First Impressions

by Margaret Thornton

  Jane noticed two ladies standing nearby. She had seen them the night before in the lounge. She guessed that before the holiday was over they would all have got to know one another, at least by sight, but you were sure to know some better than others. One of the ladies caught her eye and smiled in a friendly way. Jane moved across to speak to her.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Are you enjoying the trip so far?’

  ‘Oh, very much so,’ replied the woman, who looked to be the elder of the two. Jane had taken them, from a distance, to be mother and daughter. Now she could see that they were much closer in age, but this one appeared older than her friend – or sister or whoever it was – because of the way she was dressed. ‘We’re enjoying it, aren’t we, Shirley?’ She addressed the woman who was standing next to her, and she turned to join in the conversation.

  ‘Yes we are; this is the third trip we’ve been on with Galaxy,’ she said. ‘I’m Shirley, by the way, and this is my friend, Ellen.’

  They all nodded and said ‘How do you do?’ Jane introduced herself. ‘I came on my own,’ she told them. ‘I was really quite nervous about it, but I’ve made some friends already. That’s Dave, who I’m sitting with on the coach, and the older couple are Mavis and Arthur.’ Those three were chatting and laughing together. ‘We all sat together for dinner last night, and we got on really well. It’s nice to make new friends, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, those are the two who were late back on the ship, aren’t they?’ remarked Shirley.

  Her friend, Ellen, glanced at her reprovingly. ‘You’ve no room to talk, Shirley!’

  ‘Oh, come on, Ellen. We’ve never been late back,’ Shirley replied with a little laugh.

  ‘Well, we’ve cut it fine a time or two,’ said Ellen. She turned to Jane. ‘She will insist on waiting till the very last minute before we go back to the coach. “He said half past, and that’s the time we’re going back,” she’ll say. And there’s me panicking and thinking they’ll go without us. It’s a wonder I’ve not had a heart attack with her goings-on!’ She was smiling though, so Jane knew there was no malice in her words.

  ‘Now you know they have to wait till everyone’s back,’ said Shirley. ‘They’re not allowed to go and leave you. Anyway, I promise to do better this time. But I like making the most of every minute, you see.’

  ‘It’s a thankless job for the drivers, isn’t it?’ remarked Jane. ‘I bet they feel like driving away when people keep them waiting. And it’s such a big responsibility, looking after a coach load of people. How do they manage to know them all? I’m sure I could never do it.’

  ‘Maybe it gets easier with practice,’ said Ellen. ‘Oh … they’re getting on now, see. Come along, Shirley. Nice talking to you, Jane. Maybe we’ll chat again later.’

  Jane watched them as they stood there waiting to board the coach. Chalk and cheese, one might say, but she had the impression that they were good friends. It would be interesting to find out how they knew one another. The younger one – or so she took her to be – called Shirley, was the height of fashion. She was wearing cream trousers and a smart red and white striped top with a bright blue cotton scarf tied at a jaunty angle. She was carrying a jacket that matched her trousers, and her feet – with bright red toenails – were shod in a pair of strappy red sandals.

  Ellen, in complete contrast, wore a summer skirt in a floral design and a cotton blouse with a Peter Pan collar. She carried a woollen cardigan and wore sensible Clarks’ sandals. She looked very neat and tidy but … so old-fashioned!

  Jane noticed when she and Dave boarded the coach that the two women were sitting on one of the front two seats. People often booked early to get these prime positions.

  ‘Good morning all,’ said Mike, in his usual jovial manner. ‘Slept well, have you? And enjoyed your first evening? Good, good … Now, have you all handed in your keys?’

  There were one or two audible gasps, then two ladies, looking rather sheepish, handed the giant-sized keys to Mike. He laughed. ‘Never mind, there’s always somebody, believe me! I’ll just nip back with them.’

  When everyone was finally settled Mike counted heads, then, with Bill at the wheel, they set off on what would be a long journey to the Rhine valley.

  Leaving Calais they headed east on the motorway that linked northern France with Belgium. It was an attractive tree-lined road, and seemed quiet compared with the M1 and M6 back home. Jane remarked on the fact to Dave.

