Northwest Pool, Austin v. The Lido, Winchester

The cruise log is over (thank GOD, I hear you say) and I'm deep in the land of Dubai tales.  Before I get swallowed up, here's an ex-pat POV of an Austin, Texas treasure.  Austin's earnest Parks & Recreation Department offers many super swimming holes including the world renowned Barton Springs and Deep Eddy Pool but my own local, Beverly S. Sheffield Park, aka Northwest pool, is surely the prettiest in town.  I've been going there for years and swimming regularly for the last three.  I used to take my stepsons but now it's usually just me.  I was on the doorstep when the pool opened on April 23.  It was sunny but the water was cold; I was exhausted and shivering after only 6 lengths.  Still, I was there. 

Across the basketball court, alongside the tennis courts

Lovely Northwest Pool

Now it's May 29 and in the mid 90s.  The water has warmed up and every visit's a treat.  After performing Creepy Campfire Stories for crazy end-of-semester elementary kids all morning and invoicing all afternoon, I grab my swim bag and make the 1-mile drive to the park.  Leaving my car in a shady residential street, I walk over the wooden bridge, across the basketball court, alongside the tennis courts, up the hill and along the path to the main entrance.  Schools break for summer tomorrow so while the pool is busy today, it's nothing compared to the watery Bedlam I can expect this weekend.

As the sun slips slowly westward, I see the regulars who do what I do: swim for exercise while at the same time enjoying the perfection of the park.  Along with the swimmers, there's Tall Round Man who walks from one side to the other; never seen him swim.  There's Grumpy Old Lady who sets up her floating bed so it's half poolside, half in the water.  She never swims either and gets thoroughly bad-tempered if the water rocks her bed, mumbling to herself and scowling at children who come near her.  All last summer, Tall Round Man and I commented lightly as we passed each other, him walking, me swimming: "I see she's no happier today!" and "She's particularly miserable this afternoon!"  All last summer, she scowled at me when I swam nearby, even when it was just to touch the side before swimming another length.  Today, I take a breath and say, "Hello, how are you?" and the next thing, I'm having a full-on conversation about England and how much she loves it.  I've broken the ice!  And I may, like it or not, be chatting with her daily for the next 5 months! 

"But it could be worse," I think. "I could be at the Lido Swimming Pool in Winchester."  In Austin, it's pool weather from May until October.  Not so in England.  The Lido opened annually on 1st May regardless of the weather and when I remind you that it occasionally snows in England in May, you'll understand my appreciation of central Texas' climate.  When I was ten, a Hampshire Chronicle photographer came to my school, St. Peter's Roman Catholic Primary, to find kids who wanted to be first in the pool on 1st May.  Since I was an appalling swimmer (could barely swim at all), it seems unlikely I'd respond, and yet I apparently volunteered.  More likely, I was volunteered.  Along with a boy from my school, Keith Tasker, I went to be "first in the pool."  There were three other kids from other schools.  It was a freezing, blustery, grey day and none of us wanted to get in, let alone swim.  There was no question of us not getting in; nevertheless we hung back.  If I recall correctly, the water temperature was 50 deg. F.  The photographer eventually shoved me bodily into the icy water.  I screamed as if I'd been stabbed.

Mum kept the black and white photo for years; I wish I still had it to show you.  The caption read: "Five Brave Young Swimmers Battle the Water at the Winchester Lido on 1st May" and shows the five of us huddled together like penguins in an Antarctic storm.  I'm wearing a regulation black swimsuit and a white rubber cap.  I was utterly miserable, and I look it. 

I smile at Grumpy Old Lady.  "See you tomorrow," I say as I head into the sunset.  I know when I'm blessed.

The pool was behind the wall.  It's a parking lot now.

S.S. UGANDA Cruise Personal Log, Sixteenth/Seventeenth Day

Wednesday, November 10, 1971.  There were issues with going ashore today, after yesterday's events.  I think we visited a museum, something like that.  Shame on me for this gross memory lapse.  As we were flying back from Venice to London the next morning, Thursday 11 November, I guess we packed for disembarkation and the flight. 

