Travelling Hopefully by Pat Laing

Author:Pat Laing [Laing, Pat]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781903056370
Publisher: Self Publishing

Chapter 12

1975 – To Spain by French Rail

After eighteen months at home (no holiday in 1974), the lure of hot sun and warm sea persuaded us to plan yet another trip to Spain, in 1975. For reasons that escape me, we decided to try both a different agent and a different means of travel through France. Subsequent events proved both decisions to have been seriously misguided.

First, with regard to our means of travel, Wally, with the memory of long hours spent at the wheel with sun blazing down on the narrow winding roads, suggested that we try French Rail. At that time French railways were running a highly successful advertising campaign urging unsuspecting Britons to put their cars onto French trains and travel in comfort on the train across France. Having travelled by train to both Italy and Spain in earlier year, I had some misgivings.

‘Nonsense,’ said Wally. ‘You’ve got no idea what the trains are like today.’

I remarked acidly that the time to which I was referring was less than twenty years ago.

‘French trains are magnificent,’ enthused a colleague at work, ‘and the food is out of this world’.

I wondered if he could have been referring to some pre-war era and a journey on the Orient Express, but realised that he was not old enough to have experienced that. Therefore the decision was taken – French Rail it would be.

By this time, Angela and Richie had married and Teresa was old enough to holiday with friends of her own age, so the number in our party was reduced to Wally, me, our six children and Louise, a friend of Sarah. We made our booking. We would drive to Folkestone and cross the Channel on the ferry to Boulogne. Here we would drive our car onto the train which would carry us across France overnight while we, after a delicious dinner on the train, would sleep soundly in our sleeping compartment. After a French breakfast eaten while travelling through a picturesque part of France we would arrive at Avignon refreshed and ready to commence the last leg of our journey – a six-hour drive into Spain. We made and paid for our bookings to include two adjacent sleeping compartments and dinner and breakfast for all nine of us to be taken on the train.

That was the plan. Reality proved very different. The first leg of the journey went smoothly. Admittedly, in that pre-M25 age, we had to leave home at 4 a.m. in order to be certain of arriving at Folkestone in time to catch the noon ferry, but there was at least the prospect of a pleasant afternoon on the boat and an evening on the train. The second part of the journey also passed without a hitch and we arrived at Boulogne at 4 p.m. There was a little confusion at this stage over where the loading point for our car was to be found, but this was eventually sorted out. As the loading of cars was not due to begin until 6 p.

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