Chapter 2

Bye, Cathie. Just the two of them waving us off.

Rounding the corner half-way up the hill, Mike and Cathie out of sight.

Wish she was with me. Couldn’t stay pre-occupied for long – the unfamiliar view of the world from high up in a coach was much too interesting. Pity I was last to get on; not a chance of a window seat. Fellow passengers quite interesting, too. Snatches of conversation.

A few vaguely familiar faces, but no-one I knew, not even vaguely. A lot of young families. Not surprising: no concessions for the elderly or the unemployed, but generous ones for children. A foretaste of the Finnish mind?

Sweeping around the curves of an overgrown model racetrack. A complex intersection. Onto the motorway. Steady drone of engine.

Cuttings, featurelessness. Embankments, putting the world below us, far away, toylike.

Cuttings again.

Steady drone of engine.

Roadworks, mile after mile of pink plastic posts. Half a dozen of them skittle-scattered, bright green dye all over the road where one of them had been a burster to mark the culprit’s vehicle. Another burst, orange, a mile or two further on.

Steady drone of engine; rising to a roar, climbing a long gradient. Crawling convoy of heavy trucks. Strange to see so many vehicles, particularly so many private cars.

Tremendous view over small towns in valley to the right, hills beyond.

Steady drone of engine.

Reservoir to the left, our road crossing the dam. Cutting. High, slender bridge over.

Steady drone of engine.

Snatches of conversation.

A baby crying.

The old lady beside me – the only old person on the coach – stands up to take her furs (fake?) off.

‘Excuse me, young man.’

‘No trouble.’

‘Thank you.’

Steady drone of engine.

Big, complex intersection. Slip-roads joining and parting, big blue signs.

Hunks of tyre in the road. Truck on the hard shoulder.

Car on the hard shoulder, bonnet open, small group standing disconsolate staring at the traffic. Woman trudging telephonewards.

Steady drone of engine.

Another long hill. Decelerating. Pulling off into service station. Coach park. Blessed silence, disorientating. Strange sensation of everything moving forward past me from behind.

‘We’re going to be here for thirty minutes. Don’t be late back.’ Exit driver.

Isn’t he going to lock the coach?

Off the coach. Driver is checking something under a side cover. Locks up and follows us all.

When, if ever, are these places busy?

Rows of shabby video games, solitary teenager playing. Two pool tables in a dimly lit alcove. Light and balls two-fifty for thirty minutes. Deposit ten quid.

Tea. Everything else too expensive.

Terrible tea.

‘Do you mind if we sit with you?’ Young couple, three small children. From my coach party. Plenty of other tables free; just being sociable.

‘Of course I don’t mind.’

‘You’re on our coach, aren’t you? We’ll be in the same hotel in Helsinki I imagine. I’m Harry. This is Irene, and the boys are Ken, Graham and Leon, in order of size. I hope you don’t think we’re forward.’

Yes, I do. I wouldn’t have thought about it if you hadn’t said, though. What’s wrong with being forward, anyway? Not that I’d have the guts myself. What do I say?

‘Not at all. I’m pleased to meet you. My name’s Pete. Harry, you said? And Irene. But I didn’t catch the boy’s names.’

‘Ken, Graham and Leon, in order of size. But don’t try to remember them. ‘Oy! You! Terror!’ is a fine mode of address.’

‘Are you on your own? We thought you must be with your grandmother at first, but you never said above two words to each other the whole way here, and then when we got off, you obviously had nothing to do with each other.’

They’re two of a pair, these two. She’s as bad as her husband. Blunt! But what’s wrong with being blunt?

For all she knows, she could be being incredibly tactless.

I bet those boys are revolting brats, with parents like these.

‘Yes, I’m on my own.’

Don’t know what else to say. Don’t really feel like saying anything else.

Half an hour’s conversation. Nine-tenths The Blunts, one tenth almost monosyllabic responses from me. Most of what they say in one ear and out the other.

A blessed relief to be back on the coach.

‘Would you like the window seat, young man?’

‘Thanks for the thought, but I’m all right here. I could see you were enjoying the view.’

‘But I think I’m going to nod off now, so it’s all right.’

‘Thanks’

The old lady really does doze off.

Scotland. I’ve never been in Scotland before.

Another big junction. Suddenly there is a lot less traffic.

Steady drone of engine.

Desolate moorlands. Not a cloud in the sky.

Police car speeds past, blue light flashing. Quickly vanishes in the distance.

