Dot and Sam 40

Dorothy Philpot. Landlady of The Harbour Light pub
Sam Philpot. Drag-queen and lifelong companion of Dot’s.
Billy Parkins Doorkeeper.
Jessica Merlot The town’ and county archaeologist.
Josephine MacDonald The town and county archivist.
Richard Drummond Town planning inspector
Robert Vincent. Junior planning inspector.
Georgina. (Georgie) Homeless Transgender girl previously known as George.
Bobby Gay boy on the school bus.
Marty Girl on the school bus. (She becomes Georgie’s best friend and lover)
Jack. Marty’s twin brother (Keen runner).
Trevor Aitkins, Georgie’s Biological father.
Lucinda Aitkins Georgie’s biological mother
Terence Georgie’s step-dad
Peter Terence’s homophobic son.
Allison. Old school friend of Trevor & Retired Solicitor
Fred Allison’s husband
Elizabeth Aitkins (Beth) Georgie’s younger biological sister. Later proves to be sympathetic to her ‘sister.’
Jonathon Aitkins (Johnny) Georgie’s younger biological brother.
Rosie the Rivetter Terf Gang Leader on campus.

Chapter 40

After five months into our ‘Gap year’ Marty and I were sat outside the bar cum café where we worked in Amsterdam, watching the ice starting to frost the edges of the Amsterdam canals. As Marty pulled her coat about her, she took a sip of her coffee and looked towards the leaden sky.

“I think this swallow needs to be heading for warmer climes.”

“Like where?” I replied.

“Dunno’ Aus or Kiwi.”

“You’ll have to be giving Freda a month’s notice or get Harald our flat mate, to exchange some of his gay friends.”

“Harald’s always got somebody who’s looking for space. I’ll speak with him tonight when he finishes work.”

That night we chewed over the options and decided on a possible three months stay in Aus, followed by three months in Kiwi. After a chat with Harald, and negotiating our lease with Freda, we found ourselves southbound in three weeks after working out our notices at the Amsterdam bar where we had found casual work.

Visas for Aus proved slightly irksome when we told them we only expected to stay for three months they seemed to think that students on ‘Gap Years’ would wish to stay the full year but after explaining our itinerary they finally issued our visas. New Zealand proved much easier and provided we could prove we had funds enough to support ourselves they welcomed us.

A few days later we touched down in Sydney with fairly minimal baggage, a passport (with the visa) and credit cards showing funds enough to travel fairly extensively.

Marty did not endear herself to the immigration officer when asked if she had any previous convictions or illegal substances.

“I didn’t know we still needed them,” she riposted expecting to get at least a smile.

However, all she got was a surly glare and a remark that such comments were not regarded as funny. Suitably chastised we made our way to our pre-booked accommodation.

Naturally, the first thing we did was crash out on our beds; twenty-four hours in a cramped ‘economy’ class seat is probably the worst aid to sleeping known to man. It was sometime like four in the morning when we finally emerged fit enough to shower and grab some coffee.

Once we got ourselves established, we set off to explore the neighbourhood then as the shops began to open, we found the agency that arranged short term jobs for ‘back-packers.’ Two days later we were on a sheep station where several thousand sheep were being rounded up for sheering.

Basically, we were the domestics for the shearers while they stayed for two weeks to sheer the whole flock. If they were happy with us, they would invite us to follow them around from sheep station to sheep station. We stayed with them for a month then as they moved up country, we parted company and returned to Sydney before trying Melbourn.

After a couple of weeks exploring Melbourn and the surrounding country, we once again found ourselves up-country on another sheep-station and we stayed on this one until our three-month visas began to expire. Strangely, the guys proved to be very agreeable when they discovered we were prepared to wash their kit, - for a fee.

This camaraderie proved to extremely beneficial when Marty managed to get herself bitten by a snake while she was hanging out the washing on the back lot. She screamed with fright and two of the guys dropped their shearing kit immediately, to come dashing out and see what was afoot.
They recognised the snake immediately as a ‘common brown snake’ and immediately took her to the main station house where the manager kept some antivenoms in the fridge. Even after administering the treatment, they knew they had to get her to hospital to monitor her progress. By the time they got her to a suitable place she was looking pretty grim, and the hospital informed me that if she had been another thirty minutes without the antivenom, she could have been dead.

