From Penzance to Perth on a Tiger

MAP SHOWING OUR JOURNEY FROM PENZANCE TO PERTH!

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UNITED KINGDOM

Penzance, Dover

BELGIUM

Oostende

GERMANY

Frankfurt

AUSTRIA

Graz

YUGOSLAVIA

Zagreb - Beograd

BULGARIA

Sofia

TURKEY

Istanbul, Ankara, Samsun, Trabzon, Erzurum

IRAN

Tabriz, Tehran, Gorgan, Mashhad

AFGHANISTAN

Herat, Kandahar, Kabul, Jalalabad

PAKISTAN

Islamabad, Gujranwala, Lahore

INDIA

Amritsar, Delhi, Agra, Indore, Bombay, Poona, Bangalore, Kolar, Madras

MALAYSIA

Penang, Kuala Lumpur

SINGAPORE AUSTRALIA

Perth, Kalgoorlie

PROLOGUE

I first met Tony when I was 13 years old. He had just moved to the village of Crowlas where I grew up. He would have been about 23. He looked very smart with his drain pipe trousers, slicked back hair and long side burns.

He looked like a teddy boy and being a cheeky kid, I asked him where his teddy bear was! Tony smiled at me. I didn’t notice that he was carrying a box of eggs. That was my first mistake. My second mistake was to look away. The first egg passed my nose within inches. I looked around only to see Tony bearing down on me with another egg in his hand. I jumped the wall, running like hell, with eggs whistling past my head and at least two eggs hit their target. I hid in the long grass too scared to move with egg yolk running down the back of my neck. I can still hear him laughing as he walked up the path to his home. He was happy that he’d just sorted out the cheekiest kid in the village.

Little did I know that eight years later Tony & I would be heading across the world on a 1957 Triumph motorbike that we had restored. We rode through some of the toughest countries in the world for over 15,000 miles and shared some incredible experiences. I feel lucky to have met a “Tony” at that time in my life and this book is a tribute to my mate.

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The year was 1970. Holmans Dry Dock was a cold place in winter or summer as your feet were always wet working under the ship. It was 4.45pm and I was walking across the road to the bus station. The rain had started to soak through my trousers and the icy wind made it feel ever colder. I made my mind up there and then that when I finished my apprenticeship, I would leave this country for good. Africa was the place for me – I had seen the advertisement in the newspaper!

I only had about one year to go before my apprenticeship was up.

The No. 17 bus to Crawlas was warm but then walking from the bus stop to home was hell on earth! Damp clothes and a biting wind! I had dinner, showered and changed and then it was back down to The Star for a pint. There were about four people in the pub that night including a guy called Tony Richards. Tony was good looking, very tough and had certainly “done the rounds”.

We started to chat and Tony told me that he was working for Pinewood Studios in London and had just bought a motorbike from them that had been damaged in a stunt. He was going to repair it to its former glory. After a few more pints of beer and a lot of discussion, we decided that we would ride together to Australia!

Tony bought the damaged motorbike down from London and asked the landlord of The Star Inn, Percy Ungate if he could let Tony and I have the old stable at the back of the pub to work on the bike. It was fine with Percy and the restoration could begin.

The motorbike was a Triumph 1957 model and somehow Tony found all the parts we needed to restore it. We spent night after night working with no heating – at times it was so cold my fingers could not hold the bolts needed to fit the parts together.

We found an old sidecar frame to put on the bike to carry all the equipment and spare parts we would need on our trip to Australia. We went to a sail maker in Penzance and had two canvas bags made in which to fit our sleeping bags. These could double up as hammocks to keep us off the ground and away from the bugs on our travels!

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As time went on the bike came together nicely. Every night we would work on it first and then spend the last hour in the pub!

Percy let slip one night what we were about to embark on and word got out. Of course most people did not believe that we would be silly enough to do something like ride an old motorbike to the other side of the world. However, Tony had a reputation for doing what he said he would do! So, it didn’t take long for word to get back to my Mum and Dad. Mum really disliked Tony which didn’t help matters and all Dad said was “You are going to spend all that time and money on an old bike just to get your bloody throat cut in some dirty place like India ….. Ya right!”

The bike was rebuilt from top to bottom and the sidecar frame had to be modified to fit the box so I could take parts to work.

We got the bike up and running one cold winter’s afternoon and rode it up and down Chaple Square as you can see from the photographs. We fitted the sidecar frame soon afterwards. It certainly wasn’t easy riding with a sidecar – right hand corners were OK but left hand corners could be disastrous as the sidecar frame could lift off the ground and easily tip over on you …. as I soon found out! I rode it to work one day to finish some welding on the side car frame, when my mate asked me what I was up to.

I told him we were riding it to Australia and his reply was “Your mate Tony and you will be lucky if you get to Camborne.”

And then there was JENNY! Jenny was Tony’s girlfriend – she was about 24 years old, beautiful and lucky for Tony and I intelligent! Jenny lived with Tony in his cottage behind the Chapel. The place was always spotless and Jen looked after Tony like a king! So why would he want to ride this 1957 Triumph half way around the world to Australia? That was just Tony!

Jenny organized our passports, visas and any other documentation we would need for the trip. Tony and I would work in the old stable until 9.30pm. Jenny would come down each night and attempt to get Tony home for tea at 7pm but Tony wouldn’t move as the bike was more important to him than tea.

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The weather was very cold and the old oil heater we had didn’t do much at all. By 9.30pm we would both have had enough and couldn’t wait to get into the pub to have a pint of beer or two.

Percy would ask how things were going and the old boys at the bar would ask when we were off.

Of course, money was a big problem as we needed to buy parts for the bike plus spare parts to take with us on the trip. We also needed warm clothes, good boots, gloves and something to cook food on. With no sponsorship, it was very difficult to finance it.

Tony was still driving long distances and once a month I was off with the TA at Truro. I was then a Lance Corporal in the Fifth Battalion Light Infantry. I would leave work at 5pm and be on my way to Truro by 6pm. I would then climb into the back of a 3 tonne army truck on the road to Dartmoor with my rifle and army kit. I would spend the night in the cold and rain and then practice navigation section attacks all Saturday. We would walk through the night and then at first light, attack a section position. All in all it toughened me up. I knew what it was like to be wet and cold for hours on end and how to get up on your feet when you thought there was nothing left in your body to keep going.

However, nothing could have prepared me for what my body was going to go through on our trip to Australia! There was no going back for Tony and I!!

The box was now on the sidecar frame and it was time to decide what to put in it! Spare parts, tools, spare clothes, medical kit and extra tyres to strap on the front of the box. We even took a spare gear box but with all the other gear, weight became a problem and we knew we would have to dump gear along the way if necessary.

The cooking equipment consisted of a kerosene burner on which to fit a large saucepan. We would boil up vegetables and then throw some powered soup into the saucepan and mix it all together. As dried soup was light we took about 50 packs of soup!

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We had bought two pairs of motorcycle boots (sheepskin lined) and our trousers and jackets were bellstaf oiled cotton and they never let us down. We loaded up the sidecar and did a few trial runs. We even drove it over to Newlyn and took it to the top of Bauge Hill. It was a one in six hill with a hair-pin bend in it half way up. Everything went well and we were full of confidence.

We kept the bike at the Star Inn and all the equipment and passports were at Tony’s house in the spare room.

It was nearly D-Day. Tony was going to do one more long distance trip and I was going to do my last weekend with the TA. I returned on a Sunday afternoon. Walking up the path I spotted Mum and Dad looking through the window at me. I knew straight away there was something wrong. I walked into the kitchen and said “What’s up?” Mum told me that Tony had a fire in his house and that although Jenny was OK, the house was a mess. Luckily for us the fire had not reached the spare bedroom door where we had most of our equipment stored. Sadly many of our documents like visas, passports etc were burnt. The police stopped Tony on his way back to Cornwall and informed him of the fire. Hearing that Jenny was OK he told the police that he may as well go and get another “load” now that he had nowhere to live. That was Tony – nothing fazed him!

Tony and Jenny rented an old farm cottage and we moved everything that wasn’t damaged by fire including the bike. Jenny set about applying for new visas/passports etc which set us back another six weeks. We knew we had to get through the Austrian and Turkish mountains before winter set in or else all would be lost.

The plan was to spend the last night at The Star. After more than a year of working on the bike, I had only saved about £125 and Tony had saved about the same. This was hardly enough to cover all our expenses to get us to Australia! So, we were going to have to use the 24 hour ration packs I had been collecting from the army. As neither of us could cook, we knew we could live on bread and vegetables and have a big stew at the end of the day!

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We started to fill the sidecar box with tools, spare parts and the spare gear box! We even threw in our clothes, good shoes and a small leather case to keep our visas/passports in. The only thing we didn’t take was a pump – that was a big mistake that we would really regret! The box was just about full but there was space for a broccoli knife (about 400mm long) that would prove invaluable. We both had knives – Tony had a Kobar and I had a Wilkinsons survival knife. We thought we had better leave them in the box until we felt unsafe and then slip them on our belts.

Our £2.50 atlas that we bought from Smiths Book Shop in Penzance was going to become our bible. So what was the point of bringing maps for each country when we had them all in one book! The fat line running through the country would be the main route to follow. Yes – all sealed roads just like England – a piece of cake! Another big mistake as although some roads were partly sealed, most roads came complete with pot holes you could hide in or not sealed at all. Add to this …. diversions, mudslides and sand storms. Ignorance is bliss!

It was nearly time to say goodbye. I handed in my notice at the Dock and took my friends out to the Dock Inn for a few pints.

Even the owner’s son, Tony Holman made a point of saying good luck. For a while I felt quite important but I knew deep down some people wanted us to fail so that they could say to me “Well I told you so”. That night I told Mum and Dad that in a few days Tony and I would be off. Mum pursed her lips together and looked stressed. Dad grunted. Welly said good luck, Al and my sister just stood and looked … and then asked Mum where Ali was going. The other goodbye would be from Lulu. Albert and Lulu lived next to us in Chaple Square and their house was my place of refuge when I got into trouble. They had no children so I spent a lot of time with them. Ever since I could walk, I would jump next door to see Albert. We would all sit in their little front room and watch TV together. The room would be full of smoke as Albert and I would smoke Woodbinds. He called me Lofty because of my fair hair and he would pass me a cigarette every time he had one! But in the end, the cigarettes got the better of 8

him and he died of cancer at the age of 56 years old. I knew Lulu would take it really badly when I left.

Jenny had flown to Frankfurt in Germany where she had a job on an American Air Base. We were going to drive down and meet her there and if necessary leave some of our gear there if we found the bike was too heavy to handle.

On a Saturday we drove the bike down to the Star Inn and planned to leave on the Monday. On the Sunday things were pretty sombre around the house as I started to put the last few things together before the big trip began. Mum and Dad were in the kitchen with Jen (my lovely little sister who we all adored).

Wel was also there. My brother was going out with his mates so he didn’t want to hang around. I knew I had to get the farewells over quickly as there was a bit of tension in the room. So I said “OK I am off then”. Mum looked up for a second and then came over and kissed me. Dad shook my hand – it was the kind of hand shake that said “You’ll be back here again next week”. I shook my brother’s hand next – it was a firm hand shake as if to say that he felt he may not see me again. I looked down at my little sister and picked her up in my arms. She clasped her little arms and legs around me and I told her I would be back soon.

She said nothing. I put her down and raced for the door when my Mum said “Jen has something for you”. Jen held out a little white box which I opened and inside was a St Christopher necklace. I could feel a lump in my throat so I quickly turned around and headed for the door. I knew they would all be staring out of the kitchen window but I didn’t look back. I walked down Tregender Hill feeling pretty sad and headed down to the pub for a few pints. The boys had great fun taking “the piss” out of me about our trip. The wind was cold but this time I didn’t mind as I would soon be in the sun. I got down so far as John Preston’s farm house and there coming out of the gate was Mrs Preston.

She was a really nice lady who always had a smile on her face and waved warmly to me. Behind her was her daughter, Alexandra who I always had great difficulty taking my eyes off her as she had such a beautiful face. However, a welder from the Dock Yard would never have an Alexandra! But I never forgot 9

that face and it was nearly two years later that I lay “in ambush” for her at Chaple Square!

I walked up the little path and knocked on the door of Lulu’s house. I said “Hi Lu, I have come to say Goodbye”. She said “Don’t be silly and sit down and have a cup of tea.” I told her that I couldn’t possibly have a cup of tea as I was off to Australia tomorrow on our motorbike! She looked at me with tears in her eyes. I didn’t think she would take it so badly. I kissed her on her cheek and as I did this she grabbed my arms. I had to get out of there as it was all too much for me. As I pulled away Lulu slipped off her chair onto the floor crying. I felt really awful but it was late and I had to go. I left her still crying on the floor as I closed the door behind me. I walked down to The Star with a very heavy heart.

Tony was at the back of The Star checking the bike for the final time. We both looked at the bike thinking that this was going to get us all the way to Australia …. we hoped! Although I really wasn’t in the mood for a Farewell Party I knew we were going to have one so it was off to the pub for a few pints with the old boys and off to bed thanks to Percy who gave us a room at the pub. I didn’t sleep much that night although I knew I would feel better once we were on the road tomorrow.

We got up around 7am feeling pretty rough. Tony had consumed a few more pints than me the night before and looked like he did!! We had a nice breakfast … I hardly ate a thing as the truth was “I was shitting myself – more afraid of failing than dying in some God forsaken land!”

We pushed the bike out into the yard. The bike was very heavy and we knew we would have to offload some gear at Jenny’s house in Frankfurt if it got too much. We rugged up nice and warm as it was going to be a long day. After putting our helmets on and kick starting the motorbike I shook hands with Percy for the last time and jumped on the back. We were on the road to see Tony’s brother who lived near Dover and Tony knew the way like the back of his hand.

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As we turned onto the A30 I leaned forward and said to Tony “Turn left for Australia mate” and he had a bit of a chuckle. I turned around for my last look at Chaple Square and hoped I would see someone I knew .. and there in his green van was Mr O’Brien just slowing down behind us. Morris O’Brien was an RSM ex-professional soldier war hero with a handle bar moustache and big grin on his face. He gave us a thumbs up as I grinned and nodded back and the send off was complete.

For the next few hours we sped along the road. We had a few strange looks as people wondered what we had in the big box on the sidecar frame. It was our home for the next six months.

Fortunately we had no rain as it’s no fun riding a motorbike in the rain. As the day wore on, the weight in the box was beginning to be a problem. Of course it was designed so that when you put your foot on the back brake it would put the brake on the side car wheel too. This was critical to stop the momentum of the sidecar pushing to the right. At about 9pm disaster struck. We came up to a sharp left hand turn, Tony dropped down into 3rd gear and applied the brake. The bike slowed but the weight of the box carried straight on pushing us across to the other side of the road. It was all over in a second.

All I remember seeing is the double white lines passing under us as we hit the grass bank on the other side of the road. For a few seconds we were trapped under the bike as the sidecar lifted into the air. Then thankfully it dropped back down with a thump. At that moment a truck came around the corner and missed the sidecar by a few centimetres. We both sat down and didn’t say a thing to each other until Tony finished his cigarette. He flicked the last bit into the middle of the road and said “Well Al now we are down to 8 lives” If the truck had come around the corner a few seconds sooner our trip would have ended there for the both of us.

We pushed the bike back across the road and spent the next hour making sure the sidecar brake was adjusted properly. Our nerves had settled down by then and we were back on the road again.

We got to Tony’s brother’s place and had a nice tea. I spent the 11

rest of the night wondering what we’d got ourselves into by nearly being killed before we had left England!

The next day we were up early. I even had a great breakfast.

Tony’s brother and his wife said their goodbyes and we were back on the road again. We would be in Dover in a few hours.

Tony drove again as he knew the road well. Soon we were rolling the bike onto the ferry that would take us to Belgium. We did look a little silly parking the bike alongside cars and big transport trucks. Some of the drivers came over and asked if we were touring Europe. When we said we were on our way to Australia they thought we were taking the piss but said good luck anyway and walked off shaking their heads!

Tony and I walked onto the deck as the ferry sailed away from Dover. We would not see England again for another 18 months but at that point in time we wondered if we would ever see the country again. As the mainland disappeared into the distance and our adventure began I felt good about the whole thing. This is what we worked so hard for over the last year and now it was all coming together. In a few hours we were in Belgium going through customs and ready to get on the bike again. However, this time we had to drive on the opposite side of the road which gave us another problem. The motorbike and sidecar had to be adjusted to suit the camber of the road and this held us up for a few hours. That done, we were off to spend one night on the side of the road before making it to Frankfurt to stay with Jenny for a few days. It was tempting just to pull into a B&B or a hotel for the night but we knew we didn’t have the finances for such a luxury. We needed to start as we meant to go on – sleeping beside the motorbike on the side of the road! At least the rain stayed away and we found a small café to enjoy a hot drink and something to eat. The countryside was very much like England and when we came across a nice wooded section along the road we decided to drive the bike into the woods. We could hang our hammock in the trees and this would be the way we spent our first night and for many nights in the weeks and months to come.

I sat back in my hammock and tried to push my legs into my sleeping bag but I lost my balance and my sleeping bag went one 12

way and I fell out the other way. I fell face down into the mud and leaves. Tony nearly fell out of his hammock laughing at me.

I had mud down my back and hair and my feet were now wet. I changed my technique and if this failed I was just going to sleep on the floor with the spiders and snakes! This time I made it and within minutes I was warm and went to sleep thinking that tomorrow night we would be at Jenny’s house lying in a warm bed.

I woke up with the sun filtering through the trees. We had slept well on our first night on the road. We got out our stove to boil some water to make our tea and without talking to each other I studied our atlas whilst Tony had his first fag of the day. I used the last drop of tea to clean my teeth as we did in the army and then packed up and hit the road again. We were on our way on the Autobahn to Germany. The road was great but it was pretty frightening with all the big trucks racing past our little motorbike.

By midday the weather changed and it started to rain. Every few minutes a truck would pass and drench us with a fine spray of cold water. This went on for most of the afternoon. At 4pm we stopped off for a brew as we were cold and wet. We now had to find our way to Jenny’s place but I had confidence in Tony as he always seemed to find his way to places. We thought we would go to the nearest police station as they would know how to get to the American airbase. Unfortunately the police station was locked and Tony had to bang on the door. It was about 9pm and finally the door opened about 6 inches and a very nervous looking policeman looked out at us. Behind him stood another policeman with a hand gun looking just as scared. Tony asked him for directions and gave him our mud map. The policeman made a few additions to the mud map and handed it back to Tony. The door was shut immediately. I asked Tony what that was all about and he said “The cops were shitting themselves”.

We were soon on our way to Jenny’s house. It was great to see her again and have a good feed and hot bath. The warm bed was bloody luxury! We also found out why the cops were so scared.

A group of terrorists calling themselves “Bardor Minoff” had been doing some damage around Frankfurt and threatening to bomb the American airbase.

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We spent two days at Jenny’s place. Already the simple things in life seemed more important like hot water in the tap, a washing machine and a soft bed. We emptied out the box and checked the bike to make sure everything was OK. We left the spare gear box and our luxury seats behind – why we bought them along in the first place I don’t really know. We would be roughing it from now on anyway and the box was a lot lighter now.

Our last night at Jenny’s was spent checking paperwork and having a nice dinner. We knew it would be our last good meal for a long time. The next morning was cold but dry. I sat on the bike while Tony said his last Goodbye to Jenny. I think if I had been Tony I would have stayed. Jenny loved Tony but Tony loved the open road more. Finally Tony came out, jumped on the bike and the engine fired into life. Jen gave me a peck on my cheek and we were on the road to Austria!

If the roads were good we would try to make it to Austria that day or at least to Salzburg. At times cars passed us as we were pretty slow. Some would sound their horn or give us a wave as they went by laughing at the sight of an old bike with a box for a sidecar! We would spend one more night in Germany. At about 4pm that day we came across a pine plantation so we drove the bike off the road and made camp for the night. It started to get cold and the light was fading so we had some powdered soup with plenty of bread, cleaned it all up and then it was straight into our sleeping bags. I was warm and the ground was soft so sleep came easy. The next morning we were up at first light. Today we would be in Austria and heading up through the mountains. This was what the trip was all about as I had never seen a proper mountain before. It didn’t take long to cross into Austria and we got many strange looks at the border as the officers wanted to know where we were headed … “Australia” we said full of confidence. They gave us back our passports, smiled and said “Crazy Englishmen!”

We would now be heading to Graz and looking at the atlas we would be through Austria in less than a day. Of course the atlas didn’t have any grid lines and it hadn’t crossed my mind that we 14

would be climbing several thousand feet to get to the other side.

Austria is a beautiful country with green valleys, rivers and amazing snow capped mountains. As we drove we started to climb and as we climbed it started to get colder and we had to put more clothes on. The road was good but very winding so we had to drive in 3rd gear most of the time. You could feel the engine laboring as we turned and twisted our way over the mountain. At midday we pulled into a lay-by and made a brew. It was so good to get off the bike for a while and warm our hands with a hot cup of tea. We got back on the bike and by 4pm the rain had started and we were still making our way up the hill. I could feel the wet patch around my neck getting bigger and our hands and knees were freezing. Unlike walking in the rain and cold you can generate some heat through the exercise of walking. When you are on a bike you are just cold and miserable. We knew we had to find somewhere to shelter and get dry.