River in the bottom of the valley far below us, swinging from side to side of its bed of gravel, between green meadows. Calm and beautiful. Railway, running parallel, a hundred feet or so below us.

Catch a snatch of strident Blunt voice reprimanding a brat.

Climbing again, engine note changes. Railway disappears into cutting, just a slash across the moor.

Coach coming the other way flashes his lights. Just friendly, or communication of some kind?

Notice the weight of the old lady’s head resting against my arm. Feeling sleepy myself.

Cathie, I love you. I’ll see you in ten days. Maybe one day we’ll go to Finland together. I wish you were here now.

Bonk! goes my head against the window. Sound of coach’s horn.

Vision of the viaduct in sunshine. Lying on the rocks by the falls, with Cathie in my arm. Splashing each other in the river.

Bonk! goes my head against the window. Changes of engine note as the driver changes gear. Bonk! again.

Blunt voices pointing out aeroplanes to brats. Funny how the voices you recognize stick out from the general chatter.

There is something particularly strident about Blunt voices. Harsh and loud.

... Aeroplanes?

Waking up just as the coach draws to a halt outside a swish modern building with rows and rows of glass doors. The old lady is already awake, and has her furs on.

‘Had a good sleep, young man? I did.’

‘Yes, thanks.’ But I’ve got a headache now.

Off the coach. Driver unloading cases from under side covers. I start for the glass doors, following laden fellow travellers. I see the old lady struggling with an enormous suitcase.

‘Here, I’ll carry that.’

‘Thank you very much. There’s not so many chaps like you about any more.’

I wonder if that’s true. I wonder if there ever were.

Actually, I think we’re as common as muck. But we don’t often notice when someone needs help.

All in a queue. Baggage weighing and check-in. My kitbag goes in the cabin as hand luggage. I could’ve walked straight past. If I’d known.

Security screening. X rays that don’t fog your film. I don’t believe that. They don’t mind checking my camera – Mike’s camera – and spare roll of film separately, by hand.

Departure lounge and duty-free shop. It’s a different world from Burnfield.

Wander over to the duty-free shop. Apart from fags and booze, prices are much higher than in Burnfield. The cafeteria prices are loony, too. I hope they feed us on the plane. I think they’re supposed to.

Three o’clock. No wonder I’m thinking about food.

Departure board. We are due to board at fifteen thirty. Expected to leave on time.

What a boring place. Thank goodness The Blunts are eating.

Sitting on a low seat, staring at another just like it.

‘Flight PIA217 now boarding at Gate Number Five.’

We’re next on the list.

But we’re not the next to go.

Fifteen forty-five. We’re off!

Ten minutes sitting in the plane. Noise of engines. Rolling across the airfield. Five minutes not moving. Another short roll. Three minutes stationary.

‘Please extinguish your cigarettes, and fasten your seat belts.’

The sensation of taking off was very strange. The whole environment seemed unreal. My ears hurt. Then the plane levelled off a bit – or perhaps just wasn’t accelerating so much. After a bit the pain in my ears lessened. I wished I was by a window.

They did serve a meal.

Is delicatessen the same everywhere? Or is this what Finns eat normally?

It didn’t really fill the hole in my guts.

The coffee was better than the tea in the motorway service station.

No, I didn’t want any alcoholic beverage. Not even if I had to pay for it.

I was bored. I tried to read the magazine from the pocket in the back of the seat in front, but it was boring. I tried to sleep, but the seat wasn’t a suitable shape, at any of its angles. Even worse than the seat in the coach.

I thought of the day before, with Cathie. It already seemed far away and long ago.

I wondered where we were.

‘Please fasten your seat belts. Extinguish your cigarettes.’

Surely we’re not there already.

The plane started shuddering, and we seemed to be descending steeply. An announcement in a foreign language. Presumably Finnish. Then in English:

‘Your attention please. There has been a partial failure in the control system, and we will shortly be making an emergency landing. Please keep your seat belts fastened.’

We seemed to be descending at a tremendous angle for ages, shuddering the whole while. It was really rather frightening.

The air crew obviously realized that many of the passengers were terrified. They issued another announcement in Finnish – presumably – and then again in English:

‘The situation is not dangerous. We expect to make a perfectly safe landing in a few moments. Please keep your seat belts fastened until the aircraft is completely stationary.’

My ears were hurting dreadfully, and I had a pain in my sinuses.

