Today is the fiftieth anniversary of my departure on a holiday that would significantly shape my identity, as well as the future course of my life. I wrote about it ten years ago, link here.
My three holidays to Poland organised by the Polish priests in Ealing for their young parishioners took place in the summers of 1976, 1977 and 1979, and proved extremely formative for me. Certainly these visits were a key factor in my moving to Poland.
The 1976 trip occurred just after I had finished grammar school. While on that holiday, I was awaiting a telegram from my parents informing me how my A-level exams had gone – and which university (if any) would accept me. I got that telegram in Poland (Gdańsk, I seem to recall) – the news was good. My grades were sufficient to get me into Warwick, my first choice.
As our coaches crossed the border from East Germany, we were driving into a country that a month earlier had seen significant workers' protests at rising living costs in Radom, Ursus and Płock. No official news, of course, only word-of-mouth rumours. From the windows of the coach, I saw a high-tension pylon lying on its side in a field outside Radom. Had it been brought down by protesters? Or was it waiting to be erected? Who knew? These protests would ultimately lead to the birth of Solidarity four years later.
I wrote ten years ago about the religious nature of the holiday. As well as the daily masses and rosary, there was also plenty of time for philosophical discussions, about religion, ethics, life, the universe and everything. Not to any great degree of sophistication, but enough to engender a lifelong interest in 'small-p' philosophy.
This was also the last summer before the punk-rock revolution – but more about that in a post on this blog this autumn, on the 50th anniversary of me catching a gig by two bands entirely unknown to me at the time – the Sex Pistols, supported by the Clash. That, plus a year of living away from home as a student, completely changed my attitude to church-going and authority in general, so when setting off on Montserrat 1977, it was with a radically different world-view. Yet Poland was still Poland. eternal, drawing me back.
Who'd have thought, fifty years ago, that I'd be sat here on my own little acre, surrounded by 12 cats, living in a free, peaceful and prosperous Poland?
This time last year:
Letters to an Imaginary Grandson (VI)
Memory, collective memory and proof of memory
And did Her feet...?
Last night's storm
This time 12 years ago:
Drifting south with the sun – bicycle hobo
[On this trip I would first encounter Jakubowizna...]
This time 14 years ago
The Royal Parks in the rain
This time 17 years ago:
Conservatism – Polish or British style?
This time 18 years ago:
Wheat and development
This time 19 years ago:
Waiting for the summer rain
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