Top of page

Wednesday 9th January 2002

Harmattan The harmattan had descended last night with a vengance and hung heavy over the city. I resorted to take fewer panoramic photos and entertain a return one August for better filming conditions. We set off south towards Bekawi where Jocelyn had taught in the 70s. We arrived at the SDA secondary school and were met by the Assistant Headteacher Mr Yeboah. The head teacher, Mrs Mercy Adu Tawia had expected us yesterday. She had travelled to Accra today. Nevertheless we had a nostalgic tour of the compound with Jocelyn recognising a former pupil who now taught at the school. Doris and Jocelyn recognised each other simultaneously. We then proceed up the hill to Jocelyn’s former home and were greeted by the present occupants. The school numbers had grown beyond belief but school accommodation was not keeping apace. The dorms were very crowded. The Christmas and New Year holiday was still in full swing and so we toured the school without pupils. That is not exactly true however. We were taken to one of Jocelyn’s former science classes and we met a full and eager to learn class of local girls being encouraged to learn science during the holiday. We were both given a chance to address the girls and wish them well in their studies. Jocelyn then presented the school with a collection of text books and a scanner to compliment the staff computer department. These gifts were graciously received and then we were invited to a surprise lunch at Mr Blake’s former home, the home of Mr. Yeboah. Fufu, fresh fish soup, boiled and fried plantain and okro stew. Fresh oranges and Coke followed. Our stomachs swelled. We were very satisfied. We had spent the whole day at SDA Bekwai but we promised to look in again on our return south the following week to pay our respects to the Head teacher. On our return to the Pink Panther, I made the acquaintance of the manager Mr. Charles Chaplins Nyarko, Mr Seth McForson the marketing manager and our waiter Samuel Azemura. Charles was particularly interested in my work as the Reporter to the Children’s Hearings in Dumfries & Galloway. I promised to send Charles some papers about our system. Seth asked me to provide a reference to three hotels in Scotland for him to further his studies. I hope to hear from him, to see how this has progressed. Seth also took it upon himself to ascertain the whereabouts of one surgeon Archie Badoe. We had no idea if Dr Badoe was alive or in Kumasi let alone in Ghana. There was just a chance that this surgeon who was a graduate of St Andrew’s University in Scotland and a former surgeon at Wigan where Joce’s father had been in his medical circles, would still be in the city. Joce had visited him there while a teacher at Bekwai a quarter of a century ago. Retiring to bed, I found to Jocelyn’s disgust, Eurosport and lay back to see Southampton loose 2-0 to Liverpool. No wonder top footballers are mega rich. Who in the world has not heard of David Beckham or Michael Owen?

Top of page

Thursday 10th January 2002

Surprise, surprise! After breakfast at the Pink Panther Seth McForson drove us to a clinic. It was not Dr Badoe’s clinic but correct directions were given from there. We parked outside a compound and entered the courtyard. We approached the clinic and sat on the bench with Sissi. To all intents and purposes, we were three patients waiting to be seen. The Nurse Manager approached enquiring which one of us required the doctor. I said it was a social call. “Please, wait a moment”. The nurse entered the doctor’s surgery and returned. “Please, come this way.” We entered and sat down. Jocelyn asked, “ Are you Dr. Archie Badoe, a graduate of St Andrews University and did you work in Wigan, Lancashire?” The doctor’s face broke into a smile “ Ah…Miss France….from Bekwai?” It had been 26 years since Jocelyn last visited Dr. Archie and Mrs Mercy Badoe.
We exchanged our news of mutual friends and were invited to dine with the Badoes that night. Seth, “Meda ase papaapa.” Seth then took us to his house to meet his wife and daughter. They had only moved into this house a month ago. Seth kindly presented us with a cassette of Edward Akwasi Boateng called Adee Mepe Da W’Anim. We thoroughly enjoy playing the CD on our return home. The Asanthene’s Palace was our next port of call. The old palace, that is, as the new Palace is being built. The proud peacocks strut around the compound which is situated on a prominent hill in Kumasi. A real sense of history was there to see. The history of the proud Ashanti people, coming from a hole in the ground to a powerful nation and more modern history when Heads of State presented gifts to the Otumfo the Asantehene, Nana Sir Osei Agyeman Prempeh II in the 1960s. Presents and photographs abound. It is a splendid dwelling with a comprehensive history. We proceeded out of town to the wood carvers. As we have two Ashanti stools at home, we decided to buy three figures intertwined from the one block of wood. They remind me of the Panel Members at a Scottish Children’s Hearing. It is a very clever and intricate design. At 6.30 p.m. Dr. Badoe and his Liberian son-in-law arrived in their beautiful car to take us to their delightful home. Despite the short notice of our unexpected visit, Mercy had prepared a sumptuous meal accompanied with a bottle of red wine. We talked till 11.30 p.m. On leaving, Dr. Badoe presented us with his book “ A Critical Look at Criticism in the Medical Profession”. It is seminal text book which should inspire many other professions to positively accept creative criticism in their work. None us are immune.

Top of page

Friday 11th January 2002

In for a rough ride Called to prayer by Charles Nyarko, I joined the staff of the Pink Panther in the early morning devotions on the ground floor. It was a moment to think of our family so far from home while being part of a very personal family in whose company we had enjoyed the last two days. Sissi packed the car once more then we set off on the Sunyani road. I studied the Brandt Tourist book. Clearly the road to Mole was shorter to go by Wenchi. We would make a loop if we returned from Tamale the direct way but it seemed the obvious way to proceed. Sissi accepted this view and after an hour we approached Wenchi where VSO teachers Steve and Margaret had taught during our time. We had met Steve near Brussels in the previous autumn. He is a high-ranking manager with Stella Artios. There is no doubt in my mind that his familiarity with Ghana’s top class beer had prepared him for his future career. My short route was turning into a nightmare. We had run out of tarred road shortly after Wenchi and the laterite on which we now drove had hidden potholes. They need not have been significant holes or deep holes but rather like a shoogly tooth, a fuse in the bonnet refused to keep contact with its metal support and the engine cut out. Not once but every two miles. We crossed the beautiful Black Volta. Stopping on the dominant bridge, to look down on the village washing and drying. This was a welcome splash of colour in the ubiquitous harmattan and laterite conditions. The car came slowly to a halt once more not long after passing an elderly man who must have walked a considerable way as we were nowhere near habitation. He was a Northerner who spoke Twi. That of course was not unusual. The Northerners had lived cheek by jowl with the Ashanti Twi kingdom for hundreds of years. I am sure he was amused by my Twi conversation. I asked him if I may record this moment on film and he obliged. I dashed him generously. He then approached Sissi wishing to present us with a guinea fowl but we graciously declined. The smile on his face took years away from him. I now realise I should have dashed him before I had taken the photo. Do you agree? It was dark when we arrived at Larambanga, the town nearest Bole Game Reserve. We sought directions from a man who turned out to be a game park warden heading for duty. We gave him a lift to the reserve. Never had a plate of Jollof Rice tasted so good. A ‘Star’ washed it down.