At last we started to go down the mountain and we spotted a barn on the left hand side and a little cabin just up from it with its lights on. It looked so warm inside. Two people were standing in front of the cabin talking. Tony drove off the road and went straight up to them. They looked quite surprised to see us. He pointed to the barn and then placed his hands together and to the side of his head. They got the message and said it was OK for us to use the barn. No fires though. We nodded and waved our thanks as we drove to the barn. With no fire allowed we could not have hot food either and we didn’t even have a chocolate bar to eat. We would never allow ourselves to get into this situation again. However, at least we were dry. The front door of the farmhouse opened and we thought for a moment that the people were going to ask us in for a meal and a chat but no such luck. I got into my sleeping bag still wet and cold and tried to get to sleep. I shivered for the first hour and then started to warm up by moving my hands and legs trying to thaw them out. I also felt hungry just thinking about what everybody would be having for tea that night back home.

The next morning I lay there in my sleeping bag not wanting to get out. Tony felt the same but hunger finally drove us out of the 15

barn. We had to get moving and get some food into us. At least the rain had stopped! I felt as if I had spent a cold night on Dartmoor but this time there was no Mum and Dad when the weekend was over. There was a small cafe in the first village we came to where we ordered coffee, soup and bread – pure heaven.

Afterwards we sat on the bike and checked our atlas. The plan was to cross over into Yugoslavia today. We would miss Austria as the roads were good, the people looked healthy and the countryside was beautiful and clean. The bike was running well considering the engine had to work hard winding its way through the mountains. We had a dream run heading for the border as the sun was out and the air was getting warmer. We arrived in the late afternoon. Big Mack trucks, cars and then us all in the queue waiting to have our papers and passports checked. The officers asked us whether we would be returning and we said no as we were on our way to Australia. They stamped the passports and handed them back to us saying “You should be comedians” and waved us on.

Communism was a word we had heard but it meant little to Tony and I as we had never experienced living under it. There were lots of potholes in the road and trucks seemed to love pushing us off the road and racing by. We were going to head for Zagreb and then on to Beograd. We came across some kids selling fruit on the roadside and it was perfect timing as we needed some Vitamin C inside us. It was so cheap too so we bought a dozen plums and scoffed them down as we drove along wishing we had bought some more. However within 30 minutes all was not well!

I had a cramp in my stomach so I leaned forward and asked Tony how he was feeling. He said he was feeling very unwell and after another 10 minutes we had pulled over to the side of the road. A quick glance at each other and then we both ran for the bushes like we had ants in our pants. I was too late and a quick check of my underpants confirmed the worst. I had messed myself but at least the pain in my stomach had gone. I stayed in the same position fearing another explosion. We learnt a valuable lesson after the plum experience – if you can’t wash it or peel it – don’t eat it! I cleaned myself the best I could with the clean bits of my 16

underpants and then threw them over the hedge hoping the plum farmer would step on them the next day. Tony fared better and said I could ride on the back for the rest of the day as I didn’t smell too nice. That night we found a good camp site so I washed my jeans in the shower and felt much better. Our first night in Yugoslavia had been very eventful.

We were up early the next morning and there were no more pains in the stomach. The driving was hard going due to the potholes and we were scared the wheels would get damaged if we fell into one of them. The people in the villages looked poorer and there were more horses than tractors. There were certainly less places to find food. About every other day we would be pulled over by the police to check our passports and papers. Every night we would pull off the road if we didn’t find a campsite and sleep on the side of the road. Time was not a factor anymore as each day consisted of filling the bike with fuel, riding, eating, sleeping and then riding again the following day. One day it started to rain hard and by midday we had enough and pulled over for something hot to drink. The café looked pretty basic as did the guy behind the counter. Tony waved to him that we wanted some soup so he nodded and walked out to the back of the café.

We sat down on some chairs that had seen better days and the table looked pretty ordinary too. The soup and bread was good and we started to warm up just as some locals walked in. I think they would have seen the bike outside and thought they had better come in and see who owned it. They were big lads – the four of them were seated in the corner talking and nodding their heads looking in our direction. I didn’t want to go back out into the rain but Tony being a man of the world picked up bad vibes that I missed and he said we had better get moving as I think the guys over there want to know what we have stored in our box.

This was the first time since we had left home that we had felt any sense of aggression towards us, so riding in the rain didn’t seem so bad.

The afternoon dragged on and the rain didn’t stop. It started to find its way through the damp patch on my chest and I was getting colder and colder. By 5pm we had enough of being 17

drenched by water from passing trucks and cars and were looking for the nearest campsite or B&B. There were none in sight.

About a mile out of the village we came across what looked like a large farm house and at the back was a large barn. We pulled over to see if we could sleep in the barn. If they said No it would be a long night. We knocked on the door and when it opened the poor lady standing there must have got the fright of her life seeing two men looking like spacemen so she closed it immediately. We heard her shouting to someone and then the door opened again. This time a man opened the door and Tony used hand gestures to see if we could use the barn for the night.

He got the message and in a few minutes we were in the barn with Mum, Dad, Son, Grandma and Granddad watching us removing our bed rolls and preparing to go to sleep. They were all in deep conversation and then the young boy tapped me on the shoulder and pointed towards the farmhouse. I looked at the mother to confirm what we were hoping for … an invitation to sleep in the farmhouse. It was warm and bright inside and we were shown to the hall floor where we rolled out our beds. The group continued to stare at us as we prepared for bed. We were wondering what they were looking at until we realized they were looking at what was strapped around our waists – my Wilkinson survival knife and Tony’s US Kobar Commando fighting knife!

The silence was deafening as these poor people realized that they had probably just let two mass murderers into their home. Tony quickly took his belt off and handed it to the Dad saying “Tomorrow OK”. I did the same and handed mine to the Mum. It was all smiles and chatter again and we both felt very embarrassed about the whole thing. Another lesson learnt – never show a weapon to friendly people – it will always work against you. They gave us loads of hot food and tea. The tea tasted like hot water and the food had no taste at all! But we were very grateful for their hospitality. That night we drifted off to sleep with the sound of rain outside feeling very lucky that the door opened a second time that night!

I woke up with the usual aches and pains from sleeping on a hard floor. It was about 6am and the family was up and moving around. We quickly rolled up our beds and put our motorbike 18

gear back on. The door to the kitchen opened and the Mum was standing there with two bowls of what looked like porridge and Dad came in behind her with our knives. Everyone came to see us off after breakfast and we felt so lucky to have found such a lovely and kind family. I only hope that they survived the war that came years later. As we drove out the gate I gave the boy some of the English money I still had in my pocket. He looked at it and saw the Queen’s head and grinned as he had something to show his friends at school that day.

We were now headed for the Bulgarian border but were unsure how long this would take. Perhaps another night in Yugoslavia was on the cards as the roads were full of potholes and it was slow going. We came across a small village and bought some food for that night’s meal, the usual things – potatoes, carrots, onions and powdered soup. The countryside was lovely and green with small villages every few miles. However you could tell by the looks on the faces of people here that life was tough.

We were stopped by police several times but were waved away quickly when we told them we were on our way to Australia!

Finally we arrived at the Bulgarian border along with the usual Mack trucks, smaller trucks and cars. Some of the cars and trucks were being pulled aside to be searched. Bulgaria is a small Communist country and at that time it was very difficult to get into and for its people even harder to get out. At last it was our turn and Tony handed over our passports. The guard walked inside with Tony following behind him. I thought I would move the bike to the side to let other cars get by so I drove forward a few meters before hearing a shout from one of the guards. He was pointing at me and then pointing at his pistol. I thought it was a joke until I looked around and saw no one smiling! With all the paperwork completed, Tony jumped onto the back of the bike and they waved us through. We were back on the road again with another stamp in our passport. The roads didn’t improve and there were more potholes and big Mack trucks trying to run us off the road. Somehow along the way we got lost as the road became narrower and the tarmac petered out. It was time to consult the Atlas which told us nothing just like the signs we had 19

seen along the way! As we started to backtrack Tony spotted a large house through the trees not far from the road. It looked a bit like our English stately homes. We would pop in and say hello and hopefully they could point us in the right direction.

Better still they may ask us to stay for a cup of tea. As we got closer the house looked more like an empty shell. The windows had no curtains and it looked very dark and run down inside.

There was a large courtyard in front surrounded by a wall about 6 feet high. Tony and I walked across the grass and peered through the bars on the wall hoping to see a gardener pruning his roses!!

What we saw shocked us. There were elderly people wondering around aimlessly looking thin and unkempt. What shocked us more was that they all appeared to be wearing stripped pyjamas just like the concentration camps of the last war. Some came over and put their bony fingers around the bars and looked at us with empty eyes saying nothing. We raced back to our bike and took off down the road with heavy hearts. We should not have been there and in Communist Bulgaria you didn’t wonder around the countryside as you pleased without the right papers.

We soon found the right road after seeing a big Mack truck thundering down the road heading east. That night we drove off the road into some thick woods and set up camp. We had our same dinner of powdered soup with a few vegetables. After our meal we lay back in our hammocks and talked about the day and wondered who those people were. I said I should have taken a photograph and Tony came back with “Yes and both of us would have ended up in some Bulgarian jail with the only thing to look forward to being a cattle prod … no thanks ... goodnight!”

We were on the road at first light the next morning heading east towards the border and then on into Turkey. The weather was warm so we took the jackets off and enjoyed the warmth. What we really needed was a good bath or shower! We were soon through the border and heading towards Istanbul following the steps of the Crusaders …. 1,000 years later two Cornish men on their 1957 Triumph and sidecar – who would have thought! We decided to stay in Istanbul for a few days so we could send some postcards home, check over the bike and get good food supplies 20

before riding across Turkey. We reached Istanbul late afternoon.

It was hot and dirty with the roads jammed with cars and trucks and everyone seemed to have their hands on the horn at the same time. Fortunately we found a campsite not far from the centre of town with trees to hang our hammocks from. The campsite had a shop selling all the good things like butter, fresh bread, fruit, vegetables, postcards and stamps. Everything you could not buy in a Communist country. There was even a washing machine and decent shower.

Many Europeans were staying here and everyone was interested in where we were heading. There were plenty of hippies in their VWs heading back from India to London or other parts of Europe. Many looked worse for wear after “cooking their brains� on drugs whilst in India or Afghanistan. Tony and I stood out as there was nothing hippy about us!

The next morning we caught a lift into the city to look through the Blue Mosque and visit the older part of Istanbul where East meets West. We looked across the Bosporus Strait knowing that this could be the start of the toughest part of our journey. Back at the camp we had a chat with a coach driver who had just crossed Turkey. He said the roads were alright until you hit the mountains. Then in some parts they were unsealed to give the trucks better traction in the winter. It was going to be tough on the bike. He also warned us to watch out for the mountain people as they were not the friendliest people around. After a few days of R&R, checking the bike and studying our atlas we decided we would go to Ankara (capital of Turkey) and then up to Samson and along the Black Sea coast to Trabzon. The night before we left, Tony and I splashed out on a cheap bottle of Turkish wine or two just to celebrate that we had made it to Istanbul and were on our next adventure into the Middle East. We both fell asleep under the Turkish stars with our heads spinning like two Crusaders hungry for adventure, only to wake up having been eaten alive by mosquitoes and thumping heads. It would be a long day ahead.

21

We drove along in silence until we found a ferry. It was old and rusty so we joined the queue whilst everyone around us looked at us rather strangely. We pushed the bike through a few inches of water and up the rusty ramp where we sat in the warm sun, enjoyed the cool wind, which helped our hangovers too! We were very hungry but the food being sold on the ferry looked dodgy and if the locals weren’t eating it, we certainly weren’t either. We were soon across to the other side and looking for the road to Ankara. We found we had to head for Adapazari and then on to Ankara. We could see that we wouldn’t make it to Ankara that day so it would be a night on the side of the road for us. Turkey is a big country and it would be a massive challenge for us and the bike to get through it. The roads were good so far but the truck drivers showed us no mercy at all and continually covered us with dust and dirt. We pulled into a small village to eat some flat bread and drink some chia (tea with no milk) just to fill us up for another few hours of riding. The kids in the villages would surround the bike and beg for anything so we quickly worked out that we needed to eat and drink before a village so as not to have to stop in the village and be harassed. That night we pulled over to the side of the road – hungry, dusty and smelling of diesel fumes. I tried to sleep but it’s hard when you are hungry and the mosquitoes are buzzing around your head. My thoughts drifted back to home and I wondered what Mum had cooked up for tea that night. However I knew I had to toughen up and keep going. Hopefully tomorrow we would make it to Ankara and find a good campsite.

The next day we set off searching for fuel. We pulled off at the first fuel station we saw only to find that it had been robbed and shot at. The owner’s dog lay dead in front of us and there was no glass left in the place. Despite this the owner was still happy to sell us some fuel.

The fuel was poor quality which made the bike much slower.

There were road blocks every few miles which resulted in us having to empty the box and hand over our papers whilst guns were pointed at us. We knew these people meant business as the safety catches were off! In one incident my wallet and passport 22

were pulled from my hand. Tony jumped off his bike and pulled them back and there was a chilly stand off until a more senior policeman asked if he could see my passport. After that Tony told me to keep my passport and money and only give them what they asked for. Another lesson learnt.

Ankara at last! I don’t know how we got there but Tony always seemed to find the way. We kept our eyes open for any VWs as they were always heading to a campsite. We ate well that night and had a chat with some people who were returning from India.

They suggested we head for Samsun and go along the Black Sea coast. The trip up to Samsun was long with many roads being unsealed. We were covered in dust and arrived feeling very tired and dirty.

Fortunately it was a good campsite so we were able to check the bike, do some laundry and get some decent food. We felt we were becoming veteran travellers buying food along the way to eat each night. Nothing seemed to faze us and we became very good at making soup and vegetable stew! Anything was good when you were hungry and we were both starting to look very lean.

Each night we celebrated turning another page in our Atlas as are travels continued. We met a guy called John at the campsite. I saw him straight away and thought he must be in the forces by the way he marched around. Tony went and asked him and he said he had just returned from Cyprus. We had a chat and he gave us a bottle of mosquito repellent and some 24 hour ration packs. How lucky were we. That night Tony and I walked around the camp and met quite a few friendly Americans and Europeans. Some had money, others didn’t but everyone seemed happy. Maybe it had something to do with what they were smoking! We chatted to an American guy who said he was a draft dodger. His mate had sent him a letter from Vietnam telling him what a hell hole it was and never to end up here so he jumped on the first plane out of the States. He also said that he and his girlfriend had just driven over from Iran and everything went well. That was until they crossed over into Turkey and over 23

the mountains to Trabzon. Kids love to throw rocks over there and the roads are dirt so it would be tough going for them. We were told never to leave our bike. I didn’t sleep well that night and my mind drifted back to my mum, dad, brother and sister and the safety of having a quiet pint of beer at The Star Inn. We made an early start the next morning so we could make it to Trabzon that day. If the roads were good there should be no problem. At about 5pm we found a campsite overlooking the Black Sea at Trabzon. It was a bit rough but would do for the night. We had a concoction of powdered soup, vegetables and some boiled rice which gave us the shits that night and was not a good start to what was going to become the dodgiest part of our journey so far!

With a tank full of fuel and some extra in a can strapped to the top of the box we headed for Erzurum. The weather was warm and sunny as we headed south west and then east up through the mountains. By midday our jackets were back on, the sealed roads were back to dirt and it was getting steeper and steeper.

Large trucks would edge past us as we drove along in 2nd or 3rd gear. There were no barriers along the edge of the road and the cliff just dropped straight down so it was very dangerous driving.

On some bends, our bike really struggled as it tried to pull around ½ ton. At around 12pm we stopped and had an incredible view of the winding road we had just travelled along with trucks slowly making the climb with diesel smoke billowing out into the air. As we sat there a coach drove past heading down with most of its windows smashed. Tony and I just looked at each other as we knew what each other were thinking. We knew we had to get off the mountains tonight so without our usual brew we pushed on and two hours later we were still driving uphill. At one stage the back wheel of the bike lost traction on some loose ground.

We were in 2nd gear on a sharp bend so Tony dropped her into 1st gear and we jumped off and ran beside the bike using the clutch and throttle to keep the bike moving along.

Another truck passed us with the windscreen smashed. At last the hill started to level out and about 2 miles away we could see a 24

small village that may have some food and a hot drink. As we slowly drove to the village there was a loud thud as a rock fell onto the road just in front of us. We both looked up to see four kids perched on a ledge about 20 feet above us. The one that threw the rock had a big grin on his face and the other three of his mates were throwing a few more rocks for good measure. We had just been ambushed by some kids who had smashed truck and coach windows too. It was all good fun for them but if one had hit us we would have been in trouble. It was now late afternoon and we still hadn’t eaten anything so we were hungry and tired from running along the side of the bike from time to time. We came to the village which was more like a small town.

There were trucks loading up for Iran and lots of men standing around in front of roughly built shops with nothing to do and nowhere to go. We were just coming to a stop when four boys started to cross the road in front of us. They stopped in the middle of the road and Tony asked them where we could get some food. But just as he opened his mouth one of the boys spat in my face. And if that wasn’t bad enough it hit me right on my lips!

I was stunned for a few seconds and was just about to jump off the bike and kick his ass when I saw six of his mates having a good laugh at my expense on the other side of the road. I leaned forward and told Tony that I thought we had better keep on going as this wasn’t the friendliest of places. There was no point in us hanging around as there wasn’t a campsite or B&B in this town.

At least we were on the flat and as the light started to fade we could slip off to the side of the road to make a brew and some soup. It had been a bad day and it didn’t seem as if it was going to improve as we saw a truck coming up behind us with a truckload of kids in the back. We could only do about 25 miles per hour on this road and we wondered why they weren’t overtaking us. Twenty minutes passed and they were still behind us and it was just about dark. We decided to get around the corner and speed up, then pull off the road and see what happened. Of course pulling off a road on the side of a mountain isn’t easy but as usual Tony found a way and we pulled over to the side and waited. A couple of minutes later our friends passed 25

by and then about 50 yards down the road the truck engine stopped. My heart started to race. In the still night you could hear the thud of their feet hitting the road after jumping off the back of the truck. It must have only been 5 minutes but it felt like 5 hours that Tony and I stood there frozen to the ground.

The engine started up again – they were turning around and coming back towards us. Would they spot us this time? I moved my hand over the rear reflector as the truck started to pick up speed heading towards us. It passed us and disappeared around the corner. We didn’t move for another 20 minutes just in case they returned. I am sure they wanted to know what we had in our box! My heart started to slow down and we decided we had better get off this mountain tonight so we set off and rode throughout the night. All we could think about was getting off the bike and having a nice hot brew and something to eat.

The further off the mountain we travelled the warmer it became and by midday our jackets were off. We came across a dusty village with wide streets, open drains and mud brick buildings.

As we pulled in to what looked like some sort of café, all these kids started to swarm around the bike. There were also some scruffy looking soldiers strolling over to see what all the fuss was about. Tony went in to the café whilst I sat on the bike and smiled at the kids. One of the soldiers came over and asked the inevitable question “Where are you coming from?” meaning “Where are you going?” I said “Australia” and he smiled saying “Yes yes”.

After a while Tony came back out with some flat bread and two glasses of tea with no milk. The tea was sweet and the bread was delicious as it was straight out of the oven. The kids looked on and tried to sell us some water out of dodgy looking containers.

We were wise now so there was no chance of us buying any of that water! We only drank boiled water mixed with iodine which tasted awful but it killed all the bugs and stopped us getting sick.

We kicked the bike back into life and rode slowly out of the village with the kids running along beside us for a while. At the next fuel station we would fuel up and attempt to get to the Iran 26

border that day. A few miles out of town we came across a sad sight of carnage – a TIR truck had driven through a herd of sheep killing and maiming most of them. We weaved through the broken bodies and saw the shepherd, who was just a small kid, sitting on the side of the road with his head in his hands crying.

There was nothing we could do but hope his father wouldn’t be too hard on him. The hills gave way to open plains with nice looking crops. The road improved and we cruised along nicely but we wouldn’t make the border that night. At the next fuel station we would ask if we could sleep next to the station as we knew there would be no campsite until we reached the border.

Thankfully we found a fuel station before dark and were able to spend the night near the fuel station. The bike was never far from us and we settled down for the night after having our usual dinner. Just before dark set in a silhouette of a man carrying something in his right hand came walking along the side of the bank. As he got closer to us I could see it was a hand gun. Tony was busy rolling out his sleeping bag and I quickly got his attention as we both looked at the man. The Turkish soldier stood there and we all looked at each other for a while. Tony broke the ice by holding out his hand and it wasn’t long before they shook hands and we were friends. He was an officer and not only that he was pissed! He said in broken English that he would protect me and Tony. We wondered what he was protecting us from. With that he turned and walked away with a slight stagger out of sight. We climbed into our sleeping bags and tried to get comfortable – I had worked out that if you dug a hole in the ground for your hip it was so much more comfortable when you lay on your side. I pulled up my sleeping bag over my head giving me a real sense of security.

