Lost

If I were to describe the events that occurred the day I lost my mother, you might reasonably assume that I'm talking about the time she passed away but let me assure you that it is not what I want to convey.

It happened back in the seventies when she was alive and kicking. But before I proceed I feel that a preliminary explanation is necessary.

Prior to that fateful day, my mother had come to England a couple of times. She would travel all the way by train from Italy and arrive at Dover, via Calais, on a boat train.

Because she didn't speak English, I would meet her when she disembarked and together we would board the train to London.

From Victoria Station, we went to Liverpool Street on the Circle Line and caught a train to Brentwood, where I lived at the time.

Following the birth of my second daughter, she decided she wanted to see her new grandchild; arranged everything and informed me of the boat's arrival.

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It was a beautiful sunny day and I left home fairly early, allowing for possible delays but was in Dover with time to spare.

I took the opportunity to explore the town and found a vantage point from which I could see the ferry terminal.

A ferryboat had just arrived and was disgorging its passengers who looked like a procession of ants.

I still had an hour to wait and enjoyed myself soaking up the sun and admiring pretty girls in summer dresses or miniskirts.

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Sixty minutes later I saw the last passenger alight the Calais boat but there was no trace of Mum.

I was concerned and enquired if there was anybody still on board but was assured all travellers had been accounted for.

That she had missed the connection was a possibility; I took a few minutes to assess the situation and ascertained that the next ferry to arrive at Dover was in two hours' time.

My mother was a resourceful person and a thought occurred to me that by accident or on purpose she may have gone to Folkestone instead. 

Although it seems a crazy idea now, it made sense to me at the time and worth considering.

The next arrival at that port was about an hour away so I rushed there by bus but to no avail; after the ferry emptied, she was conspicuous by her absence.

I was beginning to panic but didn't want to phone home and alarm my family with the worrying news and realised that I had to be calm and queue once again at the Dover terminal, keeping my fingers crossed for a successful outcome.

Imagine my dismay when she didn't appear. There were no more crossings that day.

For a moment my hope was restored when a functionary of the navigation company asked with a loudspeaker if anyone had lost a relative.

I was about to stake my claim when a young couple stepped up and reported that their uncle Bert was the man in question and they were right.

While they rejoiced, I had the painful task of relaying the bad news to my wife and mother-in-law.

I jumped into a telephone kiosk and rang home. You could have knocked me down with a feather as I was told that my mother was safely ensconced at home.

There was no time to ask the whys and wherefores and I quickly set off homewards. I eventually arrived back home towards midnight.

In those days I didn't have a mobile phone and could not be informed of what had occurred.

For once, the train on which my mother was travelling got into Calais early and Mum boarded an earlier ferry than intended. 

When she realised that I wasn't there waiting as usual, she remembered the procedures of previous times and assumed I would be at Victoria Station.

She had documents and tickets, so, without hesitation, got on the train to London.

As I reached an impasse in my search for her in Dover, so she did in London as far as I was concerned.

She resolved her dilemma by going into the information office and showed them my home telephone number, somehow marking them understand that she needed help.

Aided by a translator, she explained the situation. My wife in the meantime, having been alerted, was already on her way to collect her.

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The atmosphere at home was peaceful on my return; the children in bed and three happy ladies enjoying a bedtime drink. By contrast, I was a nervous wreck but relieved that the mother I thought I had lost had been found.

© Luigi Pagano 2023