life
THERE IS ALWAYS WORK IN GIB Pete looks back fondly on his time in Gibraltar, from 1984 to 1988.
BY PETE WOLSTENCROFT I left my home in Blackpool in 1984. I had a backpack in which to carry my meagre belongings, an open mind and no real plan. I was 25 years old. As with so many young men before me, I was seeking to escape a job of stultifying boredom. I had reached the heady heights of branch manager in a national chain of sport shops. I hated it. I meandered through the south of France, crossed the border into Spain and ended up on the Costa del Sol. With rapidly dwindling reserves of cash, I heard a constant mantra: “There is always work in Gib.” Naturally, I made my way to La Línea, where I was surprised to find that British citizens were not allowed to cross the land border to Gibraltar. This meant I had to book passage on the old Mons Calpe in order to spend the night in Tangier, before stepping ashore on the Rock. I trudged the alleyways and avenues in a vain attempt to find work. Footsore and thirsty, I went for a drink in the Angry Friar. Here I fell into conversation with a bloke who was working on the refurbishment of the number one 30
dry dock. He assured me that if I turned up bright and early on Monday morning and asked for a job, my eagerness would be rewarded.
"There was just one problem. I was terrified of heights." And so it was. I am a big bloke – six feet two inches tall and heavily built, but here I was the runt of the litter. Where did they get these people? It was like some sort of land of the giants. I had never seen anything like it in my life. I was taken on as a scaffolder’s labourer. I was delighted to get a job, or as my new colleagues called it: a bend. There was just one problem. I was terrified of heights. But given the choice between vertigo and starvation, I chose the former and somehow developed a head for heights. Such was the strenuous nature of the work that I had little time to really appreciate my surroundings. My first three months were spent desperately
trying to achieve the stamina and fortitude my new role required. I found accommodation on Eastern Beach – a tiny, onebedroom, studio apartment, in which there was barely room to swing a cat. And talk about noisy neighbours. On my first night I was woken up by an apocalyptic roar, that could only have been the end of the world or a colossal earthquake. It turned out to be the routine takeoff of a military jet. Such was my state of exhaustion that I soon fell back into a deep sleep and within a few days, my subconscious had filed these comings and goings away in some safe corner of my mind. It was a surprise to me that Spanish was spoken everywhere. But it was more of a surprise to some of my colleagues to find out that I spoke the language, although I took a little while to reveal that fact! Though my flat was small, it was only one minute from the beach. A swim after work revitalised me and gave me the energy to socialise. And there was no shortage of places to have a refreshing drink with my newfound friends. The Three Roses, GIBRALTAR MAGAZINE OCTOBER 2020