Top of page

Saturday 12th January 2002

Mole Park

Who is more afraid? The next day we got up early for the dawn patrol. We gathered round our armed warden James and set off quietly on a morning stroll. The vegetation was sparse. There was little greenery but many shades of grey and brown. They were ideal camouflage conditions for wild animals. James stopped drew his hand backward making us stop instantly. With his right hand he pointed to an antelope. We saw it just as it turned and disappeared into the scrub. We meandered over hillside and plain for another three quarters of an hour. A troop of monkeys eyed us suspiciously and scampered up trees to safety. The delicate Cordon Blue birds danced between the branches of bushes. The bush buck almost seemed to stand its ground but then turned only to reappear from another angle further away. A sand bank was heavily pitted with the nests of the beautiful Bee Eater. As we approached, we disturbed them. They flew to the trees nearby giving us better sight of their slender, colourful bodies. James then led us towards a pool where crocodiles were making their way towards a far bank. Then we noticed the unmistakable silent movement of an elephant. “Quick” James instructed us. “Follow me.” In a military manoeuvre we circled smartly round behind the elephant and came out at a clearing that lay in the forward direction of seven……..no nine elephants. They just kept coming forward. I rest my case with the photographs I was able to take. I will never see such wonderful wild animals in nature walk into my focus as I saw this morning. I instantly knew it was on film and would look good. It was a wonderful feeling. On our way back to the lodge, we crossed a path on which there were clean paw prints. James confirmed a lion had passed in the night. Passed in the night? Passed our bedroom! And I don’t recall locking the door! There was much to talk about at breakfast. Then suddenly we were called to the rear of the restaurant where a mature male elephant had rummaged through the kitchen waste. The rubbish was scattered and a powerful foot had also damaged the bin. We arrived to see him leave smartly with his tail between his legs. It was at that mangled bin we met Pia and Marcus Atsu Agbeadah. They had had a much more adventurous journey to Ghana. They had driven from Germany through France, Spain and Algeria before finding Mali uncomfortable. They were glad to be in Ghana and soon to be reunited with Atsu’s family in Accra. We hope to see them in Scotland one day. I wonder which route they would take? A guided visit by Mr Asani Dawudu to the mosque at Larambanga and the Prayer stone completed the Mole experience. It would have been interesting to see inside the mosque but that was not possible. We appreciated a visit to the Mole Game Museum where we saw an elephant embryo, several skins and a collection of elephant scrotums which had us lost for words! Sissi found his missing environmentally friendly, insect repellent that he had obtained from America. This pleased him immensely. We celebrated with a beer and a game of Oware. It had been an eventful day and one in which we thoroughly deserved the groundnut soup and chicken we had that night. I even had apple pie and custard. Now, that would have been unheard of in the 70s.

Top of page

Sunday 13th January 2002

Terrific Tamale It was like leaving a host of friends when we left Mole Park but we knew the animals would be there to greet our successors and play their cat and mouse game in the reserve under the watchful eye of dedicated Wild Life Rangers. We took one of them to his home village, Damongo Junction, which was on our way to Tamale. We stopped to inspect a giant anthill. Jocelyn stood nearby to gauge its height. I could not see how it could grow a further centimetre. Then as suddenly as it had disappeared beyond Wenchi, the tarred road appeared on our journey. It was a perfect road. Not a pothole in sight. Flat, straight and busy. Busy with bicycles. We entered the town and made our way to the Gariba hotel on the Airport Road. We arrived at mid-day and as Joce rested for an hour, my relaxation was complete in seeing Newcastle beat Leeds 3-1. Our Tamale Guide, Cosmos, took us to see the leather works and we ordered two leather footstools (unstuffed). They would take a week to prepare but would be sent to Accra in time for our departure. Then we visited a family in whose compound clay pots were made. It was a family business and the demonstration was captivating. Cosmos finally took us through Tamale’s busy market where we were greeted at almost every stall. The response I was required to give to their welcome sticks in my memory. If I said “Naa” once, I said it a hundred times before leaving the market. It was the only dagombo word I could remember. After a hot pepper sauce with chicken, we crossed the road to an Internet Café and sent a message to Fiona. To end the evening, we were taken to a training college’s grounds where we were entertained with lively dancing and drumming of the highest quality. We could not have had a closer view of the drumming and mesmeric dancing. We returned to the Gariba Hotel after 10p.m. Tamale is one of Ghana’s most peaceful capital towns. The pace of life is markedly slower. The bicycle calms the streets. It is not the relative poverty of the north that makes Tamale a cycle city, it’s just its perfect flatness. Kumasi’s hills make cycling there, an almost impossibility.

Top of page

Monday 14th January 2002

Darum, darum, darum,darum, darum! The Gariba Hotel was very comfortable indeed. However, it came to the staff’s attention that we were not in the right room. They wished us to move to another larger room. However as nobody was going to use our room, we were satisfied to stay where we were. My diary records -–We took advantage of the double bed and have no regrets we did not take the luxury twin beds! A visit to the Standard Bank in Tamale was necessary and then we stocked up on fresh juice and biscuits for our journey to Kumasi. Sissi complemented the attractive shopkeeper who pointed out that a product was out of date. “Ah, May I call you Miss Honesty?” he teased. Sissi had the charm of Cassanova but the dignity of a betrothed young man as he was. We paid a call on Cosmos to thank him for organising our tour in Tamale then set off at speed on the road south. I noticed a sign on the roadside and suggested we stop to explore. That is how we found ourselves at the Kintampo Waterfall. It is a centre for greater tourist potential. One would have to be fit however as the cemented block steps are taxing on the descent and quite muscle binding on the incline upwards. Waterfalls are very restful to the soul and Ghana has some excellent examples. We resumed our journey coming across a jack-knifed lorry that we just managed to get round. Fortunately there seemed to be no loss of life. Then we approached Kumasi and again we drove round until we found a familiar landmark. Darum, darum, darum darum darum, the Pink Panther came into view and we returned to our same room. Jocelyn retired early to bed while I ate in the restaurant with Kwadjo, a teacher. Our waiter Samuel Azemura returned to have a photo taken and by now he will have his copy. Seth McForson gave me three letters to post in Scotland while Charles Chaplins Nyarko and I considered how to establish the Ghanaian Children’s Reporter Administration. I promised to send him some papers on my return home. Joce managed some French onion soup.

