For the love of Christopher

The longest mile is the last mile home

The long journey from Athens had taken four days. It had been an unforgettable journey full of drama and twists and turns. We were both unbelievably happy. We hugged each other and cried tears of joy and relief when we finally landed in Dover, a major port in England and the gateway to Europe for English people. Now we had to find our way home with very little money. It was four o'clock in the afternoon. The month was October and for that time of year, it was quite mild. I decided we should hitch-hike to London and try to take a coach to Manchester. We didn't fancy hitch-hiking all the way to Manchester. We were desperately tired after the long trip from Greece and we wanted to do the last leg of our journey in comfort. It is said that the longest mile is the last mile home and that's just what it felt like at that time. The fact that we didn't have enough money for the fares would have to be dealt with when we arrived at Victoria Bus Station in London.
We waited on the road out of Dover where I thought it would be easy to get a lift. There had been plenty of wagons on the ferry which I thought would be travelling to different parts of the country. We only waited for about twenty minutes before a wagon pulled up and we got a lift straight away. We were delighted as we were very tired, exhausted in fact from the long, eventful journey from Athens. The driver was going directly to London which was a godsend. We could relax and have a rest without worrying about when we might get our next lift.
The driver was called Charlie. He was a large man with a large, bushy beard and a large smile to match. It was a pleasant journey that took just over two hours. It was rush hour and there was a lot of traffic on the road. Helen slept most of the way so Charlie and I had a good chat about football, my favourite pastime. Charlie was a big West Ham supporter and he told me about his travels round England and Europe.
"I'm a Bolton Wanderers supporter," I told him with a smile. "The furthest Bolton has travelled is to Portsmouth!" which made him laugh out loud. Charlie was good company and a good laugh. He was a typical Cockney character like most of the Cockneys I have bumped into over the years. He even bought us a meal at the motorway services for which we were very grateful.
When we arrived in London, we headed straight to Victoria station where our intentions were to find the National Coaches. Victoria Coach Station is the largest coach station in London and from there coaches travel all over Great Britain and Europe. We needed find a coach travelling north to Manchester. It wasn't difficult. The coach was empty with only the driver on board. I needed to use all my powers of persuasion in order to get him to allow us on board without a ticket. I considered that if I showed him some ID and promised to pay later, he might just allow us to travel.
We tentatively approached the driver. I told him our story which undoubtedly sounded like a sob-story, but it was nonetheless true. When I explained that I had had to smuggle Helen out of Greece, away from her domineering parents so that we could be together, Helen started to weep. "I feel so sick," she wailed. "I'm tired and I'm hungry." We looked earnestly at the driver and waited for his reaction. Praise be to God, the driver took pity on us let us on the coach free of charge. Like I said previously, there are good people in the world and we knew we had been blessed to find several of them in our hour of need. Most of the journey back, Helen slept in my arms. She was very tired and was more than likely worried about what lay head. She had a lot to face in her new life; a completely different culture. I just relaxed thinking how happy I was, to be with Helen after all the troubles I had faced in Greece. I thanked my lucky stars I had got out alive after taking Maria's daughter away from her family. Rightly, or wrongly, we did what we had to do to be together. I knew her family would be looking for me all over Athens. Their intentions were to get rid of me and they weren't averse to using foul means and evil ways to do it.
We arrived in Manchester at Chorlton Street coach station in the early hours of the morning. To our surprise, before we got off the coach, the Geordie driver whose name was Simon, announced to all the passengers how Helen and I had been forced to escape from Greece and Helen's controlling family so that we could be together. What happened next brought me to tears. Most of the passengers came over and hugged Helen and me. Some had tears in their eyes and they had a collection for us so we could get a taxi home to Bolton from Manchester. We would never be able to thank them enough for their generosity and the seventy pounds they collected was more than enough to get us home in comfort. Good people were appearing everywhere and we were truly grateful. We said our goodbyes to everybody and hugged the driver. "Good luck," he said and we went on our way.
