The occupational therapist 👨🔬 was enthusiastically promoting the benefits of the zimmer and raised toilet seat 🚽 to someone of my disposition when my husband returned. I could see his eyes widen 👁 as I shimmied along on the zimmer, but it was the realisation that the raised toilet seat was also for me that made them water. He wanted to be subtle but his obvious horror🙀 was palpable. I knew he was doing everything he could to divert his thoughts from my ablutions and the assistance 🛀 he might need to provide. As I said in previous blogs, our marriage 💑 vows ( much like my hamstring) were being stretched to their limits.
I know him. His future flickered fleetingly before him; me in my tartan slippers, rolled down stockings, woolly housecoat and curlers 👵🏼. But that wasn’t his biggest worry, no he was wondering how the hell he was going to get this equipment out of the hospital and into his car without anyone 👤 seeing him. He didn’t hear a word any one said for the next ten minutes as he frantically worked out his escape plan.
I attempted to roll off the bed into my crutches with all the glamour and class 💃 of Marilyn Munro but in reality was more like Patsy from AbFab tumbling out of the car legs akimbo🤸♂️ with the Bolinger 🍾 unscathed. My husband had already disappeared conducting a surveillance of the immediate environs for anyone that might know him. Leaving me to pile my newly acquired household accessories high on the zimmer, much like a Thai flitting on a moped 🛵. I edged out of the cubicle hoping to achieve a seamless exit with a single manoeuvre, a big enough challenge without a hamstring injury. Needless to say I failed. 🌀
When he caught sight of me 😲, common sense returned momentarily as he put me on a seat, planked the gear at my side and revealed his detailed plan on how we could leave without fear of being noticed. This plan worked reasonably well until the electronic door 🚧 in the ambulance entrance closed behind him leaving me abandoned with the raised toilet seat in a hospital no man’s land. If it wasn’t for the morphine dulling my senses I would have cried, instead I sat there numbly 🤐waiting for the next ambulance to arrive and set me free.
In that moment of solitude I had time to digest the discharge 🤯 advice; to rest at least for 6 weeks, with the longer term repair likely to take up to 9 months. I’m a pretty active individual; was cycling 🚴♀️ , playing badminton 🏸, walking🚶♀️ and of course enjoying frequent holidays🌴🌞. Suddenly the enormity of this situation hit me; I was going no where fast in this corridor and it would be the same with this injury. It was going to significantly impact on my social, leisure and working life and I had no idea how I might get through it.🙊
Within minutes my hero 👼 was back, realising he’d lost me, laughing at himself and finally accepting the toilet seat 🚽 was his responsibility. In that moment I knew he would get me through this 💞and I was in awe of his commitment to me, while he grappled with more immediate matters. With a swift gaze around the exit, he swung the toilet seat over his shoulder shielding his face from the passing public and threw it in the boot. Such was his haste to escape unnoticed he drove 500yds before he realised the tailgate was still open and the whole world could see what was in the boot.🤣🤣🤣
So one day into our Harrogate trip and it was evident it had been a big mistake ⚡️ coming here with my leg in such pain. Although getting into town was fairly easy, I was walking like Frankenstein 🧟♂️ and it was not a good look – I had to get rid of the crutches.
Shopping 🛍 and eating🍱 out are among my guilty pleasures in life, so sair leg or not I wasn’t prepared to forgoe either, and the crutches weren’t going to hinder me so I ditched them. However by 2pm my leg was throbbing so the promise of fine dining was deserted for a reduced price Tesco Egg 🥚 sandwich. This decision of course gained maximum kudos from my husband as it saved him money💷. By some miracle I stumbled and hobbled my way back to the hotel clinging to lampposts and moaning incoherently like a jakey despite the lack or pleasure of any wine🍷! I immediately launched myself into the bath when we returned and I noticed extensive purple bruising had started to appear on my leg😈.
By Wednesday I couldn’t sit at all so tried to book a train home a day early. Although possible it was costly 🤑. Pondering this in light of the egg sandwich decision, I considered we could wait one more day since we already had first class tickets 🚞and all the comforts and extras those promised. In a strange twist of fate the hotel owner noticed I was in agony and shared that she had slipped in the kitchen a few years ago and ripped her hamstring in two. She’d spent 6 days in hospital and it took 9 months to heal. How bloody awful I declared, ha little did I know!🤪
On Thursday we set off home, and I made a Doctors appointment en route because the pain 💊💊 was now as bad as it had been when I fell. We boarded the on-time ⏰ first train to York but our luck 🍀 didn’t last. Because of Storm Ali the previous days trains had been cancelled and now our train was over 2 hours late, burgeoned with extra passengers and devoid of any seats and refreshments. 🙀
By now I was I was barking and snarling like a rabid dog 👹 trying to contain the pain. All the money I had saved did little to endear me in this state to my husband who was wishing this particular trip to Harrogate had never happened. He was unable to provide any meaningful assistance and his best efforts failed to return me to the even tempered puppy 🐶 he started out with.
When the train arrived every seat, suitcase and corridor floor space in first class was occupied. Despite hobbling among the crowds trying to look needy to the very important businessmen they avoided my gaze 👩💻, perhaps my best Frankenstein impression scared them off. The offer of a seat was eventually provided by an elderly lady 😇 who availed me of my misery as we hurtled toward Edinburgh and home and I took it 🤭 (forgive me). I just hoped our train would get in on time.
My husband loves travelling by train but he had no seat until Newcastle and we were delayed a further hour on route. We had nothing to eat or drink until we arrived in Berwick and suddenly the loaves and five fishes 🐟 appeared in the guise of bacon 🐖 sandwiches for those of us brave enough to be travelling on to Scotland 🏴. Not long now until I saw the doctor and all my problems would be resolved. I was salivating 🤤 like Pavlov’s dog at the thought of that ….
The Danders. My go to sanctuary. My dream home. The palace of parties, people, friends, occasions, families, of life, and death. Making endless memories in this particular house was about to end. At Christmas 2021 I didn’t even know it was going to be the last time I’d dress each room with Santas, Rudolph, baubles and trees. As we packed away the twinkling lights in January 2022, little did we know they’d be adorning somewhere else in December. Somewhere smaller, somewhere not here. Somewhere not the Danders.
When we bought this house, we threw caution to the wind, yes it was more expensive, yes it needed lots doing, yes it was old and draughty. But I was in heaven. It was my most dreamt about dream, my very own unique, vintage and quirky home. And we worked our fingers to the bone to make it special. We were not the first owners, but the second family to have lived there since it was renovated from a derelict building in 1972. We brought it back to life with colour, restored its windows, added a fireplace, renovated its kitchen, improved the bathrooms, laid new floors, added new doors and made it warm and cosy.
Then the Lion suggested it was time to sell. A bell tolled. I felt the weight of my love for this home crushed by his pragmatic and sensible reasoning. The walls seemed to ache with depression at the very thought of us parting, closing in on me to prevent me leaving. The doors creaked painfully with every sigh I uttered, non-accepting of the decision I had not wanted to make. I was bereft. I would lie still in bed, listening to the sounds of the house in the dark. The wind, as it hurled through the garden on its way to the ocean, seemed to circle a little longer than usual enveloped by my sadness and the inevitability of our departure, it relished the change I was struggling to accept.
The sign was erected, piercing the fence, stabbing at my heart knowing this was the end and standing erect and proud as if it was all it could do. I couldn’t face showing anyone my home. Pretending it was all so perfunctory when inside I was melting away with the memories. Each time a visitor arrived we’d make ourselves scarce and ponder the outcome. A little bit of bitterness crept into my thinking. But I also knew, as the Lion did, it was time.