Suddenly the plane started levelling out.

Announcement in Finnish, then: ‘Please put your head between your knees.’

There was a sudden lurch, pressing me down deeply into my seat. A new, rumbling, roaring sound; and then another, harsher roaring as well, and I was pushed forward against my seat belt for what seemed a very long time. Another lurch.

A great feeling of relief as suddenly everything seemed quiet and still. We were still moving, but the violence had gone. I could feel the plane turning. I sat up. Out of the window beyond my neighbour I could see tarmac, then grass, and in the distance, wooded hills. A small cluster of neat, modern concrete buildings swung across my view. Then a group of about six small aircraft sitting on the grass. They were light blue underneath and blotchy green and olive on top. They had no sign of windows at all. They looked solid and strong, with short, thick wings and sweeping, uncompromising lines, with no irregular curves or bumps.

With a slight jolt we came to a halt.

‘Please remain in your seats. Do not light cigarettes. You may unfasten your seat belts. Tea and coffee will be served in a few moments.’

A small, military-looking vehicle sped across the tarmac towards us. It disappeared from my field of view.

Nothing happened in the interval of several minutes before the stewardesses appeared with drinks. The level of excited chatter rose.

I was glad of the coffee. I felt very jumpy.

Nothing happened. I wondered what was going on. I looked round at my fellow passengers. Most of them were talking excitedly. Several were trying to attract the attention of the stewardesses. One man was quietly reading.

I decided to follow his example, but the magazine seemed as boring as it had before, and I had nothing else.

After several minutes, another vehicle came across the tarmac towards us, and again disappeared from sight.

‘We were unfortunately unable to reach a civilian airfield, and we have landed at a military base in Sweden. Arrangements are being made to bring a relief aeroplane here for you as soon as possible. In the meantime I’m afraid you will have to remain in this aeroplane.’

The two vehicles went back across the tarmac.

A baby cried for a while.

Another vehicle came out to us. This one stopped in my field of view. Two uniformed men got out. A man in airline uniform went out to meet them. They stood talking for a few moments. One of the Swedes went back to the vehicle and drove off. The other two returned towards the plane.

‘The relief aeroplane is expected in about two hours. We apologize for this unavoidable inconvenience. We are shortly going to be towed out of the way. Please remain seated until I tell you that all movements are complete. Thank you.’

The cluster of concrete buildings and the military planes reappeared in the distance briefly. A few moments later we were alongside the buildings. It was very hard to orient myself, but I had the impression that we had been positioned in such a way that the buildings were between us and the windowless planes.

‘We do not expect to move this aeroplane again until after you have left it. Arrangements are in hand for a further supply of coffee and tea, which will be served on request until the relief aeroplane arrives, and for a supply of sandwiches.’

Thank goodness for that.

The drinks arrived after only ten or fifteen minutes, but the sandwiches seemed to take forever.

A glaring red sun appeared in the window the opposite side of the plane. It seemed to be moving quite fast. Craning my neck I could see it setting, silhouetting a distant line of trees.

The cabin lights had been on all the time, but they suddenly became noticeable. Outside suddenly looked dark and cold. Gradually everything outside disappeared except the lighted windows of the buildings.

Two hours passed, without any sign of a relief plane. Another hour.

‘We apologize for the delay in obtaining a relief aeroplane. The commander of the base has kindly made arrangements for a meal for us in the canteen here, and for us to spend the remainder of our wait there.’

The stewardesses ushered us out of one of the emergency doors over the wing. The descent to the ground was an undignified slide down an inflatable ramp.

The canteeen was very impressive. Everything looked solid and well-made, despite a modern appearance. Everything was spotlessly clean. Nothing seemed to be marked or damaged.

The food was excellent, the helpings generous. Although we’d been served cafeteria-style, waitresses hovered about, clearing away dirty things and offering teas and coffees. I felt comfortably full, and warm, and relaxed.

The eldest Blunt boy appeared, bearing a chess set. ‘Hello. Dad said he thought you might like a game.’

Why not? Anything to wile away a little time. I hope the relief plane arrives soon.

‘Okay. You be white.’

He wasn’t bad, for an eight year old. I let him take the silliest moves back, and made my moves quickly, without following them through in my mind, and we had quite a reasonable game. Half-way through the second game Harry came over to watch. I was astonished to learn that he was able to keep his mouth shut.

