REFLECTIONS.

A memoir on the value of life by Kim.

Part III.

Gradually we started to find things wrong with the car. Although we never openly expressed it, we both privately knew something like that was probably on the cards. Where do I begin? Firstly, the potable water tank had a leak. Whilst trying to lift the car to be able to inspect it further, we discovered the car did not have a jack; or any tools whatsoever. Lucky for us we didn’t have to change a flat tyre. Oh well, not so bad, we mused. It could be worse.
The problem with that line of thought was that it was worse, a lot worse. Both the left and right turn indicators stopped operating, the refrigerator didn’t appear to work, one of the gas lines was ruptured and we discovered the sink water pump did not, well, pump. To top it off, the car heating system blew nothing but cold air, regardless of the setting. Now, that was a major problem in the cold.
By day’s end, with some ingenuity, and a modicum of good luck, we solved the leak, fixed the indicators and mended the gas line. It was clearly apparent we needed to do quite a bit of work on the car. Anyway, on the bright side, it was great to be in the countryside in Essex.
As light faded rapidly, we decided to stay at a B&B for one more night, if we could find one. We had a meal at a pub in North Weald and it was there Steve was told about a private home that charged £18 for a double room and breakfast for two. His informant provided him with directions and we headed there straight after dinner.
Well, tried to head there would be a more accurate description as Steve messed up the directions and we spent the next hour wandering in circles. Some time passed uneventfully, so I suggested returning to the pub. He was certain he knew the way. Then, when the same trees and road signs on our endless circuit started to appear more than familiar, I began to grow a tad irate and insisted we return to the North Weald Queen’s Head pub to determine our correct route.
Now, I must point out that I suffer from epilepsy and, at that point in time, did not hold a driving license, so Steve was always the driver and I was always the navigator. On our return to the pub, I made sure I received the directions personally. After that, needless to say, we arrived at the B&B relatively quickly although, due to the time Steve wasted getting us lost, it was around 10:30pm.
The B&B was a home located on a small farm, quaintly called “Bumbles”, and was pure luxury compared to our digs in Victoria. Replete with open log fireplaces, comfortable furnishings and antiques, it was a very welcome sight to weary travellers such as ourselves.
One of or hosts, yet another Joyce, was a potter of some local renown and was utterly charming, as was her husband. After having a lovely chat, we told them we had an early start the next day, bid them goodnight and snuggled into our very warm bed at 12:30pm.
Waking at 7:45am, we ate a large yet deliciously hot breakfast. Joyce proceeded to give us a wonderful commentary about the history of Chipping Ongar and pointed out a line of trees about 100 meters from the rear of her house. This area marked where victims of the Black Plague were buried.
After thanking our hosts for their hospitality, we continued north, in search of a larger town where we might mind a mechanic to affect the necessary repairs to our new home on wheels. On the way, we dropped into Greensted Church, the oldest wooden church in the world originally built around 650 CE by the Celts and enlarged by the Saxons in 845 CE. It was built from rough-hewn oak logs more than 400 years prior to the Battle of Hastings and it was still standing. Incredible!
After leaving the church, we headed to the nearest laundromat to give our clothes a much-needed wash. We stopped at Brentwood where we purchased cooking implements and some groceries. We also purchased a car radio – yep, surprise, surprise, the car didn’t have one of those either – though we had yet to work out how to install it. And, for some reason or other, I bought some new shoes though I don’t remember why, or what kind. I remember that I had hiking boots and thongs. Perhaps I hadn’t packed sneakers, though I find this highly unlikely. The journal doesn’t elaborate so I, like you, are left to muse why.
We had a drink in a pub in Brentwood where we saw quite a few Punks. In Australia, as in the US, there was no emphasis on the “Punk look”. I remember talking to Jello Biafra, the lead singer and songwriter of the San Franciscan punk band “Dead Kennedys” about the differences in punk rock “dress” between the three countries when I met him at a gig in the US the previous year, in 1985. That was the great thing about punk gigs – they were intimate, and the bands were always very approachable and engaging.
UK punk attire was developed by fashion designer Vivienne Westwood and her partner Malcolm McLaren in their shop, “Sex”, on the King’s Road in Chelsea, London. Like the music of the Sex Pistols, McLaren’s band, it was meant to shock the establishment. With outrageous eye makeup, mohawk hairstyles, safety pin nose piercings, studded belts and dog collars, and torn clothing also often held together with safety pins, it was totally unique to the UK. In both the US and Australia, the punters, in the main, just wore T-shirts, jeans and the odd studded belt and maybe tussled their hair.
Punks in the UK could be spotted a mile away! But, I think, that was the idea. They made a lot of Brits uncomfortable, they felt threatened by their appearance and the seeming aggression of their behavior during gigs that they had seen on the telly. We always felt at ease in their presence; there was no threat of violence. Quite the opposite, if anything they were anti-violence. Of all the punk gigs we had attended, in the US, Australia and the UK (and there were a lot), we had never witnessed any acts of violence perpetrated by punks, however we had seen punks attacked, usually by skinheads (Skins) who were invariably right-wing nationalists that would have felt right at home in Hitler’s Germany. They were racist, anti-Semitic fascists that were openly aggressive. Unfortunately, the media and the “man on the street” often misidentified them as Punks. It was an early experience of how the truth can be distorted for media headlines and, thus, conveyed to those who are less well informed. We knew different. Punks and Skins were as opposite as day and night or, more aptly, freedom and oppression.
We left Brentwood and drove on, passing through a small village where we stopped briefly to admire the beautiful thatched roofed houses. I asked a local about them & learnt that, not only was thatching more expensive than normal roofing, they only lasted about 10 years (that is if the birds didn’t get to them first to build their nests).
That night we parked on the side of the road between Great Dunmow and Great Bardfield in Essex. We had sorted out the gear in the car and cooked our first meal in England – a “magnificent” ravioli. The quotes are advisable. Steve wrote this entry and, just because the journal states it as fact, does not make it so. From memory, we were so hungry that we would have supped on an old boot!
So, there we were. The refrigerator still did not work but, in the icy cold temperatures that gripped us living in a car, it hardly mattered. We had bought two sleeping bags in Australia that were suited to a range of temperatures. They had zippers on two sides that allowed the bag open out and act as a flat quilt, for less cold weather. These zippers also allowed for two bags to be zipped together into one large double sleeping bag to help conserve body heat. Steve exuded so much heat that I called him “the furnace with legs”. When the salesperson mentioned this ability, I fell in love with the bags in an instant. Not only could we snuggle together but my “furnace” would keep me warm even in the coldest of temperatures. We couldn’t try it out at the Victoria B&B as we all had separate beds. Now was the test! That night we fashioned our bags in the double format, laid inside, zipped the middle up and went to sleep. The next day was be very busy indeed.

END PART III