After I had finished school in June 1970 I decided to have a vacation before I would start work in October. I had seen an advertisement for students to go strawberry picking in Eccles on Sea in Norfolk, the combination of traveling and earning some money seemed like a great idea. The urge to go traveling most likely came from my brother who had been backpacking through Europe; also my mum had some lodgers from England, Wales and Denmark with whom she worked with at the Hilton in Amsterdam. These lodgers where traveling Europe too, mainly hitchhiking. Their stories just sounded so great that I wanted to experience some of that adventure. So after lots of discussion and convincing my mum we started preparing my trip. First I needed a passport, and because I was born in England the most obvious thing to do was to apply for a British passport. Off I went to the consulate in Amsterdam with the photos. Then I needed to get my stuff together. The most important item, a backpack which I borrowed from my brother Pete, bought a second hand tent, a sleeping bag and other requirements needed for a backpacking trip.
Mum was not yet one hundred percent convinced that hitchhiking was a great idea and suggested I use public transport, as they provided me with extra cash for this, obviously I saw no reason to decline this generous offer. Finally the day arrived, the overloaded backpack was placed on the table; I put the straps around my shoulders. After the first step forwards, I almost fell backwards, the backpack was so heavy, but I was cool and didn’t want to let anybody notice and held myself strong. After promising like a hundred times that I would be careful and that I would call home every so many days I left through the front door. The first obstacle begun, walking down the stairs from our flat on the third floor, holding to the railings on both sides so firmly so that I didn’t fall over backwards, I manged to get down without injuries. Out onto the street and walked to the corner, I looked back and saw the whole family on the balcony waving and throwing hand-kisses, so well meant but back then I found it so embarrassing.
Arrived safe and well at the bus stop and got myself a ticket to Amsterdam central station. The day I went to collect my passport I had also bought my train ticket to Hoek van Holland. After arriving at the ferry terminal I boarded the ferry and found myself a comfortable place where I could settle for the crossing to Harwich from where the following morning I took a bus to Eccles on Sea.
After arriving at the campsite, I was allocated the location to pitch my tent, in the evening there was an introduction and explanation of what you were expected to do. Sounded easy, take an empty crate and fill it with ripe strawberries. The more crates you filled the more you would earn. The first two days went well, the money was flowing into my pocket, this while I started to feel quit ill after eating so many strawberries, which was allowed, as long as you didn’t take them off from the fields.
The third day we had lots of rain which is bad for picking the sweet fruits, stayed in the tent for the whole day. The following day wasn’t much better and the forecast was that it wouldn’t change for the coming week! I overheard a discussion between some other students that a couple of miles down the road you could pick potatoes, and that it would pay better than the strawberries. We moved to the potato farm and started work in the pouring rain.
After a couple of days with severe rain, I decided to quit, the weather forecast was just too bad to hang around. One of the guys tent had been leaking and had no place to sleep. He came from Leeds and we got on well together. We agreed that he could borrow my tent and once he got home he would send it back to my me in the Netherlands. I was so naïve and agreed to this proposal. Naturally the tent never did arrive back home which didn’t please mum at all.
From Eccles on Sea I travelled back down to Ipswich to see my cousin Alan and his wife Beryl. They were very welcoming and set me up in the guest room at the front of the house. First I unpacked my backpack then Beryl washed my clothes of which most were soaking wet. My brother and our lodgers taught me that rolling up clothes would be better than folding them, less wrinkles they said. I removed my fancy apple green disco suit which I had brought with me from the bottom of the backpack; it was bought especially for my brother’s wedding recently that year. After camping for the last week I felt like dressing up nice and tidy for an evening. Needless to say that the suit was wrinkled badly and that it needed pressing first.
All dressed up I walked into the living room causing my cousin and his wife’s jaw to drop. Where do you think are going, he said, you’re not in Amsterdam! I replied that I was going down to the local for a few beers. After being advised not to go there, certainly not dressed like that, I decided to take my chances. I remember well when entering the pub, it went totally silent and all eyes were looking at me and it was quite that you could hear a needle drop. It was a rough bunch, skinheads wearing what was called bovver boots. A bovver boot is a type of boot that was associated with violence. Such boots are generally of sturdy design and may be steel-toed too! After closing time I walked back to my cousin’s house, they obviously had expected the worse. When I went in they asked well, how did that go? I replied that I had a ball, didn’t spend a penny all night. The guys in the pub bought me pint after pint, I was the cool guy for a change which made me feel great. They wanted to know everything about where and how we lived in the Netherlands and everything about Amsterdam! It was truly a night to remember.
To finance my trip I really needed more cash in my pocket, so the following day my cousin took me to a local marquee company to ask for a job. I believe the name of the company was Rants and Jackal. They were specialised setting up huge marquees for grand events. I stayed with them for a couple of days until I had enough cash in my pocket to continue my trip. I decided to travel to Preston to see Hazel, a friend of my mother. She lived at Spring Gardens which is on the outskirts of Preston. Alan took me to the edge of town where I started hitchhiking, I believe that I had a dozen rides before I arrived at my destination in Preston, a distance of approximately 400 km. Hitchhiking does come with risks, like this one guy who couldn’t keep his hands to himself, he continuously kept touching my knee and stroking my leg, after a while he realised that I wasn’t interested he dropped me of in the middle of nowhere. Anyway, safe and well I walked back to the main road and continued my trip to Preston.
Hazel was very surprised to see me at her front door; she welcomed me in and offered a place to stay. The following days it was just one big party with many different people walking in and out. The whole day we were playing records and drinking beer. One record that was played over and over again was All Right Now from the band The Free. One evening we went Ballroom Dancing at the Winter Gardens in Blackpool, I looked great again in my cool apple green suite!
It was time to head back home, in the morning, not long after I left Hazels house, I caught a direct ride all the way from Preston to Harwich and the driver had never picked up a hitchhiker before and was very concerned about my wellbeing. It’s too dangerous to travel like this he said, I am going to Harwich too and will take you all the way. I was so lucky! During the trip we stopped various times and each time he bought me drinks and food, all that without a catch, just a friendly bloke. I checked in onto the ferry looking forward being home the following day.