  ‘They have to pay tolls to use the motorways over here,’ he reminded her, ‘so drivers often prefer to use an alternative route. Coach drivers have to take the shortest route from A to B, unless there’s something of particular interest to see.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Jane. ‘It’s all so interesting, though. I get bored travelling on our motorways, or if I’m driving myself I get worried by all the traffic. It’s so nice to be able to relax.’ She gave a contended sigh, and was aware of Dave smiling at her. The place names they read as they bypassed the towns – Mons, Ypres, Armentieres – were familiar because they evoked such poignant memories. No one on board would have lived through the First World War, but they all knew of the carnage and the sorrow it had caused. There was a song that the soldiers used to sing. How did it go?

  Mademoiselle from Armentieres,

  Never been kissed for forty years …

  At least that was the polite version. Jane smiled to herself. There would no doubt have been a bawdier one, but women in those days weren’t supposed to know about such things. Times had certainly changed.

  Now and again through the trees they caught a glimpse of war graves, row upon row of white crosses. The countryside they were passing through was where so many British soldiers – and German ones too – had died in the trenches. It was a peaceful scene now, the fields bright with golden dandelions, but here and there by the roadside were clumps of blood-red poppies, a stark reminder of what had taken place almost a hundred years ago.

  Mike, who was doing a commentary on matters of interest, pointed out that some of the fields still contained tank traps – triangular concrete blocks like miniature pyramids – because they were travelling along what had once been the Siegfried Line, a German line of demarcation, but to most people, including Jane, the place where the British soldiers vowed to hang out the washing.

  Now and again they passed an idyllic scene: tall poplar trees evenly spaced along a cart track and a red-tiled farmhouse in the distance, just like a painting Jane remembered having seen called ‘The Avenue at Middelharnis’.

  The coach sped along, eating up the miles, or kilometres as it was over here. Jane noticed that Arthur, in the seat across the aisle, had dozed off, his head nodding and his glasses slipping forward. He gave a snort, and his wife nudged him. He awoke with a start.

  ‘Come along, Arthur,’ Jane heard Mavis say to him. ‘We’re getting off soon, for a coffee stop.’ Mike had just informed them that they would be stopping for half an hour, no more, at the next service station.

  It turned out to be a pleasant place with cosy little alcoves interspersed with flowering plants and small palm trees. It seemed very attractive and welcoming compared with the hustle and bustle of the service areas on the M6; they were so huge and impersonal. Or maybe it was just because it was different and ‘foreign’. Jane was still almost pinching herself at the idea of being abroad and, what was more, being in such congenial company when she had thought she might be on her own. But there was no time to linger. They scarcely had time to drink their hot fragrant coffee and pay a visit to the facilities before they were back on the coach.

  Mike told them that their lunch stop, in another couple of hours, would also be in Belgium, near to the German border. It was a similar place to the former one – as in England, they seemed to follow a pattern – where Jane and Dave dined on vegetable soup with crusty bread. Jane was tempted by the apple pie and cream, but Dave reminded her that they might be having apfelstrudel that evening at their overnight stop on Rüdesheim; so she chos
e a slice of gateau instead.

  She no longer felt embarrassed at being with Dave. He seemed to take it for granted that they would stay together. And he no longer insisted on paying, which was as it should be. So that was another little problem that had been solved.

  Soon after the lunch stop they crossed the German border, and by early afternoon they were approaching the Rhine. Ahead of them they could see on the horizon the twin towers of the huge Gothic cathedral at Cologne, but they bypassed the city, taking the road towards Bonn.

  ‘The birthplace of Beethoven,’ Bill reminded them, putting on a tape of the composer’s Fifth Symphony. The drivers had changed places now, with Mike at the wheel and Bill doing the commentary. Not that any comments were necessary to help them appreciate the lovely riverside towns and villages through which they were passing. Königswinter, Bad Godesburg, Oberwinter, with houses painted in pastel shades of cream and pink. High on the hillsides were turreted castles, and steeply sloping vineyards ran down to the river. The Rhine was the lifeline of the area, a broad silver-grey ribbon of river with parallel roads and railway tracks running alongside each bank.

