First Impressions

by Margaret Thornton

  Arthur was proved right as far as the starter was concerned, the soup was, indeed, watery, though piping hot with noodles and onion rings, served with chunks of rather dry brown bread. The chicken – another accurate guess – was a large breast portion for each of them, served with the inevitable French fries. It was very tasty and Jane realized how hungry she was. She emptied the plate, which was unusual for her, apart from a few over-crisp chips.

  There had been a bit of a friendly argument when the wine waiter appeared, Jane insisting that she really must pay for her own glass of wine, and Dave saying that he wouldn’t hear of it.

  ‘Stop yer quibbling, the pair of you,’ Arthur had intervened. ‘We’ll have a bottle of wine for the four of us. I’m paying, and that’s that! White wine alright for you? That’s what Mavis likes.’

  They settled on a medium-sweet French wine of Arthur’s choice. He seemed to consider himself something of a connoisseur. Conversation was flowing easily by the time they had almost emptied their glasses.

  ‘We were so embarrassed when we were late back at the coach,’ Mavis told them. ‘I was afraid Arthur might have one of his turns with us dashing about all over the place.’

  ‘Give over, Mavis, I’ve not had a funny turn for ages. It was you that was getting in a tizzy. I knew we’d get back in time. And I’ve admitted I was wrong, haven’t I? But I was sure it was t’other staircase. Aye, I should’ve listened to you, I know.’

  ‘Never mind, you got back safely and no harm done,’ said Dave. ‘You’re not the first couple to be late back, nor will you be the last. I should imagine it’s a nightmare for the drivers, especially on the Continent, waiting for people who are late.’

  Conversation drifted, inevitably, to tales of the various tours they had been on before. Jane admitted it was all new to her and how much she was looking forward to the new experience. Mavis and Arthur, it turned out, were seasoned travellers on the Continent.

  ‘We’re not much for the seaside,’ said Mavis, ‘at least not over here. What’s the point of going abroad if all you do is lie on the beach and get sunstroke? If you want to do that you might as well go to Blackpool or Scarborough.’

  ‘Except that you’re more likely to get blown off the beach than to get heat stroke,’ said Dave with a laugh. ‘I know what you mean though. I must admit I’ve never been to Spain. Sun and sand and sangria has never appealed to me, though I’d like to see the interior of Spain, cities like Madrid and Barcelona. One day, perhaps …’ He caught Jane’s eye, and she smiled and looked away.

  ‘Arthur’s not keen on flying either,’ said Mavis. ‘That’s why we come on these coach tours. I tell him it’s as safe as houses up in the air. You’re far more likely to have a car crash … or a coach crash. God forbid!’ she added hastily. ‘Galaxy has an excellent record, though. We’ve been travelling with them for years now.’

  ‘Aye, one trip up in an aeroplane was quite enough for me,’ said Arthur. ‘She managed to persuade me to go to America, about ten year ago, wasn’t it, Mavis?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ replied his wife. ‘Well, eleven years to be exact. We went to New England, in the fall, as they call it over there.’ She smiled reminiscently. ‘The maple trees in Vermont … I’ve never seen anything quite so lovely, before or since. You must admit it was a grand sight, Arthur.’

  ‘Aye, it was; I’ll not deny it. But you’ll not get me there again. Besides, I don’t know as aeroplane travel would do for me now, not with my blood pressure and what have you. I’d be happy enough to stay in Britain – or the UK as it’s now called. There’s some lovely places back home: Scotland and t’Cotswolds, and t’Yorkshire Dales; but Mavis likes to go further afield once a year, don’t you, love?’

  ‘Yes. Austria, Switzerland, the Loire Valley; we’ve even been to Czechoslovakia – the Czech Republic, that is. But it’s the first time I’ve managed to persuade him to visit Germany, isn’t it, Arthur?’

  Arthur nodded. ‘Aye, so it is,’ he said meaningfully. ‘I’d vowed I’d never set eyes on another German, not as long as I lived. I saw more than enough of ’em sixty year ago, an’ I can’t see as how they’ll have changed all that much. Leopards don’t change their spots, you know.’

  ‘You served in the last war then, Arthur?’ asked Dave.

