The fifth port of call was Beirut, in Lebanon. Our visit was just a few weeks before the outbreak of the Yom Kippur War, which must have put a stop to such touring for some while.
I returned to Lebanon, more than 20 years later, with Janie, with hilariously predictable results at Beirut airport:
I remember the coach journey from the Beirut port to Baalbek being a long and mostly tedious one. Dad took the street scene below twixt the two places.
Baalbek was nestled amongst some permanent refugee camps which I imagine might still be there – they were still there when we visited in 1997.
I remember being wowed by the ruined temples there – finding them in many ways more awe-inspiring than the Athens ruins, not least because they were less crowded and we were able to scramble around the ruins more comprehensively. That might well no longer be the case.
Some crumbling old ruins (and us) scrambling around the Temple of Jupiter
I was especially struck by the Temple of Bacchus, depicted below. I remember dad saying that Bacchus was his kinda Roman God. Hard to disagree now that I know a bit more about him.
Me and Mum Before The Lion Head Capital
There is just over a minute of cine, between 10’25” and 11’30”, until you start to see the invasion of light damage on the cine and the film jumps from Lebanon to Corfu, several days later. Dad lost almost a whole reel – I think the film got stuck in the camera at Crete and he had no changing bag with which to rescue the reel before most of it, including his Jerusalem footage, was destroyed.
Mum was very upset. I don’t think dad ever travelled without a changing bag again and I certainly never travelled without one…until digital photography came along.
I vaguely recall our day on Cyprus being especially hot, humid and bothersome, which might explain a rare example of poor framing by dad, excluding half of me from the above picture. In stereo as it happens.
The one below, of the stables, is better.
This view from Kolossi more stable – did you see what I did there?
The headline picture is of the Temple of Apollo, also in the vicinity of Limassol, as was the Roman Theatre depicted below. Once again, I’m in the starring role. Born for it, I was.
85 Seconds of film, between 9’00” and 10’25” adds little to our record on this place, other than the presence of our own guide. I don’t think that educational tour came as standard for the Cyprus stop and I vaguely recall that we were amongst a very tiny minority of people who opted to tour that day, perhaps in part because of the heat.
Again, as with Mykonos, I remember mum, dad and I all being taken with this place.
Me propping up the Rhodes Crusader CastleRhodes Town Square
Dad shot, by his standards, a heap of cine there – 160 seconds (between 6’20” and 9’00”). The shot of dad strolling around the 8’00 mark is one of my early efforts with video.
The film also shows me and mum looking in a shop window which had, amongst other things, some onyx animal artefacts, one or two of which mum snapped up and treasured thereafter,
This was our view at Rhodes from the ship (other cruise ships, mostly).
The second port of call was the island of Mykonos. I remember especially liking this place. I guess I was rapidly acquiring a taste for slightly out-of-the-way places rather than the heaving crowds of very touristic places. I was charmed by Mykonos, as were my parents, who I suspect fed me that sense of charm and calm while we were there.
While I am not a lover of garments generally, I remember loving that Tom & Jerry tee-shirt you can see me wearing in the pictures and the film.
The other wearables I remember falling in love with on Mykanos is a pair of sandals my parents bought for me there, which we called my Mykanos sandals and/or my Jesus sandals interchangeably. I loved those sandals for years, wearing them beyond outgrowing them, until they fell apart from having been worn so much.
The Mykonos part of the film runs for 90 seconds between 4’50” and 6’20”.
The first port of call and day of touring was Athens.
Temple Of Athena
Dad’s pictures and cine suggest that we basically spent the day at The Acropolis looking at the various temples and The Parthenon.
Mum and Me at the AcropolisView of Athens from The Acropolis
This was my first ever day of serious sightseeing tourism away from home. I remember feeling hot during it and very tired at the end of it. In truth I don’t remember all that much about it.
Thank goodness, then, for the pictures and 140 seconds of film, between 2’30” and 4’50” in the cine.
After boarding The Delphi at Rimini, we spent, I think, three nights (including two whole days) at sea.
Dad took a fair bit of cine during that period, mostly showing an insanely crowded swimming pool area – most of the first two-and-a-half minutes of the filum:
He hardly took any photographs at that stage, though. Mum would normally want to avoid being photographed until she/we had acquired “some colour”.