Top of page

Tuesday 15th January 2002

My Kwahu Alma Mater We signed out leaving our good friends of the Pink Panther hotel and visited the Kumasi Military Museum. Our debt to the soldiers of the Gold Coast in the first World War and in their eastern campaign against the Japanese in the second must never be forgotten. The Museum makes good use of its fort layout with arms, flags and pictures. Fufu and light soup at the Kumasi Cultural Centre brought back memories for us both and it was with a very satisfied feeling we set off to SDA Bekwai once more to meet the Headmistress. When we arrived, a staff meeting was in progress. Jocelyn addressed the staff and we were thanked for the scanner that we had presented along with some textbooks. The meeting then adjourned for a staff photograph to record the visit but horrors upon horrors, they had expected us earlier and had prepared another full meal for us! We managed to eat some groundnut soup and chicken followed by wonderfully juicy pineapple. How we managed to eat as much I’ll never know. As a nostalgic stroll, Jocelyn left the school down the steep driveway and wandered into the town. Sissi and I followed on sedately. We came across four young men on a bench. We got talking. John Gymfi was small, round-shouldered and polite. He asked if I could get him new crutches. I took his photograph along with his friend. Some two months later he wrote to me thanking me for sending his photograph. What he does not yet know is that I have obtained a set of crutches and am making arrangements as I write this diary this evening to parcel them up and send them to him. It was nightfall before we reached Nkawkaw, which lies at the foot of the Kwahu ridge. So we ascended in the dark. As we climbed the temperature dropped and we could feel why the European missionaries settled on the Kwahu ridge. This was where I was sent to learn some Twi on my arrival in 1973. The atmosphere, the temperature, the ridge, they were all special to me. Obo, Mpraeso, Nkwatia and the best of all …..Abetifi. The Ramseyer Centre at Abetifi is a fine example of the Swiss Basle Mission architecture with its long hanging roofs and balconies and wooden beams. It was in one of these I was billeted while recovering from a car accident near Kyibi. For four months I travelled to St Peter’s Roman Catholic School in Nkwatia, to learn Twi from Douglas Asomang, my teacher. We were escorted across the compound to an expatriate block in which an American couple, Brian and Courtney, and their three children lived. Brian was an agricultural adviser about to serve his Church in Brong Ahafo. A meal had been prepared for us. It was no longer hot but just as enjoyable cold. A Philippine Catholic Priest was engrossed in a video – Independence Day. It was a film that did not make much sense to me. There again I had missed three quarters of the film! I was pleased to say good night.

Top of page

Wednesday 16th January 2002

Distressed animals At breakfast a Dutch priest joined us. I was able to show him a few Dutch Euro notes. He inspected them with interest. Akosia the Kenyan Midwife joined us at the table with the two Pillipineos. One asked me what children I had and I told him about Fiona and Laura. I was surprised with his sudden frank question but presumed it was an oriental trait. I retorted “How many children do you have?” The table guffawed in delight. I had forgotten he was a priest! This most unusual collection of non-Ghanaians was here for a reason. They were receiving Twi lessons on the compound and sure enough when the bell sounded, off they went. We strolled over to the Ramseyer Centre and met en route Jacoline Walters Lambregste. She and her husband Rolf were resident in the centre organising lay preachers training courses. We discussed why we had returned and her small brown dog stood in the circle our conversation had made. After some time, we wished to continue with our walk around the centre so we bade her farewell and I took one step backward. That was where her dog had now moved to and my heel came down on its paw. It reacted sharply and I felt the rear of my knee nip. Then the blood appeared. I had been bitten. Jacoline took me to her house and Jocelyn applied an antiseptic cream and a bandage. Jocelyn’s mind was not at ease. Could it have been a rabid bite? I was taken to the Abetifi clinic where I was given a fresh plaster and iodine. The dog was certainly not rabid. After a short rest, we proceeded to Nkwatia to look round the School grounds where I had had my Twi lessons some 29 years ago. We met an assistant Head teacher who informed me that the Rev Kofi Ron Lange, the American priest who was at St. Peters at the time I was there, had been working in Tamale! Oh if I had only known. We were shown the new Noviciates block with some pride and the grounds were generally well tended. I asked if the baboons and the crocodiles were still in the compound. Alas the baboons were no longer there but the crocodiles were. Could I see them? This struck the teacher with surprise but we proceeded towards their enclosure. Did I say enclosure? When we saw it, it was more like two traps. There were two crescent tubs. Dry smelly and not nearly large enough. The crocodiles lay unable to exercise, with a lack of food and no water. There was a pungent smell. No body cared for them. They do not deserve to be there. They distressed us and the Head teacher was embarrassed. Could something be done? On our return to the Ramseyer Centre, we met the Director and paid our respects. Before the sun set, we took photographs along the verandas to bring back the memories and returned for spaghetti bolognaise and water melon. A Ghanaian TV soap was on featuring the antics of a taxi driver and an expectant mother. Comedy is universally understood.

Top of page

Thursday 17th January 2002

A remarkable encounter We heard the bells at 4a.m. summonsing worshipers to Church. We chose not to join these devotions. We could not return to sleep easily and dawn broke. After breakfast, the usual motley collection of Americans, Phillipinoes, Kenyan and Dutch milled around and a Ghanaian entered. He looked around. Turning to Brian he enquired in Twi “ Where are they from?” Brian understood but replied in English. “I think they are from Ireland.” Jocelyn who was in the kitchen had overheard the conversation and broke in to assert “ We’re from Scotland!” The Ghanaian’s eyes lit up. “ My very first Twi pupil almost 30 years ago was from Scotland. His name was Caldwell…Miller.” I turned round and gasped in astonishment “ Douglas” “Eyi me Kwabena Miller!” We approached and gave eachother a strong hug. The class was amazed. Some were filled with wonderment. It was an emotional reunion and it affected not just the two of us. We could not believe we had met again. Samuel taught me before he went to Teacher College to join the Ghana Teaching Service. He had now retired from that and been asked to come to Abetifi to teach expatriates requiring to learn some Twi. He began only four months ago. We promised to catch up on our news that evening. We set off to tour the neighbouring towns. Obo was as majestic as it always has been. The road up, over and down to the Volta lake proved too much for the car. The road was heavily pitted and from time to time lorries piled high would totter above us as they passed. One slight jolt and the goods if not the lorry would reduce Sissi’s car to a flat plate of metal. Our lives would be over. We gave up. We returned to Mpraeso and had a well-earned Guilder at a chop bar in the main street. As light faded, I strolled round the compound reminiscing and greeting passers by. Douglas arrived and we went to his home a half mile away. He was clearly disappointed his wife had not returned when we prepared to depart. Douglas walked us back to the Ramseyer Centre. Shortly afterwards his wife arrived and we had photos taken to recall this day for years to come in an album. I recalled an e-mail message from Sam Baddoo. “Kwabena, you have an extra day. Where do you want to spend it?” I though by the time we reached Abetifi, we would be on the home leg. It would be very peaceful and temperate on the ridge. The extra day would be at Abetiti. Had it not been Abetifi, I would not have come across Douglas. It had been a most remarkable day. Thank you Sam too.

