A Pocketful of Holes and Dreams (13 page)

We drove on to Lucerne, then turned south towards Spain. Barry had come up with a great idea – to go to Gibraltar. He was sure we’d find work there, as we were English. But Gibraltar was a long way away, and after a few days on the road we decided to stop off in Monte Carlo. The view of the harbour as we drove down through the hills was breathtaking. But it was not until we got out of the Land Rover, having found somewhere to park, that the enormity of the wealth there really hit us.

We just stood and stared. Neither of us had ever seen so many large yachts before, some almost as big as the small cruise liners that had occasionally moored in Liverpool. Looking at the millions of pounds worth of boats, we were completely at a loss for words. This was a far cry from the world we had grown up in.

As we walked along, I noticed a young lady standing on the deck of one of the yachts, polishing the rails. She was very tall and slim and didn’t seem to be wearing very much. As we got closer, I realized she was topless! That was unheard of back in those days. And she was not alone – there were five of these goddesses. Like a couple of kids, Barry and I started to laugh, pushing each other about, unable to believe our luck. For two Liverpool lads straight off the boat, this was beyond our wildest imaginings.

We spent the next ten minutes or so slowly walking up and down the harbour front, eyes sharply turned in the direction of the yacht. There was a man with grey hair on it, sitting on a wooden recliner, a glass of champagne on a small table beside him. He was reading a paper, and wasn’t really aware of the reaction his ‘crew’ was having on two lads from Liverpool. One of his girls must have said something, however, because as we walked past for about the tenth time he lowered his paper, loftily peering over the top of the page at us both, one eyebrow slanted in amusement.

Spirits raised, we carried on down the coast of Spain, slowly getting closer to Gibraltar. It was a long, hot and dusty journey, and when we finally arrived at the border, we were told it was closed because of an international border dispute.

Clearly in sight and less than two hundred yards away was what we were now thinking of as a little slice of English heaven. But it might just as well have been hundreds of miles away. The border guard told us that the only way to reach our destination was to drive further south to Algeciras, catch the boat to Tangiers and then a boat from Tangiers to Gibraltar. It took us forty-eight hours.

When we finally got there, we walked around the town enjoying the very English feel of it all, and treated ourselves to a couple of pints of English ale and some fish and chips. There was no work, though, unless we wanted to join the Moroccan gangs of men who were repairing the famous Rock. Sweltering heat and a few pesetas a day was not what we were looking for, so deflated, disillusioned and with our funds running low, we returned to Spain. It had been a long way to come for a couple of pints of bitter and a bag of fish and chips!

Barry and I were beginning to hate that Land Rover. We were sick of spending all our days and nights in it, and it was also a real gas guzzler, only doing around seventeen miles to the gallon. It was eating its way through our funds with alarming speed.

Two weeks after leaving Gibraltar, we pulled up in a small village not far from Barcelona, Lloret del Mar, one of the first package-holiday destinations. We were literally down to a handful of notes by the time we found somewhere to park.

This time there was no casual stroll around the village; we were job-hunting with a vengeance. After visiting several bars asking for work, a Spanish waiter told us of a place further up the sea front that was looking for staff, so feeling a little more positive, we set off.

He was right: there was a notice in the window advertising for an experienced English-speaking barman and a kitchenhand. Before going in, Barry told me to leave all the talking to him, saying he was far more experienced than me and we couldn’t afford to make any mistakes.

I’d never pulled a pint in my life, so I spent the first night in my new job standing quietly aside watching the Spanish barman, Carlos, going through his routine – throwing ice cubes and bottles up in the air and garnishing the glasses with slices of orange or lemon. All too soon, it was my turn. Three English tourists came up and one called out, ‘Three beers, mate!’ This was it!

Picking up a glass and trying to keep my hand steady, I placed it under the beer pump. Trying to remember how I had seen my fellow barman do it, I slowly pulled down on the handle. There was a loud hiss, followed by a series of splattering noises, and beer came spitting into the glass. Froth flew everywhere, followed by droplets of beer, and the three customers sitting in front of me were pebbledashed with frothy flecks of San Miguel. Carlos threw his hand over mine, pushing the pump handle backwards and cutting off the stream of beer that was now flowing everywhere, then poured three beers for the British tourists, saying they came with the ‘compliments of the manager’.