  ‘Aye, so I did. I joined up in 1940, when I was eighteen. I didn’t wait to be called up. Of course by that time – it was after Dunkirk – most of the troops were back in England, except for the Desert Rats. So we had to bide our time. I was at a camp in the south of England. We made up for it in the end though, damned sure we did. I went over for the D-Day landings. Came through it all in one piece, thank God, at least as far as my body was concerned. But it’s what it does to your mind … I’ve never talked about it, not to anyone, certainly not to Mavis, nor to my parents. I was one of them that went to Dachau, you see, to release the prisoners.’ He gave a shudder. ‘Enough said. It’s still with me, though I try to forget what I saw. And I never go to any of their damned reunions.’

  Dave did a quick calculation. He had guessed that Arthur might be eighty. By his reckoning now the man must be eighty-three, his wife possibly a few years younger.

  ‘I’ve managed to persuade him that it’s all a long time ago,’ said Mavis, gently touching his hand as it rested on the table. ‘It was a couple of years after the war ended that I met Arthur. He was a sales rep – commercial travellers, they used to call them then – and he came into the hardware shop where I worked.’

  ‘Aye, we met over the pots and pans and kettles, didn’t we, love?’ Arthur looked at his wife fondly. ‘It didn’t take me long to realize that she was the one for me. And we’ve been married for fifty-five years, haven’t we, Mavis?’

  ‘That’s right,’ she replied, smiling. ‘And never a cross word, eh, Arthur?’ Her lively blue-grey eyes twinkled at him.

  ‘I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,’ he replied. ‘She’s had summat to put up with, looking after me, I can tell you. But we’ve made a go of it, haven’t we, love?’

  Their new friends learned that Mavis would be eighty later that year. They still lived in Blackburn, where they had met, and they had two children, one of each, and six grandchildren.

  After they had eaten their pudding – a slice of Neapolitan ice cream with a serving of diced fruit at the side – they went into the adjoining lounge where coffee was being served. Jane found herself sitting next to Arthur. She confided to him that her mother held exactly the same views about the Germans.

  ‘She’s the same age as you, well, a couple of years older, actually, and she still tends to think of them as the enemy. My father served in the war, like you did. He was in the D-Day landings, but I never heard him talk about it either. He didn’t give the impression that he hated the Germans …’ Jane mused that her father had been a much more placid person than Arthur appeared to be, more ready to let bygones be bygones. ‘… but of course he might not have seen the same horrors that you did.’

  ‘No, p’raps not,’ agreed Arthur. ‘But my good lady says I’ve to put it all behind me and enjoy the trip to Germany. And that’s what I’ve made up my mind to do, though I haven’t actually told her that,’ he added with a quiet chuckle. ‘I’ve heard that the Rhine valley is worth seeing, and the Black Forest. And I believe they have some pretty good wines, don’t they?’

  ‘So I’ve heard,’ said Jane, smiling at him. She had thought at first that Arthur might be a bit of a ‘clever clogs’, and one who found fault with everything, but the elderly gentleman was growing on her. On the chairs on the other side of the small table Mavis and Dave were chatting comfortably together. Arthur and Mavis were a pleasant couple with whom they would, no doubt, spend quite a lot of their holiday time. There was a coach full of people, though, some of them younger than herself and Dave, and many of them considerably older. All of them, however, judging by the lively chatter in the room, looking forward to an enjoyable holiday.

  Five

&nb
sp; Mavis Johnson awoke with a start and looked round the unfamiliar room. A faint light was filtering through the shutters against the window. She could make out the shape of a wardrobe and dressing table, and another bed a few feet away from her where Arthur was still fast asleep. For a brief moment she couldn’t think where she was. Then, as a fleeting, scarcely remembered dream vanished from her mind she awoke to reality. Of course! She was not at home, she was in France, in Calais, where they had just spent the first night of their holiday, and today they would be travelling on through France and into Germany.

  She reached for her glasses – she was needing them more and more these days – then glanced at her little bedside clock that she always took away with her. It was just turned six o’clock. She had set the alarm for six thirty. They had been told that breakfast was at half past seven, then they would be on their way as soon as everyone was ready, hopefully at half past eight.