Top of page

Friday 18th January 2002

Kyibi, Apedua, Koforidua, Aburi, Akosombo Breakfast at 7 a.m. included porridge, boiled egg, Milo and toast. Leaving Kwahu ridge is always a sad affair. As you loose height, the heat builds up again and your respite is over. But I was excited. The very personable pastor in charge of the Ramseyer Centre during my stay was Rev Isaac Frempong. He had become Moderator of the Church and travelled in his year of office to the far East. He was now in retirement at Apedua. We went through Kyibi where I had had a car accident leading to a court appearance. That is when Rev. Frempong spoke up for me and the case was dismissed. I had not failed to keep the car in a roadworthy condition. I had received it merely three hours beforehand, checked its tyres and prepared it adequately for the journey. Nevertheless, I had a lot to thank him for. We arrived at the village and enquired where Rev. Frempong lived. As luck would have it, we asked a niece who gladly took us to his home. He had an orchard of a garden with oranges draping the trees outside his front door.
He found it hard to recollect the blond tousled haired Scot over more than a quarter of a century ago but we chatted amicably and presented him with a pewter quaich. I would not have recognised him either as we both sported very short hair but a painting of him as Moderator showed his distinctive coiffeur in the background so I arranged for the photos to be taken there. We visited Aburi gardens, which do not look their best in January, but they are very pleasant gardens to walk through and our guide explained which dignitary planted which tree and which tree is which. The Ficus Elasticoides epiphyte into which we peered upwards was not the most attractive tree but by far the most unusual we had ever seen. We reached the Accra plains and glanced past Accra and Tema from the motorway and headed towards the Shai hills. It took us some time to identify the Akosombo Hotel in the dark. The chef prepared very tasty local fish and gateaux of the day went down a treat. No more Twi to be spoken here. Ewe greetings were in demand!

Top of page

Saturday 19th January 2002

Highs and Lows in the Volta Region I woke early and went down to the pool for a swim. I was alone but accompanied by a transistor radio which was reporting the local news. The pool at Akasombo, adjacent to the tennis courts, is set into the hillside with a stunning view through the hills to the Volta Lake horizon. I have seen it before and marvelled at the architecture and landscaped horticultural planning. But it was not on view this morning. The harmattan, coupled with the early morning swim, ensured poor visibility. After breakfast I sat motionless on the balcony eager to see unsuspecting birds land on the nearby trees and bushes. Manikins obliged and in the distance, some larger birds which I could not identify. The Adomi bridge is the gateway to the Volta region and such a splendid bridge. I had to stop and take a photograph from the shore once more. The bridge had not changed but I had a better camera on this visit! We were soon in Ho and found Chances Hotel – not by chance as it happens but clearly marked from the main road. We received a very friendly welcome and booked in to our room but promptly left for our journey to Amedzofe. This has never been a tarred road and so progress was made quite slowly but just as we wondered how long it would take, we began to ascend and we knew we were heading for the highest town in the region. No wonder the German missionaries chose Abetifi and Amedzofe to start their work. There are many similarities in this mountainous region to remind one of Germany or Switzerland from where the Basle and Bremen missionaries came from but it was the climate and the people which made them comfortable and made them feel at home. We reported to the Tourist Office and declared our intention to descend down to the waterfall and then ascend up the hill to the cross. We would need a guide. We had ventured this route once before without a guide but perhaps we looked less fit these days. Indeed in filling in the visitors book we were even asked to state our ages! I am still not sure why. Wisdom Jackson Ekisson had not long left school. He was assigned as the Tourist Office Guide for our excursion. It was a sedate stroll through the town that began our walk leading towards the waterfall. The road narrowed to be a path and the lush vegetation encroached as we began to feel the grassy decline. A significant change and a most welcome one was the provision of a sturdy rope that helped us descend. It had been established as a necessity as erosion of the hill had made footing precarious in some parts. Our arms and thighs strained as muscles were tested in positions not encountered for years. Strangely it was only Sissi and Jocelyn who complained of aching thighs and when they said so, amusement was the general response, not sympathy! The Wli falls are more accessible and better known but the Amedzofe waterfall is stunning in its own way. From its base across the canopy, you can see for miles and the seclusion of the fall gives it, its own special charm. We ascended using the rope and testing other unused muscles. Cola pods were found and we eased them from their cocoons. Chewing one of these dark red nuts helped Sissi and I concentrate on the task ahead. Back then to the town we walked and set off the other way to the hill. The German missionaries had built a cairn and placed a tall iron cross on its top. We had been here before and its mystic charms were intact. We contemplated the beauty of Ghana, its people and its natural wealth. With sadness we realised our trip was coming to an end. Oh how each height of pleasure to balanced by each depth in reality. Wisdom joined us in the town for a snack at the chop bar and a well-deserved Fanta drink. I hope he was pleasantly surprised to receive some photos of us with him a few weeks later as we engaged in our arduous hike. The opening match of the Africa Cup saw Mail draw 1-1 with Liberia. There was nothing in that match to threaten the progress of Ghana’s Black Stars.