There were lots of activities for kids. It looks from the filum that I did some swimming but was edged out by the bigger, bolder boys. The pool is tiny and, to my older, wiser, possibly now more timorous, eyes it looks more like an open sewer than a swimming pool.
Anyway…
…there were activities galore for youngsters and I remember making several friends on the ship. There was more than one costume party but I am pretty sure those were later in the voyage – I’ll post some pictures from those come the appropriate time.
The following picture, from a talent competition, looks suitably pale-faced and sandals-from-home-ish to have been on one of those first couple of nights.
What was I singing? – I hear all readers cry. Haven’t a clue. I think I had one or two music hall songs up my sleeve by then – Any Old Iron or I’m ‘Enery The Eighth I Am perhaps.
I’m sure I did very well. I’m sure everyone did very well.
The above picture is labelled Port Of Piraeus, Athens by mum. It must have been taken the morning we arrived in Athens, ahead of our touring, unless mum got the transparencies numbers mixed up.
Fifty years later, writing in August 2023, I can state with conviction that sea cruises are extremely fashionable amongst the travelling classes, while Janie and I are both relentlessly keen to avoid such holidays.
But in 1973, ahead of my eleventh birthday, my parents took me on this Mediterranean cruise ahead of me starting at Alleyn’s School for my secondary education.
Context
I suspect that dad bought our holiday at a bucket shop price in a travel agent on or near St John’s Hill Battersea (near his shop) and I suspect that it was sold to dad as a “holiday of a lifetime”.
In truth, we were probably lucky that it didn’t lead to an extreme shortening of all our lifetimes. Our ship, the Delphi, was part of a cobbled together fleet of ships owned by Costas Efthymiades, one of whose crowded tubs, the Heleanna, had caught fire and led to dozens of fatalities on my birthday two year’s earlier. “Hold the front page!” news even in the Evening Sentinel, although the typesetter, in their rush, seems to have jumbled the headline!
While word of the above tragedy and the negligence cases that arose from it almost certainly evaded my father, I don’t suppose it had a positive impact on the market for that particular family of passenger ships. Hence, I’m just guessing here, the bucket shop price that I imagine would have attracted dad at that time.
Hold on…wait a minute…SW11 5RG – Lavender Hill – dad must have known some of those Clarkson’s people. I bet dad didn’t pay £73 per head.
Our tub, The Delphi, was probably not quite such a death trap as the ill-fated Heleanna. It had started its life primarily as a passenger ship, Ferdinand de Lesseps, rather than a cargo ship, so its conversion to a cruise ship was probably more appropriate and safer.
I do remember the days at sea feeling very crowded, albeit fun-packed for kids like me. The first two-and-a-half minutes of the cine film (see links below) looks even more crowded than the following photo.
Still, I have very happy memories of this holiday. We even cruised again as a family, one last time, a couple of year’s later. By that time, I think I was able to express my opinion: I loved seeing lots of different places on a holiday, but I did not love being on a cruise ship.
Itinerary
I didn’t start keeping a diary until 1974, so I have had to try and reconstruct the itinerary from the photographic/cinematographic materials (see links), from memory and from a vague sense of routing, geography and timings. There might be some inaccuracies:
18 August – Day Zero: Streatham -> Luton Airport -> Porto di Rimini;
Historians might note that, within a year, all of the countries we visited, with the exception of Yugoslavia, had been involved in a war. Within a few weeks of our trip, Clarkson’s Cruise-Jet holidays were avoiding the Lebanon and Israel stops as a result of the Yom Kippur war, which made the term “Holy Land Cruise” somewhat of a misnomer.
Links
There is a movie of this holiday. Not one of dad’s best; he/we never got around to adding a commentary so the soundtrack is just music. Also there was some film spoilage which destroyed most of the film from Lebanon and all of the Israel/Crete footage is lost.
Dad’s main shtick for this holiday was Stereo (3D) still photography. Here is a link to the digitised stereos I have painstakingly made from the stereo transparencies.
Stereo images in stereo – click the above picture link
You either need a viewing gadget or extremely strong eyes trained to be able to see stereo images in stereo.
