Since James was fluent in French having been to school in Paris when his father was posted there, as a senior surgeon he applied to work in France for a year, and we were excited to be going from Leeds to live in Grenoble in south-west France. At that time we had two very young children so our luggage included large items like a double buggy, travel cots, and of course, James’s double bass. All of that,  plus four passengers, wouldn’t fit in a single car, so we had to travel in two vehicles. Without properly thinking things through, we made the innocent planthat James would lead in the front car taking passports, map, money, and his double bass, and that I would follow behind with babies and most of the luggage. I envisioned an idyllic meander through rural French countryside. However, because this was the era before mobile phones, internet, and even the Euro, it was completely hare-brained.

On the ferry crossing from Dover to Calais we encountered stormy gales which blew us off course. We finally docked, hours later, not in France, but in Belgium. I’m not a great sailor at the best of times, and because I was driving, I couldn’t take anti-nausea medication. In fact I was so ill that I lay on the floor of the heaving vessel thinking I was about to die!  When we finally docked in Zeebrugge it was dark and raining, but the fresh air rallied me. As the port officials began to wave vehicles off the ferry, James bundled the babies into my car, then stuck his head through my car window and said: “Follow me out of the port, keep on my tail, and stay on the right!”  I remember looking up briefly and seeing his rear-lights disappearing into the stormy night. I started my engine and followed car off the ferry.

Predictably, we very quickly we lost each other in the darkness and pouring rain, but I drove on gamely, following the road and keeping my eyes on the car lights ahead of me, hoping James knew where he was going.  After a few miles the car I had been tailing, suddenly overtook a lorry and sped away in the distance. I lost sight of it very quickly. Where was James? I stupidly realised I had no passports, maps or French francs, and two tired kids were wailing on the back seat. I began to panic. Why on earth was I was driving on a dark road in a foreign country with no clear idea of where I was?  Realising the danger I was in,  I tearfully pulled over in next lay-by. After sitting for a while in the darkness with traffic whizzing past me with the kids ominously silent in the back, my tears soon gave way to a seething anger – how dare my husband drive off into the night and leave me in this predicament!

Suddenly, and completely out of the blue, a car screeched to a halt right behind me in the lay-by. The driver opened his door and walked towards me in the pouring rain. He motioned me to wind down my steamed-up window, and I found myself confronting a very worried but very relieved James.  “Thank God! I’ve found you!” he said. “I thought you were following me, but when I turned off the motorway the car behind me shot past and I then realised it wasn’t you that had been on my tail! It’s a miracle that we’ve actually found each other,  and that we’re all safe!” Well, I can say that my poor husband stood there in the dark, getting soaked in the lashing rain while I spluttered quite an earful! He had the grace to be contrite. After finally ridding myself of all my pent-up indignation, I got out of the car and we hugged one another at the roadside.

God was indeed looking out for us that day, and we had learned a valuable lesson.

o

Early in 2012, just before my retirement from the NHS, I decided to get really fit in a short space of time. I was then 62 years old and the last thing I wanted was to be competing with brawny men, so I opted for GI Jane – an all-female keep-fit week in Kent. It was mid-winter in Scotland and very cold, so I thought by choosing a keep-fit camp in the south of England would allow me to escape freezing weather. Unfortunately the winter of 2012 saw Kent was blanketed with snow while Scotland basked in better weather – so much for good planning! Two Marines on annual leave from the navy were in charge of the camp which was run along military lines.

My fellow campers were at least 30 years younger than me, some were policewomen, and others were getting ready to run marathons. At the outset we were divided into two competing teams and were each issued with a personal weapon  – a wood “pretend” rifle – which we were under strict instructions  never to let out of our sight.  In the photo I am racing with an iron box containing heavy sandbags. Tasks included running along country roads in a foursome formation at 5 am bearing a makeshift stretcher on top of each had been placed a tree trunk (“wounded soldier”). Any seemingly inane comment from us such as “it’s too heavy” or “I need a break”,  was met by a stern:  “So are you going to abandon your wounded comrade to enemy fire? “Another back-breaking exercise was crawling on the snowy ground for half a mile spread-eagled on a car tyre.

One day one of the girls arrived for morning line-up with her “rifle” which she had apparently forgotten under the dining table the night before.  This was a capital infringement and resulted in the entire squad being punished by having to execute 50 burpees on the spot! Meals were measly and you had to eat everything. In fact you wouldn’t survive if you didn’t. someone commented that the entire days’ rations would fit into her eye socket!

I’m glad I did the week and proud of my certificate to show I survived it, but never again -I’m too much of a softie! The most important thing I learned was that keeping fit as a townie in the city can be achieved without belonging to a gym or using special equipment: by pacing yourself on quiet roads running and counting lampposts, running up and down stairs in your own home and upping the number every session, improvising weights with canned food tins……Oh, and an iron will to never give up!