I'd never been on a aeroplane before.  Flight GK 164 was with Laker Airways, a wholly British enterprise, privately owned by Freddie Laker, one of the pioneers in low-cost air-travel.  In high spirits, glad to be going home, I jabbered away cheerfully prior to take-off.  We were all laughing at the brown paper sick bags at our seats, "spew bags" we called them.  We went up and down the aisles getting them autographed.  There was nary a blank space on mine; a few boys I'd come to like signed it which was tantamount to saying they loved me!

It was a short flight (3 hours) but I didn't know that when we took off.  It'd taken 16 days to reach Venice; for all I knew, it might take that long to fly back!  Laker Airways' flights were famous for getting you high fast...that sounds terrible...I mean, for reaching altitude quickly, so as to save fuel costs.  Actual take-off was petrifying.  I was a little uneasy about the speed reached on the runway but totally shocked by the sense of being thrust back in my seat as we lifted off the ground.  The swift upward motion of the aircraft made me feel like we were in a rocket so far back in my seat was I thrust.  I was upside-down, facing the stars!  I immediately lost hearing in both ears. 

Do you recall that I'd discovered my fear of heights when I was on the back of the Santorini mule?  Can you imagine my panic now?  I couldn't see out of the window because it was stormy but that may've been a good thing, looking back on it.  No one warned me that plane engines were noisy and that those noises altered regularly as the captain changed gears.  From the moment of take-off I thought something was wrong.  "Shouldn't someone be checking the engines?" I thought, looking about anxiously. "They're obviously about to explode."  Then the turbulence began.  Naturally, I'd never heard of turbulence.  All I knew was that the plane was shaking violently and things were falling out of overhead bins.  This seemed to go on forever, so long in fact that I started to feel sick.  Then the plane shuddered and the engine noises abruptly shifted their timbre.  They got even louder: my ears were so painful, I thought they might pop.  I tried not to cry.  Suddenly, out of the blue, the plane swerved and started going down.  "We're going to die!" I wanted to shout but of course I couldn't because I'm English.  Now I felt really sick.  Oh no, please God, please don't let me be sick.  I'd rather die than be sick in front of all these people.  I'd been car sick since a baby and was NOTORIOUS as a child for throwing up on people's party dresses.  PLEASE don't let me be sick.  I reached for my now fabulously signed spew bag -- no, no, not my lovely spew bag -- and had just shaken it open to vomit when there was an almighty thud which shook me to my core.  I was suddenly knocked back into my seat.  We've crashed, I thought, too scared to throw up.  Absolute terror overtook me and I looked around to see if I could follow what everyone else was doing.  Which was...NOTHING.  No one was doing anything.  A voice said, "Ladies and Gentlemen, we've landed safely at London Gatwick airport."  

And that was that.  We got a coach back to Winchester.  It took three days for me to get my ears back.  I still believe that group willpower gets a plane off the ground and fervent prayer lands it.  

S.S. UGANDA Cruise Personal Log, Fifteenth Day

I believe we arrived in Venice today, Tuesday, November 9.  I've heard that Venice is spectacular in the sunshine but today, it's raining.  It's grey and a bit smelly.  Still, we're glad to get off the ship.  Venice is famous for its hand-blown glass so our first stop is the glass blowing factory.  It's fascinating to watch and I love it.  I buy my sister an orange/yellow horse ornament; she's 13 and into horses in a big way.

We're in full school uniform in groups of five as we do the sights: St. Mark's Square, the Basilica, the Rialto Bridge, the Bridge of Sighs.  Then we walk the streets, window shopping: there's a dazzling array of available Venetian goods.  Equally dazzling is the array of available Venetian gods, from mid-teens to early 20s, that follow us, call out to us, and try to touch us as we pass.  At first it's exciting, enticing and we almost encourage it.  A few of the girls, one in my group especially, are actively egging on our admirers.  Not me.  The boys are a little too close for my comfort level.  I like looking at them from a distance; having them look at me the same way.  It's starting to get dark as more and more boys appear and now we're being crowded and jostled by them.  I feel a hand on my bum which disturbs rather than flatters.  I notice as yet more boys emerge from side passages that it's like they're trying to separate us and pull us into the alleys.  I wonder if it's my over-active adolescent imagination but I don't think it is; frankly, I'm getting nervous.  I see our headmistress notice the same thing.  "Grab each other's hands!" she shouts, "Link arms!"  She's gathering her groups together so there's safety in numbers.  At one point, much to our hilarity but also somewhat to our consternation, she actually swipes one of the boys with her handbag.  Surrounded by them, these youths are everything I've read about Italian males: at once attractive and menacing.  They make strange clucking noises which I assume are meant to be alluring but are oddly threatening as if they're herding us, like lambs to the slaughter.