I don’t know how long I had been asleep but I suddenly woke up to the sound of something moving around. I lay really still and moved my hand down to where my knife was. It was outside my sleeping bag. The thing moved closer and I thought it may be a large dog from the fuel station. It was sniffing along my sleeping bag and slowly making its way to the small opening at the top where my head was. I suddenly thought it may be a bear as the sniffing got louder and louder and closer to my face. There it 27

was – a big, black and shiny snout. Whatever it was must have thought I was a dustbin as we had not showered for quite some time! His breath was really bad and before I knew it I had given him a big crack across his nose. He reeled back with a yelping howl. I jumped out of my sleeping bag with my knife in my hand waiting for him to come charging at me from out of the dark.

There was a sneeze in the distance and then it was gone! By then Tony had sat bolt upright, looking cross as I had woken him up.

“Did you have a nightmare?” I replied “I have just fought off the Hound of the Baskervilles mate. Didn’t you hear it?” “No” he said and with that he fell back to sleep.

I sat up the rest of the night as I was sure he may be back for dessert. The next morning Tony was up bright and early whilst I sat there with my knife still in my hand and bleary eyed! Within an hour we were back on the road heading for Iran. I felt a little sorry for Rufus as he was probably just like us – trying to survive and just look how I treated him!!

We had now been travelling through Turkey for nearly two weeks and it had definitely been the toughest ride yet. The bike was holding up well – better than Tony and I. After the ride through the mountains with little food and sleep, we were both worn out. We were looking forward to crossing over into Iran that day. The road was good and started to straighten up as we drove across the flat green land towards the border. We pulled into a small village that looked quite primitive with mud buildings and dodgy looking roofs. The kids seemed pleased to see us as usual and wanted to touch the bike and knock their knuckles on our crash helmets! We soon found a tea shop and had some small brown glasses of chia tea. I pointed to the mountain in the distance and in broken English the man told me it was Mt Ararat. This was where the Ark finally came to rest after the great flood. The best news of all was the border was less than 20 miles away and we would be in Iran that day. Another country and another adventure.

As we pulled away the kids pushed us from behind and I flicked a 20 pence piece in the air. One of the kids grabbed it and waved 28

back at me in delight as his mates crowded around to take a look.

In the distance there was a long line of trucks, cars and buses. As we came closer we could see that the border post looked more like a large stone fort with an arched opening into a courtyard. A wall divided it – one half Turkish and the other half Iranian. On top of the wall were steel rails and the soldiers marched up and down on either side of the wall. There was a gate in the middle to let the vehicles through. To the left of the courtyard was what looked like a workshop so they could strip down any vehicle that may be carrying drugs. There was a large sign above the archway saying “If we find this, this or this on you, you will be a guest of the Turkish Government”.

People milled around carrying passports and documents. There were truck drivers, bus drives, hippies in cars and us on our motorbike with a sidecar box! Some English people came over and took some photographs of us after hearing where we were going. They wished us good luck and a safe journey. I sat on the bike whilst Tony went to get the necessary rubber stamps in our passports and we would be back on the road again. About an hour later Tony returned with a worried look on his face – something was wrong. He lit up a cigarette, took a long drag and said ‘We need to go back to Erzurum to get our passports stamped so we can get into Iran”. The thought of riding the bike back through the mountains, dodging rocks from the kids and thinking of those boys tailing us and the “Hound of the Baskervilles” was too horrible to contemplate. Just as we were getting ready to head back, a smartly dressed man walked out of the crowd and stood before us and looked at the bike. He said “I think you have a problem”. Tony and I looked at each other and nodded. He said he was standing behind Tony in the queue and overheard the conversation. He offered us a lift to Erzurum as he would be leaving shortly. The man was an engineer working in Erzurum and he said he often gave English people lifts as it helped him with his English. As we could not leave the bike alone, I suggested Tony went with him and I would stay with the bike. Within seconds they were gone.

29

I pushed the bike back out of the compound and off the road to the right. It was getting dark and there was a chilly wind. I had no food although I could smell food being cooked all around me and it made me hungry. There did not appear to be any accommodation and I wondered what I was going to do. Just then I heard the crunching of gravel behind me and three Turkish soldiers came out of the dark from the direction of the main gate.

I tried to look tough hanging over the bike but I was shitting myself!! The biggest of the three did the talking and said I could come and shelter in part of the soldiers quarters. I wondered what had bought on this kindness and then looked up to see the Commander standing there smartly in his uniform. I nodded my thanks and he nodded back. I have no idea why he had bought me inside but I was very grateful. A night outside the wall may have been my last so he wanted me where he could see me. The soldier who had done all the talking pointed to a door with one hand to his mouth. Food. I was starving and the thought of finding a safe place to sleep was over. I repaid them with what all young soldiers find they miss the most when serving in a remote outpost. I dug down into the box whilst they stood there watching me and their eyes lit up when I pulled out last month’s Playboy magazine! The big Turk gave me a grin and thank you and stuffed the magazine into his jacket and headed off. I locked the box and walked over to the compound where there were small wooden tables and long bench seats. In the next room was the kitchen. I looked through the door and saw two big wood burning stoves and on top bubbling away were two big saucepans of what looked like Irish stew. Dried meat and gravy hung off the sides all congealed together about ½ an inch thick. The two Turks doing the cooking looked bored with the whole thing – maybe it was their turn in the kitchen. I walked over to a small table by the window so I could see the bike from there. A young boy came over and I made a shape of a plate with my hands and pointed to the bubbling mass in the saucepan. A moment later he was back with a plate of the Turkish stew and a piece of flatbread. It smelt so good but I guess any food smells good when you are hungry. That night I slept on the stone floor by the bike. Only to be woken every few hours by the changing of the 30

guards. However, I didn’t mind as I felt safe and my stomach was full.

The next morning I sat with my back against the wall with my feet still in the sleeping bag. There was a chill in the air and I really didn’t want to move. I needed to wash before the place started to get busy and find some breakfast so I had to get moving. No cornflakes or poached eggs like Mum would make – home was a long way away and I missed it more than ever. I grabbed my wash bag and headed for the toilets. No shower but a dodgy little sink and a hole in the ground. After washing I had a glass of chia tea, some flatbread and another plate of bubbling mud. I sat on my bed roll and studied the atlas and wondered what I would do if Tony didn’t return. Deep down I knew he would as he had been in tougher spots than this. An old Turk with a hand cart came by. He had everything from bootlaces to cans of sardines and did some good business with the soldiers and people passing through the border. Just about every nationality passed through here with a lot heading to India or Afghanistan.

Young Europeans looking for adventure just like us. I lay on my bike with my legs across the box watching the world go by.

There were plenty of words of advice from people passing by like “The northern route through Afghanistan was much more dangerous than the south” and “take plenty of water with you when you travel from Herat to Kandahar” and “try to do it in one day and watch out for bandits!” I thought that would give me something to sleep on tonight.

On Day 3 I sat on my bed polishing my boots and even got a compliment from the Commandant about how good they looked.

He said I must have been in the British Army with nothing to do but clean boots!! As the day wore on the courtyard filled with people heading both ways. At about 4pm things started to wind down for the day and I started to contemplate whether to have a plate of mud for tea or a tin of sardines. Suddenly I heard a woman’s voice call out. I didn’t catch the first words but could see her on the Iranian side of the wall calling across to a man on the Turkish side. They were both English in their late 20s and well dressed. She asked him to wait and she would try to get 31

across tomorrow. However, when the Iranian guard had his back to her she walked over to the wall and reached over to her friend on the other side. The Turk guards saw the man starting to walk over to her and told him not to move any closer to the wall. The Iranian guard turned and was making his way back along the wall and saw what the woman was doing. Clearly pissed off with her he waved his gun to make her move away from the wall. The Turk guard now had his back to the man and was walking away down the wall line. The man saw this and walked over to the woman and held her hand. The Turk guard hearing the commotion, turned around and put his rifle butt into the man’s chest. The air whooshed out from his lungs and he doubled over in pain and hit the ground. The woman was hysterical as the Iranian guard pulled her away from the wall. The Commandant stood at the top of the steps with no expression on his face. The guard moved in to give the man some more punishment and sunk his boot into his side. People stood and watched not moving – frightened that if they did they may be next. The man was lying on the ground moaning. Some Europeans nearby picked up the man and helped him away. The Commandant went back inside and the guard continued to look after his wall. The message was well and truly sent to everyone that you were not to go near the wall. I sat back and opened another tin of sardines and thought what Mum and Dad would be cooking that night. Crowlas didn’t seem such a bad place after all!

The fourth day started much like any other day with people standing around checking their vehicles and documents. From big Mack trucks to small buses and cars and me still waiting with our motorbike and box on the sidecar! If Tony didn’t turn up that day I would start to get worried. I walked over for a glass of chia tea and as I did I looked down the long line of vehicles. A figure caught the corner of my eye about 50 metres away. I recognized the walk straight away – it had to be Tony! We both waved at the same time and shook hands like long lost friends. He had the passports with the necessary rubber stamps so we would be in Iran that day. Over a glass of tea, he told me he had to sleep rough one night and had fortunately met some English people who had helped him. He then caught a bus back to the border 32

with the usual dramas happening as they went through the mountains.

Once we had our passports stamped we pushed the bike through the gate and into Iran. I looked back across the wall and the Commandant was standing at the top of his step with a grin on his face. I think he was pleased to see the back of me or he could have been thinking “rather them than me”! Two Iranians came over to check our papers and then without warning one of them put his hand on my chest. For a moment I thought he was going for my wallet but realized that he was checking my heart beat. I asked him what this was for and was told that people who are taking drugs have very fast heart beats! When it was all over we got back on the bike headed for Tabriz – it was so good to be back on the road again.

We rode away from the border that had given us so much trouble and took a final look at Mt Ararat. It looked so barren and certainly not the place you would want to end up on with a boatload of animals. To feel the wind in our faces was great and it was nice and warm. It was also good to drive along a straight section of road after the mountain roads of Turkey. There were lots of people in traditional clothes with the women dressed in black from head to toe with just their eyes peeping out and the men seemed to be dressed in long nighties! They appeared healthy and friendly and we were confident that we would be in Tabriz that afternoon. We found a good campsite with signposts written in English and the food was good and cheap. The camp was filled with people from backpackers to the serious travellers with their motor homes. That evening we sat in the light of our lamp and consulted our atlas. We would take two days to ride to Tehran as we didn’t want to arrive late at night and not have a campsite to stay at.

We were up early the next morning to have a cup of tea with some bread and jam. There was not much talking as by now we knew exactly what the other person was thinking and we only needed to give each other a nod or twitch of the eyebrow to understand what was going on. By midday it was hot and trouble 33

was about to hit us. The back wheel took most of the weight and of course was our driving force. We were in a valley and ahead all we could see were “shining lakes” on the road which in fact were mirages from the heat coming off the road. We were cruising at around 60mph with Tony driving. I had my head down shading my face from the fierce sun when I felt a slight movement from side to side which got progressively worse. I tapped Tony on the shoulder and he slowed down as we knew we probably had our first puncture. It couldn’t have happened at a worse place. We both looked at the flat tyre and said nothing to each other as we realized that we had left our foot pump in Germany with Jenny. We could fix the puncture but how were we going to pump the new tyre back up. In less than an hour we had a patch on the tube and the tyre back on but of course no pump. We decided to take it in turns to wave cars down to help pump up our tyre. At last a car stopped – he had seen the Union Jack on my helmet and had spent time in Europe so felt sorry for us. He spoke good English and couldn’t believe we were on our way to Australia! It wasn’t long before we were on the road again thanks to this kind man.

We had been cruising along for about half an hour when, to my horror, I felt the back wheel starting to sway again. Tony pulled over to see that the heat coming off the road together with the overall weight of the bike had softened the tyre. This caused it to roll on the rim. We sat on the side of the road with not even enough water to make a brew. Somehow we had to make it to the next town and drastically lighten the load on the back end of the bike. There was only one thing we could do – one of us would have to leg it or hitch a ride to the next town whilst the other one followed with the bike. In the end we tossed a coin and I lost. We had no idea how far the next town was so it may be a short walk or I may be sleeping on the side of the road overnight.

I rummaged through the box to get what I would need for the trip and drank the last of the water. I held my thumb out to the cars and they all passed me by as I thought they would. Feeling depressed about the whole thing, I suddenly saw a coach coming over the hill. I stepped out into the middle of the road and held my arms outstretched and hoped for the best. I heard the brakes 34

go on and the coach pulled over. Tony gave me a nod and took off before I had even got onto the coach. The driver was a jolly, fat man and wanted very little money to take me to the next town.

The bus was partly full mostly with women and kids. The women had black veils and mesh over their faces and eyes and looked a little scary. Suddenly the driver decided to swerve all over the road – the women screamed, the kids laughed and I hung on for dear life! After a few more swerves he looked back at me and could see I wasn’t laughing. I was holding on with white knuckles and all he could do was shrug his shoulders and laugh!!

It was great to sit in a comfortable seat on a nice coach but it wasn’t long before we arrived at the nearest town. It looked tidy and big enough to have a garage.

The coach stopped in the main street and I jumped out. It was very busy and I was desperate for a drink but there was no water around only Coca Cola. I was on my second can when I spotted Tony with his tough looking walk and square shoulders. The bike was being fixed up with a new tube and would take about an hour. Tony suggested we find something to eat so we found a small café which only served vegetables! We tried to explain to the waiter what we wanted and were quite pleased with the end result – vegetables in what looked like a big omelette. We washed it down with a few cups of tea and were ready to collect the bike. The garage had done a good job but it was now getting dark so we pulled into a BP station just up the road and asked if we could sleep at the side of the station for the night. It was pretty noisy that night but at least we felt safe unlike in Turkey.

We left early the next morning so we would reach Tehran and find a campsite before dark. We also had a name to look up there.

I had worked with a guy called Malcolm Matthews at Holmans Dry Dock. His brother-in-law worked for Holmes of Cambrone who sold air compressors all over the world and they had a showroom in down town Tehran. We rode hard all that day and reached the outskirts of the city around 5pm. The city entrance was marked by a huge archway and the traffic was a real nightmare. There didn’t appear to be any road rules and I was pleased Tony was driving. We stopped and asked some soldiers 35

for directions but they seemed agitated about the whole thing.

Not a good start! There was no point in driving into the city as there would be no camping site there so we scouted around for a while. We finally found a camp site not far off the main road into the city. It looked clean and there were Europeans there which was a good sign.

We decided to stay for a few days as the weather was good and so was the food. They sold salad rolls which I hadn’t seen since leaving home …. and home seemed a lifetime away! I sat on my bed roll with my back against the bike eating my roll and thinking about Mum’s salad dinner on Sunday evenings. Crispy lettuce, tomatoes, cold meats followed by apple or rhubarb tart and my little sister, who we all loved so much, sitting across the table.

Tony came back after a while and said there were some English people at the camp who were travelling the same way as us. So the next morning we walked over for a chat. There were four guys and a girl and they were driving an old army ambulance to Australia. We exchanged stories of how we had made it to Iran and what we may expect in Afghanistan, Pakistan and India. The girl was quite taken by Tony much to the annoyance of the four boys.

The next day we drove the bike into Tehran. The city was full of life and with no road rules, people were swerving all over the place, honking their horns non-stop. We finally found Holmans showrooms but Morris wasn’t there so we left our campsite address. We made our way back to the camp and just as we pulled in I noticed a dead donkey on the side of the road.

Donkeys are used a lot to pull loads much too heavy for them and are generally mistreated. This poor donkey had obviously had enough.

After tea we walked over to chat to our English friends. One of them had fallen ill overnight and they were talking about taking him to the British Embassy the next day if he didn’t improve overnight. Tony and I walked around that night and chatted to 36

people who had travelled to India through Pakistan and Afghanistan. Any information would help; the state of the roads and potholes were of great concern. A smashed wheel in a pot hole could spell real trouble for us and water was another problem. We could see from our atlas that there was a great distance between Herat and Kandahar and there was not much in between. We would need to carry extra water and fuel and pray we would have enough for the journey. As we were going back home that night we heard a voice coming out of the dark “What are you buggers up to then?� It was a real North Country accent and it came from an elderly guy who was standing next to his campervan in a string vest. We sat and had a long chat with him as he had been travelling for many years and had even gone to Iceland. He had sold everything when his partner died and as he had never been on holiday before he decided he was going to travel for the rest of his life. He had just returned from India and was on his way to the UK. He said the roads in India and Pakistan were bloody awful, full of pot holes and only one lane wide so if you had to pass something coming in the opposite direction you had to put both wheels on the dirt. He also told us why the roads in Afghanistan were surprisingly good. The Allies had built them during the war to get supplies through to Burma.

Some good news at last! The downside was you got dust storms at this time of year and there were plenty of bandits out to get you.

That night I lay in my sleeping bag looking up at the stars and wondering if they were the same stars that I saw walking home from the Star Inn after a big night. I knew from now on things were only going to get harder but there was no turning back now.

The next morning Tony and I thought we would check to see if Morris was in this time. He was there and said he would pick us up that evening, make us some tea and then take us for a drive around the city. As we drove back to the campsite we spotted our friends in their old army ambulance. They had stopped outside one of the main hospitals so we pulled over to see if everything was alright. Unfortunately after they had seen a doctor at the British Embassy, they were told to get their friend into hospital quickly as he may have typhoid. He was now in hospital under 37

observation and he looked very unwell. He had mentioned he felt sick after drinking some water from a water vendor on the street.

We had always been told never to drink anything from the locals as they usual get the water from the city slums or anywhere they could find running water.

We were still outside the hospital when a voice called out and a young girl who was standing on a patio nearby said “Are you English”? We said we were and she told us she would unlock her gate. The gate opened and the girl came out to greet us. She was about 20 years old, smartly dressed and spoke good English. She asked us to come in and meet her family. We walked up a short flight of stairs to a patio where the family was sitting at a long table. There were servants walking around with large plates of food that smelt delicious. A large man sat at the end of the table and waved his arms to make some room for us to sit down.

There must have been about twenty people sitting around the table. In broken English he asked us to sit down and eat some food. We felt a little embarrassed as there were so many plates of food and we just had to have a bit of everything as we hadn’t eaten like this for ages. The air was filled with the smell of spices and the women were dressed in long robes with gold threads which reflected in the sunlight. I asked the young girl if her dad owned an oil well and she smiled saying “No just a fleet of trucks that drive from Europe to Tehran”. I thought that was about as good as owning oil wells. The girl was an air hostess for Iran Airlines.

It was a three storey house overlooking the busy city. The people of Tehran appeared happy although all this would change later in 1979. Iran’s monarchy under the Shah was overthrown and replaced with an Islamic republic under Aya Tollah Khomeini, the leader of the revolution.

When it was time to go we thanked everyone and headed back to the campsite to meet Morris. He had a nice flat and we sat on his veranda drinking a cold beer and listening to the noise of the busy city. He took us for a drive and we passed what looked like an 38

This was our workshop before we moved down to The Star Inn. Tony’s garden wall!

Tony fitting the front mudguard after replacing the original forks (damaged in the film stunt) with ones from a 1968 model.

Building the motor behind The Star Inn at Crowlas.

39

If not for Jenny’s help with visas and passports Tony and I would still be seated in The Star Inn dreaming about our trip to Australia!

The Dress Rehearsal! Two days before we left for Australia.

Making sure our stuff would fit in the side car.

40

Tony packing with Granddad looking on.

In Yugoslavia with our Good Samaritan who took us in to their home for the night.

41

Tony checking out the Blue Mosque in Istanbul.

Crossing the Bosporus looking back at Istanbul.

42

Early morning at the bottom of the Turkish mountains.

Twenty four hours later we would still be in those mountains!

In the Turkish mountains studying our school atlas to see where we were headed.

43

A long way down! Looking at the road we had come along hours before.

Watching another truck slowly make its way up the mountain.

Not long after this photo was taken, the rock attack happened.

44

Out of the mountains and heading for the Iran border.

Having a break! Note the kids trying to sell us dodgy water and the Turkish soldier hanging around.

45

A few miles from Iran with Mt Ararat in the background.

Taking a break somewhere in Iran.

46

airfield with a high fence with barbed wire on the top. Morris told us not to take photographs or look too closely as it was a prison. The prisoners are locked in tiger pits in the ground and if their families don’t feed them, they go hungry. It was just another reminder that this was not good old England!

Morris drove us back to the campsite and we thanked him for a great evening. We asked him if he had any advice about Afghanistan and he said “Don’t go there”! before waving us off.

The next morning we awoke to blue skies with a chill in the air.

We started to load the box and bought another container to carry extra water. We didn’t know how much extra water we would need to get across Afghanistan but we weren’t going to take any chances. We would boil the water and add a little iodine to kill any bacteria as we could not afford to get sick in a country with few doctors or good hospitals.

We would head North East – Caspian Sea to Grogan and then on to Mashhad. From there it was a short ride to the Afghan border.

Our friends came over and wished us luck and said when John was out of hospital they would be on their way and would see if they could catch up with us on route. It was good to be back on the road again away from the madness of the Tehran traffic. We made good progress and were hoping to be in Grogan that day.

We stayed at a good campsite where the tents were already made up so we just pushed the bike inside the tent – much to the annoyance of the Camp manager!