Top of page

Sunday 20th January 2002

A Stately Encounter Oats, orange juice, toast and tea for breakfast in Chances restaurant. Then I captured on film the beautiful bougainvillaea flowering behind our accommodation. Chances gardens were very attractive. Our journey to Tema would have two stops. The first was to see the John Klu museum at Akatsi. However, when we got there, the key holder had travelled. We could not enter. We proceeded westwardly and passed several police roadside checks with no interruption. At Sogakofe we drove down Ciseros driveway and parked in the shade beside the Volta river. It was an idyllic setting. I wandered down the slipway and observed the river life in abundance. Small fish darted in and out of sight, weavers chirped in the trees above revealing their yellow wings from time to time and a strange water bird dived into the Volta for its lunch. I learned it was the distinct and unusual Hammerkop with its dull brown appearance and a curious large thick crest which together with a stout bill gives its head the shape of an anvil. We had some time to wait before our lunch arrived but it was well worth waiting for. Banku with Okra stew. “Telegraph wires!” shouted Sissi. I knew immediately what he meant when my handful of banku refused to let go of the Okra, trailing the telegraph wires from my plate to my mouth. Moments later Sissi froze. “Kwabena…the President!” What was this joke I wondered. “Kwabena seriously, behind you, The President JJ.” I turned round and walking towards our table in the open Gazebo, was the unmistakable frame of President Jerry Rawlings, his wife, his secretary and sprawling around the compound, his bodyguards. We rose form our plates. Sissi introduced us. This was most remarkable as in 48 hours we were scheduled to meet the President and here he was about to enjoy lunch at the table next to ours! When Sissi explained that I used to work in Tema and Jocelyn used to be a teacher in Ashanti, Mrs Rawlings immediately offered a job to Jocelyn as Headmistress of the 31st December International School in Tema. Apparently the last head teacher had gone to America. I could only hope if Jocelyn accepted, then I could find a job in Ghana too, or this silver wedding celebration might end in disaster! The Caldwells posed with the Rawlings and Sissi took the photograph before we returned to our cuisine and the President sat down to kebabs. When we finished our meal, I approached the President’s secretary Mr. Victor Smith, to confirm the meeting time on Wednesday. As I did so, unnoticed, I inadvertently dropped my binocular case. Twelve miles further on, our faithful car lost power for what would be the very last time on this tour. It was not the usual resetting of the fuse, it was more serious. Sissi approached it with a screwdriver. A thump, a push, a press. No luck. We must have been there ten minutes when the Presidential entourage flew by. As the cars sped passed, the brake lights went on. Then a car returned. Two bodyguards approached. Cornelius handed me the binocular case that I had left at Sogakofe. They enquired why the car had stopped and agreed to go to the next town to find a car fitter. By the time they returned Sissi had re-routed the fuse and sparked the engine again. The fitters were not required. So a well-earned dash to the bodyguards and the fitters met the satisfaction of everyone. We entered Tema around 6p.m. and proceeded to Hansen’s home where we returned his three plates and forks which we had taken laden with pawpaw on the start of this tour some three weeks before. We learned we would be staying with Hansen’s sister, Naa Betty Lartey. Betty had been a sister to me in the Church compound in Tema where we had lived as next door neighbours. I had once encouraged her to drive and gave her some brief lessons. She seemed to be a very competent driver so I foolishly invited her to park the car in the garage at my home. I stood in front of the car coaxing it forward when suddenly it lurched forward. Fortunately I was nimble in those days and leapt to the door recess. How I avoided two broken legs I’ll never know. Unfortunately Betty feared the worse and this incident put her off driving for many years. Oh Betty, it was all my fault. Sorry. Mea culpa. We were to spend our last three days in Sakumono at Duke and Betty’s beautiful home. Sakumono, the commuter-belt for Accra. Sakumono was once, only a peaceful lagoon. Betty prepared a delightful meal after which we saw Burkina Faso draw 0 – 0. Ghana played tomorrow. Our confidence was growing.

Top of page

Monday 21st January 2002

Old Friends Finished reading Das Boot on the veranda outside Betty’s home. Sissi arrived at 11a.m. and we set off to Nungua and Julie Nii-Moi’s home. Outside Julie’s home was the parrot cage but it was Kofi the African Grey’s successors who inhabited it. Julie called Jocelyn to her bedroom as I chatted with Julie’s family. Then I was summonsed. Julie had had made matching suits for us to meet the President tomorrow and amazingly, they fitted perfectly. A few presents were distributed to Julie’s family then we set off in search of Elizabeth Anteh Ocansey whose father Osofo E.A.Anteh had succeeded Osofo J.E.Svanikier, whose daughter Elizabeth, had succeed Betty as my next door neighbour. Elizabeth had moved to Teshie and we were not quite sure where her home was. However we entered a large courtyard through a metal door and saw signs of the Elysee catering Services. Julie called for Elizabeth and beckoned her to come outside. She did and on seeing me she ran forward screaming and nearly squashed me in an Ocansey bear hug. Yes this was Lizzie all right! We spent some time sharing our families news and Lizzie telephoned Colonel Barnes to notify him of our arrival in her excitement. (Lieutenant Barnes as he was then, had married Lizzie’s sister Emily.) We returned home to Sakumono missing the first half-hour of the match. We settled down to see the rest of the game. Morocco 0 Ghana 0. Julie joined us in a plate of Jollof Rice and chicken then Ice Cream which Naa Betty prepared. Later in the evening Betty’s husband Duke arrived and after he had eaten we gave them our penultimate pewter quaich.

Top of page

Tuesday 22nd January 2002

A Delicate Mission Naa Betty arranged to iron our matching Ghanaian suits for our mid-day appointment with the President. So after breakfast and showers, we were looking very smart. Sissi arrived equally smart and we left to collect Julie in Nungua. Poor Julie was still in the throws of a nasty cold and looked very tired but this appointment gave her some enthusiasm. We arrived at the President’s guarded home at the Ridge in Accra at five minutes before the appointed time. We were stopped at the gate by the security guard who confirmed who we were and that we had an appointment. We proceeded to the reception desk and were then shown into a room with a large meeting table, a sofa and several comfortable soft chairs. At first we listened to every footstep which had the potential to enter the room and cause us to be upstanding. Forty-five minutes had elapsed. Then a female secretary arrived to give the President’s apologies for being late. He was detained at a meeting but would arrive as soon as possible. More than an hour later The President and his wife entered and greeted us. The President immediately took the initiative and inquired of our Ghanaian guests. It was clear that Jerry Rawlings was as comfortable speaking in Ga as in he was in Fante or Akan Twi. Julie explained our special relationship and Sissi gave the President and his wife a resume of the three weeks touring Ghana. Jocelyn and I then presented our last Scottish Quaich that neatly doubles as a libation cup. The traditionally shared ceremonial drink from the quaich between husbands and wives, lovers or friends met with their approval. I then presented photographs of Dr Richard Jeffries who has vowed to complete his biography, photographs of his father and a photograph of his cousin and his family, Tony Barbour of Dumfries, our friends. The President took the opportunity to recall his upbringing and stated with some bitterness how insignificant a figure his father had been in his life. These were times past however and that was significant in itself. His father was now dead and so it was no longer more than a matter of deep regret. He wished to send us a copy of his approved biography and he was pleased to know about his cousin and his family, the Barbours of Dumfries. Our meeting lasted 11/2 hours. During this time it was revealed that he had a sister Judy in Tema. This would be news to Tony. The President wished to write a letter of reply to the Barbours and asked when we were returning to the UK. It was tomorrow. I suggested the letter could be delivered at the Airport and the President agreed. He would send Cornelius to Kotoko International Airport to meet us there and hand over the letter. A late lunch at a chop bar with Sissi and his girlfriend Tina recalled the meeting we had just had. Meanwhile Julie drank a Malta but did she feel good? No, her cold was no better and getting her down. Had the President and his wife succumbed to it too? We’ll never know. A visit to the Arts Centre in Accra resulted in the purchase of a tie, a flag and some cloth for Jocelyn to sew at her leisure. Our two Tamale leather footstools had arrived at Sissi’s office and as they were unfilled, we could pack them in our cases easily. After a shower and a garden wall discussion with the Lartey’s next door neighbour, we set off with Hansen to the TDC Clubhouse, where we were met by many old Tema friends from the different Church Youth Groups. Sam Baddo and his wife were there to greet us and learn of our very successful trip. One special friend was Rosemary Nanor. She explained that her father was ill. She would have to leave early to visit him in Tema Hospital. So as others were still gathering we excused ourselves and went with her to his bedside. Mr. Charles Nanor had taken me to hospital after I met with an accident and he recalled that day. We recalled many other fond memories of people, places and events but he was tired and so after a prayer we left. I was so pleased to be able to see Mr. Nanor, a wonderful servant of the Church and family man. I hope our meeting gave him some comfort in his distress. It gave me much satisfaction seeing him again after all the years. Sammy Abakah spoke of the good times in the 70s we had shared and I recalled some of the best moments of then and our recent tour. Ghana had proved itself to be a modern tourist treasure waiting to be enjoyed by many. There is something for everyone to do whether it is for a week or a month. The Game reserves, the beaches, the walks, the waterfalls, the fresh food, the beer!, the villages, the towns, the cities and regional capitals. Above all - the people. Ghana is a jewel too few see. We called at Sammy’s home at the end of the night. I thought to drop off the younger members of the Abakah family even although young Sam was over six feet like his father. I could not help referring to him as Sammy Kitewaa! ( Little Sam) It sounds so much better than Sammy Abakah Jr. However Freda produced a remarkable selection of gifts for us and our children. Kente bags, Shirt tops, and dresses. What a delightful surprise they were. It had been a very eventful day. Our delicate mission had been a success.