  They were approaching Remagen, famous for the capture of the bridgehead by the Americans at the end of the war. Jane noticed that Arthur was now wide awake and appeared to be listening intently, though with a stern expression on his face, as Bill told them the story of the bridge at Remagen. It was the only bridge that had not been destroyed by the retreating German army. The Americans had established a bridgehead there, and Hitler, consumed with rage, had ordered that all those in charge of the bridge defences must be shot. Ten days later the bridge collapsed except for two massive towers, like castles, one on each bank. One of them was now a museum of peace.

  Jane knew the story. She had watched the film, A Bridge Too Far, on the television with her husband, Tom, although he had been far more engrossed in it than she had been. As far as she was concerned it was all a long time ago. We were all part of the European community – be it for better or worse – so what good did it do to keep looking back on it all?

  They stopped at Boppard, a lively, more modern-looking town with a mile-long promenade.

  ‘This is where you will be boarding the pleasure steamer for a sail up to Rüdesheim,’ Mike told them. He glanced at his watch. ‘You can go and stretch your legs for quarter of an hour, but make sure you are back here by ten minutes to three. The boat leaves at three o’clock, and you mustn’t miss it; it’s a lovely trip. Bill and I won’t be coming with you. We’re taking the coach along, and we’ll meet you at the other end at Rüdesheim, that’s where you leave the boat, then it’s not very far to our hotel. So … enjoy yourselves, ladies and gents, and we’ll see you later.’

  Boppard was a popular tourist resort. There was a good number of holidaymakers strolling along the promenade and around the narrow streets behind the hotels and shops that faced the river.

  All the passengers heeded the instructions and were back in time to board the steamer. The day had kept its earlier promise of fine weather, and the sun was shining brightly, albeit with a gentle breeze, as Jane and Dave sat on the open-air top deck enjoying the passing scenery, and the commentary, given first in German then in English, with a guttural accent.

  It was reputed to be the most picturesque part of the Rhine. Pastel-coloured houses and steepled churches on both riverbanks, and on every craggy hilltop another castle. Here was a village church you could enter only through the pub, as the vicar was both the publican and the priest! Here was Maus – Mouse – castle, then Katz – Cat – castle, and here was the village of St Gaur which took its name from the patron saint of innkeepers, Jane doubted that she would remember all these facts when she arrived home, but she was busy with her camera, snapping away at each interesting scene.

  They rounded a bend in the river, and the guide told them that they were approaching the Lorelei rock. He stopped talking, then the boat was filled with the sound of German voices singing the song that told the story of the famous legend. Jane couldn’t understand the German words, but she remembered the song that they had learned long ago at school.

  I know not what comes o’er me, or why my spirits fail;

  Strange visions arise before me, I think of an ancient tale …

  There on a promontory running out from the cliff was the bronze statue of the Lorelei maiden. The legend told of sailors at twilight being lured to a watery grave by the maiden singing her song as she combed her golden hair. Just a story – a sad story – but there was an element of truth in that there were dangerous rocks in that part of the river, and boats had been known to come to grief there.

  ‘Rüdesheim,’ called the guide a few moments later, and the Galaxy passengers all alighted from the boat to find their coach waiting for them at the side of the road.

  Mike counted heads. ‘Thank goodness for that! You’re all here. No one has been swept away by the Lorelei maiden. Good trip, isn’t it?’

  They all agreed that they had enjoyed it very much. Their hotel was no more than half a mile along the river. Bill pulled up outside a white painted hotel with a brightly coloured awning, and little tables where guests were enjoying coffee or ice cream.

  ‘Here we are,’ he called. ‘Hotel Niederwald. Collect your keys at the desk, and your luggage will be taken care of. See you later, everyone …’

  Six

  Compared with its light and sunny aspect on the outside, the hotel appeared somewhat forbidding and gloomy inside, until one became accustomed to the dark wooden doors and balustrades, the deep red carpet and the subdued lighting from the wrought-iron chandeliers. First impressions, however, could be deceptive, and guests soon learnt that it was a friendly, welcoming hotel. The receptionist at the huge oaken desk, which resembled a dock in a court of law, received them all with a cheery smile and good wishes for a pleasant stay, along with – once again – a key with a giant-sized brass plate with the room number on it.

