In previous posts I spoke about returning to Piccadilly Circus in London where, in the early seventies, I was one of the so-called ‘Dilly boys.’ Below are a few comments halfway through this return after fifty-four years.
Not sure what to communicate here, and even less sure whether it serves any purpose. But anyways…
I feel I have nothing to say beyond when again walking the back streets of Piccadilly Circus, I was surprised by how happy I felt, and where I had planned to do further research, I felt there was no further need. A long, inner journey had ended.
After a few days and having set the duration of this trip to four weeks, I was faced with the problem of finding something to do to fill in the time. I went for a wander on the continent, Paris, Amsterdam, Berlin, and then Krakow, thinking I should take the opportunity to visit the evil death camp. I stayed two nights in Krakow and couldn’t get out of the place fast enough. The reason for that is that just exiting the main station upon arrival, you notice a few things. There are no beggars, no Muslims, no persons of colour, no Rom people, no trans nor overtly gay men or women, everything is clean, everyone looks the same, and move with purpose. An image I will never forget is a single, brave tag on the concrete wall of a pedestrian tunnel near the station, and that I spotted from my hotel window. Worth a thousand words about authoritarianism. Clearly the lesson of the death camp has not been metabolized. Racial and cultural purity, walking the streets I found it in subtext everywhere. There was no need to visit the death camp.
I took the train back to Berlin, and then continued through Cologne, Brussels, Ostend and then Calais to Dover by ferry, and the little hotel where I am now thinking about how to waste another two weeks before flying back to Sydney. I might make a trip to Portsmouth to visit HMS Victory, I have an ancestor who was at Trafalgar, not an officer on Victory as my grandmother always claimed, but I did find him listed in the Battle of Trafalgar Honour Role, and he was the purser on a 74 gun frigate. HMS Defiance or Defence, one or the other, I can’t remember which. It’s probably just me, but where it’s nice to have that, albeit distant, connection to a great naval battle, I would have preferred proof of an ancestor swung by the neck at Execution Dock for piracy. Maybe there is one? Would explain a lot.
Coming back to this return to the Dilly, the negative came in the past few weeks. I researched it and apparently that can happen; happiness at first followed by a crash. No problem, I’m a tough old guy and have survived much worse than I’m feeling now and without doing something terminal.
So, next week it is Portsmouth and HMS Victory. Then a few last days in London, and it’s done. Back in Sydney, one of the first things I have to do is check on my own mighty vessel, and make a decision about what I eventually do with it. I feel I should now fulfil a long-held dream of sailing around the world. Might need a different yacht.