The next day we pushed on to Mashhad. The road was good and the people wore less Western clothes and more robes. There was plenty of food and the people looked well fed and healthy. Our last night in Iran was spent boiling water and filling our new container for the journey ahead.

Some people at the camp told us that you could buy water in Afghanistan and even Coca Cola but the water could be dodgy.

Mashhad was a wonderful place with the great Mosque which attracted many visitors. Tony and I got lots of stares from the 47

locals especially Tony with the colourful tattoos on his arms – not the thing to do if you are Muslim.

We started early the next morning and if the roads were good we hoped to make it to Herat that day. Then we would ride across the desert to Kandahar and then on to Kabul. The bike was holding up well but as we were carrying extra water, it strained under the heavy load. About an hour out of Mashhad things went downhill pretty quickly. There were road works ahead so we had to detour and we had to go onto an unsealed road for miles and miles.

At one stage we got off the bike, put it in 1st gear and ran beside it. It was hot and dusty and every truck that passed up blew its horn and covered us with dust. The dust stuck to our sweaty skin and we were absolutely exhausted by the time we got back onto the sealed road. This was not a good start as the engine was pinking because of the poor fuel and we feared we may be spending the night in the desert. The land looked more barren and flat on either side of the road . In the distance we spotted a dust storm approaching us. As we got closer we started to feel the hot wind on our faces and worse still, the sides of the road began to disappear under the wind-swept sand. We had to stop and wait it out as it was difficult to breathe and the sand stung every bit of your body that was exposed. I lowered my head and pulled my T-shirt over my face and thought of home with its high green hedges and beautiful wild flowers.

In those few minutes there were only two things for certain. I was in a dust storm on the border between Iran and Afghanistan in despair, thinking about Alexandra Preston and Alexandra Preston was on the other side of the world not thinking about me!

The dust storm disappeared as rapidly as it arrived and we slowly got to our feet. Great puffs of dust fell away from us as we brushed ourselves down. We opened a warm bottle of water that had been tied down with straps on top of the box. I drank it down and almost bought it straight back up as it tasted of too much iodine. I passed it to Tony saying “I think we put too much 48

iodine in”. His reply was “It’s suppose to kill the bugs in the water” and I said “Yes and us too!”

So we drove on smelling of iodine with a crotch full of desert sand. The poor bike was struggling as she pushed her way through the sand that had blown across the road. It was so hot now we could feel the heat coming off the road and the wind burning our faces. This was hell and it was only the beginning.

At last we could see some buildings ahead although they were only mud huts. A straggly looking soldier held his hand up to us and we stopped. His uniform was the same colour as his rusty rifle. He looked at our passports and waved us through. I thought we were now in Afghanistan but Tony thought we were in No Man’s Land! The bike hit some more deep sand and we slowly ground our way out of it.

In the distance we saw a line of cars and trucks and we knew we were in for a long wait at the border in the heat of the day. We pushed our way through another patch of sand and the sidecar pulled us to the left. Tony throttled up and the back wheel spun the bike forward as it found traction and we were through. Only this time something was different. The back of the bike kept on swinging from left to right which was a sure sign of a puncture. I looked down at the tyre and Tony pulled over to the side to inspect it. Thankfully the tyre was still hard as we were really out in the middle of nowhere and didn’t want to have to walk miles to the border. With great relief we both jumped back on the bike and couldn’t wait until the border crossing so we could get a cold drink.

However, the problem was still with us so we had to pull over again to the side of the road. This time Tony caught hold of the back wheel and pushed it to and fro. The hub and sprocket moved about two inches from side to side. We both looked at each other and Tony fell back on his arse in despair. This was a real disaster. The back wheel was about to collapse on us with almost a dozen broken spokes. We had spares for just about everything except spokes. We sat on the side of the road whilst Tony had a cigarette and I had another swig of the disgusting 49

water. There was only one thing to do and that was to make it to the border crossing a few miles away and hope we could get some help there. Small buses full of Afghans blew their horns and waved at us so we jumped back on our bikes and tried to sit forward to take the weight off the back wheel. We also kept our speed down and it wasn’t long before we reached the border.

The crossing was a real disappointment with one large building and some smaller ones dotted around the place. There were some small campervans crammed with Afghans in their flowing robes and large turbans and the women looked even scarier with their black veils and head to toe clothing. Tony and I just stood looking at them looking at us. Then Tony walked into the building with our passports and visas whilst I stayed outside with the bike. I kept my fingers crossed all would be fine and was relieved when Tony returned 30 minutes later giving the thumbs up. He said “Welcome to sunny Afghanistan ... we are in”. We now knew one of us had to try and hitch a ride to Herat whilst the other one drove slowly, hoping the bike made it in one piece.

Where is the RAC when you need it? We pushed the bike over to the side of the road and watched the world go by. It wasn’t long before a VW campervan pulled in and a bunch of hippies jumped out and walked to the building with passports etc. I walked over to the van and it was a complete mess – clothes, food, cooking equipment – all dirty just like its occupants!! However, beggars cannot be choosers and I needed a lift to Herat. I could see the only reason these boys were in Afghanistan was for a cheap lifestyle and drugs. They looked surprised to see me and probably thought I was a local from a motor cycle club who had got lost on a weekend ride. Luckily they were going to Herat and offered me a lift. When I got back to Tony he was with a little kid who was trying to explain something to him. He was tiny, in rags and his skin was stretched over his bones. He pulled something out of his pocket wrapped in a filthy rag. “You like” he said. It looked like a lump of dark brown putty. Tony and I looked at each other as the little boy said “Hash, mister, Hash .. very cheap you like?” This was all happening less than 20 metres from the border police. Tony pointed to the desert and told him to piss off and so he did, straight over to my hippy friends! If 50

you were found with that in Iran you would be shot for it but a few miles across the border in Afghanistan, kids sold it!

I told Tony the good news about getting a lift and that he had better get going so he could get to Herat before dark. We just had to hope the wheel didn’t collapse before Tony got there. The plan was for me to wait on the side of the road until we met up and failing that we would meet at the British Consulate the next day if Herat had one. I took a few more swigs of water and I wished him luck. Tony got on the bike and tried to lean really forward to reduce the weight on the back wheel. He disappeared in a cloud of dust as he pulled back onto the road. I walked over to my hippy friends and realised I still had my crash helmet in my hands. I thought I may need it driving in the vehicle with these spaced out cowboys! I slowly walked towards them and could see that things were starting to get heated as they got into the van. I asked if everything was OK and one of them replied “Sorry mate – they will not let us in as we don’t have the right paperwork”.

With that they drove off in a cloud of dust back to Iran.

I found some shade and sat down in despair. I watched the small buses coming and going full to the brim with Afghans with not one seat available. However, late in the afternoon a small bus pulled up with an empty seat in the front. As the driver jumped out I pointed to the bus and said “Herat”. He said “Yes” and I was in. The bus looked more like a gypsy caravan than a bus with coloured window shades and towels hanging down from them. The empty seat was behind the driver and as I got in I had a quick look around. There were no Europeans just Afghans.

The women were all in black covered from head to toe with cloth mesh covering their eyes and the men wore flat Afghan hats and baggy trousers. They had long black beards and hard looking, long faces. There had been some talking going on but as I boarded the bus this stopped immediately and now it was silent.

The inside of the bus was like a pressure cooker and I was desperate for water but couldn’t get off or I would lose my place.

The driver came back and told the rest of the bus that there was a problem and they had the wrong paperwork. One of the wildest looking men got up and started shouting and pointed his finger at 51

the driver. The driver just stared back at the man like a hawk and then pulled out a knife from under his baggy shirt. He then started to look for something under his seat. As he was doing this I was looking for an exit before the blood bath started. I was over the front seat and out through the driver’s door in a flash.

Looking back I saw that the driver had pulled a 4 litre Castrol oil can out from under his seat and started to cut the top off it with a knife. Once he had got the top off he disappeared for ten minutes before coming back with it full of water. He started to pass it around the bus and by the time it got to me it was half empty.

My head was screaming out to me to take a drink as my mouth was so dry but I passed it along to the Afghan across from me. I watched him gulp down the water and as the sunlight caught the top of the water I could see this film of oil on the water. If the bugs in the water hadn’t killed me I was sure the oil would have.

However I was very close to taking the risk.

Just then I saw another VW pulling in and it was in much better condition than the last one. It was now late afternoon and it looked like they were in a hurry to get through the border. They were smartly dressed and looked business-like. I kept my eyes on them and in less than 30 minutes they came out of the office and were ready to go. That was my cue to dive out of the bus and run across to them. “Hi there – could I get a lift with you if you are going to Herat?” They looked me up and down as I stood with my crash helmet in my hand. After a short time one said “What are you doing here?” in a very French accent. I quickly told them my story in the saddest possible way and they said I could jump in but they weren’t going to Herat. They were going straight through to Kandahar but said they would drop me off. I got in and sank down relieved that I was finally on my way. It was nearly the end of the day and fear and fatigue were setting in.

They gave me some water and I fell asleep between the seats.

The noise of the door sliding back awoke me as one of them said “My English friend – this is it I am sorry to say”. I sat up and slid my body around and looked out the van. After thanking them very much I got out of the van and looked around me.

There was just a dirt road with a street light every 100 yards or so 52

with darkness in between. I watched as their car lights disappeared into the dust and darkness. There was silence – not even a dog barking. Here I was standing on a dark street on the outskirts of a town called Herat in Afghanistan with little money, no passport, no water and no food. I was 21 years old and my future was looking grim so there was only one thing to do. Get walking because somewhere in this town was Tony and I had to find him.

The thirst and hunger left me for a while as I could only feel the butterflies flapping around my stomach as fear slowly rose. I walked down the centre of the dusty, empty streets looking as confident as I could. There were muddy walls on either side of the streets with tiny lights shining through the windows. Two women came out of the dark wearing veils and we looked at each other. Before I could ask them for water they had fled down a side alley. I quickened my pace just in case they were off to get their dad or big brother or worse - the local mob!

There didn’t appear to be a downtown in Herat but then I was still in the outer suburbs. A few more people glanced at me and quickly looked away. At last the road started to widen and there were more street lights about. I had no idea what time it was but I was exhausted and needed to find a drink as the inside of my mouth felt like sandpaper. I was also getting tired of carrying my crash helmet so I put it back on my head! All I could think about was finding water. I came to an intersection and looked left and right. To my great surprise I saw two words “Post Office”. I walked towards it and saw two small figures to the right of the doors. They were soldiers or maybe security guards. I walked out of the dark and was nearly at the bottom of the steps when one of them saw me. He shouted out to me and made a grab for his rifle. At that moment I didn’t know if he was going to stand to attention or stab me with the bayonet and nor did he.

I raised both my hands and we all just stood there for a second or two before one of the soldiers pointed to my crash helmet and said “British”. He had spotted my Union Jack sticker. I nodded quickly saying “Yes British” hoping it was good news for both of 53

us. I then asked them for water and as I moved closer to them I noticed they were not Afghan. The short, round faced soldier looked more like a Gurkha. His dark brown uniform somehow looked smart on him. His mate pointed to a narrow alleyway to the right of me and told me to follow him. I said thank you and followed the soldier. Dad had always said you could depend on the Gurkhas as he had fought with them in Burma. However, this was a dark alleyway in Afghanistan and I still wasn’t sure if he was a Gurkha. We got to the end and turned right before we saw two large wooden doors. My little Gurkha friend looked at me, smiled and pointed to the door nodding his head. These two ancient looking doors looked like props used for some Hollywood movie with even a small barred window to look through. The Gurkha gave it a couple of taps with his gun butt and after a few seconds, to my great relief, I heard an English voice say “I think there is someone at the door. Do you want me to open it?” An Afghan face appeared at the little window and after looking at me and the Gurkha, he smiled. The door opened and I walked into the small, tidy garden. There were about a dozen people, mostly Europeans, sitting around a long table with bench seats. I just stood there looking around at them for a minute before heading to the nearest empty seat. Several people came over and one English man said “Where the bloody hell did you come from?” All I could say was WATER. “Bring him some water please” I heard someone say and a small pot of tea was put in front of me with a glass. I poured it into the glass and drank it and although it tasted bitter it was so good.

When I had finished the pot some more was brought to me and I finally started to feel human again. The Englishman asked me if someone had stolen my motorbike and his wife asked me had I fallen off it. They couldn’t believe I was in Afghanistan on a motorbike! I may have been 21 years old but I still looked like I was 16 with the grime and dirt on my face.

Over some more food and drink I told my story about the wheel and being left on the border and how I was now trying to find my friend in Herat. I must have looked a pitiful sight as someone was translating it into French and every now and then there was a 54

sympathetic sigh or a shaking of their heads! Whilst I was talking a man stood up and said something to the girl who was doing the translation. She said that they were happy to drive me around to some hotels to see if we could find Tony. So, we jumped into his van and headed for downtown Herat. Although it was quite late at night there were still plenty of people around.

The streets were narrow with just as many horse drawn carts as there were cars. The driver told me that there were no campsites in town that he knew of and there were only a few run down hotels facing the streets. I knew Tony would never have left the bike on the road and stayed the night in a cheap hotel. The man told me that there were lots of Europeans here due to the cheap drugs and once their money ran out, they would sell their passports and then when that money ran out they would steal anything they could to survive and stay on the drugs. He said “This is a crazy place and you will soon see it for yourself”.

We had been driving around for about 30 minutes and came across what looked like a hotel or a broken down doss house. I asked the driver to stop so I could ask the Afghan standing outside if he had seen anyone dressed like me. It was the only place in the street with any power and it just had mud walls with no windows – just shutters. The man must have used about 3 metres of cloth to wrap around his head and he wore a long waistcoat with baggy trousers. I pointed to my motorcycle jacket and helmet and said “You see man dressed like this?” He looked at me up and down and said “Yes – you come, come.” My friends stayed in the van and by the looks on their faces you could see they wanted to move on quickly as this looked like the dodgy side of Herat.

I followed the Afghan through the door and knew straight away that Tony wouldn’t be here. This place was more like a dungeon!

We walked through a dimly lit corridor with some rooms with doors and others without. The rooms looked awful and smelt of stale smoke and shit. The Afghan turned and beckoned me to follow. I slipped my hand into my jacket to check my knife was there just in case there was trouble ahead. He showed me into a room that was poorly lit and pointed to a young girl lying on the 55

bed. I couldn’t tell if she was European or not as her eyes stared into space and she looked red with some sort of fever. I didn’t know what to say or do and then suddenly she jumped up and tried to grab me. I turned to the Afghan and said “You must get an ambulance as she needs a doctor now”. He said “No you take her”. I said I couldn’t take her and I started to panic. The whole day had become a nightmare.

I walked back down the corridor hoping my French friends were still waiting for me. Fortunately they were but I could see they were not happy. A few feet from the van, the Afghan tried to grab me but I swung my arm around and pushed him away.

Seeing what was happening my friend started the van, the door slid open and I jumped inside and we were off down the road.

They started talking in French and I could sense they were not happy at all. I didn’t tell them about the girl and wasn’t sure if I should have. One thing I had learnt already was that life in Afghanistan was as cheap as the drugs on the streets. With no money and passport you really didn’t exist and this was my first day in Afghanistan.

I looked out the window just as my friend said that they would try the Herat Hotel. I knew Tony wouldn’t book into a hotel but we may as well try it. We slowed down next to the hotel and I tried to look over the fence but I could see nothing. Suddenly Tony’s head and shoulders appeared over the fence. The car stopped and I jumped out as Tony said “Where have you been Al?” with a big grin on his face. “I’ll put the kettle on” which were always the words Tony used after a drama. My friends came over to see the bike. They couldn’t believe we had got this far on it and that we were planning to make it to Australia! We shook hands and I thanked them again for all their help.

The manager of the hotel was good enough to let us sleep in the garden for a small fee. Before I had the chance to tell Tony about my day, a tall man with long white robes came out to greet me.

He carried a small oil lamp and asked if I would like a wash.

With the heat of the day and the sweet taste of fear still on me, I must have smelt disgusting. He probably didn’t want his guests 56

getting downwind of me!! He showed me to the bathroom which looked very European and modern. The shower was over the bath and there was even a basin to wash your feet. The hot water felt so good and I stood there letting the water run over me. I couldn’t help thinking about the irony of it all – no electricity but a basin to wash your feet in whilst having a shower.

After my shower I went to find some clean clothes to put on. I opened the box and all I could find were some that looked like screwed up newspaper! At least they were clean. Tony had found a 24 hour ration pack so we had that with some flat bread.

It went down well as it was the first meal I had eaten for 24 hours. We sat on the lawn in the dim light enjoying the cool evening. My day had been full of fear, thirst and hunger but now I could relax, I told Tony all about the events of the day and he couldn’t believe what had happened.

The next day we were up early and drove slowly into Herat. It seemed like we were being transported back in time. Apart from the VWs and other vehicles in the street, nothing much had changed. It was dusty, hot and noisy and you couldn’t help feeling sorry for the horses and donkeys straining under the heavy loads they were carrying. It was still early morning but it was already stinking hot. The Afghans are an industrious lot and the small shop fronts open up onto the pavement. The little boy outside the butcher’s shop was employed to run up and down the road with raw meat hanging in the open air and all he had was a little twig to keep the hundreds of flies buzzing around, off the meat. It was not long before we found a small metalwork shop.

Being a boilermaker welder myself I had a quick look around and it resembled something out of a Charles Dickens book. There was very little machinery and no work benches. They did everything by seat squatting on the floor. Even the anvil was a few inches off the ground! There were about ten people cutting and welding in an area the size of two small garages and they all stopped work when they saw us approaching. A man walked over to us and without saying anything he nodded. Tony said “You can fix?” We all squatted down around the back wheel as he pulled on the broken spokes with his fingers. Tony and I sat 57

with baited breath hoping the man would say he could fix it. The man looked at us and nodded his head and shrugged his shoulders at the same time! When Tony asked him if he could fix it today he nodded. What a bloody relief.

We decided to walk around Herat for the rest of the day constantly wondering how they were going with the back wheel.

There were lots of Europeans around – mainly hippies and backpackers. The backpackers loved to advertise how many countries they had been to by the number of badges they had on their packs. The hippies didn’t care about anything except where their next drug fix came from. Anything that had fur on it was shot and skinned and made into coats and any guns you fancied you could buy on the streets. We actually walked into a gun shop and the owner was delighted to see us. He had everything from an 1840 British Standard Infantry rifle to the latest assault rifle.

We could have any one of them for a couple of pairs of Levi jeans!

We walked the streets for a few more hours and then found a place to eat. If there were Europeans eating there, you felt the food must be OK to eat. There were kids on every street corner selling Coca Cola in small ice boxes and it went down well in the heat of the day. We changed some money into Afghan currency and this was done illegally down a side street. I couldn’t help feeling that we may have received Monopoly money instead.

It was late in the afternoon when we made our way back to the workshop. The bike was parked outside the workshop and Tony had a good look at the back wheel. He pulled on the spokes with his fingers and rocked the wheel back and forth. To our great surprise, it looked like they had done a great job. However, the proof would be in the trip across the desert to Kandahar and on to Kabul and beyond.

We paid the money and thanked them very much. They had actually handmade each spoke. By the time we drove back to the hotel it was dark. We were about to make a brew when I saw a European looking guy walking towards us. He had a military 58

style walk and looked very smart. “Hi chaps” he said “Tim’s the name and where are we off to then?” Tony said Australia and we introduced ourselves. Tim helped to run Adventure 4 Wheel Driving trips along the north of Afghanistan. It wasn’t a cheap holiday and targeted people with money looking for a different experience. He said he would give us a few tips about Afghanistan so we sat beside the bike and listened intently. He told us not to go the northern route as it would be too rough on the bike. The roads were good between where we were and Kandahar. He suggested we try to get to Kandahar in one day and take extra water and fuel. We must not stray off the main road as some Frenchmen were murdered a few weeks back. This was because they were looking for drugs and causing trouble in the small villages so the headman shot them. Tim told us there were bandits that hung around but we would have to be unlucky to get mugged. He thought it would be a good idea to remove our Union Jack stickers on our helmets as the Afghans had a long memory!

Tim said he was heading north tomorrow with a group of people from the UK and with that he marched off. We decided to walk to the nearby tea shop and try not to think too much about what we were about to face in the next few days. Tony said he would kill for a pint of beer but the best we could do that night was a glass of warm tea. There was no going back so we just had to be positive and look straight ahead!

The teashop owner was delighted to see us as we were probably the first Europeans to drink his dodgy tea. At least it was boiled and safe to drink. The shop didn’t have a front to it – just a roller door that he pulled down when he closed up. If he had electricity he didn’t use it and we sat by the light of an oil lamp. We sat on creaky wooden chairs with rope stretched across the wooden frame. Within a few minutes we had an audience of both young and old Afghans standing around watching us sipping tea. It was a bit unnerving at first but we smiled at them and they smiled back. To them we must have looked odd with our jeans and Tshirts and them in their baggy shirts and trousers. A young man in his 20s came forward and asked us the usual question “Where 59

are you coming from and where are you going?” When we said Australia he smiled broadly but the older men frowned and look puzzled. The man was looking at Tony’s broad shoulders and then pointed to his arm as he looked at his tattoos. They were the names of Tony’s children so he pulled his T-shirt up higher so the man could see them fully. The old man asked if they were battle honours and Tony nodded and smiled and the old man smiled with approval.