Then suddenly it was sold. The packing was arranged, decluttering underway. Items, too large for the downsize, left to the new owners. The rooms, empty and hollow, the floors echoing the footsteps of 350 years of memories. We were only part of the story. A small but insignificant aspect of its history.
As I walked through the rooms, checking everything was in order, I felt a swelling in my throat. I coughed but only managed to splutter before the emotions escaped, breaking out of the chains tethering them to my heart. Running amok I was shocked to hear myself sob loudly. I recognised the loss of this part of me was a cumulative memory of the children’s laughter, the friends, the family times, the loss, the arrivals, the Christmases, the dinner parties, the memories of good times we’d had here. As I turned the key in the lock for the last time I knew a little of my heart would always be here. And where we had left our mark.
During my working career I held leadership roles and was fortunate to undertake a variety of leadership programmes focussing on an array of methods often informed by ethics, values and beliefs. These leadership strategies and tactics would be adopted and adapted to a wide range of situations and people management so that my approach to any issue had a basis in theory and would ensure consistency and confidence in the way I applied my leadership. As a result I have been in a helicopter, watched dancing from a balcony, developed and built a spacecraft, recognised that what I lacked in charisma I could make up with emotional intelligence and importantly differentiate between the transactional and the transformational leadership style that would allow me to flex and adapt to the situational need. Equally in the natural hierarchical order of my organisation I was naturally managed by (mainly men) those balancing the plethora of similar leadership approaches in managing people and situations.
Then I met TaPas. He would admittedly be shocked to read any indication that this piece might be about him, and I also know that he would have read the first line and immediately decided it was not worth continuing; his view would more likely be that it was something he’d rather eat fish and chips from than read. But it is about him and it is about his leadership. Our most effective leaders throughout history have emerged from situations that either afforded them opportunities to lead effectively or to have effortlessly failed. TaPas cannot claim to have emerged from an historic situation but in his own inimitable style I will argue that he was not only effective he effortlessly succeeded.
At first meeting, he doesn’t strike you as charismatic. His shirt is likely to be hanging outside his trousers at the back, his trousers sagging around his shoes indicate he didn’t take much time getting the right fit, something more important going on perhaps. He will be carrying a sheaf of papers, precariously balanced on his briefcase on the outside rather than inside and always in danger of cascading to the floor, creating the potential drama of an additional layer of chaos in his organisation. For those of us onlookers, familiar with this sight we were strangely comforted that, despite the possibility of such chaos befalling him, there was a flurry of yellow post-it notes, carefully ordered containing succinct notations outlining which paper was for which meeting, where he was going, the time, date and person he was addressing. You’d be excused for thinking, “he sounds like a bumbling fool” at first glance you may also form that view, but you’d be the fool if you underestimate TaPas in this way.
He was the only transformational leader I ever worked with. He doesn’t even acknowledge that as a statement, mainly because he effortlessly applied his methods in the absence of theory; he would argue he was just being himself. His management team would walk on hot coals for him such was the bond he developed with us as a team. But the teams on the ground of whom he was in overall charge worshiped him. TaPas put his staff at the heart of every decision, but we adhered to an overt code of ethical behaviour we spent two days discerning and agreeing must inform every decision affecting the division and the individuals who worked there. He placed importance of being present, turning up on the nightshift and wading into battle to support his teams when they needed him most. The Battle of PP as it was later more commonly known created the status of legend. I gained more confidence in my ability in my whole career in those precious years than my whole time in the service. Others might have felt his wrath, but it was never driven by personal or subjective views, rather TaPas was driven in these decisions by a code of ethical behaviour, a moral compass he considered essential to enable him to consistently judge those of us who strayed.
Despite the depth of responsibility he carried every day, there was room for humour and laughter, mainly at his own expense, his own misgivings. Such was the subtlety of his leadership, he was giving us permission to laugh along with him. Equally we protected him; like barbed wire surrounding a wall to prevent intruders climbing over it, we gathered around him prickling at anyone who might seek to usurp his methods. If I reflect on his character and his ambitions he was developing and building each and every one of us both consciously and sub-consciously, effortlessly succeeding in achieving his goals. Then he got ill. We were all so concerned as his behaviour was a bit odd, his driving skills were beginning to resemble his briefcase, always moving in the wrong direction to the rest of the traffic. We secretly shared our concerns and collectively identified we needed to explore this with him, our leader was ill and he needed our support. We rallied in his hour of need, but obviously his family stepped up at this time.
A tumour the size of a tennis ball was removed from his brain, he claimed it was clearly preventing his organisational skills from optimal functionality. He called me the day after the operation and I could visualise him dancing around the ward in his tie up the back gown, naturally untied and gaping, his backside most likely hanging out as he shared his delight and glee at the success of this serious operation. I stopped my car, as I was on the A9 at the time heading back to the Danders, and I wept tears of relief and joy that my great friend had been saved. When I next saw him the dark shadows below his eyes had disappeared and his cheeky cockney smile reached all the way to his forehead.
As with everything in life, things change, its a constant, and we are advised our leadership can adapt to it. But not when its been along with a transformational leader. You are going to miss that style, that affirmation, that approach. Soon our team dispersed. Scattered to the four winds. But such was the bond we had nurtured we determined that we would continue to meet, to celebrate this unique relationship under TaPas’ leadership and what better way than over food and wine. When there are a few of you agreeing on the kind of food we would like to share, a collegiate decision is almost too difficult to reach. But Tapas was the resounding vote as it provided us with a variety that reflected the team; a miasma of dishes to suit all tastes, reflecting our personalities a fiery chili and prawns, sweet and crispy chicken, round robust meatballs, melodramatic patatas bravas, flirty anti-pasta. The slow yet timely delivery of the dishes was reminiscent of the ruminations of our team meetings, the delicious wines and jugs of beer enabled a relaxation that permitted us to settle into smaller more intimate groups chatting and comfortably sharing our stories and news before musical chairs commenced and we drifted with stumbling ease into the next seat and initiated the chatter all over again. And not a single post-it note was in sight. TaPas enjoying Tapas with his team and over time that team included partners and those quarterly meetings continued until COVID changed it all.
One man created some of the greatest memories of my career, the most harmonious team I ever worked with and became one of my closest friends. The Tapas Crew our Whatsapp group name is indicative of what real leadership might achieve beyond your working life and a reminder that for some we can rely on theory of course, but real leaders are doing it in their sleep. Oh and its his birthday today, Happy Birthday TaPas……..
I have purposely not blogged a great deal about the pandemic; so little happening in our lives and such a difficult time for everyone. It is not that I haven’t had time on my hands, but to be honest the dramas have been few and far between. As the restrictions tighten their stranglehold on our lifestyle there is little opportunity for drama that is interesting. I do try to stay loyal to my theme sharing only dramas from home and abroad, and if there are none well… I can hear the Lion sighing with relief on that one… I cannot write too much about nothing, can I ?
Following the Christmas break, life returned to the tight confines of The Danders, and it was becoming dull again. The Christmas Trees were tidily packed away, the fairy lights twinkles doused and abandoned in a box. The flashing strobes removed from the outside walls, their alternating colours no longer suggesting a police car had pulled up outside. Then in a sign of things to come the schools holidays were extended for another week. Parents around the country, stoked up on Gin, home working AND home schooling would surely take them to the brink of addiction.
