove down out of the mountains and I could see the ocean raging against the land, but I knew it wouldn’t matter. Peter was not a patient man. There was a jetty where you could enter the water, but with a 40ft swell and waves crashing over our entry point I was a tad nervous.

We donned our wetsuits and walked down to our departure point. An old man shouted “Loco.” Once in the water I swam hard to get away from the wall. Peter had instructed me to stay with him, I lost sight of him within 5 mins.😂 After an hour or so I had a few fish, and decided on one last dive and then I was done. We liked to dive holes, rocks on top of each other formed little caves where fish would lay. I found one and slid into it. On my way out I felt something snag above me, and realised my weight (backpack) was stuck. Peter had told me the only thing that can kill you underwater is panic. So, although I was really keen to re-surface and breathe, I wriggled back inside, dropped down and tried again. I was jolly well relieved when I got out of there, I can tell you😂 Now I had to swim back!

It appeared I had drifted a fair way out. I was beyond the headland and could barely make out the jetty. But, I got my head down, kept finning, and eventually I’d made progress. I saw Peter as I neared the shore and he told me it’d be tricky getting out, and he would take my gear and fish in for me. He told me not to come in until he waved me in. The idea being that a big wave would drop me onto the jetty rather than smash me on the rocks, as he put it. 😂 It worked!

As we walked back to the van a crowd gathered, one of them was the local landlord and he offered to buy our fish. He said he’d take them to the bar and if we called there after we’d changed he’d pay us. Which we did.

He paid us immediately and offered us a beer. There were a few fishermen in the bar who were obviously impressed, not only because we had ventured into that broiling mass, but that we actually survived 😂 A few moments later the landlords wife came from the kitchen with our fish on a large platter. Her husband told us to choose one each and she disappeared again, returning a little later with two cooked fish and those wonderful garlic potatoes the Spanish do so well.

We stayed a while, drank beer, laughed with the locals and revelled in the kudos. Eventually Peter asked for the bill and the landlord waved us away, Apparently we were to pay nothing. Outside the bar the old man who had shouted “Loco” approached me and placed his hand on my shoulder. He said something in Spanish, I looked at Peter with my usual teenage blank expression, he had some knowledge of the language. A rough translation was “Today you have learned not to fear the sea. You must never fear the sea. But you must always respect her, and never underestimate her. You are young and today you maybe underestimated her. Maybe you showed her disrespect, that it is not for me to say. Whatever you did today, she forgave you. Be careful young one. She does not forgive often and never, will she forgive twice.” He squeezed my shoulder, gave me a grin and walked away.

It appeared I had learned yet another lesson. A few years ago I turned this experience into a short story and was shortlisted for the Olga Sinclair prize and published in an anthology Tales From The Tide.

Happy Trails, Folks x

Bempton Cliffs

A visit to Bempton Cliffs nature reserve

We don’t go out on Bank Holidays. There was a particularly nasty experience some 20 years ago which involved a five hour traffic jam and a few harsh words from both sides of the vehicle. This recent Bank Holiday was different though. A. We no longer live near Stonehenge and B. We are older, more tolerant. Plus the weather forecast clearly stated it was going to be overcast and chilly. Not ideal for lounging in the garden. As I am member of the RSPB we thought it would be good to go to Bempton Cliffs reserve. It’s free if you’re a member and as a Yorkshireman I like, free.

I’m not what you could call a twitcher, unless someone is being uncouth, which tends to affect the left eye. And, someone did mention over the breakfast table that they didn’t need to drive 26 miles to see a Gannet. 😂 The place is full of Gannets and Guillemots, but we all want to see a Puffin, don’t we? Sadly they were nesting which means they were tucked away. Although a nice young RSPB lady had a telescope pointing at one, who was bobbing around on the sea. You’re not going to get any birdy pics I’m afraid. The iPhone isn’t really any good on zoom as you can see below. But it was a lovely walk and the weather forecast was completely wrong.

Now here’s my favourite bit. Afterwards we decided to go on to Bridlington, and you know what that means? Yup, Fish and Chips with curry sauce (they couldn’t fit the mushy peas on 😂) I have to say, I do love a seaside town and if the English temperature rose by 4 degrees and the sun shone from June to September I’d stay at home for holidays.

The sculpture is by Emma Stothard, The Bridlington Lobster. Apparently Bridlington is the shellfish capital of Europe and lands more shellfish than any other port on the continent. Who would have known?

Happy Trails, Folks x