We were sipping our tea when I suddenly noticed what looked like a caterpillar coming out of the dark. The men could see us looking at it and they all smiled. It was some sort of deformed animal. Everyone moved to let it through and horrified we realised it was a boy of about 10 years. His spine was deformed and the lower part of his body had withered away. His head looked too big for his little body. An old tyre had been cut down to fit his arms in as they were the only parts of his body that worked. This was the way he dragged his body along the ground.

He tried to lift his head up to see us and we felt so sorry for him.

If he lived in the UK he would have access to a wheelchair but here he had nothing.

It was starting to get late so we walked back to the hotel. The plan was to make an early start in the morning to Kandahar and we would treat ourselves to some flat bread and a glass of chia tea at the tearoom before setting off. I tried to sleep but the thought of what lay ahead frightened me. There was a lot of desert between Herat, Kandahar and Kabul not to mention the sandstorms and the odd bandit! Rudyard Kipling’s poem to the young British soldier came to mind: When you are wounded and left on the Afghan plain And the women come out to cut up what remains Lie on your rifle and blow out your brains And go to your God like a soldier We didn’t say much to each other that night but we knew what each other was thinking. It was going to be tough on us and the 60

bike but we may as well sleep now and tomorrow would look after its self.

We were up at 7am and the sun was already starting to warm up by the time we had loaded the bike. We had nothing to keep our water cool and warm water with iodine tasted foul but at least it would keep us alive. The Union Jack sticker on our helmet was also going to stay despite the advice from our UK friend to remove it. We felt that by removing the sticker we would be surrendering to the bandits and we were proud to be British so it would stay. We drove down to the teashop and enjoyed the warm flatbread and refreshing tea. It was just what we needed for the trip ahead. It wasn’t long before the “caterpillar boy” came along to see us off. Tony dropped a few coins into his hands and ruffled his scruffy black hair. We left him lying in front of the shop. He seemed happy within himself so we were sure the people around here were looking after him.

We were now on the Afghan plains and we knew this would be the first test to see if the back wheel was fixed. We needed to make it to Kandahar that day and had 300 miles to go. The road looked good as it was built during the 2nd World War to move supplies out to India and on to Burma. We cruised along at 50mph and stopped occasionally to stretch our legs and drink some of our iodine tasting water. When it was my turn to sit on the back of the bike I would sit looking backwards to check on what was happening behind us. There were no police at all in the Afghan desert. By midday the heat was so intense that your eyes felt as if they were being burnt by the hot wind. The Afghan plain was a pressure cooker of heat and through the heat haze we saw a cattle truck with high wooden sides and no bonnet so you could see the engine clearly. It rumbled by spraying us with dust and sand and then stopped suddenly as we heard a cry. When the dust settled we saw about 40 Afghan tribesmen standing and sitting in the back of the truck. They started to pour out the truck and before we knew it they were surrounding us with their dark eyes peering through their cloth wrapped faces. Some had long beards, weathered faces and not an ounce of fat on them. We thought they may be wondering what was in the box so Tony said 61

to them “Kandahar” and pointed down the road. They all said “Kandahar” and when Tony said “Good” they all copied him.

Then one of them pointed at my helmet and looked as if he wanted to look at it. I quickly took it off and he started tapping it with his knuckles to see how hard it was. On spotting the Union Jack on the side he handed it back to me and we couldn’t help remembering what we had been told about removing the sticker!

We weren’t sure what was going to happen next as they were all talking and one man had gone back to the truck. Was he going to get a gun to shoot the Englishmen? I was starting to get really worried as they kept closing in on us and then to our great joy and relief we saw the man coming back with two of the biggest rock melons I have ever seen. Bloody joy! The wild tribesmen turned out to be farmers heading back from the market at Herat.

We shook hands with them and waved them off on their way.

From warm iodine tasting water to beautiful cool rock melon – what a pleasure. Another lesson we had learnt in this wild country is that you should never judge a book by its cover.

We were making good time but the heat continued to be a problem. We cooled our faces and kept going until we reached a small village of mud huts where there was a shop where you could buy Coca Cola but no bottled water. We rode on until we hit a sand storm, so we pulled off the road and just waited until it was over. It disappeared as quickly as it came, leaving us covered in dust and sand. We both stood brushing ourselves down when Tony suddenly said “Bugger me it’s Moses!” I looked up and there was a man standing not far from us dressed in rags with a long beard and even a pole in his hand. Where could he have come from and where was he going? He had no water with him and just walked across the road and headed into the desert. We couldn’t believe it as he disappeared into the heat haze.

We decided to ride on until we got to the town of Gereshk and stopped for some rock melon. The back wheel seemed to be holding up better than Tony and I. The sand and dust had stuck to our bodies and every time you moved, it rubbed against your skin. It was like sitting naked on a roll of sandpaper. At 3pm we 62

stopped alongside the only river we ever saw in Afghanistan. It looked very green and we certainly weren’t going to drink from it. The water was nice and cool so we washed as much dust off as we could. We had some flatbread and rock melon and wondered what lay ahead as we knew we were close to Helmand Province noted for its opium crops and run by warlords. We set off again and shortly came across two men with their camels.

We stopped for a photograph and ending up sharing some rock melon with them - even the camel had a piece! These men were miles from anywhere and they had no water so we thought we may be near a village or settlement.

It was late at night when we reached the outskirts of Kandahar.

There were lots of Europeans and VWs and many more lights around but no sign of a campsite. The city centre was bustling with horse-drawn carts, cars and trucks jostling for a position in the traffic. Our bodies ached and we were dirty and hungry after travelling in the hot sun all day. We pushed the bike up against a high wall and if necessary we would have to sleep there the night.

Just then we heard a Beatles song being played on the other side of the wall. The wall was about 10 feet high, so we pushed the bike around the corner but now the truck noises drowned out the music. We saw two large wooden doors and just as we were trying to look through the gap of the doors a voice said “Are you looking for a place to stay?” We both looked up and sitting on the wall was an Afghan who looked a little like a gargoyle on the lookout for custom! We heard the doors opening and there in front of us was a large garden. We couldn’t believe our luck as there were Europeans lying around on sleeping bags and others sitting around in groups smoking dope or Opium. This was the back of the house and it was built like a bungalow with a veranda along the length of the back. An Afghan was making the drug affected hippies feel at home by playing records. We would definitely be staying here the night so we could clean ourselves up and get the sand out of our clothes and hair. It would also be nice to get a good meal in town the following morning. We slept beside the bike that night as we always did and put a chain around the box and locked it as you could not trust anyone.

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The next day was spent wondering around Kandahar and once again it was as if we had stepped back in time! We rarely saw the faces of any women as they hid behind their veils and some of the men were carrying rifles. There were primitive workshops lining each side of the street selling everything from pots to handguns. A smell hung in the air that resembled a combination of donkey shit and open drains. We were so thirsty and realised very quickly that Coca Cola doesn’t quench your thirst so we drank lots of glasses of chia tea as we knew the water had been boiled.

I spotted the odd Afghan soldier in his drab brown uniform and wondered how he found the energy to fight a war in this climate.

They did so in the 1840s against the British and now it was the turn of the Taleban against the coalition. There were many Europeans in town – some begging for money having lost everything to the drug pushers. Some even lost their identity after selling their passports to feed their habit. A sight that sickened me was when I saw a young man high on drugs in the street. His body was emaciated and you knew he would die on the streets of Afghanistan, buried in an unmarked grave and his family would never know what happened to him. It had also crossed my mind that we may end up the same way!

The next day we pushed on to Kabul leaving the hippies to the drugs and free love. Australia was our goal and it seemed so far away at this stage. We wanted to reach Kabul that day but we worried about the fuel in our tank as it was poor and made the bike run on very low power. At least the road was flat and in good condition. By midday the heat was intense and we found a store along the way to buy some Coca Cola. An icy cold drink was just what you needed to keep your spirits and energy levels up. As we were having a drink we saw two jeeps driving along with some Americans in them looking quite the part in their white suits. They were amazed we had made it so far on a 1957 motorbike and when they heard we were on our way to Australia, they wanted to take a photograph of us to show their friends “the crazy Englishmen”.

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The great Afghan plain stretched out on either side of us and there was not even one blade of grass in sight. Sand blew constantly across the road making it very hard to control the bike.

By this time we had totally lost track of time and had no idea what month it was let alone the day! Whenever we started to feel depressed we tried to think of positive things. I would imagine Tony standing at the Star Inn having a pint with his arm around Jenny. As for me, I would love to be walking down Tregender Hill looking at the foxgloves and dodging the brambles that always reached out to get you as you walked by. To make my dream complete, I would meet Alexandra. She was always in my mind to drag me away from those dark times. Tony quickly kicked me back into reality by saying “Come on Al stop dreaming – Kabul is our next destination”.

We pushed on and passed through the town of Ghazni grabbing a drink and some flatbread on the way. It was late in the afternoon and we had to reach Kabul. We could see mountains in the distance and finally saw the lights of Kabul a few hours later. By the time we found a campsite it was dark and we were exhausted, dehydrated and sunburnt. We put our bedrolls on the floor beside the bike and fell fast asleep.

When I woke the next morning the sun was already warm and there was the sound of flies buzzing around. My body told me that I needed a wash and a change of clothes. The watch that Mum and Dad had given me for my 21st birthday had stopped working some weeks ago due to the vibrating handle bars on the bike and the heat. Tony was onto his first fag for the day and I felt pretty ill – my mouth was so dry it felt like my lips were glued together. The last few days had been tough so the only thing to do was to sit down and have a brew! We walked into town passed the American Embassy and we couldn’t help noticing two Afghans painting the fence with rags not paint brushes. The traffic ran in all directions with a policeman standing on a stone island in the middle of the road trying to control things. If he had fallen off his island it would have been disastrous. We finally found a place to eat amongst the dust fumes and traffic chaos.

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Back at the camp we found some boys who had driven from the UK in an old Bedford truck. They said their plan was to reach India but problems with the truck and visas had made them decide to make their way home the following morning. One of the boys, Dave who did most of the talking, said he didn’t fancy breaking down in the Khyber Pass because of all the trouble there. He suggested the safest way to do it was to go through in a convoy which left every morning. Tony and I sat around the Primus stove that night watching the stew bubbling away and chatting about where we were heading the next day. The plan was to drive to Jalalabad, spend a night there and then catch the convoy through the Khyber Pass the next day.

The ride to Jalalabad was uneventful and our back wheel continued to hold up well. The Afghans had obviously done a great job. We were still worried about breaking down in the Khyber Pass and being left behind by the convoy. Warring clans and bandits live amongst the hills of the Khyber. I remembered talking to an old soldier once who was in the North West frontier before the 2nd World War and he had told me that he wouldn’t have wanted to get caught by those “buggers”. They would pin you down on the ground and cut your goolies off! Bearing that in mind we would be doing our best to stick with the convoy.

Looking at our atlas we estimated that if the roads were good, we should reach the border in an hour and join the convoy there to take us through the Khyber Pass. It was the morning of July 27, 1972 and we had no idea of the time of day but the sun’s rays had just broken over the horizon. It had been a warm night and we knew it was going to be unbearably hot by midday. We were fuelled up and heading towards the hills. The engine was running well despite the poor fuel and we should be over the border and into Pakistan by the end of the day. We set off and I kept looking behind me hoping to see more vehicles but to my despair there were none. I asked Tony what he thought we should do if someone tried to stop us. He said we will drive around them and when I asked him what if they had guns he replied with a smile saying “Well Al you are on the back today!”

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As we rounded the corner we saw 30 or 40 large and small vehicles parked by the side of the road. Thank goodness we made it in time as just as we arrived a soldier starting waving his arms to get everyone moving. I should have had a camera as it was quite a sight. Men sitting on top of trucks with their white robes and turbins, cross legged with their rifles across their knees.

All these ordinary looking cars driving in procession with two Cornish guys on their motorbike and sidecar!

The road wound its way around the barren hillsides. I wanted Tony to stop so we could get the camera as we had to have proof of us getting this far even if it meant dropping back from the convoy. We came to a bend in the road that gave us a good view of the valley. I quickly grabbed the camera from the box and just as I did, a car came around the corner. I jumped in front of the car and pointed the camera at him. Poor guy must have thought he was about to be held up! He soon got the message, jumped out of his car, grabbed the camera and Tony and I had our photograph taken in the Khyber Pass that day. He threw me back the camera, jumped into his car and was gone. Along the way I spotted a military emblem carved into the rock. It was a badge commemorating a regiment that fought to keep the Khyber Pass open. We stopped and took another photograph. By now the convoy had left us behind so we needed to make up some time so we could be in Pakistan that afternoon with luck.

We drove up to the border and were met by the usual amount of chaos. Everybody had guns except the very young or old. In the distance we could see the great Khyber Pass garrison. An old man too weak to go on lay on the side of the road with two other men who may have been his sons. We gave him some water and hoped he would be OK. Tony got our documentation out the box and went into the office whilst I stayed with the bike and watched two soldiers making fun of a Pakistani man. Tony returned shortly afterwards and we were on our way across the border with all the other trucks and cars. Islamabad was our next destination but it was going to be tough as the roads were narrow and there were large stretches of road under repair. Once again, we had to put the bike in first gear and run alongside the bike in 67

places to take the load off the back wheel. The dust was everywhere and it stuck to our bodies like glue. It was late at night when we finally drove into Islamabad, low on fuel. We came across a small workshop that had a fuel pump and we asked the owner if we could sleep there tonight. He reluctantly pointed to a room off the side of the main workshop where we could go.

Night shift was in full swing with lots of guys lying around on the floor. The trucks looked old but were brightly coloured. It was midnight by the time we finally lay down on the hard floor.

We were dirty, hot and exhausted.

I awoke the following morning feeling as bad as the night before and Tony was looking just the same. The mosquitoes and various other bugs had feasted on us overnight and we were hot and sweaty. We needed to find a drink and some food. Fortunately, we found plenty of places to eat and our whole diet was about to change drastically. We had hot spicy food for breakfast, lunch and dinner and it was cheap and filled you up. Progress was slow through the city which was overcrowded with open drains full of sewerage and diesel fumes. There were no signs on the road so we had to shout out “Lahore” and people would shout out “Go straight go straight”. At last we were out of the city with the wind in our faces. It would be good to get to Lahore that day and find a campsite so we could clean up – maybe the open drains weren’t the only thing that was smelly!

If we didn’t make it to Lahore that day we would stop at Gujranwala which was about 50 miles from Lahore according to our atlas. There were plenty of small towns on the way and every time we pulled over and stopped a crowd would gather around us.

At first it was a bit unnerving as they liked to touch your clothes and tap your crash helmet. Some of the men just stood there looking at us and you couldn’t help wonder what they were thinking. The kids loved pushing us off instead of kicking the bike over and they all laughed and waved when the engine fired into life. We were soon cruising along the road enjoying the countryside when we saw a boy up ahead. I noticed he picked up something from the ground. I was on the back of the bike and we were only about 20 feet away from him. Suddenly he threw a 68

stone and it hit me on the right thigh. Luckily it didn’t hit one of us in the face because we were roaring along at about 50mph and when it hit me it sent a hell of a shock through my body. If it wasn’t for my bed roll behind me and the sidecar I would have fallen off the back of the bike. Tony had seen the stone too but it had been too late to swerve out of the way. He pulled over and jumped off the bike. I could see he was ready for action as the muscles in his face were tense but by now our stone throwing friend had disappeared.

I just sat there for a few minutes then slowly lifted my leg off the foot rest. I dropped my trousers to inspect my leg and fortunately there was nothing broken – just a red bruise on my thigh the size of a tennis ball. I asked Tony what that was all about and he had no idea but said we would have to be very careful from now on.

We drove into Gujranwala last in the afternoon, found somewhere to eat and drove back out again where we slept on the side of the road with the bike. It was so hot we didn’t need the sleeping bags any more. We had little sleep that night due to the mosquitoes so we were hoping to find a campsite in Lahore. Our insect bites were now turning into infected sores so we needed to clean them properly so they didn’t get worse. We drove on hoping to reach Lahore in a few hours. When we finally did reach it we found that it was very similar to most of the other towns in Pakistan. It was overcrowded with the smell of open sewers and spicy food gently floating through the air. There were the usual horses and donkeys struggling under heavy loads and the three wheeled taxis called tuk-tuks. We found a stall on the side of the road to have something to eat and I knew I would need to find a toilet in about one hour as the food was hot and spicy.

People crowded around the bike and just starred at us. Tony asked for directions to a campsite but all we got were names of hotels and we were definitely not leaving the bike out of our sight.

We both sat on the bike wondering what our next move was going to be when a European guy approached us and introduced himself. He worked at the German Cultural Centre with his wife 69

and it would be OK for us to sleep on the veranda of the centre as it was closed for two weeks. We jumped at the offer and he gave us the address and a letter to give to the security guard. We found the place easily and were relieved it was in the European part of Lahore. The streets and houses looked smart but a little run down. We saw a large English style house with an overgrown garden a few metres off the road. We pulled in and turned the engine off. It wasn’t long before a security guard came to the gate and we gave him the letter. He was dressed in typical Pakistani dress and after reading the letter, he nodded and opened the gates. We made ourselves at home on the stone veranda and it was heaven to get out of the midday sun. The humidity was horrendous and we enjoyed standing under a water hose in a tree to cool off much to the amusement of the old gardener.

One morning he came to me and showed me his medal he had received from World War II. He proudly pointed at the King’s head and told me he had been a machine gunner! He lived in a small stone hut at the bottom of the garden with his wife who we never met. The heat was unbelievable and the only time we got up was to get a warm drink of water. Trucks would pass by full of Coca Cola heading for Lahore. Nearly every street corner had kids with ice boxes selling Coke. In a Muslim country a cold beer is few and far between.

I hadn’t been to the toilet for some time and made the mistake of letting Tony know. He told me he would fix it and off we went to what was the equivalent of a Boots Chemist. Dried animal parts hung from the ceiling and pickle jars with things floating in them lined its walls. All over the counter lay packets of pills.

The owner emerged from behind and beckoned us in. Tony pointed to my bottom and then pinched his nose with one hand and gestured as if he was pulling the chain of the toilet with the other. The Pakistani shopkeeper looked stony faced and wide eyed as Tony repeated the whole act again. Just before the end of his act the shopkeeper held his hand up and in perfect English said “How may I help you gentlemen?” We were astounded and I quickly told him my problem. He handed me a small bar of 70

chocolate and advised me not to eat it until I got back to my accommodation. However by the time I got back to our place the chocolate bar was starting to melt. I hurriedly ate it as it seeped through my fingers and then lay back on my sleeping bag waiting to see what would happen. Tony sat with his back to the wall looking through our atlas and planning the next leg of our journey. He asked me how many squares of the chocolate bar I had eaten and I told him most of it as it was melting. I knew I was in trouble as Tony said “Fucking wars” and he only said that when he was shocked about something! “One square would have been enough Al” he laughed. I lay there waiting for the eruption and it wasn’t long in coming. It was a violent explosion in my bowels that brought me to my feet and made me race to a secluded part of the garden. As I squatted between the wall and a large shady bush I remembered what the old guard had told us about the snakes that lurked around at night and that we needed to take great care. Now it would be the snake’s turn to be careful of me as I made numerous trips to the back of the garden trying to remember where my previous “deposits” had been so I didn’t step in them.

The following day I lay on my sleeping bag too weak to move and too hot to get into it. My bowel must have looked like a flattened toothpaste tube! There was no way I could have got on the bike that day and Tony knew it. We had already been in Pakistan for five days and I knew we needed to move on. It was about 5pm and we were having our usual brew when the old gardener appeared looking very upset. In broken English he told us that India was going to war with Pakistan. We knew from people we met on the street that tension between the two countries was escalating but the gardener was certain that the Indian Army was about to attack Lahore itself. Tony and I sat on the step saying nothing for a while. Tony then came out with “Fucking wars” which was a much more appropriate saying this time than the last time. Fear kept me awake that night as I knew we would just have to keep going and find a way through, if the attacks happened.

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We awoke to another hot and humid day. We drove to the British Embassy in Lahore, to see if they had any answers. They told us that the border would be open for one day only and if we did not get through that day we would have to wait another week. One more week in our garden compound was out of the question so we loaded up the bike that night so we could make an early start the next morning. After consulting the atlas, we worked out that our first stop in India would be Amritsar and from there we would travel down to Delhi. We were happy to be back on the road again and were sure being in a new country would bring better roads and good food. How wrong we would be!

With no breakfast and tea, we said goodbye to our gardener who looked sad to see us go. As we drove to the border we realised hundreds of people had the same idea. We dodged in and out of the traffic and we knew it was going to be a long day. Drug induced hippies and the down and outs of Europe were all headed to India. At one point a hippy jumped on the box to try and hitch a ride. Before I had time to tell him to get off and before he had time to say “Hi man how about a ....” Tony’s left hand had hit him in the face. He rolled off the box in his brightly coloured clothes and beads around his neck and we left him in a cloud of dust. The rest of his hippy mates who saw what had happened kept their distance from us after that.

