By Lindsey-Jane Doley. Adelaide, SA, Australia
My first European Tour of June 1974 was a twelve day marathon which included France, Italy, Austria, Switzerland, Germany, and fleetingly through Liechtenstein and Luxembourg. The tour company was called Cosmos and I think they’re still in business, but maybe have upgraded their standards a bit. While our trip was hardly deluxe, it did offer a wide variety of sights and experiences in a very short time.
We were a real United Nations of a group — there were Americans, Canadians, Indians, Japanese, South Africans, English, and, of course, Aussies.
I remember everyone pretty well. The two saddest people, though, were a father and daughter, Jenny and Jack (not their real names). They came from London and, judging by their appearance, came from one of the poorer, more disadvantaged areas. They both looked to be in very poor health. Their teeth were an unpleasant shade of green and had probably not seen a toothbrush for a long time. The daughter, Jenny, was overweight, had bad acne, greasy hair and both neglected their hygiene, which meant that when the bus stopped for meal breaks, Jenny and Jack found themselves sitting at a table alone. Other members of our tour tended to shun them. I recall Jenny expressing resentment at this and I think that she and her dad had no idea why others avoided them.
I shared a room with a woman named Shirley and she and I took pity on these two one day. We deliberately sat at their table and discovered that they’d recently suffered a bereavement. Jack’s wife, Jenny’s mother, had fairly recently died and they were taking this tour, I guess, to help them recover from their grief. Their situation was terribly sad and pathetic. I didn’t think I’d ever met two people so vulnerable and at such a disadvantage.
We also found that they weren’t the sharpest tools in the shed and that they most likely hadn’t had a very good education. Shirley and I were all too aware of their lack of hygiene, which made lunch a rather stinky, unpleasant experience, so we didn’t look to sit with them again.
One evening, our bus tour included a tour of Rome’s Tivoli Gardens. The night was a fine, warm, June evening. The day had been hot, but a soft breeze blowing through the gardens was cool and carried with it aromas of summer flowers like jasmine, and orange blossom. There was no moon and it was quite dark — the only lights were those of the small lamps which lined the various paths like glow worms. We were all told expressly to keep together and under no circumstances to veer from the path our guide was taking us on. From time to time, our guide, a stylish, but rather haughty French girl called Denise, called out to everyone and did a head count, using her torch.
I wish I could recall more of what we saw. I think there were some ornate fountains and some ancient Roman ruins. As I reflect back on that evening, I’m not sure why we weren’t taken to the Tivoli Gardens during the day, as at this time, we were so busy concentrating on keeping together and following our guide, that we saw very little.
During one headcount, it was discovered that two of our party were missing and they turned out to be — you guessed it — Jenny and Jack.
Denise called to them and we all called out to them, but this produced no result. I think one of the managers or curators of the gardens were brought in and they walked along various paths, calling to Jenny and Jack as they went, but still there was no response. Things were becoming dire and panic was setting in. Mobile phones were non-existent and were yet to be invented. Denise was understandably angry and she snapped instructions to the rest of us to stay together and not to move an inch from where we stood. She always spoke to us as if we were a class of wayward school children.
I’m not sure just how long the search for Jenny and Jack went on, but quite suddenly, they emerged from a path, which was lined with dense hedges. Heaven knows how they’d got there or found their way back. They seemed completely oblivious to the drama they were causing. I did say earlier that they weren’t very bright. Denise had been on the verge of calling the police and I’m pretty sure she gave them a good dressing down.
During the remainder of the tour, Jenny would seek out Shirley and me for company, telling us how much she missed her mum and how lonely she was.
After the tour was over and I’d returned to Australia, Jenny wrote to me for a while — Shirley, too. I remember a Christmas card she sent me in December 1974. I didn’t hear from her again after that, but I’ve often thought about Jenny over the years, and at how vulnerable she seemed to be in so many facets of life. I’ve always hoped that she was safe and able to get some help with her health and find some friendship.
Shirley remained a dear friend until her death in 1995 and although we didn’t get to see each other again, we wrote frequently to catch up on our news and the travels we’d made. Holiday friendships can be very special.
