Yesterday I mentioned the family photo
albums which my grandchildren enjoy looking through.
Browsing through the albums some photos
seem much more significant than others, especially in retrospect.
In 1959 at the age of seventeen I went
abroad for the first time in my life. Until then holidays were spent
with relatives or friends in London, Bournemouth, Welwyn-Garden-City
and Kent. Although both my brothers had served in Germany in the
early 50's, none of my immediate family had been abroad since
1930.
That exciting world on the other side
of the English channel was out of bounds for me until July 1959 when
I set off with a group of other teenagers on a long and exhausting
journey by ferry and train to Belgrade in Yugoslavia.
On arrival we were greeted by the families that would be hosting us for the next month. My
'family' consisted of father, mother and two daughters (Nadja and
Svetlana) Though the day I arrived, only the father and Svetlana were
at home. Nadja, who was about my age, was in Dubrovnik attending a
pioneer youth camp and the mother was permanently away on business.
Although they greeted me warmly and hospitably, neither Svetlana or
her father spoke English or French and I spoke neither Serbo-croat or
Russian. We found that finger-language was better than nothing. When
Nadja came home a few days later communication was easier, because
she spoke basic English.Did it occur to me that I should try
to learn their language? No, because at that time foreign
language-learning did not interest me and Nadja and other people I
met wanted to learn English.
It was one of the most intense months
of my life. It is difficult for me to express my impressions, because
where should I start? If you have ever seen the commercial on BBC world
about a young back-packer in India, you will know what I mean. His experiences are so new and
overwhelming that all he can write on a postcard is: 'India,
incredible India!'
Belgrade, 1959, incredible; everything was different.
Nadja and her family lived in an
appartment building near a market. Every morning I woke up to the
sound of horse-drawn carts rattling over the cobble-stoned street on
the way to the market. The family shopped there too of course and
brought home juicy yellow peaches, enormous tomatoes, vegetables I
had never seen before, such as peppers and aubergines. One day the
father came back with a squawking chicken, which a few hours later he
served up for lunch.
Nadja on the left. Me on the right.
In the evenings we strolled through
Kalamegdan or along a walking-street and afterwards listened to
folksongs in cafes where we drank fresh lemonade through real straws,
not plastic ones.
What impressed me most of all was that
people in general seemed so proudly enthusiastic about their country
and the progress they were making. Apart from showing me monuments
and taking me to museums I remember especially a department store
with a brand new escalator; people were going up and down, up and
down it, because it was the first one in the country and they were
immensely proud of it.
The first day I met Nadja she gave me
one of the most truly generous gifts I have ever received; this
signed photo of Marshal Tito.
Nadja as a Pioneer was an avid
supporter of Tito. Just before returning home she had met him by
chance on the beach in Dubrovnik. He stopped to talk to her and gave
her his photo as a momento.
One of the highlights of my stay was a
two to three-day boat-trip on the Danube to the Rumanien border where
we visited the Iron Gate
The following year Nadja visited me for
a month. By that time she spoke English fluently and later studied it
at university.
The family invited me to visit them again in
Belgrade, and although I would have loved to have accepted their
invitation, I never did. Nadja and I corresponded for some years.
She married in
1962.
A few years later she gave birth to a daughter, Jelena.
After
that we lost touch with each other.
In 1987 I started learning Serbo-Croat
and in 1989 I attended a language course at the University of
Belgrade. Before going I tried unsuccessfully to trace Nadja and her
family. I would have loved to have told them how much I appreciated their warm and generous hospitality; especially in retrospect.
Nowadays it is easier to find
long-lost friends and relatives. Steve Jobs, Bill Gates and all the
other 21st century wizards have helped us make miracles happen.
Some time ago I got a truly amazing
twit:
'Do you remember me? We met in Calcutta
in the early 80s, when I was 12'.
I certainly did and what is more I am
going to visit him and his wife and son later on this year in
Bangkok.