  The lift, like the one in the previous hotel, was antiquated with room for only four, at a tight squeeze, as they made their way up to the second floor where the single rooms were situated. Dave and Jane were sharing the lift with Shirley and Ellen, the ladies whom Jane had met that morning. She was surprised that they were not sharing a room – it was a good deal cheaper to do so – but maybe they each liked their privacy. It could well be that having spent the day together they preferred just their own company at night.

  And so it was that when they had had a wash and change of clothes – their cases arrived promptly outside the doors – the four of them found themselves sharing the lift down to the dining room on the ground floor. As was customary on coach tours, the tables were set for six or eight; there were rarely tables for two as it was supposed that the travellers would have become acquainted and would wish to dine with new friends.

  Mavis and Arthur were already there, waiting for the dining-room doors to open at seven o’clock. By mutual agreement, it seemed, the six of them sat down at the same table, one with a notice saying ‘Galaxy Travel’. There was another coach party staying there as well; their tables had different coloured napkins – green rather than the red for the Galaxy people – and their notices said ‘Richmond Travel’, suggesting that they were from Yorkshire. Or it might be the Richmond near to London. The accents soon indicated that they were Yorkshire folk. The dining room was busy, but the service was surprisingly prompt, the coach parties being served first, to be followed later by the private guests.

  The watery minestrone soup with chunks of – not very fresh – bread did not bode well; but the following courses made up for it.

  ‘There! What did I tell you?’ proclaimed Arthur when the main course arrived. ‘Wiener Schnitzel; they always serve that the first night.’

  ‘How do you know, Arthur?’ said his wife. ‘We’ve not stayed in Germany before.’

  ‘No, but that’s what we got in Austria, and they speak the same language. And I reckon we’ll have it tomorrow in the Black Fores
t.’

  ‘Well, we’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?’ said Mavis. ‘I must say this is delicious.’

  And so it was; tender fillets of veal in breadcrumbs, served with slices of lemon, fluffy mashed potatoes and green beans. The dessert was no surprise either. Apfelstrudel, as they had anticipated, apples and raisins, flavoured with cinnamon, encased in mouth-watering puffed pastry, with lashings of cream. Five of them, all except Ellen, shared a bottle of the Rhine wine recommended by the waiter, whilst Ellen chose to drink Apfelsaft.

  Conversation flowed easily around the dining tables as they all talked about how much they had enjoyed the day, and became better acquainted with one another. Jane was sitting between Dave and Shirley, with Ellen, Mavis and Arthur at the other side of the table.

  Many of the guests had made an effort to ‘dress for dinner’, especially the ladies, although it was not obligatory. Only a few of the men, the older ones, were wearing jackets and ties, the majority had opted for open-necked shirts. The ladies, though, had all tried to look their best. Jane had chosen to wear an ankle-length black skirt rather than her usual trousers, with a floral top. Shirley was dressed ‘to the nines’ in a long skirt and a top of heavy cream-coloured lace with a diamond (well, probably diamanté) necklace and earrings. She was carefully made up: mascara and eyeliner, delicate blue eyeshadow and shimmering pale pink lipstick. Her dark brown hair was highlighted with blonde streaks. A lady who liked to look glamorous and liked people to notice her appearance. As Jane talked with her she discovered that she was a friendly, likeable person, but possibly the teeniest bit vain?

  Her friend, Ellen, was wearing a ‘two-piece’, a maroon dress and matching jacket made of what Jane thought was called Moygashel? Well, something like that, more the sort of suit her mother might wear. Her hair was grey and newly permed, and she wore a light dusting of powder and the tiniest smear of lipstick. It was clear, though, that she had made an effort to look nice, according to her way of thinking. She looked happy as she talked animatedly to Mavis who was sitting next to her.