You can also listen to this adventure on my podcast CLICK HERE
An amazing trip across Europe!
This podcast is dedicated to my great friends Graham Brooks and Pete Jeffries who sadly now passed away. My adventures with them will always live in my memory.
Graham Brooks had been my friend from childhood. Later as we became lads about town, when I was about 17/18, we teamed up with Pete Jefferies, who was a friend of Graham’s.
In 1966, Graham bought a wonderful car, a Sunbeam Rapier, which was cream and red, where all the side windows opened giving you the feeling that you were in an open topped car. It had dual ‘SU’ carburettors, which was all the rage in those days. Graham, being very adept at technical stuff, was able to maintain the very complicated engine. We had trips out in the car in England, but during one discussion around the table, probably in the Jolly Farmer pub in Guildford, we three set down a plan to travel across the continent, to Italy. Pete had suggested it. Perhaps he had been there before with his parents. We agreed on Italy as our destination. And so over the months that followed, we planned our route.
You wouldn’t expect to go on holiday abroad, certainly not from the area of Aldershot I lived in! At that time, I didn’t know anybody who went on holiday abroad. In the mid-1960s this was very special. Venturing forth from the Dover to Calais ferry across Europe was an absolutely amazing prospect. It was probably at the beginning of the overseas package holiday tourist boom, which led to most people in England going on holiday to Spain to the Costa Brava and later to the Costa del Sol as cheap flights became available. Before this only rich people went by plane, and very few people went abroad for their holiday. In the early 1960s it was the ‘jet set’ who went abroad.
Our holiday was really special. It was also special because of Graham’s car. It was a beautiful car. A super vehicle to travel in. I never imagined I would be doing that even probably a year before!
Planning
Pete already spoke some Italian. Maybe it was because his family visited there. I got hold of a BBC Italian language book and tapes. I learnt words like, – ‘per favore,’ ‘grazie,’ ‘molto bene,’ ‘caffe latte,’ and ‘birra per favore,’ and so on.
The idea was to travel from Dover down through France, avoiding Paris to Dijon and then across to Switzerland, through Switzerland, over the St Bernard Pass down into the Po Valley, round the outskirts of Turin, up into the Alpi Marittime and down onto the Italian Riviera to Alassio. It was all completely new to me! Another world!
My first journey through France
We set off on the Dover to Calais ferry and were soon driving through France. We travelled along the Rue Nationale roads. These are the long, straight roads that pre date the French autoroutes. As far as I remember, there weren’t any motorways in France at the time. It was fun travelling on these very straight roads with tall poplar trees on either side. Also, there were no roundabouts. When you hit a road junction all roads meet in a star fashion. It was somewhat chaotic, but people seem to manage it quite well, probably better than the roundabouts we have today! Directions were signposted on heavy stone pillars on the side of the road where the destination and distance were shown on inset bright blue and white metal plates. I loved these, they spoke of France.
Our first night was in a small village which was set out on either side of the straight road. It was a dusky sunset, hot and warm. We saw a light on in what looked like the only shop in this roadside village. Outside was an old petrol pump. We pulled over onto the dusty verge.
After filling up, we went into the cafe, which was full of local people, all talking at once. The atmosphere was wonderful! You could cut the smoky atmosphere with a knife, but it was a fantastic atmosphere. There was only one smell and that was of Gauloises cigarettes.
The only thing I could think of in French was to ask for a ‘sandwich au jambon et à la tomate’, which I duly got. That evening, I had my first glass of cognac. I’ve loved it ever since I said to the proprietor ‘les toilettes s’il vous plaît’ he said come with me. And we went outside to the back of the building, and he showed me the wall!! That was the toilet! Ha Ha!