Top of page

Wednesday 23rd January 2002

All too soon Jocelyn seemed to have a slight temperature so rested in the morning while I read. Naa Betty produced a plate of fresh yam and fish stew. It was so tasty. Sissi and Julie arrived as we were eating some pancakes. “Ba yeni, Sissi” So Sissi sat down at the table. Julie seemed a little better but clearly sad that the last day had arrived. We spent the last afternoon in Tema calling to see Frank Duona’s Foreign Exchange Office. His wife Janet was at home today so I could only send my best wishes. We then went to the Tema Fishing harbour which has expanded considerably. Julie inspected various fish but did not purchase any in the end. Fortunately the small fish she was after were on sale on the Tema coast road near Sakumono Lagoon so we stopped there and a good purchase was made. We took our final farewell of Naa Betty and her son Nii Lantey Lartey who had treated us royally at their home and taking the motorway, arrived at the large roundabout in no time at all in Accra. There we managed to purchase a further footstool so that our girls would have one and we would have one too. By 7p.m. we had deposited our luggage at the check-in desk. It would go straight through to Glasgow. Then we returned to meet Sammy, Freda, Hansen, Julie and Sissi. We went to the Airport bar and were entertained by northern dancers. Cornelius arrived with the letter from President Rawlings. He joined us for a Guinness beer. An hour later our KLM flight was called and we proceeded to the terminal. Sissi who had been the most diplomatic and faithful friend throughout the tour then took on a pastoral role and led us in prayer giving thanks for bringing us to this day amongst friends and asking God’s protection for is in our travels ahead. It was a most fitting way to depart. The valedictory moment was sealed by handshakes, kisses and hugs. We took our leave.

Ghana, Yebesha wo. Till we meet again.

© Miller Caldwell

Top of page

In Search of a Speaker

In the lay-by on the A711 , I listen to Lesley Riddock . She invites her listeners to the air waves, then dispatches them with a curt strike. The tuna in my sanny probably underwent a similar process in more salty waves. Sustenance of mind and body complete, I set off to the office in Dumfries.

The case in the Sheriff’s Chambers at Kirkcudbright had lasted no more than 15 seconds. He is perplexed by the insufficiency of the law. A toddler’s case fully accepted by the parents at a children’s hearing but not understood by the 17 month old child, is to be remitted back to a hearing for disposal, from whence it came. The learned Sheriff felt a helicopter would have saved us both time. Indeed it would have returned him to Stranraer and me to Dumfries in a matter of minutes. My regular rendezvous with Ms Riddock on the A711 would be at risk if the Scottish Courts Administration and the Scottish Children’s Reporter Administration took the suggestion on board.

Lunchtime lay-bys in south - west Scotland have proved to be ornithological and inspirational. Check out the sand martin bank on the B7068 (post Langholm hearings) and the penduline tit on the A713 at Patna (post Dalmellington hearings). Prior to working in Dumfries and Ayr, few interesting ornithological opportunities arose in John Finnie Street, Kilmarnock, where the lunch-time dauner was more of an opportunity to re-stock pampers or converse with Killie acquaintances. Burns country you realise.

Life would be so much easier if I had a matching south - west accent. Having Glasgow on my passport as place of birth has always been a niggle. It could have read Redlands Hospital, by ambulance from Bishopton, Renfrewshire, but there is no room on the page and anyway that was for only two years before Kirriemuir in Angus “ provided his formative years”. A genuine spell of education at Glasgow before meaningful sojourns in Edinburgh, Ghana, London, Stirling and Troon followed. Arriving in Dumfries some eight years ago, we wondered if our travels had really ceased. Consequently, I possess a frustratingly nondescript accent.

Yet it was Dumfries which managed to discover real south-west roots for me. Robert Burns’ first child was Elizabeth (1785-1817), ‘dear Bought Bess’. Elizabeth’s great granddaughter was my grandmother Jemima Helen Walker Caldwell (1878-1968). The Dumfries Burns Club took notice.

So, in this my presidential year, I had to engage a worthy speaker for our Anniversary Dinner. This was on my mind last February as a robin inquisitively perched on the damp dyke, eyeing the contents of my lunchbox. Lesley Riddock silenced her adversarial contributors for a lunchtime news report and that was when inspiration struck. Reference had been made to the UN Secretary General.

Kofi Annan had been the Director of Tourism when my wife and I lived in Ghana. His family village at Bekwai, Ashanti Region, was also the village where my wife had taught as a VSO. Annan was our neighbouring town and his namesake. Would the Freedom of Annan be given to Kofi before Jim Wallace? Hadn’t Langholm taken the lead, three decades ago by making Neil Armstrong one of their own? Inspirational lay-bys!

If I got Kofi Annan to come, then I could confidently count on the First Minister (serva fidem) who was a well- known Burnsian , frequent Dumfries and Galloway visitor, speaker at the Howff Club, the Hole in the Wa’ and our own Burns Club in the town and former children’s reporter besides! The helicopter was no longer a fantasy.

In July, on vacation, we found ourselves in the Secretary General’s New York Office. He regretfully declined to give the Immortal Memory on this occasion while wishing to visit Annan one day, beyond his term of office. There was no need therefore to contact Donald Dewer who was recovering at that time from his serious heart operation.

Meanwhile I was invited to Hampden (sans kit) by the Chief Constable of that fair city to a Conference on Safer Scotland. The answer is of course simple. Move to the rural Stewartry of Kircudbright! The problem is equally clear. Young men in fits of alcoholic rage attack each other leaving permanent disfigurement. Medical slides confirmed their youth and Policing tactics were shared amongst all eight Police Forces. It was a sombre morning delivery and not too comfortable for those like myself who frequently strive to prevent such juvenile offending.