The following link shows the stereo images in mono, as it were:
Stereo images in mono – all the left ones followed by all the right ones – click the above picture link
There are also a few prints from the single roll of film dad put into his ordinary camera. They are mostly pictures taken with flash in the evenings. Dad clearly forgot about this roll for some time – there is one picture from December of 1973 in the little batch of prints and they are all dated May 1974. Fifty years later, can you imagine anyone waiting nine months between snapping and seeing the results.
Print scans – just a few – click the above picture link
The expression “cobblers children” comes to mind. I expect dad took the camera with the half-finished roll to the shop with a view to doing something or other with it and then “rediscovered it” months later – possibly on more than one procrastinating occasion.
Day Zero: Streatham To Porto di Rimini via Luton Airport
Nowhere in the materials we have retained does it mention Rimini – I just firmly remember that we embarked and disembarked there. In my mind for much of my childhood that place was a major port from whence the Mediterranean opened up. Most likely it was a place where Clarkson’s and/or Efthymiades had done a good deal, because it doesn’t otherwise make sense to start and end a Greek islands/Holy Land cruise at Rimini.
I remember that Dad was very excited that we would be flying on a Lockheed TriStar, which was a relatively new plane at that time.
This holiday was my first, and to date only, experience of flying from and to Luton Airport. For much of the remainder of my childhood, I took pleasure in having been there, whenever the then ubiquitous Campari advert was shown:
I remember little about my journeys to and from Luton Airport, but paradise it wasn’t.
I graduated 50 years ago. Graduated from primary school, I mean. Writing in July 2023, it hardly seems possible that half-a-century has passed since then, but it has.
I hadn’t seen these photographs of the prize giving ceremony for a very long time. In truth, I found them recently while rummaging for something completely different.
Strangely, I can remember a surprising amount about the event and the names of many of my fellow pupils. Still, some of the memories are hazy and apologies if I have misremembered, spelt wrong or misidentified anyone. Feel free to get in touch and help me correct the record.
Looking at the headline photo, in which I seem to be picking up some sort of award on my own, I can see my mum on the far left of the picture (fourth mum along) looking a little pained. I recall that she had an attack of sciatica that day and nearly didn’t come to the event. I also recall that she found the seating in the nissen hut – where we held a pre-prize-giving performance – so uncomfortable that she stood at the back throughout the “show”.
I remember little about the show other than our class singing Que Sera Sera as a choir, which, I also recall, my mum told me had made her cry.
I suspect that a children’s choir rendition of Que Sera Sera in such circumstances was pretty standard fare back then.
Then outside for some element of outdoor performance ahead of the prize giving.
I’m pretty sure I can identify and name all five of these kids: Russell Holland, Deborah Horton, Alan Cooke, Julie Wheeler and Deborah Silverton
I’m still in touch with Alan. He might have some additional information about these pictures.
Russell and Deborah I must have befriended very early in my time at Rosemead, because they are there to be seen in the film of my fifth birthday party, six years before this prize giving event:
Returning to the 1973 Rosemead event, I have a few more pictures.
The lady in red is, I believe, Mrs Pavesi – behind her, David Pavesi with Nigel Palmer. I think the “back of a boy’s head” is Alan Cooke again.
Signor Pavesi was a restaurateur/chef if I recall correctly. David and Nigel were pals of mine.
My mum took issue with Nigel regularly being chosen to play Jesus in the school nativity plays. Mum felt that I probably bore a closer resemblance to the original Jesus than Nigel did; she oft threatened to challenge the school with cultural appropriation for that casting. Fortunately, mum was either joking or too timid to raise the matter, or both of those things.
There’s Nigel picking up a prize. Best Supporting Actor? Jesus is not a big part in nativity plays.I think this prize-winner is Christopher Stendall
Chris Stendall is one of three Rosemead alums who went on, with me, to Alleyn’s School, the other two being Alan Cooke (see above) and Jonathan Barnett (not depicted in these 1973 pictures, but who can be seen in the 1967 film).
Seems I collected several prizes that day. Ho hum – nobody really likes a smart-ass. In the upper picture, behind me, collecting is Russell Holland and behind him, I believe, Nazareen Ali.In the lower of the above two pictures, behind me looks like Mandy Goldberg.
