The adventure begins

It seems unbelievable to me now but it will be 25 years this Christmas since I first walked across the tarmac on that hot summer night into the small building that was then Perth airport.
I was starting to feel nervous as the reality of what we were doing slowly hit me.

Flying down the west coast of Australia it stuck me just how big and empty the country was with just the lights from the odd coastal township to break up the blackness.

So here I was, one o’clock at night in a strange country with a young family, not knowing where we would sleep and with exactly one thousand pounds to my name.

I don’t really know what I had expected to find there, surely some kind of organised welcoming committee? After all we had given up everything to do this but no, not so much as a “welcome to Australia” to greet us, just one bit of good luck as we went through customs, which, although we didn’t realise it at the time, would give us just the start we needed in our new home.

It had taken a long time to get to that point, about 4 years I suppose. I had been thinking about moving abroad for a while and had considered a number of destinations but rejected them, Canada, too cold.

South Africa, too political and I actually applied for New Zealand but there just wasn’t enough work there. We never really fancied Australia because my wife was worried that the hot weather would be too much for her, but then one day in 1980 I think, the national papers ran ads that Australia house was having an open day for anyone interested in emigrating, we thought “well why not” so we went to Manchester one very wet day and to our dismay found that thousands of people had had the same idea.

We eventually managed to secure an interview and after many delays, lost documents, repeat medicals and 18 frustrating months of waiting, we were finally issued with visas in September 1982.

My parents were furious that we were really going through with what they had hoped was just a pipe dream and that we were going to take their two beloved grandchildren to the other side of the of the planet, they didn’t speak to us for weeks but I was determined to get out into the world and find out what we were missing and nothing would change my mind.

Its not that I hated Crewe, far from it, I love the Cheshire countryside, and the hills around Bickerton and Beeston are still today my favourite place, but I was driven by the notion that it was all happening out there, far beyond the Cheshire boundaries and I wanted to be part of it.
We sold off most of our furniture and gave the rest away, finally reducing all our possessions down to what would fit in 5 tea chests. The house was put up for sale and left with my brother who was to look after the sale and pay the mortgage with some money that I left with him, hopefully he would be able to sell it before the money ran out. So that was it, we were going to a new life and would be travelling light.

The young customs officer stared down at our passports and said he hadn’t processed any immigrants before and went off to get his supervisor to deal with us. After checking that we had the required visas the supervisor remarked that he remembered seeing a letter for a Mr Smith on the notice board, this took me by surprise, I couldn’t think who would be sending me a letter here but following his extended arm we found a tiny notice board where there was indeed a letter addressed to us.

To my immense relief the note informed us that we had been granted accommodation at the migrant hostel and should telephone the caretaker on our arrival in Perth, all very haphazard and why couldn’t they have told us that in England, but one phone call and one taxi ride later, four weary and very grateful travellers were being shown into a small but clean 2 bedroomed flat that was to be our home for the next 6 exciting months.

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