This announcement actually coincided with an abundant snowfall and suddenly the challenges of being hemmed in the house were forgotten as the air was filled with the sounds of children’s chatter and howls of delight as snowballs crisscrossed the street and sledging replaced Mario Cart. Parents, glad of the period of respite, swarmed around the takeaway coffee shop before heading to the local hill with kids and sledges and dogs in tow. Suddenly the Village was buzzing with life and the combination of sunshine and snow returned a lifeless street to a bustling winter wonderland with socially distant observations. It was amidst these freezing but delightful conditions, the First Minister took the decision to close the schools as the pandemic developed a new and more concerning strain.
Home Schooling was the bane of all parents lives during the last lockdown. The media exhausted the perspectives of parents, teachers and of course children and young people in endless news coverage, confirming what everyone felt last time; home schooling was a difficult job, no matter who was calling it. I paid no heed to this unfolding development taking only a passing interest in something that was likely to have very little impact on me. That’s what I thought, but all that changed as my grandchildren needed to reside with me two nights and three days a week as their parents were both Key workers. Suddenly I was looking down the barrel of the home school vortex but I relished the challenge.
Ironically the house next door in its former role as “The Old School House” was much more familiar with the sound of children reciting their tables than The Danders, but they were doing their own version of home schooling there and we couldn’t join them due to restrictions. I’d never trained as a teacher and despite being a professional trainer for a period there was something a bit daunting about the challenge ahead of me, not least that my grandson was in P1 and my grand daughter was in P6. The last time I was in a classroom it was all about blackboards and desks with lids and fixed seats. Imagine my horror when a series of laptops and tablets arrived along with the usual bags of clothes and games that accompanied the children on their sleepovers. I was emailed the weekly planners for each child all that was required was to organise my classroom.
As with every good teacher I spent the evening reviewing how my day would run, a quick review of the planners suggested a busy couple of days ahead and it is fair to say I had an idyllic concept of how things might work. Then the proverbial hit the fan. The Christmas break had taken its toll on early rises, and the kids seemed to have forgotten to read my plans. I was up and dressed but had to spend the next half hour switching between bedrooms to get them awake and ready for school, as a result we were fashionably late Once I had them assembled and eating breakfast my first task was to delineate the boundaries between home and school. “Welcome boys and girls” I chanted in my best teacher’s voice pitching it at the right tone inciting motivation and and positivity . “Good Morning”. “What will we call you?” piped up the little tiger. After some thought I said Mrs C would be fine, but the mermaid did not like that at all. “Mrs Gran” smirked the little tiger and this brought giggles so it was decided this school would be fun and Mrs Gran was inducted as principal teacher of the Danders Village School.
Lessons in my day centred around jotters and carbon pencils, peppered with playtime, what ever the weather, and toilets with carbolic soap. Now we had SeeSaw and Microsoft Teams, with interactive classrooms and video messaging between teacher and pupil. I totally underestimated the way the little tiger would be able to manage the technology and overestimated how much I would be able to master it. Two calls to my daughter later I was able to open the APP and find the work assignments for the day. I had not considered that time would fly past so much more quickly than I had been used to, nor how much the teacher time on Video Calls would eat into my perfectly well orchestrated plan for the day. “Is it break time yet?” And that was just me. Between calls scheduled with their teachers at different times, coordinating playtime and preparing lunch, I found my hope of achieving any lesson before 12 virtually impossible.
As I attempted to assist the mermaid with her Maths I did not realise that models had been introduced to help with short division, and I don’t mean the Kate Moss variety. It took me nearly a whole hour to get my head around the method of learning to enable us to complete this complex task. Across the table I caught a glimpse of the wine rack and longingly thought of my retirement plans before the pandemic took hold, wistfully hoping they might soon return. Focusing back on the Math the mermaid had completed the initial work but the flashing HAND IN LATE on her assignment sent us both into apoplexy as it dawned on me there was only an hour left in the day to get through the 4 assignments we had yet to tackle. My perfectly styled hair flopped untidily into my eyes from all the fingers running through it as I tried to console her admitting it was Mrs Grans first failure. She sensed I was not coping bless her, and hugged me. “Can we leave it till tomorrow?” she pleaded. “Of course” I smiled, Mrs Gran, secretly delighted; I was exhausted.
Meanwhile the Lion had been left to manage the little tiger who was running rings around him. With horror I realised I had missed the 3pm check in call with the teacher and collapsed defeated into the chair. His 8 assignments had been completed and I reviewed the videos, pictures and answer sheets he had uploaded (largely unaided) to demonstrate he had gotten through the day relatively unscathed. I read with some satisfaction the congratulatory messages from his teacher as the little tiger poked me in the arm to get my attention “Mrs Gran” he enquired “what are we having for dinner………………….”
And I am not working, not a teacher, not even a good pretend teacher, and my grandchildren’s future depended on it. The Danders Village School and Mrs Gran needed to up its game, only tomorrow would tell whether or not we achieved it..
I have three windows that overlook a path which leads down to the River Almond, a haven for walkers, families, dogs and sometimes even horses. There is also a kick pitch and tennis court located there so, despite it being a dead end, cars do congregate there albeit in low numbers to use the services or access the river walk. This same path also provides a short cut to the main shopping area and industrial estate, for all of those people living on the west side of the Village. All of this contributes to a miasma of people, vehicles and animals passing by our windows, albeit colourful but with monotonous regularity. A couple of years ago we purchased shutters since many of the walkers feel the need to nosey in as they pass by. And since two of the windows are on the kitchen we might be mid meal when this happens. Not that we use them all the time but increasingly privacy has become necessary as the better weather invites increased numbers of people tracking back and forth and the peering eyes were becoming tiresome.
All of this is a daily feature of life at the Danders, except that is for Christmas Day. Not for the first time on Christmas Day I have been struck by the loudness of the silence. No one walking dogs, no-one driving past, no one out for a river walk. The silence of Christmas Day has a rich quality that conflates with the magic of Christmas morning, adding to the weight of serenity and anticipation of the day ahead. A feast for the ears. it is broken only by the clanging of a single bell from the local Church announcing Christs birth and the beginning of the service. I have always noticed this silence and valued it, appreciating what it adds to my experience of Christmas. But it’s now something we are experiencing daily as part of Lockdown and I fear not only that the magic of that one day has been stolen, but strangely I am longing for the noise, the detritus of community life to return.
The first notable silence was created by the lack of flights, we do sit beneath one of the routes into Edinburgh Airport. This is not so much about the noise but the constant sight of aircraft coming and going and the wistful envy to be aboard the ones heading out at least. The vehicles were next; the growl of the engines, dependent on the age of the drivers, signal the speed, age of the driver and make of the approaching vehicle before we see it. For some vehicles it was so regular we knew just from looking at the clock who was coming and going from the neighbours across the bridge, to the man walking dogs as a business. It is a dead end and walkers often stroll carefree on this road, the corner concealing the walkers aided by the neighbours fence, which does not provide any signs warning “SLOW DOWN pedestrians” and so we often watch heart in mouth as some cars increase the revs as the downslope appears. It can be such a hazard when you cannot see ahead of you but thankfully we have yet to experience any causing any harm. Now only the Police Cars are making that journey, prowling for any of the rule-breakers.
