What is it that makes one person keen to explore the world and another content to stay in the same place they were born? Is in in the genes? Is it curiosity? Comfort? Fear? Boredom?
As a child growing up in the UK my wanderings began before I had any say in them as my parents moved several times before I was a teenager, purely for dad’s employment. Being introduced as the new kid in school was embarrassing and cringe-making. I hated it, but it was what it was. Fortunately from the age of 10 we stayed put in Wakefield, West Yorkshire. Or at least they did. For a while.
Dad did ponder on taking us to Australia on the £10 scheme, but chickened out at the last minute which made me sad because I was so looking forward to seeing kangaroos and koalas and living by the sea. It did however spark a keen interest in all things Australian and what else was out there in the world and needless to say my favourite subject was geography.
Fast forward to 1970 when I was due to finish my O levels. I had enjoyed my grammar school education in the main, being part of the (rather successful) hockey team left me with good memories and great pals, I contributed to the school magazine, loved the English and Geography trips (mainly to parts of the Yorkshire moors and dales) and enjoyed the languages I studied (French, German and Latin if you are remotely interested). My mother was keen for me to continue to study my A levels and go on to university. I, however had other plans. I decided I would train in hotel management, the idea being that it would be a route into working overseas. So off I went to Huddersfield Polytechnic.
I didn’t last long. The fact that I had to board during the week in a very inhospitable house which smelled of boiled cabbage (the sort you boil all day) combined with a very harsh typing teacher who hit the backs of your hands with a ruler if you dared to look at the keys whilst typing, severely tested my enthusiasm. When told I would be working in Harrogate over the Christmas break (the work experience part) away from friends and family, I quit. In retrospect that wasn’t the cleverest move on my part. But you can’t undo the past.
Six months later, standing in the kitchen drying the dishes from the usual Sunday lunch, with my mother washing up, my then boyfriend, dad and brother sitting in the lounge watching the football I had a lightbulb moment. My future life lay before me.
And so I cooked up a plan…
TRAVEL WORDS 