We must have pulled off the road somewhere nearby and slept the night there in the car. We weren’t worried about that. The next morning, we travelled on to Dijon. As we drew near to the town, Graham said, “the dynamo light is showing we need to get that fixed”. He added “if we don’t get it fixed the battery will just run out and we will be stuck.” So, on entering Dijon, we stopped at the first garage that looked like it did car parts. The Sunbeam was a British car, and we were worried about spares in France. The dynamo was a Lucas product – very British! The very helpful shopkeeper in a black beret was confident he could help. He said in broken English, “I’m just going across town to my brother’s place on the south side of the town, and you follow me, and I’m sure we’ll find a Lucas part there for you”. We followed our new found friend right across the town, trying to keep up with him. It is amazing we didn’t lose him in the traffic. He had a 2CV which danced around the corners. We arrived at the other side of town, where there was a central park with a wide space between the shops and buildings on either side with a long dusty rectangle in the middle flanked by tall Plantanes trees (London plane trees). We pulled up outside what looked like a small car spares place. We went in, and it was like an Aladdin’s cave! You wouldn’t believe it! The shelves were stocked to the roof with car parts. The narrow store went back miles. After much discussion with various guys wearing black berets, it was agreed that they had the requisite part. But lunchtime was upon us, and they said, we’re closing for lunch now, but we can fix your car after lunch. So, we had a two hour wait, however we enjoyed a good lunch nearby. While we were waiting, we watched the guys playing pétanque in the dusty lane in the square. Eventually, they all came back to work, and so we watched about five guys pouring over the engine. all smoking Gauloises cigarettes. Quite frankly, we thought the whole thing was going to go up in flames, with the petrol fumes swirling around the engine as they fitted the new dynamo. Finally, success – handshakes and thanks all round. Finally, we were on our way. The stopover in Dijon was a wonderful experience. The French guys were so cooperative, so helpful and it was fun!
Switzerland and the Great St. Bernard Pass!
Our next stop was Geneva. After travelling overnight, we arrived early the next morning. It was a bright sunny morning when we pulled up alongside a restaurant overlooking Lake Geneva and the famous Jet d’Eau fountain. Of course, those days, there were no yellow lines or restrictions about parking. We just parked outside this cafe. We sat outside at a table in the morning sunlight – wonderful! I had the best omelette I have ever had, and coffee like I’ve never tasted before. That changed things for me. I was sold on having coffee in Europe. It was going to be a long time before cafes in England started serving decent coffee.
We decided to have a picnic lunch on route towards the Italian border. We bought cheese, tomatoes, baguettes and wine. I had never had ‘continental’ cheese before. Gruyère and Emmental were completely new to me! We drove off into the foothills of the mountains and pulled off the road where we found an old, abandoned stone house in a sunny position. Idyllic!
The wine made me feel sleepy and I fell asleep in the sunshine. That was not a good thing as we’ll find out later, though at the time I felt all right. We continued our journey up into the beautiful snow-capped Alps. Although the Great St. Bernard Tunnel had been built a few years before we decided to go over the top and it was well worth it! Fantastic mountain vistas like I had never seen before! The other attraction for us lads was the height of the pass – the border is at an elevation of 2,469 m (8,100 ft). After quite some time of driving up winding roads with hairpin bends, we arrived at the border post between Switzerland and Italy at the Great St Bernard pass. Although it was the height of summer there was plenty of snow lying around and it was quite chilly when you got out of the car even though there was bright sunlight. It seems silly to mention these things, but it was all very new to me.
The interchange with the border guards firstly on the Swiss side and then on the Italian side was fascinating. The Swiss were more efficient and we soon had our passport stamped so we drove into ‘no man’s land’ – a space of about 100 metres, before we got to the next border post where the Italians took our passports and disappeared into their hut leaving us standing around wondering what they were doing. After quite some time and a few cursory questions they decided we were acceptable visitors for Italy and on we drove.
It was hairy, coming down through the mountains with hairpin bends with steep mountains on one side and deep drops down into valley on the other. There wasn’t much to stop us going off the edge. On the bends there were small stone blocks at regular intervals. We left the snow behind. The air warmed up and with windows open, and we were flying down the mountain, probably a bit too fast on those hairpin bends!
Through Italy and the Alpi Marittime
We eventually came down into the Aosta Valley, and we joined autostrada (Italian for “motorway”). It took us down into the Po Valleys We skirted Turin and drove along the river valley south-westerly to the Alpi Marittime. These are a range of mountains, not as high as the Alps, which run along the coast of Italy and France behind their respective rivieras.