Lone walkers, (presumably they are heading to work given their backpacks) heads down, earphones protruding either linked to their phones by wires or Bluetooth, getting in the zone for the day ahead, have been massively reduced in numbers as the economic shutdown has taken hold. Cyclists on the other hand, have remained a constant feature, the Lycra wearing cyclists mainly, usually serious about their activity and seeking the thrill of endurance. Since we are on the R75, the main cycle path between Glasgow and Edinburgh, the Lycra wearing cyclists are fairly frequent. Now they are joined by those families eager to break the chains of Lockdown, some with helmets some without, none with Lycra, most with jeans, many with children in tow can be seen tackling the Brae up from the River. Chatter seems to cease ahead of the Brae as all energies are garnered as they prepare to tackle the steep hill or Brae leading to the choice of routes to either the east or west.
Families and dog walkers, of course have continued to feature just in greater numbers. An assortment of woolly hats, bulky jackets, prams and scooters toddle past at a leisurely pace. Even in the good weather this is the attire (we are in Scotland!) If I am in the kitchen I am 4 feet higher and look down on them like a giant. This can be quite frightening for the little ones so in these difficult times I needed to show my friendly side. I now have a rainbow thanks to my young neighbour and that delights the children as they add it to their counting list, pausing for a moment to admire it. Sometimes my grandchildren wander past out with their mum, dad and the dog. Well every other day actually. I can hear the wee tiger cub and the mermaid calling in unison “GRAN” ( please note not Papa aka the Lion, they know where the bread is buttered) as they approach in the hope we are close enough to hear them. We often make a joke that the three windows onto the path are a bit like a trip to MacDonalds. And so it is that they stop at each window to put in an order for the chocolate biscuit and a drink. Since Lockdown the shutters are gathering dust, standing open at all times, demonstrating the need for contact through a socially acceptable distance and because we now appreciate the passers by waving in, smiling and peering in as such a welcome addition to our day.
Lockdown, like any other circumstance that forces change, of course has it’s benefits. Taking the passers-by and the noisy landscape for granted demonstrates how much we relied on it in the past, and missed it when it was gone. Something so simple that puts us back in our box, longing to make eye contact with other people, longing to hear aircraft filling our skies, longing to hear and see our grandchildren for more than a biscuit.
We ourselves have also been out and about waving and smiling at others we pass at a safe distance. We have also been taking time to stop if a face appears in the window, seeking to reassure them that life is still going on despite the national crisis and if they are OK or need anything. Our daily exercise a much needed escape from the confines of the Danders, which despite being my Shangri-La, does not respond too well to the lack of people within it. And so it was we were out for our daily exercise, a good five miles moving at a reasonable pace when quite innocuously my hip went snap….. the sair leg was back again, just like that, and suddenly I could walk no further………
If you have been off travelling there comes a point when you really just want to get home. Most of that feeling arises from a longing to reconnect with family, notwithstanding modern technology affords us opportunities to do that in real time more than we used to, and if I was really honest I was seriously in no hurry to get back. You miss the hugs though, the real warm connection you get from wrapping your arms around your children and grandchildren and it being reciprocated, something that cannot be achieved on video calls. So it was that I had a dilemma; I didn’t really want my trip to end but I longed for that kind of connection to my family that wasn’t available when I was still in Australia.
As we know only too well, those kinds of shows of PDA’s or get togethers are currently off limits for the time being. And so it was that we were to arrive back to a new reality. One where we were confined to barracks, quarantined, #staying home at least for the foreseeable future. A few blogs back I did write about a visit to my own home for the weekend. Gaining a new perspective on how it might look through a visitors eyes. Now I really was like a visitor, just back from a 5 week trek on the other side of the world slap bang into a new reality with nobody but the Lion to share it with.
My delight to be home, lasted all of five minutes. The silence was deafening, with only the buzz of the fridge, humming out of tune with my happiness, to welcome us back. There was food inside, so someone had been busy, but it lacked the invitation to dine, maybe since we’d scoffed too much on the plane. We simply needed to see people. These needs were unmet. We were abandoned. Alone. Do you know how hard that transition from touring with a group of 28 to enter the dismal, loneliness of the Danders is? It is normally writhing with bodies, ringing out with voices, clinking with glasses and the mastication of food.
My farmhouse kitchen table, the hub of all activities and normally brimming with people, wine and food, bore only a raft of mail accumulated over our absence and neatly sorted into his and hers piles by my daughter. There was a warmth, which I had ensured was in place through my Hive App, that greeted us on arrival. A heat that would be impressive, as we welcomed our guests inside from the wintery conditions outside, given the fact we had just arrived home. I hoped they would soon arrive to share our stories, our photographs and their presents, except that none were allowed to come. I caught sight of our cases sagging in the hallway, groaning with washing, tired from all the hauling and pulling and bulking up in the aircraft. Their newness depleted, bearing the scuffs, scrapes and ticketing labels, their own identifying memories of our trip.
The Lion opened all of the windows, inviting the fresh air to replenish the staleness of uninhabitation. He lit candles even before he had emptied the case as he returned to super OCD mode now he was home and had purpose. I stood still, listening to the silence, smelling the air, slowly gaining my bearings with familiarity. Everything static, frozen in time, just the way we left it. No ghosts of memories these past five weeks, the house craved noise and laughter but none was coming.
I thought it best to empty the cases. 8 piles of washing occupied the floor of the snug. Each aligned to a washing programme, and carefully placed according to colour, materials and dirt. The reek of sweat and sun lotion permeated the room once the clothing was released from the confines of the case. A pile of shoes, and one or two items that were never worn looked forlorn in the vacant space created by the expulsion of washing. The cases suddenly lighter as they were lugged up stairs to their final resting place at least until we went on a big trip again.
Toilet bags had been cleared of most of the contents at the last stop, with the stalwart items, always needed but never used, found their way back into their hiding place under the sink until next time. Our bedroom was such a haven, despite the thinly spread layer of dust on the furniture, our bed was inviting us back, tempting as it was I am sorry but not yet. We were still buzzing on life anticipating the opportunity to speak with family or friends who might remember that it was today we were coming home. I checked the phone several times only to find everything was in working order. No messages displayed. No cars arriving, no people passing. Silence – shattered only by the Lion trying to ignite the candles and huffing and puffing as he did so.
Day turned into Night, and we had still no real evidence of any joy that we were back. The house wrapped itself around us, warm, cosy and illuminated by warm white lights and twinkling light strips, the strengths of our very own Shangri-La were in abundance. Video calls with our nearest and dearest over, we finally accepted and embraced the comforts we were surrounded by and would sleep on our new reality, of no social contact until the next day….
Our final stopover of the trip was to be in Bali, the beautiful Indonesian Island, promising peace and tranquility. A place where we might re-charge our batteries before heading home. The four day stopover was all inclusive, meaning you had little more to do than summon the Balinese waiter with the press of a button to bring you a cocktail as you lounged by the sea. The beds on the beach provided a serene outlook shaded with palms, and you were entertained by the antics of the paddle board rookies as they tried to master the waves. The rush of the waves to the shore, the blistering heat and the cool long drinks affirmed for sure, we were in paradise.
Our resort was within a gated community of around 17 hotels, our Hotel, the Melia Bali, was a grand affair with several restaurants, bars and for the strenuous among us, beach and pool activities to keep the calories at bay. We were initially unaware that somewhere close by a British Woman had died from Coronavirus and when the story did reach us it did little to provide any real context of the scope of the virus now, as opposed to when we left Britain in February.
This tragedy had occurred the week before we arrived and may well have resulted in a slightly stricter regime at immigration when we arrived on the Island. On immediate entry to the immigration hall we had to sign a declaration that we had not experienced any symptoms. Signing this with your name, passport number and next of kin was obligatory and somewhat sobering. Then we were placed through a screening process where those of us with high temperatures would be turned away. We had experienced screening at several airports along the journey but not as vigorous or individualistic as this. It raised the tempo considerably for us but not in a way that threatened our holiday. News items from Australia suggested that Australians should not travel to Bali. Being in our bubble I wondered what the drama was with this, since, as I have said, we had no context for it. Australia then went into lockdown preventing anyone arriving in the country from travelling onward, requiring a 14 day quarantine.