Suddenly everything came to a standstill and we looked at the queue which must have been 100 yards long. Tony turned the engine off and as the line moved slowly along we pushed the bike. Chaos reigned at the end of the line as it appeared the border post was nothing more than a bombed house with no windows or doors. Pakistani soldiers were milling around prodding people with their gun butts. After an hour we finally came to the border post and Tony reluctantly handed over our passports. The man looked through them and we were a little worried as he looked more like a soldier than a Customs officer.

He disappeared into the bombed out house as we waited.

Everybody was hot and the only water around was from a dodgy looking well. We were thankful that we had prepared water the night before and knew it was safe to drink. There was an 72

American with his family in a beaten up old car on a mission to save India’s poor but his papers were not in order and he was holding everyone up. His wife and children were drinking water out of the well – a recipe for disaster.

The crowd was starting to get edgy and so were the soldiers.

Their gun butts were coming into play again as they walked down the line pushing people back and there was no mercy for the young or old. I walked over to what used to be a window and looked through to see a table full of passports and a fat Pakistani lady stamping them. On the wall beside her was a toilet roll and she would rip off a piece of it and write down the number of the passport before handing it on. At last our turn came and the officer came out with about 20 passports in his hand. He handed them out saying in perfect English “Please listen to me”. He said you will follow me in single file down this path and you must not step off it as there is a minefield on either side. Tony and I looked at each other and thought what we were going to do about the bike. He then told us that all vehicles would be taken through on a wider path further along. There were translations taking place but the word “minefield” was pretty clear in most languages.

The path was very narrow and we walked through into an open space about 50 yards wide. All you could hear was the sound of our feet. We were nearly at the other side when I noticed a tree to the right hand side of us. A few strips of rag hung down from its lower branches. I was intrigued to know what they were for so I asked the officer. He said they had left them there as a warning to others who tried to cross at night and wandered into the minefield. My stomach tightened as Tony and I had thought of doing just that. It was only 50 yards into India but you could end up in a tree as shredded paper!

The officer stood aside and pointed to the gate where there was a smartly dressed official. He opened the gate and welcomed us to India as we handed over our passports yet again. We spent another hour hanging around in the sun with little food and no water as it was still on our bike. It was so good to finally see the 73

bike lined up with the rest of the vehicles and the chain was still around the box. With the passports stamped we were finally on our way.

We walked over to the bike and crossed fingers that we would not be called back for another search. It was late afternoon and we were tired and hungry. We felt very fortunate to have made it through as many people did not and would have to wait another week. We headed off down the road to Delhi hoping to find somewhere to stop and have something to eat and drink. We hoped the roads would be better in India but to our horror we found one sealed lane and many big potholes! If a truck or car came in the opposite direction we had to move off the road and onto the dirt or risk being taken out. I felt as if I had a temperature but wasn’t sure as it could be the stifling humidity.

We travelled along very slowly as the potholes were everywhere and I started to fall asleep only to be woken up by the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance. We hoped it was thunder and not the start of the war we had been warned about. The decision was made to keep riding through the night and get as far away from the border as we possibly could.

We took turns riding through the night but it was very slow going. We had no idea what time it was but were so happy when we saw the sky lighten up to the East as we knew dawn was here.

It was time to find food, water and fuel. We had passed through some small villages but there had been no sign of life and our fuel was now very low. It wasn’t long before we arrived at the city of Amritsar where we got some fuel and looked for somewhere to eat. As always we were surrounded by a crowd of people all staring in silence at us. We asked where we could get some food but they all just stood there looking at us. Finally we found a dodgy looking food stall and because we were so hungry we took the chance and ate something from it. The food was hot and spicy but as it was probably going to be the only meal for the day, we shoved it down the hatch.

Delhi was about 300 miles away and by the state of the roads it was going to take us a week to get there. We sat on the side of 74

the road and consulted our atlas. Our back wheel was holding up well and doing much better than we were. After several days we arrived in Delhi, having slept every night on the side of the road.

There had been no campsite along the way and the mosquitoes had eaten us alive. What I would do for a pint of beer at the Star Inn tonight followed by a real bed to sleep in!

India was a country of bright colours and hot spices. There were pilgrims everywhere carrying brightly coloured shrines, walking across India paying homage to their God. Food had become a real problem to find and we got most of our food from the food stalls along the side of the road. We really didn’t know what we were eating and the spiciness of the food had caused me major stomach problems. Our insect bites had become infected and Tony had swollen glands in his armpits. We were joining the great unwashed brigade.

We had been told by people that train travel in India was cheap so we decided that when we got to Delhi Central Railway Station we would inquire about putting the bike on the train to Madras.

It was a good idea as I was starting to wonder if my body could hold up for another 1,000 miles on those bad roads. As we came closer to the city the traffic slowed to a crawl and we could see there was little regard for road rules here. The cars loved to hoot their horns and at one stage Tony said to a driver “I will shove that horn up your arse if you hoot at me one more time”. We finally found the railway station which was a lovely Victorian building now in disrepair. The flower beds were now nothing more than urinals for the taxi drivers. The taxis were tricycles with only room for two people. Powered only by the smallest pair of legs, these lean little men spent the entire day peddling around the city – the fattest people I had seen so far.

The entrance to this beautiful old building was now crammed with people looking for business. The midday heat and the smell of urine nearly made me sick. Tony went inside to get the information we needed as I sat on the bike reflecting on our trip so far. We had now been on the road for two months and were halfway to our goal to reach Australia. We would have liked to 75

stay longer in some cities but we knew our money wouldn’t hold out if we did that. After leaving Cornwall with £120 each and a further £100 hidden in Tony’s belt it wasn’t that much when you were hoping to get all the way to Australia. Tony reappeared and I could see he didn’t have good news. “Looks like we are riding Al” he said as it was going to be too expensive. We really needed to rest up for a few weeks as we were starting to doubt whether we were actually going to make it to our destination.

As we had to change some money into Rupiah to see us to Madras a bank was needed. Tony walked over to a taxi stand to ask where the nearest bank was. A man approached him who looked more than just a taxi driver and told him that he could take him to an illegal money exchange so we could get a better rate. We both agreed the money was better in our pocket than the bank so Tony went off with the man whilst I stayed with the bike.

The plan was to run like hell if we got into any trouble. After about an hour Tony returned with his thumbs up so I thought all was good. Just as Tony was getting out of the taxi, the man called him back and a conversation took place. By this stage things were not going well as I could see Tony’s facial muscles straining with tension. I got onto the bike ready to kick start it for a quick getaway. Tony gave me a sideward glance and I knew it was my cue to drive fast into the crowd and quickly get onto the back seat so Tony could jump on the bike and drive away. We were soon in the stream of traffic and looked back to see everyone looking stony faced and angry. Tony weaved around the traffic and my only hope was that we were on the right road to Bombay via Agra.

After a short while I turned around to see to my horror the angry taxi driver only 25 yards behind us in his taxi. He had his clenched fist out of the window and when I told Tony what was happening he said “Fucking Wars” and without notice swung the bike sharply to the right. I nearly fell off the back but held on tightly as Tony found his way out of the city. Our pursuers were still with us but slowly they disappeared into the distance in a haze of petrol and diesel fumes. I had a cheeky grin on my face as I knew we had finally escaped. We kept fingers crossed that 76

The camel train between Kandahar and Kabul.

We rode in searing heat and battled sandstorms.

Meeting the locals. We shared our rockmelon with them and then posed for this photo.

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Posing for another photo with our friends!

Not far from the Afghan border.

Another puncture and no pump to fix it with.

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The day before we travelled through the Khyber Pass into Pakistan.

Tony looking back towards Afghanistan from inside the Khyber Pass.

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We stopped a guy in his car so we could take this photo of us in the Khyber Pass.

He was not happy as the convoy had long gone by the time he took it!

On the road to Kandahar. Tony checking out long distance transport - Afghan style!

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The day before we left for Madras. Tony with Bill, Helen and the servants outside their house in Kolar.

Our bike getting a well-deserved wash at the Fremantle Quarantine depot.

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The No. 17 bus that Alexandra caught to Crowlas every day.

The Star Inn is centre right next to the bus stop.

39 years later with my two great loves!

Alex (the girl on the No. 17 bus) and the Tiger now fully restored.

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we were on the right road to Agra as we really did not want to have to backtrack and come face to face with the madman and his friends.

A little further along the road we came across four men playing instruments outside what looked like a hotel. We pulled in beside them as they all stopped playing at the same time. I think they were worried we were going to complain about the noise. Tony pointed down the road and said “Agra” and they said “Yes Yes go straight”. We set off again and checked again to make sure we were still not been followed. A year ago I was living a mundane life in Crowlas and now I was being chased by a madman through the streets of Delhi! How life had changed.

We had enough money now to see us down to Madras and we knew we could not go through India without seeing the spectacular Taj Mahal. It would be one of the very few times we left the bike alone for more than an hour. Completed in 1653 it took 20,000 workers over 22 years to build the monument in memory of Mumtaz Mahal, the wife of Emperor Shah Jahan.

Tony and I walked through the gardens to the tomb and had to keep pinching ourselves that we were actually at the Taj Mahal.

What a story to tell the grandchildren!

We bought what we could in Agra for the long trip to Bombay.

Water was going to be a problem again as there was no bottled water in any of the shops. We were in a bit of a state physically and still had over 600 miles to reach Bombay. We knew we would be lucky to cover 100 miles a day with the current condition of the roads. Even the cows had right of way on the roads! We passed many steel bridges built by the British Army engineers in the 1920s and 30s.

In some of the smaller towns on our way to Bombay we found cheap accommodation in small bungalows for travellers although they were very primitive. The beds consisted of wooden frames with rope criss-crossed over the frame and the toilets absolutely stunk. Each night we would boil water for the following day.

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However one night we couldn’t find a match to light our stove and drinking water without boiling it would be fatal for both of us as we already had diarrhoea. Tony went off to look for someone to help us light the stove. He returned with a Gandhi look-a-like about 80 years old and not speaking a word of English. Tony pointed at the stove and then made the action of trying to strike a match. The old man nodded and smiled and disappeared back out the door. He only wore a Doti that looked more like a large nappy and the tops of his legs were the same size as my wrist.

He returned within minutes with a small length of rope about a foot long and a small tin base. One end of the rope was unwound and looked more like a paint brush as it was very fine. He then opened the box and took from it two small stones. Tony and I looked in disbelief as he held the rope and one of the small stones between his thumb and the forefinger of his left hand. With the other stone in his right hand he gave the stone in his left hand a sharp hit. A spark flew into the frayed end of the rope and it burst into flames. We lit our stove and thanked the old man as he left.

After boiling our water we tried to sleep in our sleeping bags on the strange rope beds. However the noise of the crickets kept us awake and I started to think of home and my mum’s delicious home cooking. The reality was that I was in between Delhi and Bombay with little money, covered by mosquito bites and suffering from a major dose of the shits!

The next day we discussed the possibility of us putting the bike on the train from Bombay to Madras as we were exhausted. We needed a good sleep and if we continued on these roads it would take a lifetime to get there. My diarrhoea had also got worse and I was now passing blood. On the morning before we drove into Bombay I lay outside our bungalow with my knees up to my chest in absolute agony. I couldn’t speak as the pain was so severe and I was sweating profusely. As the pain slowly subsided I managed to get to my feet and walked into the bungalow where Tony was studying the atlas and enjoying an Indian cigarette. I flopped down onto the bed and looked up at the filthy ceiling. Tony took one look at me and said “Let’s hope 84

we get on that train tonight so we can enjoy a good meal and a comfortable bed”.

Soon we were back on the bike hoping it was our last ride for a while. I rode until midday and then Tony took over which was good as the traffic had started to slow down as we moved further into the city. We had no idea where the train station was so we just went with the flow of the traffic. The smell of rotting vegetation and car fumes was overbearing and the poverty really shocked us. We drove past slums and makeshift shelters along the pavements. There were old men and children in rags begging for money and we saw an old man just lying on the side of the road close to death.

Just as we were losing hope of ever finding the train station we heard a very English voice saying “Excuse me – where are you chaps off to?” It came from a young boy about 12 years old who had half his body hanging out the window of a taxi. He was Indian and smartly dressed in a blue blazer and white shirt. After hearing that we were looking for the train station, he told us to follow him in the taxi. Our guardian angel was looking down on us again!

We weaved our way through the streets as he watched us out the back window of the taxi. After a while he hung back out of the window and pointed down a street to the left and told us to go down there. Bombay Central Railway Station was another beautiful building in disrepair. We eventually found a place to park the bike and Tony went in to see if we could put the bike on the train to Madras. Little did we know it was still about 1,000 miles away.

I stayed by the bike and started to feel really sick due to the heat and my diarrhoea. Thankfully Tony wasn’t long but it wasn’t good news - we had enough money to get to Madras but as we didn’t know how much it would cost to put the bike on a boat from Madras to Penang we couldn’t risk getting stuck in India with little money to get to Singapore. We made our way out of Bombay and I was happy to be out of the city. It was starting to 85

get dark and we needed a place to stay. We found the Indian equivalent of the transport cafes in England. String beds lined the grass verge of the road and a primitive shelter was erected over pots of boiling curry and huge pans of steaming rice. Tony and I lined up with the truck drivers and for a small fee we got a bowl of rice, some spicy stuff on the side with a brown dollop of something on top. They used their fingers whilst we used our forks. There were no toilets or anywhere we could wash our hands. The truck drivers just went to the toilet on the side of the road in full view of everyone! The place was a minefield of shit.

I mainly ate the rice as the curry burnt the inside of my mouth. It was good to get some food into our stomachs. We pushed the bike in between our two beds and looked up at the stars. I wondered if the same stars would be shining down on Cornwall.

It was August 1972 and the weather at home would be warm.

Maybe Alexandra was sunbathing in her garden or reading a book. I was soon brought back to the real world by the bugs and mosquitoes buzzing around my head and my stomach was making strange noises – another bout of diarrhoea was on its way. I awoke several hours later feeling sick and I checked to make sure the bike was still there. Tony was fast asleep so I made a brew and contemplated what the day ahead would bring. I knew I needed medical attention. I had sores on my back that were weeping and my T-shirt was sticking to them. Whenever the sores got a scab, my shirt would pull them straight off and the weeping would start again. It would take a few more days to ride to Madras but Tony had an Ace up his sleeve. The Richards family had a distant relative at Kolar Goldfields which was not far from Bangalore. His great uncle had moved out to India as a Cornish miner and if some of his family was still there they may put us up for a few days. My body longed for a bath, some good food and a real bed to bring it back to normality.

We passed through Poona with some of its old Victorian buildings that had seen better days. The roads were full of people with heavily laden carts – the drivers were asleep while their steers plodded along the road. One day we came across about sixty men, women and children breaking rocks with small 86

hammers. Tony and I stopped and watched as they sat crosslegged slowly chipping away at the rock with no gloves. Their fingers were just wrapped in cloth. The little children were so young they could hardly walk but there they were collecting the small chips of rock and putting them in piles along the side of the road. This was road building ... India style! In this country you either had money or you worked every day for your food or went without.

The countryside now looked greener with a few palm trees here and there. The people looked well fed and were smartly dressed.

The day before we drove into Kolar Goldfields we came across a scene that brought both of us down to earth with a bang. It was a warm day and with the better roads we were travelling at a good speed. I was on the back scratching my insect bites, when Tony suddenly throttled off and my head bumped against his back. I looked over his right shoulder and there in the middle of the road was a group of men. As we got closer a few fled the scene and ran off into the thick bush. The rest of them stood there looking down at something on the road. Tony slowed down nearly to a stop and the crowd parted. A young pilgrim was face down on the road with blood matted in his hair. He must have been dead for some time as the grey matter in his head had oozed through the split in this skull. The person who did this could have been standing in the crowd. My stomach turned over as I caught the smell of death. Tony dropped the bike into first gear and we slowly moved away from the empty face lying on the road. As we picked up speed and the wind whipped around us my mind started working overtime wondering how safe this place was especially as we would be spending many nights by the side of the road.

At last we arrived at Kolar and it wasn’t long before we found Bill Richards’ house. It looked out of place as it was very European in style. We drove through the gates and into the driveway and just sat on the bike with the engine off. Just then we heard the door slam and a nervous looking Indian girl came out of the house. Tony jumped off the bike and walked over to her which made her even more nervous. When he asked if Bill 87

was there she shook her head and my heart sunk. Then another young Indian girl came outside but she couldn’t speak English.

Tony came back to the bike and said that we may be heading for Madras. I was gutted as I was looking forward to a bath, real bed and hopefully to see a doctor. As we turned to leave we were stopped by a car in the driveway. It was Bill and his wife and Bill looked just like Clarke Gable. He said with a slight Indian accent “We have been expecting you both”. My long wait for a bath and a bed was over and Bill and his wife, Helen made us feel very welcome. They gave us a delicious Indian meal and my bath was heaven. The bed was not soft but at least it was clean and I had a mosquito net to sleep under – pure bliss.

After a week of good food and water, the cramps in my stomach ceased and I was not passing any blood. Our insect bites had almost cleared up completely too. Bill drove us around and you could see that it had been a close-knit community. Despite the goldmine still working it appeared run down. The mine rescue department looked more like something out of a museum and all the equipment was dated back to the 1940s and 1950s. Tony and I looked at each other and said nothing. Bill showed us his Club and it was as if we were going back in time. There on the wall was a photograph of a spitfire that had been donated to Britain for the war effort with a very happy pilot standing beside it. We were treated like celebrities wherever we went with Bill.

One day he drove us to Bangalore where we met some of his old friends. They had a lovely English style house with a beautiful rose garden. They had stayed on after India gained independence but we couldn’t help feeling sorry for them as they were now elderly and most of their friends had moved back to England.

After we said our goodbyes we dropped in to see Bill’s old aunt.

We walked down a narrow dark lane and Bill said he wasn’t exactly sure where she lived. Suddenly out of nowhere appeared this well dressed lady carrying an umbrella over her head. It was Bill’s aunt and she was on her way home from a church meeting.

Tony and I thought she was very brave walking alone after everything we had seen of India so far. She invited us inside the house which had seen better days. There was an Indian lady who 88

sat in the corner saying nothing. We presumed she was her servant or carer. A large dog was tied up against the wall at the far end of the room and it barked and snarled at us constantly.

She told Bill she wanted to go to England and live out her days in a retirement village. Bill told her he would do his best for her.

We were quite relieved to leave and had a laugh in the car when Bill told us she asked him the same questions every time he saw her. Unfortunately she did not hold a British passport and had little money so she was unlikely to ever reach the United Kingdom and you couldn’t help feeling sorry for her.

The next day I caught a train to Madras to find out about the next leg of our journey across the Bay of Bengal to Penang and then on to Singapore. Bill told me to visit a man called Alan Wilson who managed an air-conditioning company near the centre of Madras and was a good friend of his. Helen took me to the small railway station and told me which station I needed to get to before changing trains. I was a little apprehensive but I hoped I would be back in a day if all went well.

I stood on the platform and looked around. I could have been standing on the platform not far from Crowlas as the good old British had designed these railway stations complete with horseshoe bridges. The steam train pulled into the station on time and I was so excited. The last time I travelled in a steam train was in 1955 with my family when we went to Plymouth for the day. I loved the sound of the steam hissing and the smell of hot oil. I quickly jumped aboard and realised that I was the only European amongst thousands of Indians. It was a warm sunny day and as I sat by the window I could see the steam train slowly leaving the station.

It was a great way to see the Indian countryside and it wasn’t long before we pulled into the station that I needed to get off. I changed trains as this one would take me to Madras. It was a longer train and it had many more people in it, but fortunately I could open the windows to let some air in as it was starting to get very hot. There were lots of beggars on board who just stared at me without saying a word. Some were badly disfigured with no 89

fingers and frightening looking faces. Small monkeys were climbing all over the train looking for scraps of food and would jump through the window and land on top of you. The people in the carriage found them very funny but I was trying to stay well away from them as I didn’t want one of them to bite me. They snarled at you if you tried to push them away and many had limbs missing presumably from being run over by the trains.

Bill had warned us not to touch the dogs in India as many of them had rabies. He told us about a man in the nearby village who had got rabies from a dog and had gone totally mad. The village people had tied him to a tree where he died a few days later.

At last we pulled into the Madras Central Train Station. There were women wearing bright coloured saris carrying baskets of hot food and fruit balanced on their heads. I had no problems finding the company offices as Bill had written down the address and I just had to hand his note to the secretary on arrival. Alan came out of his office to meet me. He was well built, in his 50s with a broad Oxford accent. After a chat he offered me his driver to take me to the shipping office to find out when the next ship to Penang left. I found out there was only one ship sailing in two weeks time and it was called The State of Madras. I asked if we could get a cheaper price if we stayed on deck with the bike but sadly the bike would need to go in the hold and we would have to share a 4-berth cabin.

On our way back to Alan’s office the driver showed me some of the sights of Madras. Some of the buildings were magnificent, built by the British in the 19th century. The driver spoke perfect English and told me he had been a chauffeur for a British officer during the war and he was sad when the British left India. When we returned, Alan said that they would love to have us to stay while we waited to sail to Penang. I was most grateful as it would save us money on accommodation and we needed to save every penny we could.

