Leaving Home

What shall I do? I have my trumpet, my 16mm Bolex film camera, a large tripod, my C22 Mamyaflex professional still camera that weigh a couple of kilos, a bottle of Kirsch and some clothes and it all weighs 28 kg.

I have to make a decision, what’s more important to me, the movie camera or the portrait camera. I decide on the movie camera but I still need the tripod. I just have to ditch some clothes and put the trumpet back in the cupboard finally get it down to 23 kg. I can’t possibly ditch anything else or I’ll have nothing to wear in Australia. So I take my raincoat which I wasn’t going to take, but the pockets hold a lot of stuff including the Kirsch, some lenses and some clothes and I finally get the suitcase down to 20 kg exactly but my raincoat hangs on me with all the weight but who cares.

I don’t sleep well that night I guess I’m too excited. No one speaks much during breakfast. Mum and Dad are sad, especially Dad. They come with me to the Railway Station in Thun to see me off. Ben is there with his family and we say our farewells. Everyone is sad. Lots of tears. I assure Dad that I’ll be back probably sooner than later. But I think deep down he knows that’s the end of our close relationship. Mum is brave and tells me the last things about looking after myself, eat properly and all the things mothers say to their offspring when they leave the home.

We take a train to Geneva

At last, the train leaves Thun and we settle down for our long journey. Both of us wear our new blazers with Thun emblems stitched on our pockets. We have to stay a night in Geneva. The plane takes off for London very early the next day so we have to be in Geneva the day before. The Australian government pays for the hotel accommodation and we meet a few young people with the same Qantas bags in the lobby. Obviously doing the same thing. We get to talk to a few of them and its decided we should go to a night club after dinner. Last night in Switzerland etc.

But we don’t last long and are in bed well before midnight contemplating the next morning. Breakfast is early and we’re all gathered together in a bus to take us to Orly airport in Geneva.

I had imagined the plane to be something out of an old movie, with benches, lots of people with chickens in cages on their laps and boxes everywhere and lots of engine and wind noise, so I got a pleasant surprise when I board the Swissair Caravelle Jet to take us to London. Proper airplane seats and a quiet atmosphere, they even serve coffee and biscuits on the short two-hour flight to London.

Brittish Eagle Electra

At Heathrow, we are ferried into a bus to a new terminal where we are met by a lot of Greek, French and Italian people with similar Qantas bags. The airplane is a big Electra, with four propeller jet engines, owned by British Eagle, a Charter Company.

It takes 11 hours from London to Kuwait in the Arabian Gulf where we have a short stop for refueling. The airport is a small shed on the airstrip. It smells of fuel, is hot. Ben feels sick and is talking about throwing up. We’re glad to get back on the plane for another 8 hours to Ceylon.

The food on the plane is boring, always the same, mashed potatoes, carrots and green pees with some sort of gravy soaked meat. Someone is playing a trick, pouring fruit salad into a sick bag then pretending to eat it again somewhere else.

There are a few Swiss people in the plane, mostly our age, mid twenties but there is an older bloke around fourty from Basel, we call him Dad. He’s an electrician.

There are no movies or any in-flight entertaining on board the plane. It is incredibly boring. We eat drink and sleep. The flight is reasonably calm but the propjet engines of the Electra are droning.