Читать книгу No One Said It Would Be Easy - Des Molloy - Страница 35

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Of course, tamed is a relative term because although he kept it all together during the social intercourse that was my farewell, the journey back to Mo's place in Twickers was not as successful. It required an urgent stop, fortunately on a semi-country back road. Here Roly attempted to turn himself inside out, clearly an impossibility but give him his due, he tried … man did he try. The mighty had fallen.

There was a sadness at leaving Mo the next day, not knowing if I would ever see her again, seing as there was no commitment to returning to the UK. I gave her a Kiwi hongi which is the rubbing of nose and forehead together. The breath of the two hongi-ing mix, and it is a ceremony of accepting friendship, however, it would be some years before I would be aware enough of Maori protocols to know it is always only used as a greeting, not as a farewell. Still, the physical contact was emotional and strong. Interestingly I recall no such emotion in leaving Steph because I had such confidence that it was only a temporary separation and already there was an intention to meet in Mexico City at the Poste Restante on 15th Jan 1977 at Noon … only seven weeks hence. However, she clearly felt differently and wrote to my parents saying ‘It was the worst goodbye I have experienced and I made a complete fool of myself by sobbing all over the place which embarrassed Roly terribly and even Des found it hard to handle'. Personally, I think Roly was too ill and hung-over to notice or feel anything. He was a very subdued and contrite boy who took to his bed immediately when we were on board, not to arise for several days.

The TSS Stefan Batory was built in Holland in the early 1950s but had been operated by the Polish Ocean Lines since 1969 after a refit in Gdansk. Although by 1976 air travel had largely superseded the common use of ocean liners for passenger travel, the news didn’t seem to have filtered through to the communist-bloc. This was the cheapest way I could find to get to the North American continent. Of course, being that it was being run by the ‘Commies’, I’d taken a bit of ribbing and suffered many Skoda and Lada jokes. Everyone seemed to know a shocking anecdote about travelling by Aeroflot or had a neighbour who’d endured Moscovich or Trabant ownership. Pointing out that these were not Polish or ships didn't seem to make a difference. Of course, the food was Eastern European … it would be, it was a Polish ship. I found that OK and Roly didn’t eat much. He came aboard in a pretty precarious state and we sailed out into the Atlantic before he could get any sea-legs. The head-on, Force-Eight high seas, and relentless motion kept him cabin-bound and queasy. I told table-mates I was travelling with my brother, but for a long