Aden: Random Memories 17e: The Return of The Natives: Attention all shipping

We boarded the ship for the very last time. There was the final party to look forward to and the possibility that if the weather in Biscay was rough, more seasickness to look forward to.

The politically incorrect design for the children's party dinner menu.

The final party is a dim and distant memory. It was a jolly affair. I am sure we had to wear party hats and probably play games, but I can’t really remember a thing about it.

Our cabin was next to the wireless room. We heard all kinds of signals. I presume they were incoming. Then one magical day a voice announced “And now the shipping forecast...” the litany commenced. We were nearly home. Ever since then, at the sound of the opening words, there is an eternal 9 year old who knows a major change in his life is imminent.

Thankfully Biscay was calm. We sailed across tranquilly. Eventually, one cold foggy morning we woke, the Caledonia motionless, in Liverpool. We went through the immigration formalities. A customs man was fussing over our boxes. My mother kept telling him she had bought the Braun food mixer in Aden, and all he wanted to know about was the camphor wood chest which we had had since Singapore. Consequently we went through customs without having to undergo the Spanish Inquisition, which is more than can be sad for a family we had befriended on the ship. Their boxes were all being emptied out and every item scrutinised. I felt so sorry for them.

© 2012 Gwailo54

Aden: Random Memories 17a: The Return of The Natives: Time to go

Hard though it was to believe, our time was soon up and we had to return to the U.K.. I don’t suppose I ever thought we would return. When I was an adult, my mother used to enjoy embarrassing me by retelling the story of when I asked her, ‘When are we going back home, mummy?’ after we had returned to the U.K. from the Far East. ‘Home’ was where aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents lived. It wasn’t home to me. That place was cold and had snow and lots of drizzly rain. Home was where I lived among people who were not like me.

My father was of the opinion another overseas tour was highly unlikely. It was 1964, the crisis in Aden had yet to explode and the ignominious retreat, the last nail in the coffin of British rule was just over three years away. If my father had been gifted with second sight, he couldn’t have been more accurate in his predictions. As this was our last opportunity to see the world, my parents decided we would return by sea. A voyage from Aden, up through the Suez canal, with a diversion through Egypt, then we would pass through the Mediterranean Sea to Gibraltar, where the ship would berth a while, and finally traverse the Bay of Biscay to Liverpool.

In preparation for our departure, my mother started knitting sweaters. As I swam and jumped and dived in the pool at Khormaksar, she sat in the shade knitting, day after day.

We must have also spent some time packing up all our belongings, but I cannot remember doing this. I had my own small wooden crate which contained my toys and books, but not my teddy bear. We left the flat, and spent our last night in Aden in some hotel. It seemed empty and uninviting. It was also the first time I had seen a bidet!

For some strange reason, both my mother’s passage and mine (a total cost of £142 10s 00d) were paid for by the government but my father’s (cost £95 exactly) wasn’t. I don’t know why this was. My father’s fare cost the equivalent of £1,500.00 today. This probably did not include the expense of the trips we made in Egypt and Gibraltar.

The tickets for our return to the U.K.

© 2012 Gwailo54