Walking through Chorlton Street bus station was an experience in itself. We passed people who were drunk and sleeping on the litter-strewn floor; tramps drinking bottles of cider ignoring everybody around them. It wasn't a pleasant sight for Helen to see on her first trip to England and I hoped she wasn't wondering what the hell she had come to. She kept her thoughts to herself.
We took a taxi straight to my mother's house in Farnworth just a few miles from Alder Street where I lived. I knew my mother would be waiting up for us as she couldn't wait to see me and especially Helen, whom she felt she knew so much about after the tales I had told her. We arrived at the house and I was so happy and proud of being able to introduce Helen to my mum. When the taxi pulled up outside the house, the light in the kitchen was on. I looked at Helen and she smiled at me and held my hand tightly. She was slightly nervous meeting my mother for the first time, but I reassured her that my mother was gentle and caring and was really looking forward to meeting her.
My mother saw us walking up the path. She had waited up all night to see us. That was typical of my mum. She is the most caring person I have ever met. The door opened and there she was. Her face was a picture. She had tears rolling down her cheeks and I was grinning like a Cheshire cat. She hugged Helen for what seemed ages and she smiled at me as she said, "I'm so proud of you after everything you went through to get Helen here to England. She is so beautiful."
We had a cup of tea and spoke a little about how I managed to get Helen out of Greece. I didn't go into too much detail as I didn't want to frighten her by saying how lucky I was to get out of Greece alive. Helen tried to speak to my mother a little bit, but her English at that point wasn't good. We didn't stay up for long; probably no more than an hour; we were both totally worn out, Helen particularly. She gave my mother a hug and a kiss and wished her goodnight in her cute, broken English.
My mother looked at me and smiled. I think she was so happy and proud. She hugged me and kissed my cheek. I said good night to my mum and took Helen upstairs to the spare bedroom. It was small with a few pictures on the wall and a small dressing table and a wardrobe, but it was warm and cosy. We got straight into bed. I kissed Helen goodnight and I cuddled her until we fell asleep. I didn't think anything about the troubles or the journey home. I just fell into a deep, peaceful sleep. The long journey from Athens had taken four days. It had been an unforgettable journey full of drama and twists and turns. We were both unbelievably happy. We hugged each other and cried tears of joy and relief when we finally landed in Dover, a major port in England and the gateway to Europe for English people. Now we had to find our way home with very little money. It was four o'clock in the afternoon. The month was October and for that time of year, it was quite mild. I decided we should hitch-hike to London and try to take a coach to Manchester. We didn't fancy hitch-hiking all the way to Manchester. We were desperately tired after the long trip from Greece and we wanted to do the last leg of our journey in comfort. It is said that the longest mile is the last mile home and that's just what it felt like at that time. The fact that we didn't have enough money for the fares would have to be dealt with when we arrived at Victoria Bus Station in London.
We waited on the road out of Dover where I thought it would be easy to get a lift. There had been plenty of wagons on the ferry which I thought would be travelling to different parts of the country. We only waited for about twenty minutes before a wagon pulled up and we got a lift straight away. We were delighted as we were very tired, exhausted in fact from the long, eventful journey from Athens. The driver was going directly to London which was a godsend. We could relax and have a rest without worrying about when we might get our next lift.
The driver was called Charlie. He was a large man with a large, bushy beard and a large smile to match. It was a pleasant journey that took just over two hours. It was rush hour and there was a lot of traffic on the road. Helen slept most of the way so Charlie and I had a good chat about football, my favourite pastime. Charlie was a big West Ham supporter and he told me about his travels round England and Europe.
"I'm a Bolton Wanderers supporter," I told him with a smile. "The furthest Bolton has travelled is to Portsmouth!" which made him laugh out loud. Charlie was good company and a good laugh. He was a typical Cockney character like most of the Cockneys I have bumped into over the years. He even bought us a meal at the motorway services for which we were very grateful.
