Evergreen

118 EVERGREEN Autumn
(continued)
roadside digger — by means of sign
language and the help of a local
policeman while bemused villagers
looked on.
In 1968 another Ford Corsair was
hoisted aboard the Bergen Line ship
Leda and we sailed from Newcastle
to Norway, overtaken by a midnight
storm. Almost everyone was seasick
— even my father, an experienced
ex-Merchant Navy sailor. I was
nearly tossed out of my bunk; not
that I cared, I felt so ill. My mother,
stomach intact, was one of only a
handful of passengers who joined
the Captain for breakfast in an eerily
deserted dining room.
When Leda stopped rolling
and cruised with delightful rocksteadiness
up the beautiful Bergen
Fjord, I suddenly realised I had
Dover was the starting point for the
family’s Swiss adventure. DAVID HUNTER
scarcely felt better in my life.
Dazzling sunshine, blue water and
lush green islands made our first
view of Scandinavia look like a
tropical landfall, but once out of
Bergen we knew we were in fjord
country. Amid magnificent scenery
most of the roads were surfaced
with loose gravel. This was ruinous
to car paintwork and slitheringly
dangerous; never more so on than
on the notorious Stalheim Hill, as
near vertical a drop as I have ever
experienced in a car. But my mother
kept the heavily-laden Ford in a
straight line and we survived to
celebrate with bigger meals than we
had ever seen. When we ordered
chicken we got a whole one — each!
Sea trout meant just that: a whole
sea trout, which is a lot of fish for