Carlos realized that I was an absolute beginner, and quietly told me that he would help me learn without the owner finding out. The rest of the night went reasonably well, and when we finished at midnight, he invited us to a disco.

Barry and I were ready to celebrate our good fortune, and it wasn’t long before we were drinking and dancing the night away. The nightclub was full of young people from all over Europe, and my brother and I soon found ourselves going in separate directions. We had earlier agreed that, if we split up, we would meet the following morning at the Land Rover, so I wasn’t too concerned about going back to a hotel with the pretty young girl I had met, thinking Barry was most probably doing the same.

My luck ended at her hotel door! So feeling the effects of too much beer, I stumbled my way back to the Land Rover, stripped off down to my underpants, crawled into my sleeping bag and was out for the count within seconds.

Barry, in the meantime, had been a little more fortunate and returned to the Land Rover an hour or so later. He decided that, as it was parked in a very noisy street, he would move it somewhere a little quieter and get a decent night’s sleep. Totally oblivious of my presence in the back and thinking I was wrapped up in passion in some hotel room, he decided he would return to the original parking place in the morning.

Leaving the brightly lit streets behind, Barry headed towards the dark outskirts of town, along a narrow winding road and up a steep hill. He realized he was getting too far away but he couldn’t turn around on the narrow road and had to keep on driving, in the hope that there was a turning place somewhere near the top of the hill. Finally, the road levelled out, and he found himself in a tiny car park overlooking the town. There were several other cars parked there, with amorous couples in them, enjoying the view through steamy windows!

Cursing his bad luck, Barry decided to do a three-point turn and head back down to Lloret del Mar. Leaning over the steering wheel to see better, he slowly inched the Land Rover forward, taking care to avoid a car parked close by. He put it into reverse, struggling to get the heavy gears to engage, and drove slowly backwards, craning his neck to see where he was going. But in the darkness he couldn’t see a thing. Suddenly, he felt the vehicle continuing to move even with his foot hard down on the brake. There was a loud clunk and the vehicle started to groan, and to the accompaniment of a loud grinding noise, he found himself slowly tilting backwards, until he was looking directly up at the stars.

Slamming the gear into first, he put his foot down on the accelerator, but the car didn’t move an inch. Totally confused, Barry opened the door to get out – and when he did so, he found himself looking down into a black void with tiny little lights blinking brightly on the valley floor some several hundred feet below! Realizing the full extent of his predicament, Barry slowly lowered himself out of the driver’s door, grabbing on to some bushes and whatever other vegetation was there for safety, then pulled himself up into the car park. Turning around, he now saw what he’d done: the Land Rover was half hanging over a cliff, see-sawing backwards and forwards, with the heavy metal chassis groaning under the stress.

Barry stood in horrified silence as the full impact of his narrow escape started to sink in. Within a few minutes, he heard voices as the courting couples emerged from their cars, observing that he seemed to be having ‘
una problema
’. Even with his limited Spanish, he knew he had a problem!

Surrounded by a group of locals, all offering advice which he did not understand, Barry was not sure what to do. His dazed attention was suddenly caught by the arrival of a blue flashing light as a police patrol car pulled up. The two officers joined the other Spaniards watching the Land Rover as it groaned with pain. Like spectators watching a suicide about to leap off a tall building, they stood there in anticipation, waiting for the vehicle to lose its grip on the edge of the mountain before crashing down into the valley below.

Barry sat down on a rock, his head in hands, thinking, ‘What have I done? Everything we own is in there!’ Suddenly a thought occurred to him. His mind started to race as he tried to remember, without success, the last time he’d seen me. A deep-rooted panic set in and he leapt to his feet, one finger against his lips, waving with his free hand and calling out, ‘Silence, please! Silence, please. Ssshhhhh!’ The group of watchers fell quiet, and Barry called out, ‘Jeff, can you hear me? Jeff, are you in there?’ There was no response other than the creak of the chassis and the sound of a gentle breeze rustling through the bushes on the hillside. By now the sun was coming up, the sky changing colour from dark blue to a golden red. ‘Jeff,’ he called out again, even louder this time, in desperation, while quietly praying that I was still in town. His voice must have penetrated my sleep, as I mumbled, ‘What?’

