The Photo

This photograph of me was taken in 1953, in Mombasa. I'm wearing my favourite tee shirt, showing a cowboy on his horse turning to shoot his six-gun at the Indians who are close behind him. I look happy.

What I didn't appreciate at the time was that the photo was taken for a specific purpose, to apply for a passport. I had by then already travelled to and from the UK several times but that had been on my parents' passports, and I now needed one of my own. The reason for that was my imminent departure to school in England, by myself.

It's a good picture, taken by a local photographer who had built a high reputation amongst the European population. I wish I could remember his name, but he had a studio in town and, like so many successful Mombasa businessmen, he was an Indian.

I have very mixed feelings as I look at the small boy smiling back at me. He's about to go through some traumatic times but, on the positive side, he's been incredibly lucky with the life he's led. His house is large and airy, and it and he are looked after by three servants. He's taken swimming off white sand, palm-fringed beaches in a tropical climate which is sunny but mild. He's had experiences which most British kids have not. For example, he's visited game parks, travelled on large ships, and flown in a variety of aeroplanes. His mum and dad love him, enough to feel they have to send him away so he can have a superior education.

I'm very grateful to my mother for her foresight in keeping things like my old photograph albums; and I feel fortunate that I have the time, in my old age, to look at pictures, like this one, which remind me of what used to be. I just wish I could wind the clock back to those far off days - or perhaps not, because I wouldn't like to have to go through again what that small boy is about to experience.