My main memory of Mandy Goldberg was of Richard Dennis accidentally hitting her with a cricket bat in the playground, which resulted in cricket being banned at Rosemead by the headmistress, Miss Plumridge. I reported that event some years ago in a piece about my juvenile cricket, linked here or below:
Those seven pictures are all I could find from that event. But hopefully this piece will help track some people down who might have more memories and/or photos. If so, please do get in touch – I’d love to hear from you and/or add more material to this piece.
The pictures are all in Flickr at higher quality than above, along with a few other pictures from that era. Click here or the picture link below:
These items were a combination of a 10″ disc with one or more great classical works on it and a magazine which talked about the composer, the piece(s), the historical context and all that. Some of the musicology was well beyond me when I was a kid…possibly still is…but I loved reading about the composer and the history and the context, as well as listening to many of the pieces.
I think this batch arrived while I was still at primary school, perhaps my 10th birthday. I have a feeling they were a gift from Uncle Michael and Auntie Pam, but I might be mistaken on that point. Perhaps dad found the remaindered batch (as was his wont) and the aforementioned couple chose to fund dad’s purchase as an avuncular gift. They weren’t expert at choosing presents for a kid and/but might well have relished the opportunity to gift me something my folks deemed appropriate.
Here’s the list of my batch of 36, with the series number alongside. I shall provide links to the Discog listings where and when I am able:
Several years later I added a couple to my collection of The Great Musicians through Record & Tape Exchange, but soon realised that I wanted more modern recordings of pieces, especially those I hadn’t steeped myself in with the older recordings:
A Few Other Classical Albums, Mostly “Greatest Hits”, c1972-1975
The rest of our…or I should say, my…classical collection of records was tiny during my chidhood.
I think “The Great Musicians” sparked enough interest in me that I occasionally chose to spend a bit of my pocket money/birthday money on such records. Mum advised and encouraged me towards budget-priced items in W H Smith, several from a Columbia/CBS series badged as “Greatest Hits” albums.
Mum was very keen on Chopin and also liked Bizet – especially after I had “starred” in Carmen for the Putney Operatic Society, type-cast as one of the chorus of urchins. More on my opera career when I find the incriminating photographic evidence…in a box somewhere it is…I think I know where…but not to hand right now.
Anyway, here are the first 12 classical LPs in my catalogue, which I know for sure takes us up to 1975, when I was given a box set of Tchaikovsky Ballet Music and the Berlin Philharmonic “Tchaikovsky Works” album for my Bar mitzvah, by Arnold & Leatrice Levene. Yes, they who educated me in arthroplasty also advancing my interest in music – they were those sort of people.
I suspect that the above record got more play than any of the others. Mum loved it and if I wasn’t playing it or some other record, she might have been playing it herself.
I played all of them a lot, apart from the second side of the Britten and the rather thin compilation albums I have numbered 006 and 010, which I recall never liking. I have managed to source all the stuff I listened to a lot onto a YouTube playlist – click here – do not be put off if you see a strikethrough on that link, you can still click through and listen if you wish. The Tchaikovsky Ballet Suites box set are on the following separate link – click here, tracks 61 to 119 of the canonical Tchaikovsky recordings by Eugene Ormandy & the Philadelphia Orchestra, while Herbert’s “Tchaikovsky Works” record brings up the rear on the main playlist link:
A peachy holiday. Mum, me, Denise, Steve & Tony Lytton.
Oh boy did the memories come flooding back.
Just before the end of 2020, I tracked down Steve Lytton, with whom I hadn’t been in touch for many decades, on the back of a memory trigger about limbo dancing:
We had a very enjoyable e-chat. At one point, Steve said he couldn’t remember how we met, but I remembered it clearly. We met as a chance encounter between our two families in Golden Sands, Bulgaria, in August 1972.
Our parents got on well with each other. Steve and I got along well too, which I’m sure pleased all four parents, as Steve and I were both only children.
Not only did our families hang out together a lot during that holiday but (unusually for holiday friendships) that connection continued for a good few years when we got home, despite the Harris family living in Streatham and the Lytton family living in Hendon.
