Memory Lane

60years ago, when I was eight years old, my newly divorced mother decided we should leave London for a new life in what was then Southern Rhodesia, and so we embarked from Southampton aboard the Bloemfonteincastle with everything we possessed or might need during the three-week journey. Our little two-bunk cabin, an inside one with only a ‘blower’ for fresh air instead of a porthole, had no other facilities except a little washbasin (en-suite bathrooms hardly existed then). Further along the corridor were the ladies’ communal showers where the salty tap water was supplemented by an enamel basin full of fresh water for rinsing off. In the ship’s hold was our very large wardrobe trunk, which we could visit from time to time for extra clothing.

Off we sailed through the very rough Bay of Biscay, when nearly everyone except young children like me were afflicted with seasickness, and the listing of the ship meant we were sometimes walking down the walls of the corridors. We called at Las Palmas and saw some beautiful lace and filigree silver jewellery, then on down the east coast of Africa, stopping at Lobito Bay, Angola, followed by the surprisingly beautiful and lush island of St Helena, where we visited Napoleon’s original burial place. On to Walvis Bay, Namibia, followed by an overnight stop at Cape Town and the unforgettable first sight of Table Mountain. Then around the Cape into the Indian Ocean to call at Port Elizabeth, East London, then Durban. On reaching the ship’s destination port of Beira, Portuguese East Africa, now called Mozambique, we boarded the train to Salisbury.

This was a truly life-changing journey, but a future in Salisbury was not after all to be and after just two years we took another momentous train journey, complete with my pet budgie in its cage, down through central south Africa to Cape Town, where my mother was to meet and later marry the doctor who became my much loved step-father – but that is another story.