Then strode on to the stage, a young eighteen year old six former. “This is my town”, she announced with her PowerPoint projection. Kirriemuir! And plumb centre of the slide was the former St. Ninian’s Manse, my childhood home. Defying the flavour of the morning, Gemma told the conference that parents buy mobile phones for their children. Why? “Well, all we hear about is paedophiles in the community and if someone slips us a drug, maybe we’ll have time to dial 999. Yes, we do move in groups, she admitted. That’s not a threat. We are protecting ourselves. Anyway on a night out in Dundee, we have to catch the last bus home to Kirrie at 10.45p.m.” Bravo! Gemma could have been speaking for the youth of rural Dumfries & Galloway and every rural place as well. Lesley, if Gemma phones in, please don’t cut her off. Had Gemma been from our neck of the woods, I could have asked her to reply on behalf of the Lasses.

One last trawl for a potential speaker took place on 6th October. How did you celebrate your 50th?

We opened the house to a variety of neighbours, colleagues and friends. As an Ice Breaker, I prepared a quiz sheet of facts about the guests. There was no shortage of detail for each of them to identify each other but to give you a flavour of the challenge inter alia:

In 1976, I was Miss France……….(my wife)

This man’s cousin is the President of Ghana………(Tony Barbour)

I won a sub-machine gun shooting trophy ……….. ( Hilary Clark my female work colleague. Wow, did I need to know this?)

One of two Wigtown personalities present, this musician performed in her maiden years, as C. Sharp…… (get it?)(Christine Barbour)

I was at school with Tony Blair……………………(John Henderson)

Just back from sailing David Coulthard’s yacht in the Mediterranean……….Jock

In 1974, I was mistaken by 10,000 people for the German international football striker, Gunter Netzer…………….. (that was me actually.)

Lady Lucan informed me that her husband had tried to strangle her ……………(Jenny Henderson)

A week later Donald Dewer died. Serva Fidem, the school motto, seemed very appropriate. He had kept faith with Scottish devolution and kept faith with the people he served. Alas, neither he nor the UN Secretary General would be attending the Burns anniversary dinner.

Roving Sheriff, Children’s Reporter and above all Dumfries Doonhamer, Alan Findlayson, will return to his home town to give the Immortal Memory and the former European Director of UNICEF, Canadian, Paul Ignatieff, will toast his adopted town. The Lord Lieutenant will reply as many do around the country at this time. The singers have agreed to entertain and so has the piper.

Invitations go out immediately after New Year. Burns Night is often the first social event of the year promoting hibernal stirrings. Lets hope the wintry Devil’s Beef Tub will not hinder Alan’s southward journey on 25th.

Like the Moderator of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland, the President’s term of office lasts just one year. That should free me up soon for south west representation for the Institute of Contemporary Scotland’s affairs. The scenic and inspirational lay – bys of Scotland must be worthy of contemporary recognition. Lesley Riddock’s Paxmanian jousting must too…..but lets save that, on another drive.

Ends. 1,300 words.

Miller H. Caldwell
‘Netherholm’
Edinburgh Road
DUMFRIES

© Miller Caldwell

Top of page

By My Own Admission

First published in The Good Health Magazine
0ctober/November 1986

I returned to hospital, this time to have my sinuses washed out. I expected everything to go as smoothly as they had the first time around. How wrong I was!

I made my way to Ward 3B and chose a bed. The ward nurse remembered me and remarked that I would not have forgotten the ropes. I agreed. I confidently secured the irreversible studded namelet round my left wrist only to see it drop onto the polished floor seconds later. A new namelet was brought and fastened in the style of a double clove hitch by a dismayed nurse.
I was sitting up in bed now with a thermometer under my left arm at the same time as presenting my right arm to have my blood pressure checked. It was normal but where was the thermometer? In concentrating on the pressure being applied to my right arm, I had let slip the pencil thin thermometer from my left armpit. It lay beneath my pyjamas in two pieces. I reflected on another unnecessary expense to the NHS.
The shower room with its adjacent loo was already lit on my entry to provide a urine sample. I obliged with a modest sample, tugged the suspended light switch cord to save electricity, frantically noticing the plastic red button at the end too late.
‘Don’t worry Mr. Caldwell, you are not the first to pull the emergency help button’, reassured the quietly exasperated nurse. I deserved a £50 fine!
I settled into the ward and made acquaintance with my fellow patients. We each revealed our medical problems that had brought us together and shared our anticipated length of stay in confinement with each other. I explained that I was a prosecutor of juveniles in court – a reporter to the children’s panels.
That information led to sharing the story of the Sheriff some time ago who lived in Troon and relied on friends to run him to work at the Kilmarnock Sheriff Court some nine miles away. One morning he accepted a lift from a lorry driver. As they reached the 40mph limit on the outskirts of town the lorry slowed down to 32mph. On reaching the 30mph limit, the driver slowed down to 22mph.
‘Taking it easy?’ enquired the Sheriff.
‘Aye, there’s a bastard of a Sheriff in Kilmarnock an’ I’m no losing my licence over him.’
On reaching the centre of town the Sheriff asked to be dropped off. As the lorry pulled into the kerb, the grateful passenger took a £10 note from his wallet and thrust it into the lorry driver’s hand.
‘There. That’s from your friendly bastard, the Sheriff!’
As the recently acquired captive audience showed their appreciation, an elderly man stirred from the bed to my left.
‘It was only £5, sir, and I should know. I was the Sheriff.
The anaesthetic could not come quickly enough.

© Miller Caldwell

Top of page

Tell Our Sisters

Neil set the windscreen wipers to a more frequent thrust as he left the Moto service
station. The fine drizzle was going to damped his next leg of his journey home but it
would not diminish his enthusiasm for the day.
He had been to Milton Keynes to collect 200 copies of his first novel from his
publisher. He could not wait to get back home to introduce his work to the local
press, sell a few copies at a book signing venue and in common with all first time authors,
his thoughts turned to the ‘what if’ scenario. What if it became a best seller? What if film rights were in demand? Or perhaps what if he never had to work again for a living?

