The Hand

When my brother and I were sent off to school in England my mother gave each of us a photo album into which she had stuck a somewhat odd selection of pictures. One has to remember that, in those days, people didn't take many pictures so she probably did the best she could to find ones that would remind us of home.

She updated the album each time we returned for our summer holidays so....

....this picture was probably added during the summer holiday of 1954. It shows the family on the day in early January of that year when my mother, Richard and I set off for Nairobi where I would join the 'plane for my first flight alone to school in England. Bunched up in my left hand is a handkerchief: I think I held it for the next two days as we drove to Tsavo to stay the first night in an hotel, and then on the next day to Nairobi.

Why my mother thought this was an appropriate photo to have in my album defeats me as it must have reminded me of one of the most miserable days of my life. It was probably photos like this which ensured that, as far as I can recall, I never looked at the album during the years I was in England.

I don't mind looking at it now. While it carries deeply unhappy memories it's a good picture of the family, but I like it for another reason. Just to the left of my father's head is a hand, waving. It belongs to Gabriel, the cheerful African Mercantile* driver, who is sitting in the car ready to drive us over 300 miles to Nairobi in the company's Morris Oxford registration number KAA694, because my father was too busy to come.

 * The company for which my father worked.