  Mavis heard a sound coming from the street, a sort of clanging noise. She realized now that it was the same sound that had awakened her. And now Arthur was awake as well. He made a grunt, then sat bolt upright in bed.

  ‘What the dickens is that? What time is it, Mavis?’

  ‘It’s five past six,’ she told him.

  ‘For crying out loud! Can’t a chap have any peace? We’re supposed to be on holiday, aren’t we? I reckon nothing to be woken up at six o’clock in the morning.’

  He was always irritable when he awoke, but the mood would soon pass and Mavis had learnt to take no notice. She smiled to herself. He was a comical sight sitting up in bed, what little hair he had standing on end, his boldly striped pyjamas ruckled around his middle, and his eyes peering short-sightedly around the room. He, too, reached for his glasses.

  ‘Can’t see a damned thing without these,’ he muttered. ‘Six o’clock! What a time to be waking up!’

  ‘We’d be getting up at half past anyway, Arthur,’ Mavis told him, ‘or we won’t be ready in time. Come along now; stop being so grumpy, and I’ll make us a nice cup of tea.’

  A small travelling kettle and two beakers, plus tea bags, powdered milk and sugar lumps were essential items in Mavis’s luggage whenever they went abroad. And the Continental plug and adaptor, of course, so that the kettle would work. Most, if not all, the hotels in the UK now provided tea-making facilities in all their bedrooms, but very few of the Continental hotels had, so far, cottoned on to the idea.

  ‘Good idea; thanks, love.’ Arthur was coming round a bit now. ‘That’ll be grand, there’s nothing like a cup of tea first thing in a morning.’

  Mavis had by now donned her dressing gown and fluffy bedroom slippers and was busy seeing to the tea-making; there was a handy plug socket over the dressing table.

  ‘Let’s get these shutters back, then we can see what we’re doing,’ she said, going to the window and fastening back the wooden blinds. Then, ‘Oh look, Arthur,’ she cried. ‘Look at those young people in the street, outside the bread shop; it’s called a boulangerie. I remember that from French lessons at school.’

  As Arthur joined her at the window they saw a man in a voluminous white apron, with a baker’s cap on his head, pushing up the shutter on the shop window. It made a loud clattering sound, and Mavis realized that must have been what she had heard earlier. It was a double-fronted shop. There was a small crowd, seven or eight teenage boys and girls standing by the shop all carrying long loaves. Some of them were nibbling at the end of the loaf, others tearing off chunks and devouring them as though they were starving. Then the man who had put up the shutter could be seen inside the shop, filling the window with loaves of all shapes and sizes. The youngsters were laughing and shouting and having a whale of a time.

  ‘I expect they’ve had a night on the town,’ said Mavis, ‘and now they’re having their breakfast. And look, he’s got some other customers already.’ A couple of middle-aged women, clad in dark coats and headscarves and carrying wicker shopping baskets were going into the shop. ‘They’ll be buying bread for their breakfast. I can just imagine how nice and fresh it will taste.’

  ‘Shopping, at six o’clock in the morning!’ exclaimed Arthur. ‘I couldn’t see you doing that, Mavis.’

  ‘Well … no, I agree that I wouldn’t, but it’s different here, Arthur. They like to buy fresh bread each day. Those long loaves don’t keep fresh like our bread does, but they taste delicious; baguettes, they’re called. We might be having some ourselves for breakfast.’

  ‘Can’t see what’s wrong with sliced bread meself,’ replied Arthur. ‘Bloomin’ Froggies! They have to be different, of course.’

  ‘We’re in a different country, Arthur,’ said Mavis, patiently. ‘Different food, different ways of doing things. You should know that by now, we’ve been abroad often enough.’

  It all added to the enjoyment of her holiday, how they did things in other lands. Mavis felt herself smiling at the young people, remembering a time when she, too, had been young and giddy. And she knew that Arthur didn’t mean half of what he said. He always had to have his little grumble about ‘damned foreigners’, but she knew that, secretly, he enjoyed these holidays abroad as much as she did.

  ‘Come on, Arthur,’ she said now. ‘Your tea’s ready.’

  ‘Thanks, love,’ he said. ‘The cup that cheers. Sorry I’m such a trial to you, Mavis love.’ He grinned at her. ‘I don’t know how you put up with me sometimes.’

