[2004] FAMILY HOLIDAYS   

0178 Spain 1959

At the end up my vac job, at the RAE in 1959, I went on two weeks holiday to Spain with my parents.  This was once more to be a Sylvio tour.

I left from Farnborough, by train to Waterloo, together with my bike which had been sent there and which had been invaluable in commuting to and from the RAE establishment.  From Waterloo I rode to the digs that had been prepared for me at Cloncurry Street, by the river in Fulham.  This was the first time I had ridden through London traffic and, though it was outside the rush-hour, it was still a hairy experience. In fact I only used the bike for my first term. Having been nearly mown down a number of times, by impatient drivers, I abandoned it and went in each day by underground from Putney Bridge Station.

I recovered in the afternoon by going to a matinee performance of West Side Story -- which had just opened.  This changed my attitude to stage musicals.  Starring Chita Riviera, it was wonderful.  The choreography, by Jerome Robbins, was something totally new.  Not least the dancers almost bounded over 12 foot high fence in the centre of stage.  The cancan, ‘America’, was an explosion of music.  Although I didn't realise it at the time, the words were by Stephen Sondheim – in later years my favourite modern composer.

The next morning, with my father and mother, I went off to Spain, once more by boat and train; though this time we had the good sense to book couchettes.  They weren't all that comfortable but at least you could lie down through the night; though I still couldn’t sleep. I have never been able to sleep on trains, even in first class.  We arrived at the French border town of Perpignan first thing in morning, and were decanted into our coach.  

We immediately drove along the coast to the seaside towns of Blanes and Lloret del Mar – to which we went back later with the children.  I can't remember much about it at that time, to be honest, except sitting on the beach looking at the sea. I was so tired from the overnight journey. I was grateful when we carried on to Barcelona and to our first hotel.

Barcelona is a lovely city, particularly with all works by Gaudi, but I suspect I didn't see that much of it in those days.  I remember going down the Ramblas. But that was about all. From there we went on to the monastery of Montserrat, up in the hills in a spectacular location.  On the way back we sampled some of the local liqueurs -- I suspect I enjoyed them more than anything else. 

After a couple of nights in Barcelona, we travelled down to Valencia.  The thing I remember about the beach outside Valencia was that – following a storm in the Mediterranean - it had enormous waves coming in. These were so powerful that they literally drove you down into the sand and shingle beach.  The undertow was so powerful that I actually found a pebble embedded in my foot!  Even so, for a good swimmer like myself it was great fun.  On leaving Valencia we were hit by a cloudburst and, surprisingly for Spain, had to drive through quite deep floods!

On next port of call was Madrid, a city which I did not find very attractive.  Having said that, the tours in those days, and probably even now, do not pick out the cultural highspots such as the Prado. We didn't even visit the Escorial palace . We did however go to Toledo to see the cathedral - and I had time to buy a pair of Toledo swords. I then had to carry these all round Spain with me!  

So far the scenery and towns had not provided very much interest, though - as we'll see in another section - the nightlife had!  Then, from Madrid, we drove south to Granada, which was much more interesting. The palace was an absolutely beautiful building.  In evening we went to see the gypsies in their caves performing Flamenco dancing, which although touristy did seem more genuine.

We then made our way to Seville, which was most notable for us getting lost when walking round the centre where the various palaces were located. Pat thought she understood Spanish!  Again we didn't really see much of Seville, I thought it was also a rather boring town; but  have changed my mind since. 

On the way back to Madrid the main place of interest was Cordova where the cathedral was built in the centre of a mosque – for once it really was an interesting experience - and to Madrid once again.  The next journey was through Saragossa to Lourdes where we were to visit the grotto. 

The only problem was, in crossing the Pyrenees, the brakes of the coach failed!  We were just on our way down a very steep hill when the air brakes failed, though somehow or other the driver still managed to bring the coach to a halt. He tried to hold the coach stationary on the handbrake, but this operated on the driveshaft, which had also failed. In fact, as it turned out, it was the fragments from this which had cut the air lines to the main brakes!  Even so, everything seemed well until, all of a sudden as the last of the compressed air escaped from its reservoir, the coach started rolling forward; and we had no brakes whatsoever.  There we were rushing down the steep hill gradually accelerating.  I was standing up, but heard the driver issue a warning -- unfortunately in French – so, whilst everyone else looked round into see the item of interest the driver was pointing out, I held tight – very tight!  The driver did have the good sense to drive the coach into the nearest tree so no one was badly injured.  I dread to think what would have happened if we had continued down the hill, for at the bottom there was a right angle turn and a very solid stone wall straight ahead. But, in any case, it rather spoilt the visit to Lourdes.

When the replacement coach arrived, it was a terrific rush to get us to Lourdes. Having got there, we were given the choice of having lunch or going to the grotto.  We chose lunch, since we were not impressed with the tacky souvenir shops there.  Of course those who went to the grotto were Catholics. When they came back they were famished and were grateful that the courier had got them some sandwiches.  Unfortunately, they found these were meat sandwiches and it was Friday. In those days Catholics only ate fish on Fridays!

We finally made of way back to Toulouse and then onto the train for the overnight journey back to England. 

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