As we sipped our daily cocktails, oblivious to the reality, the world continued to collapse around about us. The waiters here provided constant hand sanitiser all around the hotel, other than that overt gestures that Coronavirus was crippling the country were absent, it was pretty much a non-event, if you were a tourist. Apart from the low numbers in the hotel, to us life was pretty much as it had been for the past 4 weeks, a holiday. How painful it would be when we were kicked into touch in just a few days. Lots of information from my kids, seemed to suggest that we might need to isolate when we got home. I scoffed at this claiming the UK had gotten things a little out of proportion, after all we were in areas also affected and life was going on as normal? Was it not? I’m ashamed to admit we were in a total bubble and it was going to be a very hard floor that we hit when we finally came back to earth.
As we cruised at around 35 000 feet from Bali to Glasgow in nothing short of luxury, we sipped champagne and munched on filet steak, watching the latest movies on ICE oblivious to reality. Little did we know what we were coming back to. Of course we had seen the FB images of empty shelves in the shops, but put this down to our eccentric behaviour as a nation rather than it conveying any real sense of crisis. As if to re-affirm our nonchalance to the matter in hand, our arrival at Glasgow Airport did nothing to dissuade me of my belief it was all a storm in a tea cup. We careered through the Airport unhindered with only customs seizing the chance to upset us by checking our luggage. How disappointed they must have been when they realised we had little but cases full of dirty washing. No-one quizzed us on where we had been, no mass screening, a swift check of the passport and out to our waiting driver to head home. If things were as bad as our children were suggesting how could this be the case?
The reality hit me when the grandkids were kept at a distance, because we had been on a flight and abroad in countries where the virus had claimed lives. My daughter, who is studying to be a Nurse, was somewhat more in the know than me. We realised, very quickly that self-isolation was the only way we might get to see our grandchildren. We sat alone in our home for seven days, watching the news and catching up to the place everyone else was already at. I ventured out to the shops, since the cupboards were almost empty and could hardly believe the shelves were so low. Someone commented that “at least there was bread” as if it was an unusual thing. We had been transported to another planet, I thought.
You know when you’ve been fast asleep and wake up suddenly, you get a bit confused trying to recall how you get here and got into bed. It was much the same as that for us; what was this world we were now living in? It was clear the bubble we had been part of during our holiday had finally burst – and it was traumatic. Slowly during our week of isolation I finally appreciated what needed to be done. I have to say it took us a week to actually process the information and get the message. A week later on the Monday night we were in Lockdown and that was any time with the grandchildren well and truly scuppered.
Life has altered dramatically in the space of five weeks. No Mass ( during LENT!!!), no social gatherings, social distancing between neighbours and all our family over 70 locked away in their little houses with no-one to see them or hug them. It’s a devastating time for many. But we have been so fortunate to even have had a holiday at all, many cannot get away, losing money in some cases. All the trips we had to look forward to are also gone now but at least we had one that was pretty amazing.
How will we cope? What will life be like in isolation for so long, will there be new ways to live our lives? Will we seek out contacts through social media? How will we shop for our every day needs, when all the slots are taken for months on end? Every day, in this new reality of mine, I am grateful for my health, grateful for our NHS staff and Care Workers, all of the shop workers and delivery drivers, pharmacists and teachers, social workers and police officers, dealing with the reality of this awful crisis. Meanwhile I am still trying to get my head around what it all might mean? I have now well and truly admitted that Coronavirus is now in my back yard.
And just like that it came to an end. 29 days on our Very Best Tour of Australia with stopovers in Singapore and Bali. In total 4 and a half weeks of unadulterated pleasure travelling in good weather (despite Melbourne) and with great company. This was a celebration for my 60th birthday, a trip I didn’t really get excited about at all with all of the concerns that precipitated that; Coronavirus, bushfires and terror attacks.
If you want to see Australia there are so many ways of doing it. When you are young backpacking is the only way that is likely to work; reasonably cheap and unstructured. As a couple in the early thrusts of love, perhaps a camper van or converted transit, when all you need is a bed and wheels, is for you. As a family you are probably more likely to visit places where family or friends have relocated but as a retired person, or for special occasions, this tour would be well worth every penny you spend. How else might you visit every major city in Australia with the minimum of fuss, the maximum of opportunity and the finest hotels?
In addition to being the most excellent of all Tour Guides our Tigress was a stickler for detail giving us the greatest confidence in her ability to deliver. We could not have asked for anyone better because she managed this trip like a military operation and we were enabled to be tourists without a care in the world while this all went on behind the scenes. This tour also balanced a busy trip with the right amount of Freedom days to do as you wish. Four days is often enough to see a City, but the Tour incorporated several worthwhile escapades that were included in the price as well as offering additional trips, if you were inclined to see more. The finely tuned arrival and departure from each venue was seamless and even the 9 flights we took on the entire trip did not feel daunting or difficult in any way, because we had the Tigress.
In addition to this being an interesting tour, with fantastic trips and wonderful experiences; the Great Barrier Reef, the Sydney Bridge Climb, the Aboriginal People, the Wine tour and the Wildlife trips, one of the best aspects were the people we travelled with. Twenty Eight of us in total. We all had our personal reasons for being on this trip, but we had the option of finding out whether we shared these or not on the many occasions we spent together over a glass of wine or a beer. I found the welcome invitation of a group of people sitting in the bar at the end of our night a treat, never feeling isolated on our holiday we always had someone to speak with. As we progressed and got to know each other this was one of the most memorable aspects of the holiday. It became important to have joint meals as we headed toward our last day. Many people doing different tours suggested the last day in Australia had taken on a new significance as we hung on to our fellow travellers with a little bit more love and affection knowing it was the last we would be together as a group.
The Tigress was going on a well earned break back to Melbourne, we were off to Bali, but it was clear we had no idea what lay ahead for us when we arrived home. Coronavirus was a threat at the beginning of our holiday and now even more so four weeks after we had left home. As we sat in the bar on our last night, everyone arrived for a departure drink, many with sadness at leaving but some ready for home. This was a magnificent group with many memorable aspects that added considerably to our journey and the memories we will treasure. To spare their identities but they will know who they are they have been given animal names.
The Antelope was heading directly to London, this elegant lady in her senior years was involved in Haute Couture all her life and worked with the greatest designers her style and grace was part of who she was and travelling alone we wanted to be sure she had someone looking out for her. The Jaguar and the Spectacled Bat had been in New Zealand before joining us. The Jaguar shared a common role to my work that would see us bonded through shared interests in protecting the vulnerable when we made it home. The Rabbit and the Sea Lion were off to Singapore, this beautiful woman with the delightful smile and her hubby had been together since they were teenagers, and he was still besotted with her it was clear. The Hamster and her Guinea Pig were off to hire a car, a formidable character, the hamster and I shared a love of swimming and I loved to hear her articulate her stories; she had a truly engaging lilt and tone to her voice. Her partner a fine gentleman with a permanent smile was delighted to be finding his roots in some of the Australian cities we visited and taking off to explore them further in Sydney when we left.