These feelings of wellbeing undoubtedly contributed to his decision to slow down at
the slip-way exit and make a sudden decision to stop, be a Good Samaritan and give a lift
to the dejected youth whose thumb up stance was at odds with his downtrodden look.
He lowered his passenger’s window but was not the first to talk.
‘Where are you going?’ the youth asked.
‘Wigan.’
‘That’ll do fine’ he said, opening the front door and throwing a plastic bag on to the
back seat. Neil checked his mirror, accelerated and joined the busy motorway traffic.
‘Andy’s my name’ said the damp passenger.
‘Oh, mine’s Neil. Been on the road long?’
Andy must have heard the question but he did not reply. Neil wondered what state of
mind was possessing the youth now sitting beside him and he was angry with himself for being forced to reveal where he was going before he could ascertain where the passenger wished to go. This was the very situation that had made him ignore so many hitchhikers in the past.
‘I guess you’re a man of few words then?’ he ventured as he indicated to overtake a Curries lorry in the second lane.
‘So would you if you had my life.’
‘Not in work, then?’
‘No. Not yet.’
‘So what’s the attraction of Wigan?’
‘Don’t know. You tell me what its like?’
‘Hang on a minute. I stop to give you a lift, feeling sorry for you. You ask me where I’m going and I tell you I’m going to Wigan. So you tell me that’s where you are going. So now I ask why Wigan and you tell me you don’t know! That’s crazy. I might as well have said Timbuktu! ’
‘Where’s that?’
‘In Mali in West Africa……but hang on a minute,…. Let’s get back to Wigan.’
‘Yeah that’s where we’re going.’
‘Okay, okay. So we’re going to Wigan. I’m going there because I live there. So, why are you going to Wigan?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘Are you kidding? You must know. You said you were going to Wigan.’
‘No I didn’t. I said ‘that’ll do fine’, so I did!’
‘Fine for what?’ Andy did not reply.
Neil looked at the passing road sign ‘Services 2 miles and 26 miles’. He wondered if he should make a comfort stop in two miles and offload this awkward customer. No, that would arouse his suspicion. He would head for 26 miles and hope each mile would be less frustrating than the last.
‘So what do you do?’
‘I’m an author. See these boxes in the back seat? They are copies of my book.’
‘An author?’ he showed a spark of interest. ‘Well, you are in luck.’
‘In what way, Andy?’
‘Meeting me.’ Andy turned towards Neil whose eyes momentarily left the road to focus on his smiling face.
‘Know me and you’ve got a best seller. I’ve been in a children’s home, fostered, prison, I could tell you a few things.’
Neil felt the jigsaw was beginning to take shape but these were the corner pieces. He wanted to know why he was in each place. ‘How did you get there, I mean I guess you’ve had a hard life?’
‘You might think so, but I don’t. If your father was a drunkard and your mother didn’t care too much either, a children’s home ain’t that bad. Then they try and give you a real family, a foster family. That was cool but it meant living further away and I didn’t settle. When I was sixteen no body took responsibility and I left. I tried to earn a little but it was soon easier to supply drugs to make a living. That, and some other things, got me prison.’
‘That must have been tough?’
‘Yeah, there are some tough people there but it was good too.’
‘Well, you’d get three meals a day, a bed and a roof over your head’ Neil said warming to this individual’s plight but being conscious not to raise his hackles.
‘More than that. I got some good classes. Not just the usual classes but the art classes. I did some good work there. They said I had some talent.’
‘They say we are all good at something Andy. Guess its artwork for you. Books for me.
Want a biscuit? There’s one in the glove box if you like.’ Andy reached to open the glove box. He took out a chocolate biscuit and as he did so, he noticed a penknife. He took the penknife out and Neil’s heart began to thump. What on earth made him invite this self confessed criminal to open the glove box where he always kept a penknife just in case, as gadget men do. Andy had the blade open and began cutting the chocolate biscuit wrapper. He lay the knife on his lap as he crunched the chocolate orange biscuit. Neil kept one eye on the road and one on the knife. This was doing his blood pressure little good.
Andy finished his biscuit and folded the wrapper neatly, placing it back in the glove box. Then he took the knife and examined it closely. Neil felt uneasy and knew Andy was aware he had the knife.
‘You like the penknife?’ Neil asked in as nonchalant a manner as possible.
‘Yeah. It’s cool.’
‘You can have it, if you want.’
‘That would be illegal. You know, carrying an offensive weapon.’
‘Ah, of course, so it would’ Neil felt silly for suggesting it in the first place. Especially as he was fond of it. Things were getting out of control and he knew it but he must not show any fear.
‘ I could make good use of it’ suggested Andy.
Neil hesitated to think just what use he had in mind.
‘You know real artists. They use proper paints. They could use a knife like this on their pallet.’
‘Well, you’re an artist Andy. If you fold it away and keep it out of sight, then whose to know you’ve got a penknife. After all it’s only a penknife. It’s not a switchblade or a cutlass!’
‘You’re right. Okay, I’ll take it thanks.’
The monotony of the road ate up a few more miles but not as many as Neil had wished. How could he have been so unguarded on the slip-way? But it was too late to undo the journey. He had to make the best of a bad job and hope, just hope this journey was going to end satisfactorily for both of them. Such a solution was at present no where near.
With five miles short of the next service station, Neil decided he needed to have a face to face assessment of his passenger. He thought through his plan then put it to action.
‘Andy, we’ll stop at the next service station. I need a break and let’s have a coffee.’ He waited anxiously for his response.
‘Yeah, I need a break too.’
There was no more conversation before the car indicated to leave the motorway and made its way to a parking place near the Service entrance. Neil clicked his fob securing his books and Andy’s plastic bag in the back seat of the car.
They emerged together from the men’s room and made for the coffee shop.
‘What do you want then Andy?’
‘I’ll have a Cappuccino’
‘And anything to eat?’ Andy looked along the glass ledge and settled on ‘a muffin’.
‘One Cappuccino, a Latte and two blueberry buns, please.’
They made their way to a table by the window. Neil could see his car. Why oh why he wondered had this all come about. He had no intention of a further stop before he got home but this youth had begun to determine his moves. He was no longer in control. They sipped their coffees and un-wrapped their buns. Then Andy began to unzip his jacket. Inside was a jotter which he took carefully from his damp clothing and laid it carefully on the table.
‘I was keeping it dry’ Andy said needlessly but Neil recognised this was something he was protecting. Something he was pleased to produce in front of him. ‘So what’s this then?’
‘Here, have a look.’
Neil stretched his hand over and lifted the exercise book from the table. He found it easier to leaf through the book from the back. What he saw interested him. There were drawings of countryside and of farm animals. Then pages of drawings of motor cars, motorbikes and planes. Each carefully sketched in detail, with great accuracy. He smiled as he viewed his work.
‘Did you do all of these drawings Andy?’
‘Yes. It’s all my own work. I like to draw.’
Neil returned his eyes to the exercise book. He was eager to see what the next page would present. A building, then on the next page, was a prison scene. It seemed he could turn his hand to anything and create a picture in great detail. He sipped his coffee and finished his muffin before completing his inspection of this folio.
‘You draw very well indeed.’ Andy smiled.
Neil flipped slowly through to the start of the book. He eventually turned to the fist page. As he did so, a shudder took hold of him. He had focussed on the artist’s name. It was a name that rang a bell in his mind. An alarm bell to be precise. Andy noticed his reaction.
‘What’s up?’
Neil could not have hid his astonishment at reading his name. He had to come clean.
‘Andrew Hunt.