  ‘No, neither do I.’ She smiled back at him. ‘But it’s a bit late now to be thinking of swapping you for someone else. I reckon I’ll have to make the best of it.’

  ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you, Mavis,’ he said now, putting an arm around her in an unusual show of affection.

  ‘Nor I without you, Arthur,’ she answered quietly.

  It was true. He drove her mad at times, but she couldn’t imagine how she would manage without him … if anything were to happen to him. That was the expression everyone used, ‘if anything happened’, when what they really meant was if the loved one was to die. Something one didn’t want to think about or talk about. And yet it would happen, sometime. Mavis knew that. It happened to everyone, eventually.

  She worried about Arthur, more than he realized. He took tablets for his blood pressure, which was sometimes rather higher than normal, and for a rapid heartbeat that troubled him from time to time. Arthur, though, to give him credit where it was due, was not a hypochondriac. He made light of his ailments, insisting that he was fighting fit. Indeed, their doctor had given him the all-clear. Mavis had insisted that he should pay a visit to the surgery before they embarked on the holiday. It might have been different had they been flying, but neither of them really liked that form of travel.

  Arthur had a little grumble again because it was a shower and not a bath. Mavis, also, preferred a bath, but was happy enough to put up with a shower for one night. There might be a proper bathroom at the main hotel, with a bit of luck. She remembered the time – twenty, thirty years ago, maybe? – when all you had was a washbasin in your room and you had to go down the corridor to the bathroom, and to the loo. Facilities had improved, both at home and abroad.

  They were ready in good time for breakfast at seven thirty, leaving their suitcase outside the bedroom door, as instructed, for the porter or one of the drivers to collect. Their companions of the previous night, Dave and Jane, were already seated at the same table, so they went to join them. Mavis thought how happy Jane looked, and how attractive in a pale green shirt and neat navy trousers. There was a quiet radiance about her. Mavis guessed – and hoped – that a romance might blossom between her and that nice man Dave before the holiday was over.

  There was the usual conversation about how well they had slept, or otherwise. Arthur complained that the sound of the plumbing had kept him awake half the night. Mavis bit her tongue. It would not be tactful to say that she had been kept awake by the sound of his snoring! At home they sometimes slept in separate rooms, but when they were abroad the extra cost of sing
le rooms would have been prohibitive.

  Continental breakfasts had improved as well. Mavis remembered the time when all you got was a roll with butter and jam. Now there was quite a feast laid out on a side table for you to help yourself. A choice of cereal and of fruit; brown and white bread rolls and croissants (no baguettes, but the rolls looked just as fresh and crisp); small jars of jam, honey or marmalade; there were even hard-boiled eggs, cold ham and thin slices of cheese. Coffee and tea as well, in large Thermos jugs, for the guests to help themselves. Mavis had learnt that it was as well to stick to coffee when abroad. Their Continental friends had no idea how to make tea, but the coffee, although strong and rather bitter was sure to wake you up.

  After breakfast, and when the travellers had got together all their bits and pieces, and had made sure they had left nothing behind, they assembled outside the hotel whilst Mike and Bill loaded the cases on to the coach.

  ‘A lovely day for our onward journey,’ Mavis remarked to Jane. Although it was still early the sun was shining in a cloudless sky and there was no nip in the air as there often was at home in early summer.

  ‘I’ve been very daring and put trousers on this morning,’ Mavis whispered confidentially. ‘I don’t often wear them but I thought why not? I’m on holiday. You don’t think they make me look fat, do you?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ replied Jane. ‘You look fine.’ She smiled to herself. What else could she say? She could hardly tell her new friend that she did look fat if, indeed, it were so. As it happened she was telling the truth. The older woman looked very smart in well-fitting navy trousers – very similar to the ones that Jane herself was wearing – and a crisp pink and white striped blouse. Admittedly she was a little on the plump side, but she carried herself well. Jane guessed that she always paid great attention to her appearance.

  There were some women who really should not wear trousers. Jane noticed a few middle-aged ladies amongst their number whose nether regions were bulging alarmingly in crimplene trousers. But they didn’t seem to be aware of how they looked, or else they didn’t care. After all, as Mavis said, they were on holiday.