The Lynx and the Daddy Long Legs loved the sun and shared our passion for catching the rays whenever we got the chance. They both had a birthday while we were away and the Lynx was to celebrate hers in Bali by staying an extra day. The Swan and the Peacock shared our outlook on life, the Peacock off swimming in the sea, the Swan making sure everyone was okay on our trip her emotional antenna often on alert, an affable friendly pair whom we shared much in common. The Leapord travelled alone, a kindly but fiercely independent character she was the most travelled among us with many trips under her belt. I loved her humour, and although often willing to offer her aid, she often kindly reminded me she was more than capable of helping herself and she was! The Lark and the Rhino were recently married, their love of horse racing took them off in their own direction on most days exploring the racing times and form. The Lark often volunteering to take part in activities that saw her aiding the Blacksmith and starting a fire for the Aborgines.
The Horse Whisperer and the Hyena will remain with me in my heart for ever. The Hyena looked so much like my father it gave me such comfort to be in his company. The fact that the Horse Whisperer loved my blogs was such a privilege as I know they will also remember me with that link. The Kanga and Roo, seemed very active to me when we first met them, they had been cycling. But the Kanga was worried about her health as I learned on this trip and had to be more cautious that she wanted to be as we travelled around. Like me they love Kenmore and Aberfeldy in Perthshire and so we bonded over our love of my favourite place. The Bear and the Zebra liked to sit at the front of the bus, I don’t know the reasons why this was important but it was something they enjoyed. Staying on to visit family in Brisbane it was the Bear who often had to fix out the WiFi for me when I couldn’t get a signal, I don’t know what I would have done without him.
The Panda and Giraffe were a quiet and reserved couple, slow to engage but with so much to offer. I loved the togetherness of this couple, so in tune with each other, I am sure they had more than a few laughs at our antics on the trip and the Panda always inquisitive, hungry to find out more about you. It was a welcome opportunity to develop a relationship on a more personal level. The Rabbit and Platypus had the energy of youth, perhaps the youngest on the tour they were often off exploring, taking amazing photographs and enjoying every bit of the trip. His love of football meant we could relate to his need to watch the match in the middle of the night, and we shared our Sky Rail experience with them in the rainforest.
The Eagle and the Albatross had also visited New Zealand before they came to Australia, the only other pair from Scotland but who were English by birth. The poor Eagle must have my forgiveness because for so much of the trip I called her the wrong name, mortified I rectified this at the Great Barrier Reef. Another one who cared for the vulnerable I was so sad we didn’t get to say a proper goodbye at the end.
So to the Koala our tour guide in the outback, the Parrot our assistant in the Ghan and all the wonderful bus drivers, porters, pilots, stewardesses, train drivers, captains, waiters, waitresses, cleaners, cooks, bar tenders, guides and people we met along the way. We loved it all, we cannot thank you enough for the wonderful experience Australia delivered. Thank you everyone, thank you Australia ❤️🇦🇺
The Sydney Harbour Bridge is synonymous with Australia and New Year. A symbol of some stature, it is a charismatic icon in Australia and of course there were so many here we had been fortunate to see; the Great Barrier Reef and Uluru among them. Sydney was the last tourist destination of our Very Best of Australia trip and one Distant Journeys recognised in their planning. Our Hotel for this part of the visit affording a stunning panoramic view of the harbour and Bridge from every single room.
In 1932 the Bridge was completed, the vision of John Bradfield, Chief Engineer with the Department of Public Works. There is little doubt Bradfield was a genius, completing first a Bachelor Degree and later a first class Masters Degree, he achieved the University Medal on both sittings. He first conceived of the idea some 17 years earlier proposing 3 significant projects for the City; the North and South shores might be linked by a bridge, electrifying the railways and improving the underground service. WW 1 put these grand but visionary schemes on hold. His thesis on the Sydney Harbour Bridge earned him a Doctorate of Science in 1924 and so it was the proposal became a reality.
The Bridge was completed at a time when there were very few cars on the road but his vision of a 6 vehicular lane, 2 tram lanes, 2 railway lines and pedestrian and cycle paths still remains sufficient to deal with the 56 million vehicles a year that cross it. For whatever reason the tram lanes did not materialise but the space was assigned to the vehicular lanes providing 4 lanes in either direction when crossing the Bridge. A toll still exists despite the Bridge being paid off in 1988, but upkeep costs are high given this is a steel structure and maintenance is an ongoing matter.
The Bridge is the sixth longest Arch Bridge in the world with a span of 504m. Constructed in steel manufactured in Middlesborough, England by Dorman Long, who leveraged some of the Tyne Bridge design into their contract. During hot weather the Bridge expands about 18 centimetres but this was appreciated in the design and hinges afford the expansion with little interference in the function it performs for the traffic that traverse it daily. At its pinnacle the Bridge is 134m above water level. And we were going to experience this directly during our trip to Sydney with the Bridge climb.
Many years ago the Lion’s youngest sister visited Australia and was proposed to under Bridge. For our visit, this wasn’t an option so we were planning to climb this famous icon instead, and paid nearly $650 dollars AUD to do so. It is not cheap but if you can save the money, or earn a bit extra as you travel, it is a very worthwhile experience if heights do not scare the shit out of you. 6 of our trip colleagues were taking part in the climb with us making the trip even more significant since we were doing it with friends. The Horse Whisperer and Hyena, having missed out on the Scuba Dive, signed up, the Swan and the Peacock from the south coast of England, the Rabbit and Sea Lion from Barnsley, all joined us adding a celebratory and camaraderie feeling to the event.
You need around 3 and a half hours for this trip, we were booked onto the 4pm climb and didn’t actually get anywhere near the Bridge until 5pm. Our first task was to complete a health and fitness questionnaire, sitting in a circular room we completed the forms in a silent, industrious little circle scribbling away and hoping we made it through the first hurdle without too many drop outs. There were another 4 younger people on our climb and they must have wondered how they ended up with the Saga Tourers on this particular climb or whether some of us would even make it. Ha! not so not this group of oldies, we passed the first test with flying colours. Ben led us collectively into our second circle of the day, standing this time, we were asked to say where we were from and why we were climbing the Bridge. Our youngsters were from Peru, Denmark and England but whether we were young or old, every male in the group admitted they were only doing it because the women in their lives wanted to do it. How interesting that the women, universally, were the drivers for this particular climb. Having introduced ourselves to the team, and passed the second test, we were now handed our suits, the first part of the equipment we needed for the climb.
The suit itself has gone through several iterations before reaching its current design, a grey onesie with blue flashes on the arms and legs that zips up the back. You are assigned a locker and asked to leave everything that might fall from your person in the locker before you begin your ascent. Such is the importance of this request you will also undergo a metal detector frisk once you have gotten the suit on. There can be no chance of causing a major incident from a falling phone or watch once up that high. The suit equalises everyone, now all the same, aside from age, the first demonstrable sign of becoming a team has been delivered. Once suitably attired we moved into a much wider room which was kitted out with individual stations with belts and braces, a radio room and two sets of stairs linked by a platform. Our leader now emerged taking over from the delectable Ben, clearly on a higher pay grade and not to be troubled by menial but important tasks, such as allocating the right size suit to the assembled party.
G, as our guide liked to be called, was an experienced operator. He provided you with a confidence from the outset and took time to recall every single one of our names as he talked us through our paces. Our first task was to be shown to an individual station, direct leadership required here, as we were tasked to stand with our hands on the bars and await further instruction. Once everyone was in place we were instructed to step into the braces and secure the belted clips. Collectively we put our legs into the braces, silently following the instructions that were designed to eliminate confusion as each of us got into the gear. Having checked everyone’s clips were properly in place we were now directed to the front of the steps and platforms where we would now learn techniques on how to climb the steep steps of the Bridge in a practice run. G demonstrated how a cord with an open ended clip could attach us safely during the climb to the fixed structures of the Bridge. It slid on at the start of the Climb gliding along a continuous linear steel rail that sat just below the handrail. There were intermittent break points in this rail, but they could only be opened with a key by Guides to allow them to navigate up and down the group as we progressed. The clip afforded you a continuous link to safety throughout the Climb.