It's nearly dark.  The rain-soaked sidewalks gleam beneath the street lights; the canals shimmer.  Our headmistress herds us herself now, back towards the ship.  Oh, the fickle duality of puberty -- disappointment and relief on either side of this tantalizing tightrope.  Me, I'm just thankful someone is taking charge.

Safely on the ship, we peer out of the portholes.  The more daring Italians are trying to climb on board, swinging from the guy ropes like paper lanterns in the breeze.  As I write, I envision "Pirates of the Caribbean" -- hundreds of fervent, sex-crazed pirates with striped t-shirts and earrings, shimmying across the ropes to reach these pale English damsels.  It's more like four or five eager youngsters showing off to their friends.  Nevertheless it creates a journal moment. 

Finally, we're told to move away from the portholes and go to the other side of the ship.  "Nothing to see here, folks, nothing to see here!"  With a groan of rebellious regret, we head to the common room for dinner and delicious dissection of the most interesting thing to happen since leaving the dull shores of England.

S.S. UGANDA Cruise Personal Log, Fourteenth Day

Without a log, I mostly reminisce.  On Monday, November 8, we certainly travelled from Greece, west across the Mediterranean towards Italy.  No doubt we did the usual things: breakfast, classes, lunch, deck games, dinner, dancing, hot chocolate and cookies before going to bed at 9:30.  I must've met a few boys by then and spoken to at least one because he (Colin?) made his way to my home in Winchester about a month later to ask me out.  I was aghast!  He arrived by train early one Saturday morning from a town called Andover.  He had my address; at least, he made the 7-minute walk from Winchester Railway Station and found our house.  My 13 year-old sister opened the door and told him to wait on the front steps.  She woke me up to say,

"There a boy called Colin to see you."

"Who?  Where?"

"Colin.  At the front door.  What shall I tell him?"

I didn't know any Colins.  Wait...from the cruise?  Visiting me?!  I didn't want to see him.

"I don't want to see him," I said, thoroughly panicked.  "Make him go away."

 

"What do you mean, make him go away!  How do I make him go away?"

"Tell him I'm not here."

"He knows you're here.  I told him you were here.  You'll have to think of something else."

"Tell him I'm asleep.  No...wait...say I'm sick.  Get his phone number; say I'll call him."

So that's what happened.  As soon as she closed the door on him, I ran to the front window; watched him walk back towards the railway station and out of my life.  Poor Colin!  I felt truly sorry for him.  I was grateful on the one hand that he was keen on me, terrified on the other because I'd no idea how to behave with a boy who was keen on me.  I couldn't have rung him even if I'd wanted to because we didn't have a telephone.  And I wouldn't have rung him even if I could've...because, after all, what on earth would I have done with him? 

S.S. UGANDA Cruise Personal Log, Thirteenth Day

As I don't actually remember the day trip to Itea, Delphi, I thought I'd post a few photos taken from the web.  Itea is so exquisite, so unbelievably beautiful that I'm sickened by my lackadaisical attitude.  Please enjoy the photos while picturing a big bunch of uniformed English schoolgirls, nonchalantly ambling through this scenic loveliness and allowing their juvenile disregard, their shocking indifference, to swallow the moment whole without tasting a single morsel.

I suppose, in recalling my own adolescent apathy, it's also a chance to extend a little empathy to the lethargic teen I may meet later today...