After saying goodbye, I pushed my way through the crowd to find a seat on the train, and as there was no air conditioning I 90

tried to find a window seat. At last I found one but couldn’t understand why it hadn’t been taken already. I moved towards it just as a strange looking Indian pulled a dirty looking cloth off the seat I was just about to sit on. I sat down quickly and stared out the window at the crowd of people milling around outside.

Suddenly there was a tap on my shoulder and there stood the strange looking Indian. He had his hand open and he said “You pay”. The penny dropped – he wanted me to pay for the seat all over again just for the privilege of sitting by the window. I quickly looked around to see if he had any mates but there were only sad looking Indian people standing because of bullies like him.

I slowly pulled my ticket out of my pocket and shoved it under his nose. He then put his smelly hand under my nose and repeated “You pay”. Out of the corner of my eye I could see people nudging each other looking forward to the showdown that was about to start. I got to my feet towering over the man and placed my finger on his face and said “you piss off now”. He just looked at me, gave a snort and then turned away disappearing into the crowd. I slumped back into my seat and gave a sigh of relief. Everyone in the carriage was smiling at the stranger who had scared off the train thug!

We were only a few carriages away from the engine so I could breathe in the wonderful steam engine smells. So many memories returned of when I was a kid standing next to the railway line at Longrock. My grandmother used to live there and we would drop pennies on the railway line for the train to squash.

If only my mother knew – she would have killed us.

At around 3pm, the train suddenly started to slow down on a slight left hand bend and I could see the other carriages behind me. A door suddenly opened on one of the carriages and two men dragged a young boy off the train and onto the grass bank.

He was about 14 years old and was wearing a European style coat. People were shouting out the windows as the men were slapping his face and trying to pull off his coat. One of them held him down whilst the other searched his coat pockets. I hoped the 91

kid was a pick pocket and these were not thugs preying on the young and vulnerable. If they were, my time would come soon!

At last the whistle blew and the carriages jerked forward as people scrambled back onto the train. The kid was helped back onto the train by some other people who were holding his coat and rubbing his tears away. I was beginning to miss the security of Bill and Helen’s house as we pulled into another station.

Without warning, the train suddenly braked hard and people were shouting and running along the platform. I put my head out of the window and could see people milling around the engine and jumping down onto the tracks. We started to moved backwards just as a man ran passed carrying a stretcher. The train had run over an old man who was covered in oil and blood from a head wound. They lay him on the stretcher naked apart from a small loin cloth. I heard he had been trying to cross the tracks as he had probably done every day begging off the passing trains.

However this time he didn’t make it. Even though the old man lay dead on the stretcher, the people selling food and drinks continued on as if nothing had happened. Life was cheap in India!

Whilst on the train I bought two glasses of chia tea. After a short while I started to feel nauseous and needed to go to the toilet.

The diarrhoea was back but fortunately I wasn’t passing blood yet. It wasn’t long before we got going again and as I looked back I actually didn’t feel sorry for the old man as I knew his daily struggle for survival was over. I felt exhausted as it had been a long day but it was far from over. By late afternoon it had cooled down and I fell asleep to the rocking motion of the train.

When I awoke I knew I was in trouble as my carriage was empty and it was dark outside. I had missed my stop and I was in despair. Finally the train stopped at a station and I stepped out. I was now totally lost and had no idea how far past my station I had travelled. The station was empty except for one person who started to walk towards me. He had some keys in his hand and I was hoping he was the station master and could speak English. I asked him when the next train to Kober Goldfields was due to leave. He shook his head from side to side and told me the first 92

train would leave at 6am the following morning. It must have been about 10pm and I had no water on me. I had some money but nothing was open and it was so dark on the platform. There was only one small light bulb that hung from its cord blowing in the warm breeze. I was so thirsty and needed to find some clean water and a place to sleep the night. I soon came across a room that looked like a waiting room. I turned the big brass knob on the door and to my surprise it opened. It was pitch black inside but I knew there were people inside as I could smell them. I closed the door behind me and slowly crept forward expecting to step on someone at any moment. My leg bumped against a large wooden table so I ran my hand across the top of it to see if it was empty and I could sleep on it. Dragging myself across the table, I tried to go to sleep but all I could think about was Percy pouring another cold lager at The Star Inn. The sound of hissing steam and smell of hot oil jolted me out of my sleep. I slid myself off the table and ran like hell. There was no time to buy a ticket and just as I jumped on board, the train pulled away from the station. Fortunately no one asked for my ticket and it wasn’t long before we were slowing down and I was finally at the right station. I was so happy to get back to Bill and Helen’s house and that evening we enjoyed a delicious meal. I slept well that night after all I had been through.

The next day Tony and I travelled to Mysore to meet one of Bill’s friends. Appo was very wealthy and owned a large tea plantation in the south. We stayed one night at his home in total luxury. Appo’s family just sat around in comfort whilst the servants ran around after them. He suggested we take a trip down to his country home several hours drive south of Mysore so off we went. It was a beautiful bungalow home in the heart of the rainforest and we even got to have a ride on an elephant. At one stage, the elephant stopped in its tracks and wouldn’t budge.

The guide tried to get him to go several times and then started to kick it behind its ears, hitting it on the head with a small stick. I could see Tony was getting agitated with the man’s behaviour towards the animal and then thankfully the elephant started to move backwards slowly. Our guide slowly turned and gestured 93

to us to keep very still as there was a king cobra moving across the path just in front of us. The elephant had obviously seen it first and that was why he had stopped. Tony and I continued our ride feeling like kings being chauffeured around the rain forest.

We spent two more nights with Appo and his wife, eating the best food and enjoying ice cold beers.

When we got back to Bill’s house he told us about his friend who he had visited in hospital that day. He had to have an operation but there wasn’t enough blood available if he needed it, so it couldn’t go ahead. I volunteered to give blood and if our blood groups weren’t compatible they could give the blood to someone else. Tony didn’t seem happy about it as I knew he would feel obliged to do the same. Later that night he told me that whilst I was away he had gone to see a friend of Bill’s in the local hospital. He said the hospital looked like something out of the Crimean War and we would be lucky to get out of the place alive after giving blood. He then laughed saying “At least we will get 9 rupiahs each for our pint of blood so it can go towards our funerals”. I started to feel nervous but I really wanted to give Bill something back after all he had done for us during our stay.

The next morning Bill drove us down to the hospital and it didn’t look too bad from the outside. We waited on the veranda for the doctor to come. Whilst we were waiting my eyes looked down at my feet and I could see what looked like splashes of blood that had dried quickly in the warm sun. The splashes got bigger and more regular as I got closer to the door. I looked into the room but it was empty except for a chair and a table with pliers on it.

Had the tooth puller just been at work? My stomach turned as there wasn’t even a sink and the room smelt of boiled broccoli. I quickly turned away to lean on the handrail only to come face to face with another horror. Just opposite the door and lying on a small gravel patch in the garden were hundreds of teeth! The dentist was obviously pulling out teeth and throwing them out the door.

I looked across at Tony and was about to tell him the bad news when I saw how nervous he was looking. He was already on his 94

second fag in twenty minutes and he had his arms across his chest looking into the sky. Just then a head popped around the corner and a voice said “Mr Reynolds & Mr Richards would you like to follow me please?” We looked as if we were about to be called into the headmaster’s office to get six of the best. To my great relief the room looked clean and tidy and smelt like any other hospital I had visited. Unlike the torture chamber next door! It was all over in less than an hour and the doctor was so appreciative as they had not received any blood for weeks.

That night Bill invited us to his Rotary Club to answer a few questions about our trip. It was a bit daunting not knowing what questions we would be asked. Bill had even printed official programs with the special guests being Mr A Richards and Mr A Reynolds. The topic of conversation was “Thirty Thousand Miles on a Triumph”. It was Tuesday August 22, 1972. We had to borrow shirts from Bill to wear to the function as our t-shirts would not have met the necessary dress standards.

On arrival, we were made to feel very welcome and after a few glasses of cold beer we sat down in front of about 50 people to begin our talk. We were asked things like “How many times have you been lost?” and we replied by saying that we had only been lost once and that was in Yugoslavia. We were lucky to have such a good atlas. Another one was “Why the hell would you want to ride a bike to Australia when you could travel on a plane or ship?” Tony explained that not only did we want to see the world but we wanted to meet lots of different people and you couldn’t do this on a plane or ship.

Our last day in Kolar was spent with Bill getting a guided tour of the goldfields. You could see the place had not changed much since the late 1940s. There was still the chair Bill’s father had sat in to operate the cage that lowered the men down into the mine shaft. The processing plant looked much the same with an old fashioned stomping engine used to crush the rocks. Bill showed us a nugget of gold the size of a golf ball and a small mound of gold dust that Tony pushed with his finger – much to the despair of those around him.

95

That night we all sat around the dinner table talking about the next part of our journey to Madras. We were so lucky to have been taken in by Bill and Helen as India had taken such a toll on our bodies that I really don’t think I could have gone on too much longer in that state. By 8am the following morning, our sidecar box was packed and we were ready to leave. Our Afghan spokes on the back wheel were still tight which showed how brilliant their craftsmanship must have been. When we said goodbye to Bill and Helen I could see the two servant girls standing behind them – one looking clearly upset that we were leaving. I would say it was more about Tony leaving than me!

With Alan Wilson’s address in my top pocket and a small map giving directions to his house, we were finally on our way. The journey to Madras was uneventful apart from the carts, potholes and angry bus drivers. As we drove into the city it wasn’t long before the smells of open sewers and spicy foods hit us. It was late afternoon by the time we reached Alan’s place. They made us feel welcome and their company home came complete with a chef and three servants. The garden was immaculate and you could have been in any leafy suburb in England. However the reality of India was only 3 miles away where beggars and the homeless lived and died in squalor.

The State of Madras would be leaving the harbour in four days and we had to be on it. If not, we would have to wait another three weeks. The next day Alan had his chauffeur drive us to the shipping office. We didn’t expect there to be so many people sailing for Penang but with three days still to go, the ship was already crowded. We also had problems finding room for a motorbike and sidecar in the hold. The shipping office was in a lovely old building and there were about 20 clerks sitting at their desks, smartly dressed, surrounded by paperwork. Tony and I walked over to one of the clerks sitting at his desk. In perfect English he asked how he could help us and we told him that we needed two tickets to Penang and a place for our motorbike and sidecar. He smiled and said that would be fine but not on this trip. Tony and I looked at each other in total disbelief. This would mean another three weeks in Madras and we would 96

definitely run out of money by the time we reached Singapore.

We remembered some people telling us that you could get cheap tickets for the deck only so Tony asked if there was room for two more on the deck. The man told us that they do not allow Europeans onto the deck as on the last voyage a fight had broken out between some European and Indian passengers. Now all Europeans had to share cabins and he explained that once he had processed the applications on his desk, all the cabins would be full. He took our paperwork and placed it at the bottom of the pile.

As we walked out into the street Tony tugged my arm and said he had an idea. He walked back into the office and a few minutes later he returned saying that all was sorted out. We would be on the boat the day after tomorrow. I wondered what he had done!

With a broad smile he told me that he had simply asked the clerk how much it would cost to have our ticket application taken from the bottom of the pile to the top. The man said it depended on how much money we had so Tony had grabbed the remaining money he had in his pocket and slipped it under a sheet of paper on the desk. The man lifted the paper and after seeing the money he put our ticket application on the top of the pile!

That evening Alan and his wife put on a wonderful meal for us.

We all sat around the huge dining table and reflected on our time with them. We felt enormously grateful for their hospitality as they had given us good food and water – saving us from what could have been a miserable end to our journey to Australia.

The next day we rode the bike to the Madras harbour and for the first time had a good look at MV State of Madras. We expected nothing more than a rust bucket and that was exactly what we saw. It was an old cargo vessel that carried passengers. Our bike was the last to be loaded onto the boat and dropped into the hold.

We had put the chain around the box but there were no guarantees. We had spent nearly five weeks in India – the first two weeks in desperate poverty and the last few weeks in total luxury. As Tony and I were walking back along the pier we were approached by four Indians. The largest man stood in front of 97

Tony and held out his hand for money. Tony said “What for?” and the man said he had loaded our bike and now it was time for us to pay. In a very calm voice Tony told him that he got paid by the company and would he please step aside. Tony took a step forward as the man started to backtrack. We could see he was all talk and no action. We found out later that these men did this with all the Europeans and usually got some money out of them but they weren’t going to get far with two Cornish lads.

It was late by the time we got back to Alan’s place. Today was September 4, 1972 and we would be leaving Madras for a short sail down the coast to pick up more passengers and then head across the Bay of Bengal to Penang in Malaysia. The chauffeur drove us to the harbour and it was a hive of activity. With our passports and tickets in hand we walked towards the gangplank.

Hundreds of people were waiting to board and I wondered how they were all going to fit into the cabins. Most of the people looked poor carrying their simple belongings in a sheet slung over their shoulders. The State of Madras was an old ship and the inside was as rusty as the outside. It appeared she had been built before the Second World War. Having completed by apprenticeship at Holmans Dry Dock I could see her condition was as poor as some of the worst ships I had ever worked on during my time there. The only things keeping this ship together were rust and several coats of paint. Our cabin had a small bunk on the right and left hand side of the wall and two small wardrobes with doors that didn’t close. There was a thin mattress with a sheet, blanket and pillow on each bed. At least it was better than sleeping on the deck. We had a porthole and a dirty looking sink without a plug. The sink had come away from the wall and the water coming out of the tap was brown and certainly not for drinking. We would be sharing the cabin with two men – an American about 35 years old and an Anglo Burmese who looked about 25 years old. They both kept to themselves and probably were a bit nervous of us as we didn’t look like your average traveller.

We felt the engines rumble and we knew we were on our way.

We went up on deck and watched the boat slowly sailing away 98

from the harbour. We had met some great people in India and it certainly was a country of extremes. We left the polluted harbour for the clear blue waters of the Bay of Bengal. It was a delight to smell the clean sea air rather than the smog of Madras and fortunately we had some ventilation in our cabin as it was very hot and humid.

After walking around for a while we discovered that you could look down into the hold from one of the decks. We could see our bike amongst all the other cargo plus some passengers sleeping against the cargo. There were deck passengers, cargo passengers and those in cabins. As we walked back to our cabin we found the American in a state of panic. He was pointing to the top of the wardrobe which was now behind the door as you walked in. I slowly pushed the door closed and there sitting on top of the wardrobe was a large rat preening itself. We all stood there not knowing what to do until Tony kicked the wardrobe and the rat raced back into the ventilation hole. We found the steward and told him about the rat but he assured us there were no rats on this ship and we must have been seeing things! Tony asked for us to be moved to another cabin but we were told there were no other cabins available and they would just block up the ventilation hole. So there was no more ventilation for us but at least we wouldn’t be sleeping with rats.

We enjoyed a hot curry meal that night before retreating to our cabin. It now resembled a sauna and we were about to witness other horrors emerging from the small holes around the cabin.

The first thing I felt was something running across my stomach as I lay in my underpants. I told everyone I needed to turn on the light and everyone moaned but I needed to find out what it was.

As I was feeling for the light switch, my foot crunched down on something and it felt like a large peanut shell. There were cockroaches everywhere scurrying back to their holes now that the light was on. They were absolutely enormous and the cockroach I had squashed lay in a brown puddle on the floor. No one said a word as we all came to the realisation that we had another six days of living in this rat and cockroach infested cabin.

Every time I felt something crawling across my body I would 99

flick it off and try to get to sleep before it returned. Sleep was very difficult that first night.

The next day we anchored a few miles off the coast and some smaller boats came out to collect some of the cargo to take to shore. The way they offloaded the cargo made you think it was 1872 not 1972. Some of the small boats had people trying to sell fruit to the passengers on the deck. It wasn’t long before we were on our way again. During our time on the ship we met one of the officers. After hearing that Tony had been an engineer in the British Merchant Navy he asked us if we would like a tour through the engine room. He took us to the stern of the ship where it was hot and there were people sleeping everywhere. It was even hotter in the engine room and very noisy. The smell of hot oil reminded me of Holmans Dry Dock. With every revolution of the prop the stern shuddered which meant the prop was out of balance and well past its used by date. The officer was very proud of his engine room and we thanked him for the tour.

On our second night, we made our way to dinner but we were a little early and the door was locked. I looked through the window to see the tables made up with bread already laid out on them. I was starving until I saw cockroaches crawling all over the bread. As the waiter walked through the dining room (if you could call it that) he swung his tea towel at them and they scattered in all directions and disappeared under the tables. He apologised for keeping us waiting but said nothing about the cockroaches! We all sat together on the same table with an elderly woman and her son. They said they had spent many years in India but it was now time to leave. They didn’t give us a reason but you could see she was sad to leave the country she called home.

On our way back to the cabin we thought we would check on the bike. It was just as well we did as a large Indian passenger was lying across the bike and box fast asleep. Tony shouted down to him to get off but he just smiled and waved his hand in an arrogant way for us to go away. With him lying on our box we 100

couldn’t see if the chain was still around it so we needed to get rid of this man. We walked back to the cabin discussing ways to get down into the hold and as we walked into the room we saw our American friend in his usual pose – meditating standing on his head with his legs crossed. The Burmese guy was lying on his bunk with a rolled up newspaper waiting for the cockroaches to appear so he could get them. I asked him if he knew any Indian as we needed to remove a large man from our bike in the hold. Without hesitation, he said he may have the very thing and then started to rummage around in his backpack pulling out a hand gun. We were both stunned and the American fell to the floor with a thud. We were told it was only a starting pistol to use when he was buying hash in Afghanistan.

Tony was more than happy to give it a try and had a broad smile on his face. With the pistol under Tony’s t-shirt, we walked back to the hold. The fat man was still lying on our bike and gave us a smirk as he turned his back away from us. We took a quick look around us and nodded to each other. Tony pulled out the pistol and through the wire mesh he pointed it at the man. I could see his dark brown eyes staring at the barrel of the pistol poking through the mesh. Tony waved the barrel from left to right indicating to the man to get off the bike. This he did half falling off in the process and he put his hands together as if to say “peace”. We returned to our cabin chuckling to ourselves and wondering if we would get a visit shortly from someone in regards to the incident. Fortunately we did not.

On our third day we hit a storm and water started to come through our porthole. I thought about the people on deck and wondered how they were going. Dinner was cancelled that night which didn’t bother me as I was feeling seasick. However, it was awful to see the hungry faces of the deck passengers pushed up against the dining room windows as we ate. This happened every night until the passengers were moved along by one of the crew members.

The next day we would be docking in Penang and we were both looking forward to being on dry land. We would be arriving in 101

Malaysia on September 10, 1972 and home seemed such a long way away. The American was heading north to see some friends in Bangkok and the Burmese told us he had hash concealed in the heels of his sandals which he would sell to a contact in the Mala army. He sounded very dodgy so we decided to keep our distance from him when we went through customs at Penang.

The last night on board was no different from any other night with little to do except battle the cockroaches. We were both looking forward to tomorrow when our new adventure would begin.

We arrived in Penang at midday but it was well after 3pm by the time we got our bike and then we still had to get through Customs. We pushed the bike down the quay and there in front of us was an open gate so we thought we would just drive straight through and hit the road. Just as we were about to make a run for it, we heard a voice behind us. There stood four Custom officers including a woman who had her finger up in front of her face waving it from side to side. Smiling sweetly she said “This way please sir”. Tony replied quietly under his breath “Fucking wars”. We pushed the bike into a large shed and after 30 minutes of the usual questions, the officers said they would need to search through our box but could only do it the following morning. That would mean we would have to sleep in the shed behind the barbed wire compound. We had no food or water and it was late at night. Tony and I sneaked back onto the ship but all we could find was half a bowl of jelly. We returned to the shed and attempted to get some sleep but our tummies were rumbling with hunger. Welcome to Malaysia!

By mid morning the next day we were back on the road searching for food. It wasn’t hard to find as the streets of Penang had food vendors on every corner. Wonderful smells of spicy food filled the streets and the place looked immaculate compared to India.

As we headed south towards Kuala Lumpur it started to rain. It was the first time we had seen rain for months and by the time we had found and put on our waterproofs we were already wet. The only consolation was that the weather was warm and we didn’t feel cold. One of the greatest things about Malaysia was the food 102

was cheap and not spicy. We loved pulling over on our bike after travelling on good roads to enjoy a bowl of rice and noodles. The only downside was the rain and we seemed to be constantly wet.

There were no campsites around so we had to sleep with the bike on the side of the road. The next morning a cold chill crept into our bodies due to our wet clothes and the cool air. We thought we would bypass Kuala Lumpur and get to Singapore so we could look for a job on a ship to Australia. That night we flipped through our atlas and followed the blue line we had drawn along the road we had travelled along. It had taken us around four months to reach Singapore and every country had left a mark on us that we would never be able to erase. We slept in wet clothes again that night although we knew we only had 50 miles to go before we arrived in Singapore.

I drove first and the wind chilled me to the bone as our clothes were wet. For the first time ever Tony mentioned that he wasn’t feeling very well and that concerned me as he wasn’t one to complain about his health. At around 10am we stopped off at a tea house for a bowl of noodles which always made us feel stronger. It was Tony’s turn to drive and as the engine was still warm it would only take one kick to get the bike going.