‘Jeff, wake up, it’s serious! Listen to me! I want you to slowly make your way to the front of the Land Rover and climb into the front seat. Do you understand?’

By now, I was at least half awake, and realized I was lying in the back of the Land Rover – but not horizontally. ‘What’s going on?’ I called out. ‘What’s wrong?’ The effects of the deep alcoholic sleep made me slow to react, and I was struggling to work out what was happening.

‘Jeff!’ I could hear Barry’s voice clearly now. ‘Jeff, listen to me. Climb over on to the front seat, and whatever you do, don’t open the back door, or you’ll be dead.’

Turning on to my stomach, I pulled aside the curtains that divided the back compartment. The sight which met my eyes paralysed me with fear: twenty or so anxious faces peering down in my direction, with Barry’s the most anxious of them all. I could feel that the Land Rover was rocking, caused by my movements, and the extreme urgency on Barry’s face was enough to gain my undivided attention. ‘Jeff, I want you to carefully open the front windscreen and climb out on to the bonnet,’ he said. Not realizing the full extent of the danger I was in, I did as he said, and moved slowly forwards into the front seat. It seemed to take an eternity, and even the smallest movement made the vehicle sway. Raising the windscreen, I crawled through the gap and lay face down on the bonnet.

‘Take my hand. Quick, Jeff, come on! Hold on tight.’ Leaning forward, Barry grabbed hold of my outstretched hand, pulling me with all his strength. I slid forward across the bonnet until finally I was on firm ground. The crowd spontaneously broke into applause, and Barry gathered me into a bear hug. ‘I thought I’d nearly lost you, that you were going down with the Land Rover,’ he said, squeezing me tight. ‘What would Mum have done if I had come back without you, kid?’ Pushing me back to get a closer look at me, he seemed to relax a little. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Just a bit confused.’

When I looked back at the Land Rover, I couldn’t believe my eyes: it was like something out of
The Italian Job
: over half the vehicle was suspended above a long drop to the valley floor below. I really had had a lucky escape.

Some six hours later, and with a lot of help from the police, a crane the size of a small house came crawling up the mountain and lifted the Land Rover to safety. The only damage was to the exhaust – and to our wallets. Barry had to count out every peseta we had left, placing the notes one by one into the crane driver’s hand. Everything was gone now – even our ‘return home’ reserve fund.

Our attitude towards the Land Rover changed after that. Although she was still a gas guzzler, her sturdy build and steel chassis had saved both our lives, and we now felt indebted to her.

We worked at the bar for the rest of the season, and at the end of September; we started to make our way back home. We called that summer of ’72 the summer of the S’s – sun, sand, sea, sangria and sex – but it was also the summer that Barry and I became the best of brothers. So much so we decided to go into business together erecting aerials.

14. Beloved Mum

At the beginning of April 1973, Mum sat Barry, myself and Sheila down and with her usual directness told us that she had bowel cancer. She was going into hospital in the next couple of days and would be undergoing major surgery. Sitting there listening to her, I felt numb with the enormity of what she was saying. I just didn’t want to hear it. This was not happening to us. No one really knew how to respond. We just tried desperately hard to follow Mum’s lead, helping her prepare her things for hospital and trying to be as calm as possible.

The morning arrived when, having kissed Mum good luck, she was taken to theatre. We spent the rest of the day waiting and hoping for the best and praying it would all work out to the good. After what seemed like an eternity, Barry, Sheila, June and I returned with Dad to the hospital that evening. We were told by the staff nurse that Mum was doing well but could not be disturbed as she still hadn’t come round from the anaesthetic. June’s face fell so, taking pity on her, the nurse relented, allowing us all a quick peek at Mum while she slept. Pulling back the screen around her bed, we were all silent as we looked as this tiny, frail person, so beloved by us all, lying in what seemed like an oversized bed, surrounded by all sorts of medical machinery. It was scary.