S.S. UGANDA Cruise Personal Log, Twelfth Day/Thirteenth Day

This is actually the last day I wrote up my log even though we didn't fly home from Italy until Thursday 11/11 -- the cruise was 17 days long.  "The following day" I cite here was Sunday 7/11 and it seems we went to Itea in Delphi.  I admit with shame that I've no recollection of this excursion.  Evidently I did not write my log unless forced.  However, rest assured that I recall arriving at our next and final stop, Venice.  My teenage memory bank can retrieve every sordid detail of that visit; no log required.  Tomorrow's blog, my friends.

One last thing here though.  My Uncle Trevor (who died in 2010) was on this cruise.  I think I knew he was going to be there but had forgotten and it wasn't until he found me in the Ship's Common Room that it came back to me.  Trevor was my dad's brother.  I hardly knew my father as he left when I was 5 and Mum barely kept in touch with his family: younger brother, Trevor and elder sister, Mollie, although both had tried to help after Dad left.  Anyway, Uncle Trevor found me on this evening, before we arrived in Venice.  He was party leader for another school and had chosen this cruise because he was Catholic (as were all the Nasons, including my father) and wanted to visit Catholic sites in Venice.  He seemed charmed by me and, I think, surprised I'd turned out so well considering my father's absence. 

After Dad died, we cleared his cottage and discovered a suitcase of letters under his bed.  Not only did we uncover everything we'd written him as children, we found a letter from Trevor.  He said he'd met me on this Mediterranean cruise and that I was "a lovely girl" of whom he should be proud, but who needed a father.  He reprimanded his elder brother, suggesting he reconsider his life decisions and start taking care of his children who were somehow growing up to be fine adults, in spite of his dereliction of duty.  If Dad felt some guilt, there was no evidence of it, and I didn't see my Uncle Trevor again for many years.  He gave me a map of Venice which I'm looking at as I write this blog.

6/11/71

Pireaus to Itea

Personal Log: Twelfth Day

Today we had lessons as usual, as we were not going ashore.  We were told that we had to get our scrapbooks finished by this evening so I spent most of my time sticking in pictures and the essays that I had already written.  Then we went to the assembly hall for a lecture on Delphi by Mr. Gawthorpe which was very interesting.  He is a good speaker.  In the afternoon there were deck games again but these were the finals of deck hockey and deck cricket.  I played in deck hockey and we lost.  The cricket players won.  Perhaps that was because I was not playing!  After having played hockey I went back to the common room to finish the scrapbook and bring my log up to date.  I spent a long time tonight getting ready for the dance because I had so much time to spare.  Went to bed at 9:30 because we have to get up at 6.00 the following day.

S.S. UGANDA Cruise Personal Log, Eleventh Day

This was an important day; my log entry doesn't come close.  The Parthenon had a profound effect on me.  My mum, an amateur historian, always said that some folk had "a sense of history" and by this she meant, could "feel" the past when standing at a ancient site.  I attach a photo of me in the precise spot where I felt overcome with emotion: people had stood in this same spot for hundreds, no, thousands of years and I could sense their presence, hear their footsteps, feel their emotions.  It was the first time I'd ever had that sensation.  You'll also notice in the picture my school uniform.  We'd been advised that our skirts should be an "appropriate" length.  I lengthened my skirt 2" for the cruise.  Imagine it beforehand...I must've been flashing me frilly bloomers to all and sundry.  I recall being appalled by the lecherous men on the Metro.  Interesting that I describe both Athens and Piraeus as clean...I've been there many times since and I think them among the dirtiest, dustiest places I've ever been.

5/11/71

Santorin to Athens

Personal Log: Eleventh Day

Alison's birthday.  We were called to disembarkation stations at 910 and went on another guided coach tour.  This time our coach was no. 3 and our guide spoke like Charles Boyer.  He was very nice.  The Acropolis was beyond compare.  It is the loveliest thing I have ever seen before.  We then went round Athens and Piraeus which were very large and clean.  We went back to the ship for lunch but we were late.  When we redisembarked we went to the museum in Athens.  This seemed small at first but turned out quite large.  We had taken the underground there and took it back but we still did some walking and I was surprised to find that the men thought we were wearing very short skirts.  We did a little window shopping on the way back, because we had no money left to buy anything.  In the evening, shore visits were permitted if escorted by a member of staff.  I didn't go and instead went to a small dance held in the verandah.  We went to bed at 10:00 because the others were late back.