Once the entire group had learned to navigate the steep steps up and down, recognising the importance of keeping the clip on the right side of the body as you turned to descend backwards and not getting into a fankle. We watched and listened attentively, such was the importance of the information we needed to keep safe on the Climb. At this point a group returning from their Climb entered the room, buzzing with excitement. One of the youngsters on the group wished we could get started, almost 40 minutes of preparation having taken place so far. Once we had all mastered the trial climb, we were moved out to the comms room. We lined up facing each other as a radio was clipped to our suit braces with a set of headphones linking us with the instructor as we navigated the Bridge. One or two had to change headsets as a full and comprehensive check whether we could hear the guide took place. Once all were connected, and spectacles and hats were attached by strings to loops on the braces, we had a final brief from G before we headed off along the grey painted corridors toward a door that would lead us onto the Bridge.
We waited anticipating what lay ahead in a holding bay, the heat building in the suits, I was glad to have shorts and tee-shirt only underneath. We were offered a hat, but opted to leave this for collection once we had completed the Climb. After all I couldn’t have the hair messed for the photographs could I? Once outside we were immediately clipped to the rail, walking along the narrow mesh walkways giving you a waffle eye view of the ground below. Looking down is essential just to see the progress you are making in height terms, looking out just as important as the panoramic views alter as you ascend, and looking up just gives you time to pray to God you don’t fall. Once clipped we quickly began moving along the grid at pace, the guide constantly checking we were maintaining it. It was clear the Climb was not considered by Bradfield during the design, most of the steps and the rail were added by the climbing company, but the walkways with low pipes and occasional platforms leading to electric stations, reminded you these conditions were what workers had to endure every day just to ensure the safety and efficiency of the bridge.
Our first photograph enabled the other iconic site of Sydney to take centre stage, the Sydney Opera House was slid into the background. Just before we stopped for our picture two pipes either side of your head sprayed water in a mist to cool you down, a thoughtful addition this beautiful Autumn day. The sky was without cloud, the temperature not too hot, and the views spectacular to the east, west, north and south of the City. We had time to peruse these at leisure as we were each allowed two poses for the first picture stop. Once taken G led us up toward the summit, the pace continued as we made the Climb trying to remember to look down, up and out as we also tried to keep our balance on the slim but adequate steps. As we reached the pinnacle our panoramic view now included new bays, previously concealed behind hills as our ascent took us higher. We were directed by G to count how many cars passed between Red Cars on the Bridge below. Suitably tasked we all watched the cars, now the height of rush hour, criss cross the 4 lanes assigned from the South to North side with some purpose. It was noisy, bikes, buses, trucks and cars whizzing along as we tried to count past the best target of 30 before the occasional red car brought us back to zero and we started to count again. This delay allowed each pair to make a short video as we stood on top of the Bridge. The Lion was not a fan of this so we opted for pictures only and once we were all through the photo station at the summit it was time for the descent.
The descent was aided by individual guides waiting at the steep steps to ensure you managed the turn without a fankle and to let the individual before you clear the stairs before you began. These guides engaged you in small talk taking your mind off the task and cleverly relaxing you into this trickier aspect of the Climb. We arrived back in the holding Bay, exhilarated. I’m sure if you have read any theories of wellbeing, I would place this experience as Maslow described it; a “Peak Experience” one that brought you deep satisfaction in your wellbeing, one you were likely never to forget. The final team talk, led by G, afforded us a congratulatory talk keeping you on a high sufficiently long enough to complete the questionnaire for favourable feedback. Our final task was to collect our photographs and we were advised to buy them in a group of 4, which allowed a cheaper price to be achieved. Around $32 dollars allowed us to download all the photographs and videos (if you did one) to our phones. These we could share instantly with our families, waiting anxiously for word that we had completed safely the Climb of a lifetime. We did it…… go us❤️
Charles Smith was 16 years old when he fell foul of the law. In Scotland today he would be treated as a child for his crime. In the 19th century he was tried and sentenced to death, his crime? The theft of a letter containing a 1 pound note. Harsh as this may seem young Smith received a reprieve if he elected to commute his death sentence by electing to serve his sentence in a Penal Colony in Australia. I’m sure it was a bit of a no brainer for this young lad, who bade farewell to his family and set off on one of the Colony ships for Australia. The ‘Baring’ sailed with over 300 convicts and was 151 days at sea. This was no Princess of the Seas sister ship cruise, life was harsh on board, some of the men did not make it.
On arrival at Sydney Harbour they would find themselves in the heart of historic Sydney in an area called the Rocks, now a tourist destination, then a place of squalor; a slum filled with dingy dwellings, taverns and brothels. It was an area to be avoided, people were not safe and gangs patrolled it pouncing on the unsuspecting drunk or visitor to the brothels. Despite having some grand shipping buildings and businesses here with pretty historic cottages, the area fell into further disarray when the shipping industry moved to nearby Circular Quay. The area would have a certain appeal for many of the convicts but they were still incarcerated when they arrived and the intention was to put them to use in the development of Sydney.
Lachlan Macquarie, is synonymous with Sydney the way John Stuart is with the Northern Territories. Both were Scots. Macquarie was the fifth and final military autocratic governor of Sydney who had a leading role in the social, economic and architectural development of the City. He played a crucial role in the transformation of New South Wales from a penal colony to a free settlement. His fingerprints are still evident in the City and add splendour and grandeur worthy of its history and status in the early settlement days. His wife, stricken by homesickness, used to sit near the harbour on the rocks watching for the ships coming in and bringing news from home. Mrs Macquarie’s chair, a rock hewn into a chair, from where she observed the Harbour comings and goings, is the final piece of an area of private garden and passageway known as Mrs Macquaries Road. Her husband had this developed in 1816, principally for her to enjoy and now a tourist attraction as a lookout point separating the idyllic Farm Cove and grittier Woolloomooloo Bay.
Macquarie developed an area at the end of Macquarie Street known as Hyde Park a green space lying to the north of the Hyde Park Barracks, home to the colony’s convicts. The Barracks are now a living museum where we heard the story of Charles Smith and could see how he lived when he arrived here. The barracks contained up to 170 men at one time living cheek by jowl, sleeping in simple rope hammocks that they shared routinely with rats. The museum affords you an insight into life here with many relics recovered during its revitalisation, now on display. The voices of men and later the women incarcerated there tell a moving story, pieced together from historic records and linked to discoveries in the building and in the records maintained of the day. The men here contributed to the development of Macquaire’s vision for the City working as builders, roofers, cabinet makers and plumbers. The regal court building, St Mary’s Cathedral, the Sydney Hospital, National Mint, Parliament Building and the National Library among the buildings we took in are evidence of his vision realised.
However Macquarie and the convicts found living with the indigenous peoples of the area was not as harmonious as it might have been. Macquarie was responsible for authorising the massacre of the Gundungurra and Dharawal people. In the Barracks we heard of the massacre of aborigine families and of wars between the two factions locally as they tried to claim their land back or achieve superiority. With the military power associated with the regime it was evident there was only going to be one winner here. The tales within the Barracks shifted from convicts to a holding house for immigrants. Mostly women were housed here on arrival, many from Ireland, their lives packed neatly into little brown suitcases. Some of the fine linen and lace still on display in the Barracks, little rosary beads and hair clips evidence that these women arrived prepared to remain, with hope and anticipation in their journey and relived in the stories we listened to as we observed.