Before we started rising up into the mountains one could see that we were in a very fertile area with many different types of crops being grown on either side of the road. I wanted a pee, so we pulled off the dusty road onto an equally dusty field across the way. I went down into the fields. Well, that’s the first time I Encountered the beautiful aroma of Italian plum tomatoes. One could see for miles across this field in the dusky, dusty sunset. The field was filled with tall tomato vines bearing these great big tomatoes. So, I grabbed one and went back to the car. Delicious!
We travelled up into the mountains. It was late evening. We said, well, we just can’t go on any further and we’ve got to find somewhere to eat. We ended up in a small village. There was only one place which had lights on, and thankfully, that was a cafe/bar. It was like the first cafe that we’d stopped at, in France. The atmosphere was amazing; very smoky with everybody talking at the same time. Many of the men were smoking pipes. The place was bursting with life, even at that late hour, all of the men from the local farms were in there having their Grappa and wine. I’ve forgotten what little Italian I knew and the only thing I could think of was to ask for a ‘sandwich au jambon et à la tomate’. However, the man behind the bar understood what I said, and I got my sandwich which was toasted this time!
We sat down with some of the farm workers and soon got into conversation even though they didn’t have very much English and I certainly didn’t have very much Italian!
The men looked as though they were dressed in army uniform. They had army ‘puttees’[1] on their legs. All they needed to add was a few badges and insignia, and you’d think they were Italian soldiers. With Pete’s help and much conversation, which was very exciting and very interesting, we found out they were partisans during WWII, and they fought against the Nazis in the hills then. I guess this is not surprising because we were only just over 20 years after the end of WWII. These men were middle-aged now, but they would have been young men at the time. In more recent years I found out that this was true. The hills in northern Italy were full of partisans, especially after Italy collapsed in 1943.
It was a great evening, and I think we English chaps got a little drunk. Eventually we went back to the car to sleep. It was a very warm night. I fell asleep, and then in the middle of the night, I woke up. All of the side windows of the car were open to let the air flow through, and I looked out, and thought I could see stars very nearby, but they were all moving. Goodness me. I thought, oh, I really have had too much to drink! As my eyes began to focus, I realised that we were surrounded by fireflies, and their glowing bodies were dancing around us – there were thousands of them. Absolutely amazing! Everywhere else was pitch black. All the lights of the village were out. There were no street lights. Of course, this was a village, and this was 1967 but there were stars high up in the heavens, and they complimented the beautiful little fireflies.
The next thing I knew, Pete was driving away in the early morning through the beautiful Alpi Marittimeto the coast of Italy.
Down to Alassio and the Italian Riviera!
After our night in the mountains with the partisans, we had set off on the winding road down through to the Italian Riviera and Alassio. I hadn’t yet shown any signs of sunstroke, which I think I got when I was in the Swiss Alps. However, by the time I reached the hotel in Alassio, I was feeling rather ill, so sadly, I spent most of the next day recovering from that sunstroke.
I emerged that night and met up with Pete and Graham who were accompanied by three beautiful young ladies. I was stunned! How did they find three beautiful girls in such a short time? I knew from our days at home in England that Pete was really good at finding girls but here he was over 1000 miles from home, and he still managed to find them in next to no time!
It turned out they were on holiday, and they came from an Italian speaking Swiss canton. We spent quite a bit of our time on holiday here with the girls. On one notable occasion we all six of us went on a midnight swim. At the time beaches in Italy were private, so you could only access the beach via the section which your hotel ‘owned’, as it were. The water was luxuriously warm, and we were having fun! But before very long, the Polizia were hailing us from the beach, so we had to come out of the water. The girls managed to make sure that we weren’t fined for any transgression of local bylaws. So, we dried off and went our way. We were starving. The girl said, we know a place that will still be open at this time. The venue was on a short pier reaching out over the water. At the end was a restaurant, which had a 180-degree view of the bay. Fantastic! It was magical! The little pier lights were the only lights that we could see apart from the restaurant windows which looked so inviting! The girls led the way into the restaurant and after some negotiation, the restaurateur agreed that we would be served. Before very long wine and an enormous oval plate of deep-fried seafood was presented to us, including goujons of fish, calamari, prawns and so on. It was delicious. I have to say it was probably the best seafood I’ve ever enjoyed. On another evening, the girls, who had their own car, invited us to go up to a nightclub just above Alassio on the cliffs. We were obviously dead keen, and off we went. It was a very swish place. Apart from the night time fantastic view over the bay with the twinkling lights of the holiday resorts disappearing off in a beautiful curve to the south, all I can remember is that the drinks were 1000 lira, which was 12 shilling and 6p. An enormous amount of money, bearing in mind you could buy a pint of beer in England for about two bob (2 shillings or 10p in today’s money!). It didn’t matter whether you had a Coca Cola, a glass of lemonade, a beer or a large glass of rum or gin or whatever you wanted it was all 1000 lira per drink. And of course, Graham and Pete were into this straight away. I must admit, at the time, I wasn’t much of a spirit drinker. It was a great evening sitting outside looking over the bay from the cliffs. Absolutely magical!
