Mum, Mum were did you say we are going Mum?.

The month January, the year 1958, and once again the packing cases have been filled. Tomorrow I shall be embarking on my second great adventure. Dad, a serving soldier, had once again been posted overseas, and tomorrow Mum, my baby brother Stewart and myself were to begin the journey to rejoin dad somewhere In Africa called Sierra Leone.

I had just had my 11th birthday, Stewart was to have his first birthday in just two days, the 27th. So, on Tuesday the 24th my uncle Albert drove us all from Sheffield down to London, where we stayed overnight to enable us to get to Blackbush Airport in Kent by 7.00am, for a flight scheduled for 8.00am. (this of course was well before the two hour check in and security checks). We arrived in good time, which allowed us time to say our farewells to uncle Albert, check in for the flight and for mum to get a nice cup of tea.

I can see the scene as clearly today as if it were only yesterday. The airport was ex WWII fighter command station, and consisted of about four nissan huts. What was obviously the main station office and control tower had been converted into the Check In and Customs, the luggage collection point and waiting lounge, and that was it.

To give you some idea of then and now. There were no tickets just an Army travel warrant. Yes, you had to have a passport, and they were stamped, you were asked to pass your hand luggage over. No case tickets were affixed to your luggage, just the flight number written on in chalk,the packing cases were to follow by freight, and you were now moved to the departure lounge, to be more correct a large draughty office with a counter serving tea and biscuits, which were free. The scene could have been the same in any railway station in those days and consisted of a very large water boiler, a large tea pot, and the basic thick rimmed white cups and saucers.

At 7.30am we were told that we should go to the plane ready for take off, so we go outside to look for the plane not that it took a lot of finding, it was the only one there. So that's what's going to take me to Africa is it ? I recognised the plane immediately it was one of them that you see in all the war films, you know that one where all the parachutist jump from, it's a DC10......... But in fact it wasn't, it was a twin engined Viking, the British version of the DC10. The operating company was Airworks, who apparently contracted for all of the flights for British service personal and their families. Or if you were a civil engineer on contract in the middle east in those days, the odds are you would have flown by Airworks.

So we get on the plane and I was right it is the one for parachutists, extremely basic in the interior design very little of the airframe had been covered in, and had a carrying capacity of just 42. We were about two thirds full. So we strapped in and waited for the off. Although this was my second great adventure, the first being to Hong Kong when I was just four, on which occasion we went out and returned on the original slow boat to China. But for me this was my first flight. So this was it as the engines roared into life, so much so that I was convinced the wings were going to drop off, but as we moved forward they were still there.

To take a flight to Sierra Leone nowadays it would take from Heathrow approximately 9 hours. But, in 1958, it took just a little longer. The first leg of our journey was to Paris, to what is now the Charles De Gaul airport, with a stopover to refuel, we take off at 12.30pm for the next leg of our journey to Gibraltar.

It was on this leg of the journey that I found out what them paper bags are for, which they handed out when boarding the plane. I reckon they knew something don't you? Flying in a twin engine Viking is I assure you NOTHING like the modern jets. In fact, the expression "Flying by the seat of your pants" comes to mind. Turbulence, you have never experienced turbulence till you've flown over the Pyrenees in a twin engine Viking. One minute your flying at what seems like hundreds if not thousands of feet above the mountains, the next minute you are looking up at the peaks above you. What was the words of that song from "Those magnificent men in their flying machines" Oh yes, "Up Down Flying Around, looping the the loop and defying the ground." Well we never actually looped the loop, but my tummy certainly did. Oh those up's and downs; pass me another one of those paper bags.

So we arrived in Gibraltar at about 6.30pm and disembark for a overnight stay. Now for a rough arse kid from Sheffield, this hotel had to be seen to be believed, it had like shiny floors in squares and even bigger shiny rectangles on the walls and massive columns to hold the roof up. Well for a eleven year old it seemed like a magnificent palace. I now know that this was commonplace for hotels to be clad in marble, but there were no package trips to the Costa's in them there day's, and even if there was we were not the sort of family that could afford to take foreign holidays. Following a evening meal and early to bed, we arose the following morning ready to continue the next leg of the journey: breakfast and back to the airport.

Six of our fellow travellers had reached their destination at Gibraltar, being naval personal. For the rest of us the next refueling stop was to be at Villa Sinarious, in the North West Sahara, which was a very small island off the mainland. ( I have since been informed that it is that small Island next to Lanzarote). To be more precise it was a large sand bar. However, it had a more serious purpose for it's location, following the end of the Spanish Civil War, the royalist prisoners were incarcerated on this Island and some were still there. The airstrip was made out of interlocking metal sheets, the noise and vibration at both take off and landing was very scary. We were not allowed off the plane, which would have been pointless as there was literally no where to go, but the heat was so oppressive, that we were well pleased to be taking off yet again on the next leg.

So now, we are flying over the African mainland on our way to the Gambia, for yet another stopover for the night in Bathurst (which is now Benjul) Once again I enjoyed a good evening meal but this time there was no early bed for me directly outside the hotel veranda was the Atlantic Ocean, so I'm off for a swim. I can well understand why the Gambia as become a popular tourist resort, though very primitive at the time as far as the infrastructure was concerned. But it would be hard to find a bluer sea or whiter beaches. Following breakfast we are off again.

And so we now finally embark on the final leg of our journey, flying at low level allowed us to see wild life on the plains of French West Africa and the north western forests of Sierra Leone, before approaching Freetown to complete the journey. A Journey of two and a half days, for a trip that would take about nine hours in this day and age. As you disembark from the plane you clear customs and board a small ferry to transport you to the mainland and the Capital, Freetown. Freetown is known as the finest natural harbour in West Africa, it also holds its fish market on the dockside, and long before you see Freetown, you smell it.

But for all of this in the two years and nine months we spent in Sierra Leone I still can recall many, many happy memories and my one regret is that I never went back. I was told a long time ago that I ought to commit my memories to the written form, but some of the tales I could relate, even I find hard to believe let alone the unsuspecting reader, but trust me, ther're all true.

But who knows through the medium of a blog I could possibly be tempted to shared a tale or two.
Possible Title's :- The Governors Daughter, Snake Bite, The Deputy Prime Minister, Shark Attack, Mamba on the veranda, Diamonds Riots, The Cotton Tree and more. I only need encouragement

You only need to ask, thanks for taking time out to read my recolections

Best regards

Keith.