The Sydney Hospital adjacent to the Hyde Park Barracks was the first of Macquarie’s developments, now part of this grand building has become the Mint and Parliament building. Lined with flags of the commonwealth the Aboriginal Flag among them, evidence of a nation keen to make good the relationships damaged by colonial masters. There are two bronze statues along Macquarie street worthy of mention on our tour of historic Sydney; the statue of Matthew Flinders, you may recall we heard much about him in Adelaide, who mapped the island of Australia and the Il Porcellino a bronze copy of the lolling Florentine boar gifted to the City in 1968. Rubbing it’s nose is meant to bring luck and it glints against the sunlight with the number of people hoping to benefit from a rub of its nose.
The Rocks lay derelict, a carbuncle on the City, until the 1970’s when it was reinvigorated. The historic buildings saved from demolition, now prized residences in this dark, narrow and quaint little streets surrounding the Rocks. Play fair Street is home to welcoming pubs, restaurants with seating outside and a Market on weekends. The finest stores can be found within the old shop fronts, faced with iron lattice work now home to modern designers such as Louis Vuitton and Prada. When the City fathers wanted to destroy many of these historic buildings the foresight of a radical building workers union whose opposition to the demolition, was vocal enough to ensure the detail and history of these little buildings were retained. Sydney, among its high rise business district, its majestic harbour and bridge has history and integrity within its confines that adds weight to the principle city status in Australia. We still had much to explore and do in Sydney but understanding where it was and how it became one of the significant cities of the world was just as important as looking at its sights.
Leaving Cairns was the most difficult aspect of the tour. We huddled like penguins hoping our resistance outside the coach would delay departure, intent on stretching out our last moments in Cairns as long as possible. We all knew entering that coach would take us on the last leg or our Very Best of Australia Tour, so we huddled. The end of the trip was not something any of us was ready to acknowledge. I dragged my heels as I climbed the stairs, feeling sadness and took my seat before we set off to the airport. A few hours later we were in Sydney.
During our travels we heard more than once about the intense rivalry between Melbourne and Sydney, vying for position like petulant children, as the capital city of Australia. In the end the government declared neither was suitable and the status of capital went instead to Canberra, created for the purpose in 1927 in the style of an authoritative parent. Sydney, however was the location where the first settlers arrived and its status and integrity as a candidate for Capital was certainly due in part to the development of the City by its first Scottish Governor Lachlan MacQuarie. The City has many grand buildings thanks to his influence on its design and grandeur.
In the history of Sydney Harbour we learned that in 1780 Captain Cook actually missed the harbour berthing instead at Botany Bay. On his recommendation this became the site for the penal colony and in 1788 the first fleet arrived with over 1000 prisoners. Life was hard, Botany Bay was not the ‘fine meadows’ Captain Cook billed it to be, it had little to sustain the early settlers and no freshwater. Actually Commander Arthur Philip later moved the fleet south beyond South Head Cliff and located the most natural and largest harbour in the world. He named it Sydney Cove after Viscount Sydney the Secretary of State for Great Britain at the time.
Port Jackson, home to the indigenous people at the time, carves Sydney in two halves linked by the Harbour Bridge since 1932. The South Shore contains the city centre, while many of the main attractions are within sight of Circular Quay. We were resident in the Harbour View Hotel on North Shore directly above Lavender Bay where several little yachts were moored adding a seaside charm to the city. There were additional coves, bays and harbours around the sprawling city, accommodating business, wharf developments, bars, restaurants, tourist attractions and residences. A one bedroom flat overlooking the harbour would set you back around $1 000 000 AUD.
Our coach made it’s way over the famous Harbour Bridge as we entered the North Shore, many business blocks here rose into the horizon just like those in the business district of the South Shore. The visitor attractions were less evident here, it was more of a suburb for working and living. Our Hotel was aptly named Harbour View, stretching its foundation over the railway line its curved convex line hugging the hillside, with every window afforded a sensational view of the Harbour Bridge and South Shore. It was a prime view you would never tire of. Many of our group left the curtains open in deference to its majesty letting it fill the window frame with its grandeur, the entire time we were there. At night the twinkling lights of the City and Circular Quay, the Super-Cruise ships docked at Campbell Cove, added a layer of magic to the vista but the camera flash prohibited you from capturing the mesmerising image with any quality.
The rail link between North and South Sydney runs under the hotel, this meant frequent earthquake like vibrations every time a train arrived or departed the station. We hoped for a higher floor given the vibration was so noisily close on the first level bar floor. However even from the 8th floor the rumble was apparent and we were grateful they ceased running between midnight and 4 in the morning. Staying on the North side had the major advantage of the view, but really you want to be on the South side where the attractions lay. Our day would inevitably begin with a walk downhill and over the bridge taking around 40 minutes, a short ferry to Circular Quay or a two stop train ride changing at the first station before traversing to the South Shore. Over 30 000 cars per day make the journey across the bridge to the west or eastern side of the City.
To use public transport here you need an Opal card, available at the little convenience stores these can be used on the trams (not free here like Adelaide, Perth and Melbourne), trains, buses or ferries. You can top them up as required and need to tap them off and on each journey to ensure you pay the right amount. If you have a pre-paid card or debit card then you may also use those instead. Those in our group who bought a card with $20 dollars each (you need one each) did not use it to its full advantage since many enjoyed wandering around the city on foot. If you want to travel to Manly beach or by any of the ferries it’s a great advantage. We opted for walking and debiting the costs on our pre-paid card.
On our second day in the City we took a dinner cruise around the harbour. Near the entrance to the Harbour lies Fort Denison completed in 1887 a formal penal site it was used as solitary confinement for prisoners not toeing the line. Nowadays it is a national heritage site, more used to monitoring tidal patterns and as a navigational aide. Should you wish you could be married there. Along the shores we saw the Royal Sydney Yacht club, of which the Duke of Edinburgh is patron. Our ferry navigated each of the coves and bays as we tucked into a two course lunch of Barramundi or Tenderloin followed by chocolate bombs or lime cheesecake. A narrator provided points of interest and stories of past events surrounding the harbour, while we sat a top of the boat enjoying the scenery along with a chilled glass of sav blanc.
As we sailed back to Wharf 6 at Circular Quay we observed Admiralty House home to the Governor of Sydney, guns still evident from the gardens pointing out to the harbour to protect the owner, redundant now and like large cigars propped against the wheels long extinguished and forgotten. Port Jackson, once home to the aboriginal people of Sydney welcomes around 2 500 ships a year into the harbour which is 9 km deep even at low tide. In Welsh bay we heard of the importance it played in the development of Sydney as a busy wharf area where cargo was loaded and unloaded and how in the early 1900 the bubonic plague took its toll decimating the area. The wharfs lay derelict for many years but have been revitalised in pursuit of prime locations within the City, it is here Russel Crowe’s apartment worthy some 13$ AUD is located, with his super yacht moored along side. The revitalisation of the wharf’s largely occupied by art and cultural exhibitors are there for everyone to enjoy, with theatre, 99 art galleries, bars and restaurants.
As our boat transversed the harbour back to our dock, we caught sight of the two icons of the harbour; the Sydney Opera House and the Bridge. Soon we would see both of these icons up close…. one a bit closer than the other.