Perhaps I wasn’t being very charitable. What was it Mike called me? A curmudgeonly old recluse? Perhaps I’d better watch myself!

Then Harry wanted to play with me. Ken watched for a bit, and then wandered off, bored. Harry was back to his infuriating self in moments, commenting on every move either of us made, and how-silly-of-me-ing every time I saw something through one move farther than he did.

I wish that plane would hurry up.

‘Would you like another cup of coffee, sirs? Or tea?’

Excellent English. Only a trace of a foreign accent.

‘Please. Coffee. White. No sugar. Thanks.’

‘And you sir?’

‘The same. Thanks.’

‘Attention please! We regret to announce that the relief aeroplane will not arrive until seven thirty tomorrow morning. We have arranged for you to stay in a hotel near here tonight. Coaches will arrive to take you there in about twenty minutes.’

Do we get an extra day in Helsinki at the end of the holiday, to make up? Some folk probably have to be back at work the day after. Do we get a discount? Or is a night in Sweden reckoned to be as good as a night in Helsinki?

The coaches were very luxurious. Double glazed, air conditioned, beautifully upholstered. We were treated to a video show. In English. I took the headphones off again; I preferred to stare out into the night. The horizon was barely visible as a demarcation between shades of black.

Then we were driving through forest. The headlights of the coaches made eerie shadows dance down dimly lit files of trees alongside. The journey took just over an hour.

That means an hour going back in the morning. Away at six thirty. Up at five thirty? Or is there another airfield nearer the hotel?

It’d be quite nice to do that drive again in daylight.

Everyone’s luggage had arrived ahead of us, and was waiting in the hotel foyer. The hotel seemed brand new, and very up-market.

Not the sort of place we’ll be in in Helsinki!

The reception desk was unattended. The wall behind it was an enormous computer screen. A border of pulsating lights drew attention to the message at the top of the screen:

BRITISH HELSINKI PARTY:

YOUR ROOM NUMBERS APPEAR BELOW.

WE WILL CALL YOU AT 5:45 am FOR BREAKFAST AT 6:15 am, UNLESS YOU REQUEST OTHERWISE

(SEE TERMINAL BESIDE RECEPTION).

REFRESHMENTS ARE AVAILABLE AT ALL TIMES.

FOLLOW THE YELLOW FLOOR TILES TO THE

DINING ROOM AND BAR.

PLEASE MAKE USE OF THE ELECTRONIC TROLLEYS

TO CONVEY YOUR LUGGAGE.

I had a good look at an electronic trolley, even though I didn’t need one. It had a keyboard and a screen. The screen invited me to load my luggage onto the platform, and punch in my room number, or F for foyer. I wondered what other messages might appear on that screen, in what circumstances. Or whether a printed plate would have done equally well.

The old lady was looking in puzzlement at a trolley.

‘I don’t think this one’s working.’

I looked at the screen. She had typed her room number; it had appeared on the screen instead of the message. There was a flashing yellow cursor blinking cheerfully just after the last digit.

‘You probably need to press ENTER. It’s waiting for you to finish your room number; the stupid thing doesn’t know this hotel doesn’t have any four digit room numbers. Here.’

I pressed ENTER and the thing trundled off, negotiating piles of luggage and people’s legs with perfect judgement. It waited for a moment to avoid moving into the path of a speeding child.

The old lady watched it in amazement. I realized that she hadn’t understood a word I’d said, and hadn’t a clue what I’d done. Not that I’d ever seen anything like it, either. But I had had a little experience with keyboards and screens at school.

It’d be so easy for them to include ‘Then Press ENTER’ in their message. But would it help? I imagined the old lady typing ENTER letter by letter. Anyone much younger than her knows. Anyway, why shouldn’t it accept ENTER in letters instead?

‘If you follow it, it’ll take you to your room.’

But I was wrong. The trolleys had their own tiny lift.

The rooms were very easy to find. I took the lift to L floor. There’s no F floor – F for Foyer.

A plaque opposite the lift informed me, in about ten languages, that room numbers less than one hundred were to the left, greater than one hundred to the right. I wonder how many rooms there are on each floor? I didn’t even count the floors. It’s a big hotel.

But I had to be up early in the morning, and I didn’t investigate any further.

After I’d got into bed I realized that the message on the trolley screens had been in English. A printed plate would’ve been no use at all. Tomorrow those screens will be offering a choice of languages before telling you what to do.

I was asleep a few moments later.

Back to the top

On to Chapter 3