One amazing coincidence happened while we were sitting on the beach. I was sitting in a deck chair. I heard this voice calling out ‘Vicky’. I vaguely remember the accent from when I was a kid. I was known as Vicky when I was young. It was one of my dad’s old army friends from the Royal Signals, – Mr. Atkinson, He was just six deck chairs away. Amazing! We had got all the way to Italy and found that we were there next to someone from my hometown of Aldershot!
Monte Carlo!
We left Alassio veryearly in the morning driving on the coast road west towards San Remo and France. As we drove up with the cliffs and sea to one side in that early dawn, we saw a four-masted sailing ship anchored in the bay silhouetted against the sunrise. Gosh, that was so fantastic. I love swashbuckling stories and stories of pirates and Hornblower and adventures at sea! I don’t know about the other guys, but it was a treat for me.
So, we travelled along the coast. We didn’t have to go far to reach Monte Carlo. What an amazing place with its belle epoque buildings and beautiful flower gardens overlooking the marina with all those expensive yachts glistening in the sunshine set against the blue sea.
The casino was Pete and Graham’s main attraction but for me it was the beauty of the place itself. There were ornate well-maintained gardens laid out which led down to the casino. At the top was a wonderful glistening white Edwardian building which had a ground floor restaurant. Outside were tables and chairs where you could take in the sunshine and the view of the gardens and the casino. A posh place. In those days, there were no parking restrictions, or double yellow lines. We just pulled up outside and took a table outside in the sun. It was only about eight o’clock in the morning and I was starving. As I looked at the menu I said out loud, I could do with a ‘full English.’ Just as I spoke and over my shoulder a voice said in an east London accent “Well, mate, I can rustle up a full English to make you guys feel at home”. You would never imagine it! So, we sat overlooking the casino in Monte Carlo, having a ‘full English’.
We spent the day there. I hadn’t much money left so I went down into the harbour, the Marina. Wow! There were some fantastic yachts down there. Right at the end of the harbour wall was a cafe and a place where you could dive off into the sea, which I did! And more girls, and by golly, they were lookers! I could have stayed there for weeks talking to these girls and swimming off the end of the harbour wall! But it was soon time for home. I had run out of money anyway.
The journey up through France was enjoyable but largely uneventful. I think we all realised it was time to get back home and get ready for work next week.
One final twist to the story is about our arrival at Dover and those lovely customs officers. As we came off the boat we were directed to the custom shed.
I knew that Graham had bought a lot of cigarettes, cigars and booze but I didn’t know where they were in the car. The customs people decided to take Graham’s car apart. They wanted to find out if we were smuggling booze and cigarettes. There were strict limits in those days. Anyway, these ‘jobs worth’ really got stuck in. Graham had a wry little smile on his face. He said quietly, “they’ll never find anything” and indeed, they didn’t. He left a large box of cigars on the back shelf to show we had bought something, but he’d hidden everything fantastically well. I must admit, I thought they were going to take the side panels of the car off and deflate the wheels at one point. They were not best pleased!
To this day I still can’t remember where he’d hidden the contraband!
———————
[1] ‘Puttees’ – they were worn by both mounted and dismounted soldiers, generally taking the place of the leather or cloth gaiter. A puttee is a covering for the lower part of the leg from the ankle to the knee Khaki-coloured wool ‘bandages.’ They were widely worn with ankle boots
Vic Ient 