We had much to thank the shearers and the station manager for their out-back savee.

The hospital detained us for a fortnight while Marty recovered but this put us over our visa time, and we had to produce a hospital letter to emigration, or it might have affected our visit to Kiwi.

Once the situation was normalised, Marty and I had time to chuckle about Aussie fauna.

“Just a Common Brown snake,” she snorted, “and yet it’s one of the most venomous bloody creatures in snakedom. You’d think they’d have found a better name for it than ‘The Common Eastern Brown Snake.’ They can keep their bloody outback.”

“What did your mum say when you told her?”

“Come home soon!”

“That figures,” I replied as we both had a brief chuckle before Our flight to Wellington was called.

New Zealand is a beautiful country and what’s more, they don’t have any snakes.

“Old Saint Patrick got about a bit then,” Marty commented as she read that useful tit-bit in the guide-book.

“Yeah,” I agreed, “it’s hard to believe Aus and Kiwi are in the same hemisphere.”

After mooching for a week around Wellington we decided to visit North Island first.

“I thought you were a Middle Earth fan.” I teased Marty.

“Well, that can wait, we’ve got three months.”

“I shrugged and smiled. It was all the same to me and two days later we stepped of the train and caught a bus for the last miles north to Coromandel Beach.

“And you say the beach has got hot springs?” Marty wondered.

“Yeah, you have to go right down to the shoreline at Low water and if you scrape the sand you can lie in a warm bath, or if you scrape too deep, you’ll get a hot bath.”

“What happens if there’s a sudden eruption while you’re lying in your bath?” Marty demanded.

“I dunno,’ I suppose you get par-boiled.”

“Yeah, like those Aussie and Yank tourists on that volcano in North Island. Well, thanks, but no thanks. What was its name?”

“That was Whakaari, it was a volcano that had been showing signs and it had been giving off clear warnings of activation, Coromandel Beach has been stable for millennia.”

Marty frowned.

“Okay I’ll come, but; no volcano climbing!”

I sighed but agreed to Marty’s condition.

A few days later, we were luxuriating in pools of hot (but not boiling) water. Unfortunately, about a thousand other tourists were of like mind and soon we tired of the crowds.

“That’s it then, South Island it is,” Marty conceded, and like Swallows we went south.

“You do realise we’re all ‘arse - about – face’ down here.”

“Go on,” I prompted her, not grasping her observation.

“If we were swallows, we’d be going north, not south; for the winter!”

“Uuuhm, it’s February, that’s still summer-going-on-autumn down these parts,” I corrected her.

Marty giggled as we hefted our back-packs onto the train and returned to Wellington. A few days later we were on the South Island Ferry plunging through an unseasonal blow. Cook straight is an unpredictable passage and we copped a beaut.’ Fortunately, sea-sickness does not affect Marty or me and we stepped ashore on South Island feeling fine, while all around us, ‘green faces’ continued to relieve themselves of their dinners despite their having landed back on terra-firma.

In Picton, at the south-Island rail and ferry terminal we confirmed our booking and soon boarded the train south.
There are literally dozens of film sites where the Hobbit films were made and after having stopped at some on North ‘s sites we finally finished off our tour in the South Island’s Mount Cook National glacier park and the Fiords where many of the spectacular arial shots were taken of the battle scenes.

Additionally, New Zealand has many other spectacularly scenic locations, indeed more than enough to fill our eyes and sadly we came to the end of our ‘Gap Year all too soon. We found ourselves fretting in a Wellington back-packer’s hostel debating which way to return home.

Was it to be via the USA or was it to be via Singapore and Dubai?

“Are we stopping off to do any sight-seeing or is it to be a dash?” Marty asked as she counted her funds in the hostel bedroom.

“There’s enough here for at least a couple of stop-overs and the tickets are paid for.”

We hummed and hawed as we examined different options. Was it to be Hawaii and San Francisco or alternatively, Singapore and Dubai?

“It could be Hawaii, L.A., and New York.” I suggested.

“Nah,” Marty protested, “Cities are naff, though the Yanks have got some good national parks.”

“What, like the Grand Canyon or something?” I asked her.