This was not one of our more photographic holidays, but still there were half-a-dozen pictures from this holiday in “Mum’s maroon album” and I managed to find an envelope with a few more pictures of varying quality/vintage, some black and white from “my camera” (I was only allowed simple stuff at that age; dad wanted me to prove my bona fides as a photographer before letting me use better equipment and materials) and some contact prints, I’m guessing from the Lytton collection. I’ve put them all (16 of them) in the following Flickr album – click here or below:
There is also just a couple of minutes-worth of cine film. The Lytton family feature as much or perhaps even more than my own family in the film. I think dad possibly shot more, but some of the film got sun-damaged – there’s some slight evidence of that damage in the surviving film.
You get 15 seconds of the previous year’s holiday (Port Leucate in Occitania, South-West France, since you asked) as well as the couple of minutes of Bulgaria. A fair bit of clowning around, but the highlight of this movie is unquestionably the beach football, in which mum takes a tumble and then Steve, rather than assisting the injured player, cynically takes possession, playing on. Shocking sportsmanship, caught on film for ever.
I had a few abiding memories from this holiday, despite this holiday being 18 months or so before I started keeping a diary. But the very best of the memories was triggered by Steve, when we e-swapped reminiscences.
Let’s start with my abiding memories and use Steve’s wonderful recollection as the grand finale.
In those days they were using Ilyushin Il-18 Soviet Russian planes that had shown a recent propensity to crash, apparently, although mercifully we were in blissful ignorance of that fact when we flew:
What I especially recall, though, was the “standing room only” short hop from Sophia to Varna in one of those. People were standing in the aisles of the plane holding on to grab-handles like passengers on a bus or tube.
Abiding Memory 2: Viennese Waltz Chicks
Bulgarian Viennese-Style Music Trio Dressed Like 1970s Grandma’s Curtains
Was it really the music of Johann Strauss II that touched my heart, or did I have a kiddy-crush on these lovely musicians? I’m well over the Strauss now, anyway, but here’s the piece that particularly sticks in my mind from that holiday:
That really is a superb barnet and tasche sported by the great Austrian waltz dude
Abiding Memory 3: The Olympic Flame
There was a great deal of excitement when word went around that the Olympic flame, doing a circuitous route from Athens to Munich via several Balkan/Eastern European countries, would be staying outside OUR hotel, The International in Golden Sands, for the night.
We had rooms overlooking the front. I am pretty sure I joined my parents on their balcony to watch the excitement unfold.
A crowd within and without the hotel, pregnant with anticipation.
Then cries from within and without:
Es kommt…Sie kommen…Hier kommt es…
…that sort of thing. The vast majority of tourists in Golden Sands in those days were East Germans.
The torch bearer ran up some steps, ignited the “eternal flame cauldron” where the Olympic flame was to repose for the night, stepped back down to the sound of tumultuous cheering and applause…
…while the Olympic flame petered out in the cauldron.
There was a rapid inspection and rejigging of the cauldron, then the ceremony was repeated, this time successfully.
I was just shy of 10 and was already aware that Santa doesn’t exist. Now I learnt that the Olympic flame is not as eternal as the authorities would have us believe.
Thanks to Steve, I have recovered another wonderful memory of this holiday.
We all had rooms with excellent views overlooking the seafront. But Steve’s room, at one end of the hotel, had an especially splendid view. It overlooked a sectioned-off nudist beach.
Steve, very kindly, shared this world of wonders with me. We would sneak off to Steve’s room whenever the opportunity arose, to have an ogle and a giggle. Steve was around 11, I was coming up to 10 – I’m pretty sure neither of us had a clue what we were ogling at or where all those moving parts might go.
Fortunately for genteel readers, I have no images from that aspect of the holiday and am averse to Googling “1970s East German nudist sunbathers” for fear of the dreadful dark recesses of the internet that such a search might reach.
However, the image of dad, above (modestly attired in shorts, of course) gives a sense of the size and scale of the (mostly) East German gentlemen who frequented that beach. And I have managed to find a similarly modest but suitably scaled East German woman shot …
Anyway, I do now recall that my mum liked to dine out on this story for quite a while. Apparently both sets of parents wondered why Steve and I seemed so keen to sneak off to Steve’s room. I fear that it was me that blew our cover in this innocent yet guilty secret pursuit, by asking to borrow dad’s binoculars.
The parents worked us out, caught us out, made light of it and shared in the humorous side of this story. Dad taught me that quality rather than quantity is what matters when observing the human form, a lesson that has served me well in art and in life.
Tony, perhaps emulating the sights from the neighbouring nudist beach