However, this time nothing happened. We had plenty of fuel so he tried a second and third time but still nothing. This was the first time on our journey that the bike hadn’t started and we were worried. Tony was brilliant at solving problems with the bike so his mind went into action thinking of all the possible reasons for the bike not working. After checking the fuel, he went straight to the magneto and found a worn brush which we replaced and within 15 minutes we were back on the road again. We had carried every single spare part we could think of for the engine and in all this time the only thing we had needed was a small carbon brush for the magneto.

Looking over Tony’s shoulder I could see the cars lined up at the border and it wasn’t long before we joined the queue and waited for our turn. A smartly dressed Customs officer took our passports and it wasn’t long before he returned from the office 103

and asked us to move to the side of the road. This was not a good sign as we had been told that Singapore was tough on people entering the country with little money and no ticket to leave.

Tony and I watched in silence as he spoke to a more senior officer. There was a lot of nodding going on as they looked through our passports. The man asked us how much money we had on us and we didn’t want to tell him that we only had enough for fuel and maybe some cheap accommodation over the next few days. So, we told him that we would be collecting some money from the British Embassy. This didn’t go down well and he went back into the office. It had been a long hot day and all we wanted was a decent night’s sleep and some dry clothes.

Shortly the man returned and handed us our passports. He told us that as we didn’t have tickets to leave Singapore and only had a little money, we would have to go back. For a few seconds we both stood there in disbelief and I felt sick and angry all at the same time. I looked at Tony and could see that he was making a plan. Suddenly he said “The brochure, Al do we still have the brochure?” I remembered we had been given it by one of the passengers on the State of Madras and if we did still have it, we could possibly bluff our way out of this situation. We found it in the box and Tony marched with it in his hand up to the officer.

He pushed the brochure in his face and pointed to the photograph of the ship on the front page. It was the ship that we were going to take from Singapore to Australia. We both knew this was our last chance to get through the border. We kept our fingers crossed as the officer looked at the brochure, asked for our passports back and within seconds they were stamped and returned to us. We were finally on our way across the border to the lovely clean country of Singapore where you could drink water from a tap!

It was September 13, 1972 and we were driving down a perfect road into a modern city with tidy streets and verges. We would make our way to the British Embassy so Tony could wire a message to his mum to see if she could send enough money for our tickets to sail to Australia. We still had about £100 to fuel the bike and let us stay at some cheap accommodation in 104

Singapore. The British Embassy was based in a lovely old building surrounded by well kept gardens and manicured lawns.

We pulled into a parking bay and Tony jumped from the bike and collapsed on the grass nearby. I thought he was joking but then he said he was feeling weak and needed to lie down. We had been travelling in wet clothes for the last few days and getting little sleep. I think it was slowly starting to take a toll on our bodies. We lay on the grass in the warm sun and my mind turned to home. I suddenly remembered that I needed to send a postcard to Mum and Dad to let them know that we had finally made it to Singapore. I still couldn’t believe that our next stop would be Australia!

Tony was back on his feet, much to my relief, and off to sort out some extra money for us. He returned shortly afterwards to say all was good and the money should arrive tomorrow with any luck. As we were just getting onto our bike a guy approached us.

He was Australian and wanted to know where we had come from.

We told him our story and asked him if he knew of any cheap accommodation. The guy said he worked for the ANZACS in Singapore and could put us up for a couple of nights. We thanked him very much - the thought of a hot shower and comfy bed was more than we could wish for! The house had all the modern conveniences and I had forgotten what it was like to sleep in a bed with a spring mattress.

The next day we went looking for a shipping agent to get the bike on a ship to Fremantle. We also needed a job on board so we could work our way there. Unfortunately, the bike would have to go first and we would follow a week or so later. We also found somewhere to stay as John (the Australian) had to go to Malaysia on business. Our accommodation was a cheap hostel on St Thomas Walk Road with four people to a room and no air conditioning. The following day we drove the bike down to the wharf to put on the ship. We were told it could not be loaded until the next morning and that we would have to leave the bike on the wharf. There was no way we were leaving our bike there overnight. As we were driving away we spotted a stack of pallets. Tony drove in behind them and we decided that we could 105

sleep there the night. It was warm and humid and we hardly got any sleep lying across three wooden pallets. I finally drifted off to sleep only to be woken by Tony quietly informing me that there was a large rat preening itself on my stomach! I quickly moved my hand across my stomach and punched the inside of my sleeping bag. The rat somersaulted off me and hit the ground with a thud and disappeared amongst the pallets. Hopefully he would tell his friends to keep their distance as I needed to get back to sleep.

It was 12pm the next day before we returned to the hostel. The bike was on the ship and hopefully we would be following it in a week or so. We had just enough money to treat ourselves to one good meal a day so every night we would walk down to the food market. The smell of the spicy food filled the air and our mouths watered. There were over 50 food stalls but we kept going back to the same one as we got a little extra food for being loyal customers.

During the day we would walk the streets and window shop.

Tony wanted to buy a Rolex watch and gold Dunhill lighter but needless to say, at this stage, a can of Coke was pushing the budget. As we passed in front of one of the many hotels, a group of young men were creating a disturbance in the foyer. The manager complained and told them all to leave. We found out later that they were American GIs on R&R from the Vietnam War. It dawned on me that we were only a few hours away from Saigon and a vicious war.

One afternoon Tony and I noticed a small crowd of young men.

We recognised some from our hostel and a few were British backpackers waiting for money from home or a boat out of Singapore. There was an Asian guy talking to the group and when he saw us he waved for us to come over. He asked us if we were interested in making some good money and we said that we certainly were, thinking it may be working for an oil company or something similar. He told us they were looking for people to crew a barge and a military background would help. If we were interested he would take us back to his office and we could fill 106

out the necessary paperwork. There were several English and Irish guys with us and whilst we walked along I asked the man why a military background was helpful. He told us the barges would be leaving from Saigon to Cambodia and on the odd occasion they had been ambushed by those fighting to take over the country. We all fell silent and looked at each other and one of the guys said “How much are we going to be paid?” The man told us that apart from our pay we would receive 1,000 American dollars on return to Saigon.

Tony and I looked at each other as there was a great temptation to get a free trip to Saigon with a cruise up the Mekong River. The downside, of course, was being shot at by the Khymer Rouge. If we didn’t have our tickets already booked for Australia, we would have probably gone as it was no fun living from dollar to dollar.

Finally the day came for Tony and I to board the Cota Singapore and complete the final stage of our journey to Fremantle in Western Australia. The ship was very clean and despite the cabin being small it had air conditioning. It was a far cry from the State of Madras with its filth and wildlife. We shared our cabin with two English guys who had flown from England to Singapore in less than 24 hours. Tony and I had taken over 4 months! We had lost a great deal of weight so it was wonderful to eat European food like roast beef with peas and they even had apple pie and ice cream for dessert. For the first few days we sailed through the islands off Singapore and then out into the Indian Ocean. The swell got bigger and the wind picked up. I had my first taste of Australian beer which I drank warm and made me sick for two days. We also enjoyed drinking water from the tap.

After a few days we sailed passed a spot in the sea where the volcanic island of Krakatoa had once been. The island had exploded with such force that it sent out a tidal wave over 100 feet high and killed many thousands of people. It happened in the late 1800s and the island completely disappeared.

We met a guy called Roger who had come overland to Singapore and had run out of money. So, he went to the bank and told them 107

that his Cooks travellers cheques had been stolen and to his surprise they believed him and reimbursed him for the amount he said was stolen. He now had enough money to get to South America and hopefully he could tell the same story there when he ran out of money. He could also be found out and rot away in a South American prison.

Tony and I were living life to the full – eating plenty of food and enjoying soft mattresses on which to sleep. I still had stomach cramps from time to time but nothing like I had experienced in India. One morning the captain announced that we should look to the port side as we would see our first glimpse of the Australian mainland. Tony and I ran onto the deck to see large sand dunes and cliffs and we knew that it would be less than 24 hours before we reached our goal destination – Australia. We couldn’t believe that we were so close to the “land down under”.

I closed my eyes and reflected back on the day nearly six months ago when I left mum and dad’s place to embark on this amazing journey. If only they could see me now cruising along the coastline of Australia in beautiful sunshine. There was one other person not far from my thoughts and she had stayed with me ever since that chance meeting at the bottom of Tregender Hill When I got back to England I would do all I could to meet her again.

In our cabin that night Tony and I packed up what little things we had in our bag and went through our pockets to make sure we didn’t have any spare cash. We would arrive in Australia virtually broke. So, with the two guys who shared our cabin, we decided to raid the kitchen for food. Our last meal on board would be breakfast so hopefully by lunchtime there wouldn’t be too many people around in the dining room. That is when we would carry out our raid and grab what food we could – preferably canned food.

In my bunk that night I just couldn’t sleep. Here I was, 21 years old and after travelling through 13 countries, I was finally going to arrive in Australia on the other side of the world. The last few months had taught me so many things and I had met some extraordinary people. There had also been many dark and 108

horrible times and I still had images of things I had seen that haunted me.

We spent the next morning on deck watching the coastline getting closer by the minute. Soon we were steaming into the modern port of Fremantle with its cranes and warehouses.

Somewhere out there was our 1957 Triumph motorbike and it was thanks to her that we had managed to complete our journey to Australia. It was September 28, 1972 and with butterflies in my stomach I walked across the gangway. This time they weren’t due to fear but rather excitement on completion of our trip. I walked up to the Immigration desk and handed over my passport. The man said “How long do ya want to stay for mate?”

At first I was taken aback by his size and accent but then replied “A few months”. He wrote 12 months down in my passport, gave it back and waved me through. The Customs office was full of people carrying boxes and suitcases and there was Tony and I with our small bundles of clothes.

We waited for our two friends outside as they had the food from our raid of the kitchen. It hadn’t been too successful as we only managed to get one tin of food and a loaf of bread. However, at least we would have something to eat when we got hungry later in the day. Tony was chatting to a man and suddenly the man handed him $20. I couldn’t believe our luck. The man had obviously felt sorry for us and had handed over the money so we could find somewhere to sleep that night. He told Tony not to sleep in the park as the police would pick us up. He suggested we take the train to Cottesloe and sleep on the beach and head to Perth the next morning. We thanked the man and told him we would pay him back on our return. A year later the man got his money back plus a little more!

With our few possessions we walked the streets of Fremantle.

You could see this was a working man’s port as there were lots of Victorian style buildings and a pub on every corner. I loved it with its clean pavements and not an open drain in sight! After a short ride on the train we walked towards the beach. It was fascinating to see the smart looking houses especially the ones 109

made of wood. It was dark by the time we got to the beach and a chilly wind blew off the Indian Ocean. There was no way we would be able to sleep on the beach that night. We needed some shelter to eat our bread and corned beef so the four of us decided to walk back to the station. We were cold and miserable and joked about knocking on someone’s door and pleading poverty just to get a good feed. To our left hand side there was a golf course with a good sand bunker. I ran and sat down in the bottom of the bunker and although the sand was damp, it was away from the wind and perfect for us. There was even some light coming from the street a few metres away. The boys joined me and we ate our corned beef and bread dividing it equally into fours. Our first night in Australia wasn’t going to be a comfortable one but it didn’t dampen our spirits. We had no sleeping bags and only thin clothing. Tony and I decided to head back into Fremantle to get the bike at first light and then drive to Perth to look for work.

That night the four of us huddled together in a damp golf bunker freezing cold. At around 2am I awoke from a shallow sleep and felt as if I was back at Dartmoor all over again. However, this time there was no hot meal at the end of the exercise. All four of us were awake now shivering and complaining about the cold.

From nowhere we could see lights shining across the golf course.

It was a car turning into the road and parking along the fence line.

Maybe someone had seen us and called the police. I slowly got to my feet and peered over the grassy mound and sure enough it was a police car! There were two cops sitting in the car with their heater on and the windows half down. They were smoking cigarettes completely oblivious to the four vagrants dying of exposure only 20 yards away. I asked Tony what he thought the penalty would be for being a vagrant in Australia and he said he had no idea but a warm jail cell and breakfast sounded good to him at the moment! We only had another two hours before the sun rose and we now had to contend with the dew. The police disappeared at last and we all agreed that walking would warm us up so we got moving. It took a while for my joints to warm up but they were feeling much better by the time we arrived at the 110

railway station. We said goodbye to our friends and were soon on our way to Perth.

Tony and I took the first train back into Fremantle and the last of our money would be spent on getting the bike through Customs.

We would have to pay for it to be steam cleaned too. It didn’t take us long to find the Customs office and they were really helpful. The man said they were wondering when we were going to pick up the bike. We wandered over to a big warehouse with large sliding doors and the only thing inside was our bike in all her glory and the chain still around the box. We checked to make sure there was nothing broken or bent on the bike and as we were doing this the Customs Officer suddenly asked us in a stern voice to stand to one side. Tony and I looked at each other not really understanding what he meant. Just then a door at the end of the warehouse opened and in walked six plain clothed men. Now we understood – these were Customs men looking for drugs. An hour later, we were still there and everything that had been in our box had been carefully searched. I had an awful feeling that maybe someone had planted drugs in our box and they had been tipped off. After two hours of probing questions and searching through our stuff, the men disappeared and left us to tidy up. We didn’t mind as we were now free to go and were finally on our way to Perth.

We got quite a few strange stares from people along the way and I think they were looking more at the bike than us. The city looked modern and clean and I couldn’t get over how many men were wearing shorts – even businessmen. We needed to park the bike in a safe place so we could explore the city on foot and hopefully find some work. We found a friendly car park attendant and asked him if we could leave the bike for a few hours while we went to the bank to change some travellers’ cheques. He kindly agreed so we raced off into the city to enjoy the smells coming from the coffee and pastry shops. My stomach churned every time I smelt something as I was so hungry.

We sat on the steps of the Perth Post Office for a while hoping for a miracle to happen. We decided to walk back to the bike 111

and see if we had any powdered soup left in the box of our bike.

As we walked along St Georges Terrace we came across a sign outside a Pub saying “Help Wanted”. Tony and I looked at each other and walked straight in. There was a young girl behind the bar serving a beer to an old man who looked as if he had been a part of the place for many years. She looked up at us thinking we were about to spend some money and seemed surprised when Tony enquired about the sign outside. She gave a little smirk and said “Sorry loves we are looking for bar staff” to which Tony replied “So am I not pretty enough?” She said she was sorry but we wouldn’t be suitable. In desperation, I told her we could wash glasses but she still shook her head. Then the smart old guy asked us where we had come from and we briefly told him our story.

He said there wasn’t much work around Perth but we were sure to get a job in Kalgoorlie as there was a new nickel smelter being built and they were looking for fitters and welders. Tony asked how far away Kalgoorlie was from Perth and the man said that all we needed to do was get on the Great Eastern Highway and drive about 500 kilometres. We were thinking it was just down the road and with only enough money to buy fuel for 30kms we knew this job was not for us. Thanking the man we walked straight out of the pub and back into the streets of Perth.

It was late afternoon and a chilly wind blew down St Georges Terrace. With no money and no food we were feeling a little despondent when we heard a voice behind us. We both turned around to see the elderly man waving us back. He said “Hey boys this will get you to Kal.” In his hand he held a $20 note and in those days it was a considerable amount of money. Here was another act of kindness shown to us by the good people of Western Australia. As we were thanking him he explained to us that he had been down and out once upon a time and we deserved a lucky break. We had a new spring in our step as we headed to find something to eat and a warm place to sleep for the night.

We found a pie shop and enjoyed the best pies we had ever tasted.

By the time we returned to our bike there was another man on the gate so we just jumped on the bike and drove past him. He 112

assumed we had paid already and waved us through. We quickly asked him where we could sleep with the bike that night and he suggested a small beach over by the jetty. We drove over there and parked just a few feet from the beach. Grabbing our canvas sleeping bag covers and some warm clothes we prepared for the long night ahead. The only upside was we were on our way to Kalgoorlie in the morning. After a few hours sleep I awoke to a bright light shining into my face. I looked up to see two men standing in front of me and then a stern voice said “What are you doing sleeping here?” What could I say except I thought it was a good idea at the time. The cop replied that it would be a good idea if we weren’t here tomorrow night or we would be put in the lock up. I was tempted to ask him if that came with breakfast but I didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot in a new country! We drifted off to sleep for a few more hours and then packed up our belongings when the sun started to rise.

It was going to be a long drive to Kalgoorlie and we were hoping to make it in one day. As we travelled along the Swan River it looked like a sheet of glass as the morning sun danced across the surface. I knew then that this was the place I wanted to be. I took one last look at the city as I knew we wouldn’t be back for a few months. We made good progress and after a few hours we stopped on the side of the road for a brew. Whilst I was waiting for the water to boil I was scratching around in the grass and found a large nut. I threw it over to Tony asking him if it was a gumnut. Tony studied it for a moment and then looked at me with a smile on his face saying “That can only mean one thing Al, we made it to Australia!” That day the two Cornish men shook hands under the gum tree on the road heading to Kalgoorlie and celebrated their arrival in Australia after six long months on the road. The following day we drove into Kalgoorlie with less than a dollar to our names. A few months later we were to return to Perth with over $2,000 in the bank. We worked hard and drank hard with some of the toughest people we had ever met.

From Perth we found ourselves travelling to one of the most remote mine sites in Australia. Koolan Island is a sub-tropical 113

island about one hour’s flight north of Derby. With not even a fan in our room, the heat was unbearable but the beers were cold after a hard day’s work. There were a few guys like us who were travelling around the world and living the life.

Just over 18 months later I was to return home never to be the same again. There was a whole world out there still to be explored and I had itchy feet already. There would be only one thing that would keep me in England and that person travelled every day on the No. 17 bus, leaving Penzance at 5pm and arriving in Crawlas at 5.20pm.

Her name was Alexandra and I was about to ambush her as she stepped off the bus on her way home. That day I had left my home at 4.45pm and made my way down to the Crawlas bus stop.

I had done my homework so I knew she would be on that bus.

As I stood there I went over my plan one more time. I was more nervous now than I had been walking down a dark street on my own in Afghanistan! My plan was to ask her out and if her answer was “no” I would be heading back to Australia.

It was starting to get really cold but just then I saw the top of the No. 17 bus appearing over the hill. The butterflies in my stomach went into overdrive. I decided that my first question to Alexandra would be to ask her if she had seen my brother as he should have been on the bus – knowing full well he was at home.

The brakes of the bus screeched as the bus came to a halt.

Slowly people started to disembark but there was no sign of Alexandra. I was just starting to think that it had all been a big waste of time when I spotted her through the misty windows making her way down the bus aisle. She was wearing a white polar neck jumper with a brown coat and her long hair covered the side of her face and fell over her left shoulder. I couldn’t take my eyes off her as she stepped off the bus and I caught a glimpse of her hour glass figure. I was suddenly lost for words!

Deliberately I did not make eye contact with her as I pretended to look for my brother. As she drew alongside me I tried to speak but nothing came out. She was about 3 metres away from me when I finally managed to shout out to her and as she turned I 114

said “Was my brother on the bus?” It was obvious he wasn’t and you could see the look of bewilderment in her eyes. She told me that she hadn’t seen him so I quickly came back with “OK well can I walk back with you?” She nodded and we slowly started the walk back home. I had been waiting for this day for nearly two years but time was running out as we were nearly at her house. I looked at her beautiful face and said “How about coming out with me one night?” The few seconds she took to reply felt like two hours. She turned to me and said “OK”. I couldn’t believe my luck. I tried to sound cool by saying “Well let’s go out on Thursday evening for Chinese and a movie”.

Fortunately she said “That would be nice”.

I walked home not even feeling the cold. I still had a huge grin on my face as I walked through the back door. Mum said I was late for tea and why did I look so happy. I told her life was good and I knew it was going to get a whole lot better.

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EPILOGUE After our stay in Western Australia, where Tony and I shared some more great adventures, we brought our faithful Triumph Tiger motorbike back to Cornwall on a ship. Over the years, Tony and I drifted apart and finally lost contact with each other.

Sadly one day I heard he had passed away at the age of 65. I rang his brother, Charles who lived not far from Penzance in Cornwall. We had a long conversation about Tony and our trip to Australia all those years ago. I asked Charles if he knew what had happened to the motorbike as it had been 38 years since I had last seen it. To my surprise, he said that he did and it had been in his garden shed ever since Tony had given it to him over 30 years ago. I could not believe my luck and then Charles said “Would you like to have it?” I jumped at the opportunity and a few months later, the Tiger made her second journey to Australia – this time by ship. She was a little worse for wear when she arrived and needed lots of attention! However, after having the magneto serviced and the carburettor checked, our faithful Tiger burst into life on the third kick. The last time I had heard that engine was in 1973 when I was 22 years old. It was now June 2010 and with my fully restored motorbike, I was ready to hit the road again – now as a 60 year old!

The story would not be complete without telling you about the girl I had met getting off the No. 17 bus from Penzance on that cold and windy night in 1973. We were married in 1976 and now with three wonderful children and a beautiful grandson, I can truly say that my life has been blessed.

Last but not least I would like to thank Caron Jowett. Without her hard work deciphering my illegible scribble, my story would never have been told.

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