Yesterday was a consolidation day. Decided to take advantage of the time I spent with Bob and write the framework for his story, although transcribing the interview recordings will have to wait. Once done, I cracked on with writing up previous interviews. The challenge for me is that an average interview, say 3 hours, can mean 20-25 pages. Not the world's fastest typist, but pointless to get anyone else to do it as there are so many references that only I understand. It's a useful exercise though, as I am able to note sections that will be useful or usable later on.
Took a break in the afternoon and wandered into downtown Katoomba in search of a bank and chemist - fortified by 'Vapo-drops' (Mentholyptus to you and me), I returned and cracked on, enjoying the sun, warm through the window. Still in the early 20s here, although the wind is picking up and the dreaded rain threatens.
My friend Al only moved in 8 weeks ago, and while much needs to be done, even since I have been here the transformation of both garden and home has been astonishing. Of course he can only see what's outstanding, but I think it's useful to have me there looking at it all with an independent eye. It's a small space, but rather lovely, if a little cramped for three grown men plus dog plus cat. I am hugely grateful to him for letting me stay amidst the turmoil of it all, however, not least as it saves me the cost of hotel accommodation during my visit. It also means I can enjoy chatting and laughing with someone I first met over 30 years ago. Last night, amidst the giggling, I decided I will cook for them this weekend. Least I can do, if you ask me!
Up early this morning to allow time to get into the city during rush hour. Quite chilly as I quietly leave the house, but am off and away down the mountain by 7.00am. Honestly, the road over the Blue Mountains is a shocker - apparently it's one of the main arterial roads to the west, which is why it's clogged with those huge, American-looking trucks. It's supposed to be two lanes in either direction, but a massive widening programme is causing chaos. Traffic is at a crawl into Sydney, but 2.5 hours later, I find a parking space, go and find some coffee and then mooch in the sun until 10.00am comes around.
Now, I am seeing Jenny and Minnie, two of the three-women crew who drove a Morris 1100 from London to Sydney. They were 26 and 23 respectively, and Minnie wrote a column for the Sydney Telegraph, which she continued to do throughout the 10,000 mile journey. Their third crew member, Eileen, the Woman's Page editor on the paper, passed away sometime ago. I read back through Minnie's columns again last night and as before, sat and laughed out loud, reading her 'take' on their adventure. Hard to think she was 23 as the columns are very clever and quite hilarious.
Armed with my laptop and various books, I find the address, open the gate and walk down steps that lead to the front door. I knock. Moments later, a stick-thin, grey-hared woman in jeans and a denim shirt opens the door, and I am ushered into what is obviously a huge and very beautiful house. This is Minnie. She is as slim as she was at 23. I am guided down stairs into a lovely sitting room, the sun treaming through windows to the left, with doors open to a terrace beyond, table and benches, and standing in the sunlight is Jenny, saying hello, shaing my hand and smiling warmly behind her glasses. Funny, I have seen so many photographs of both of them from 1968, and of course they are 45 years older, but instantly recognisable. Talking of photo's, in most of the ones I have seen, Minnie is smoking. She still does, and roars approval as I wave my packet of fags at her! With coffee served, they interogate me about who I am, what I am doing, and so on. Simply inviting a perfect stranger into your home is not to be sneezed at, even if they have come all the way from England!
At some point we break for lunch, and I run out to move my car, parked in a 2 hour only space. Then, sitting down to munch on bread, prosciutto and sun-dried tomatoes ("is it too early for a glass of wine?"), we carry on. Jenny can recall much more than Minnie, but as I have prepared many questions based on what I have read, they are both laughing and marvelling at events, scrapes and situations long-since forgotten (although Jenny did fly down to Sydney from her home in western New South Wales yesterday, and they both spent last night over a bottle of wine or two, recalling the Marathon and again reading Minnie's columns).
Jenny in particular has travelled the world a great deal since 1968, as she worked for a merchant bank, which took her to the Soviet Union in the early 1970s, and for a time to Vienna. Minnie carried on with journalism for many years, eventually writing a regular televison column before she decided she didn't like the anxiety that deadlines represented. They had all but lost touch until five years ago, they met again. They were both very aware of Eileen's absence today, and Jenny asked if I'd be willing to meet Eileen's daughter while I'm here to tell her more about her mother's exploits in 1968. Naturally I said 'of course'.
Then suddenly almost 4.5 hours has passed. Jenny took a photograph of Minnie and I sitting at the kitchen table, and I took some copies of a few things, including a lovely photograph of them both on the ship from Bombay to Perth. Jenny had even found a spare Marathon car number, a large adhesive Number 41 which would have been afixed to the Morris 1100's door. I suggested she framed it as soon as possible, and hung it in pride of place in her home. "You know?", she said as I packed up my things, "I think I will!"
All too soon it was time to depart. I thanked these two laughing women, so different from each other in so many ways but united by their madcap journey across continents 45 years ago, still giggling about disposable, paper underwear and being held up by bandits - "to this day", said Minnie, " nobody believes us. But it actually happened".
Then, as I leave, Minnie suggests that once I have written the first two or three chapters, and a summary treatment of the proposed 'book', I should send them to her as one of her closest friends is a literary agent of some renown.
If that isn't motivation to keep going and get it done, I don't know what is!
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