“Well, that and others! The redwoods in California for example.”

In the end we chose America as our route home mainly because it meant we would have flown around the world. San Francisco sounded more romantic than Los Angeles and we tied in visits to the giant redwood forests and the Grand Canyon, then finishing off in the Big Apple. It was a bit of a ‘dog’s leg’ across the U.S., but we still had plenty of time and we arrived back home in plenty of time to sort out our jobs. Ready for the forthcoming academic year.

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After our hectic ‘gap year’ in the antipodes we returned to UK in late August as the last of the summer was disappearing. Even as our plane touched down, a weather front almost followed us down the runway and, as we manoeuvred for the docking gate, we heard the clatter of heavy raindrops rattling against the plane’s skin. We exchanged rueful glances then grinned at each other as we were told to not forget our belongings and join the press for the door.

Finally, we emerged into the dull grey overcast sky of London just as the second sweep of a rain squall reminded us of where we were.

“Welcome home,” Marty offered as we both smiled ironically.

I turned and cautioned her in jest.

“Don’t you dare! You know you love the rain. Besides, you’ll not get wet until you get off the train at home. And even then; Dot or even my dad will be there to meet us. Come on, let’s find a comfortable seat in the buffet car in the middle of the train. I fancy something to eat, and it’ll technically be the last day of our gap year, - a sort of celebration if you will.

This met with Marty’s full approval, so we secured a seat in the dining car and settled in for the last leg of our journey.

As we were enjoying our meal, my phone buzzed as Dot advised that she or would be there to meet the train.

“I hope you’ve brought lots of pressies,” she demanded.

“Yeah, mostly small stuff,” Marty replied enigmatically as the two diners sharing our table overheard her and smiled.

“Been far?” one of them asked as I put my phone away.

“Oz,” Marty replied, then added “gap year.”

This was enough to break the ice and we chatted almost continuously to Exeter, where we spotted Dot’s four-by-four parked conspicuously in the last bay of the carpark but easily visible from the train.

To our delight, Dot and Sam and Marty’s mum were also there to greet us.

As we emerged from the booking hall, Dot swung out of her parking bay and pulled up right beside us, so we were fairly well covered by the station canopy as we transferred our luggage. First it was hugs all around then a quick load-up of luggage and we were soon in the warm and dry of the car as Dot pulled into the traffic.

“Has much changed since we’ve been away?” Marty asked.

“We’ve opened up a doorway from the garage to the stable restaurant so we can now step from the car straight through to the bar without trudging through the yard. Perfect for nights like this.” Sam added as the rain clattered against the wind-shield.

Eventually, we were pleased to see the ‘Harbour Light’ appear as we splashed along the lane and Marty gave me a contented hug as we noticed that somebody had turned the old cornice light up to full power as a welcome signal.

“Dad’s home,” I offered as we passed under the cornice.

“Yes, he’s holding the fort at the bar,” Dot explained. He’s as keen to see you as well as Marty’s family.”

By the time, our Land-rover had skirted the pub and entered via the newly opened side gate and rear garage, the ‘reception committee’ had gathered in the stable restaurant to welcome us. Soon it was hugs and squeezes all around as Marty’s large family extended its traditional enthusiasm to the event. Then we shed our coats and retreated to the large fire in the bar.

We both grinned as we settled into the armchairs and soon the conversation was ricochetting off the walls as our families peppered us with questions.
Finally, we dug into our bags and extracted the assorted presents for each family member. With the inevitable explanations.

“The girls were easy to buy for,” Marty explained as we produced small jewellery boxes containing opal rings, broaches, and earrings. “It’s you boys who are the difficulty; fortunately, there’s only our dads and my brothers. So, it’s tie pins and cufflinks. Opals again I’m afraid, except baby Benjamin; he’s got a big stuffed kangaroo.”

I grinned as I heard Dot whisper to Sam.

“I know where that’ll end up, one of the girl’s bedrooms.”

“It’s all right, we’ve kept back some opal cuff-links for when he’s older.” I whispered back reassuringly.

With the ‘presents gauntlet more or less run without too much discontent, our reception calmed down as eventually, Marty and I found ourselves in our own bed gazing across the river and eventually falling asleep. Jet lag had taken its toll.

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