When we arrived in London, we headed straight to Victoria station where our intentions were to find the National Coaches. Victoria Coach Station is the largest coach station in London and from there coaches travel all over Great Britain and Europe. We needed find a coach travelling north to Manchester. It wasn't difficult. The coach was empty with only the driver on board. I needed to use all my powers of persuasion in order to get him to allow us on board without a ticket. I considered that if I showed him some ID and promised to pay later, he might just allow us to travel.
We tentatively approached the driver. I told him our story which undoubtedly sounded like a sob-story, but it was nonetheless true. When I explained that I had had to smuggle Helen out of Greece, away from her domineering parents so that we could be together, Helen started to weep. "I feel so sick," she wailed. "I'm tired and I'm hungry." We looked earnestly at the driver and waited for his reaction. Praise be to God, the driver took pity on us let us on the coach free of charge. Like I said previously, there are good people in the world and we knew we had been blessed to find several of them in our hour of need. Most of the journey back, Helen slept in my arms. She was very tired and was more than likely worried about what lay head. She had a lot to face in her new life; a completely different culture. I just relaxed thinking how happy I was, to be with Helen after all the troubles I had faced in Greece. I thanked my lucky stars I had got out alive after taking Maria's daughter away from her family. Rightly, or wrongly, we did what we had to do to be together. I knew her family would be looking for me all over Athens. Their intentions were to get rid of me and they weren't averse to using foul means and evil ways to do it.
We arrived in Manchester at Chorlton Street coach station in the early hours of the morning. To our surprise, before we got off the coach, the Geordie driver whose name was Simon, announced to all the passengers how Helen and I had been forced to escape from Greece and Helen's controlling family so that we could be together. What happened next brought me to tears. Most of the passengers came over and hugged Helen and me. Some had tears in their eyes and they had a collection for us so we could get a taxi home to Bolton from Manchester. We would never be able to thank them enough for their generosity and the seventy pounds they collected was more than enough to get us home in comfort. Good people were appearing everywhere and we were truly grateful. We said our goodbyes to everybody and hugged the driver. "Good luck," he said and we went on our way.
Walking through Chorlton Street bus station was an experience in itself. We passed people who were drunk and sleeping on the litter-strewn floor; tramps drinking bottles of cider ignoring everybody around them. It wasn't a pleasant sight for Helen to see on her first trip to England and I hoped she wasn't wondering what the hell she had come to. She kept her thoughts to herself.
We took a taxi straight to my mother's house in Farnworth just a few miles from Alder Street where I lived. I knew my mother would be waiting up for us as she couldn't wait to see me and especially Helen, whom she felt she knew so much about after the tales I had told her. We arrived at the house and I was so happy and proud of being able to introduce Helen to my mum. When the taxi pulled up outside the house, the light in the kitchen was on. I looked at Helen and she smiled at me and held my hand tightly. She was slightly nervous meeting my mother for the first time, but I reassured her that my mother was gentle and caring and was really looking forward to meeting her.
My mother saw us walking up the path. She had waited up all night to see us. That was typical of my mum. She is the most caring person I have ever met. The door opened and there she was. Her face was a picture. She had tears rolling down her cheeks and I was grinning like a Cheshire cat. She hugged Helen for what seemed ages and she smiled at me as she said, "I'm so proud of you after everything you went through to get Helen here to England. She is so beautiful."
We had a cup of tea and spoke a little about how I managed to get Helen out of Greece. I didn't go into too much detail as I didn't want to frighten her by saying how lucky I was to get out of Greece alive. Helen tried to speak to my mother a little bit, but her English at that point wasn't good. We didn't stay up for long; probably no more than an hour; we were both totally worn out, Helen particularly. She gave my mother a hug and a kiss and wished her goodnight in her cute, broken English.
My mother looked at me and smiled. I think she was so happy and proud. She hugged me and kissed my cheek. I said good night to my mum and took Helen upstairs to the spare bedroom. It was small with a few pictures on the wall and a small dressing table and a wardrobe, but it was warm and cosy. We got straight into bed. I kissed Helen goodnight and I cuddled her until we fell asleep. I didn't think anything about the troubles or the journey home. I just fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.