Following on from a previous report on the terrible death of Ian Hibell I received this from Eric – e-c-hayman@fsmail.net
“I see that Ian Hibell was working for Standard Telephones and Cables in Paignton, Devon in 1963 before leaving for his first odyssey. A school mate of mine – Tony Hingston – also went to work with STC when he left Totnes Grammar School in 1958. Does anyone know what school Ian went to, or where he lived in Devon?
Eric.”
Hello all,
this month we’ve got quite a packed edition to enjoy !! As you can see the club itself is now fully into its new season with the return of two well regarded speakers, Justin Marozzi & Jonny Bealby – both spoke eloquently to a busy London branch meeting and were enjoyed by the appreciative audience.
And also included are two larger than normal articles by Neil Harris and Sandra Reekes – both talking about their recent trips and featuring some very good pictures. Let me know if you prefer these larger articles or should I keep to the usual 1000 words guideline…
I also need to remind you that the deadline for applications to the 2008 Globetrotters travel award is 31 October – so if you’re a club member and have a unique, independent trip in mind … write in with an outline and you never know, you might find that the club contributes up to £1000 towards your costs.
To close this month I have an appeal from the BBC – for their new natural history show … the corporation are looking for adventurous people who enjoy adventures with nature. Have a read of Write in (2) and let your imaginations run riot !!
That’s all for now … remember to adjust your clocks as daylight savings is shortly leaving us,
The Ant
With host Kevin Brackley, the club’s Membership Secretary, at the lectern the London branch enjoyed the return of two of its most welcome speakers, Justin Marozzi and Jonny Bealby:-
Justin spoke about his latest adventure “Travels with Herodotus. historical adventures with the father of history”, which traces his travels around much of the world as known to the Greek scholar nearly 2500 years ago. Justin’s talk was part hero worship, part correcting historical myths and part brain f
ood. Often it is hard for an audience to follow such an ancient subject, but as Justin pointed out … much of what Herodotus experienced echoes through to our more modern era – Persia (Iraq) was torn apart by war, Greece & Turkey were mercantile & political rivals and Egypt was already deeply embedded into antiquity. For me & for subsequent reviewers however the most vivid moments were centred around Justin’s time spent lunching with Patrick Leigh Fermor, in the latter’s home in Greece … between the two men a warmth & personal bond developed over a long, languid lunch. I enjoyed their sense of shared eccentricities, their continued questioning of the wider world and the fact this meeting of the generations happened around a table with food & wine flowing…
Justin Marozzi is a writer and journalist who has travelled extensively throughout the Muslim world – to read more view his web site at http://www.justinmarozzi.com/
P
erennial favourite & all round nice guy Jonny this time spoke passionately about the Silk Route and Wild Frontiers’ experiences of including trips based along it into their calendar. To a particularly attentive audience, which also saw much of the club’s Committee counting up kisses from the man himself, Jonny regaled us with what it meant to him to travel the Old Silk Road on horseback. Whether it was talking about the stunning sights he had chance to enjoy, the enterprising & resourceful peoples he met or how he handled mishaps whilst on the journey, Jonny took us with him all the way. His talks are never dull and as shown by the raft of questions afterwards, Jonny engages his audiences.
To learn more about Jonny and his travelling world view http://www.wildfrontiers.co.uk/
For details of the forth coming meetings of the London branch, October 2008 through to July 2009 – http://www.globetrotters.co.uk/meetings/lon09it1.html.
London meetings are held at The Church of Scotland, Crown Court, behind the Fortune Theatre in Covent Garden at 2.30pm the first Saturday of each month, unless there is a UK public holiday that weekend. There is no London meeting in August, but we start afresh in September. For more information, contact the Globetrotters Info line on +44 (0) 20 8674 6229, or visit the website: www.globetrotters.co.uk.
For information on Ontario meetings, please contact Svatka Hermanek: shermanek@schulich.yorku.ca or Bruce Weber: tel. 416-203-0911 or Paul Webb: tel. 416-694-8259.
Ontario meetings are held on the third Friday of January, March, May, September and November. Usually at the Woodsworth Co-op, Penthouse, 133, Wilton Street in downtown Toronto at 8.00 p.m.
Flying into Paro provides a very close up view of the nearby hills – in fact the starboard wing of the plane almost touched the trees as we descended down Paro Valley. Not for the nervous! We were met by Karma our guide in his Gho, the Bhutanese national dress, a sign you are somewhere bit different. A short hop into town confirms this feeling; many locals are also dressed in the national costume; for woman this is the Kira; most by choice, however, government employees are required to when working. The other defining feature is the architecture; houses in Bhutan have to conform to a distinctive design, especially the windows. No plastic frames, but solid carved wood with intricate painted patterns. Another less welcome Bhutanese speciality is stray dogs. Noted for their ability to bark through the night, they are left to roam in packs as Buddhist philosophy does not allow culling. 
After a good night’s sleep, the Tigers Nest beckoned. A precariously perched monastery, it clings to a cliff side at around 9000ft. The climb up, about 3000ft of ascent from the starting point, affords fabulous views, the last part through cloud forest. Legs and lungs knew they had been given a good workout, but it was worth the effort. The monastery was burnt down around 25 years ago, but rebuilt exactly as it was, the labour provided by volunteers and those ‘punished’ for not wearing the correct national dress.
Thimphu, the capital, is about two hours by road from Paro. The largest town, it still conforms to Bhutan architectural norms; no skyscrapers here. The government have set up a college where traditional crafts are taught; carpet weaving, wood carving, thanka painting etc. Visitors are welcome! There seemed to be no gender prejudice, with girls woodcarving and boys weaving. The Motithang Reserve outside Thimphu has a few captive Takin, a rather odd beast that resembles a wildebeest, but is a distinct species that survives in the eastern Himalayas.
The main arterial road in Bhutan runs west to east across the centre of the country, here most of the main towns are located, these generally at an altitude in the 4000-7000ft range to give a pleasant, but wet, summer climate with cold winters. As Himalayan valleys tend to run roughly north to south, cross country journeys involve high passes. Heading east towards Punaka involved crossing the Duchu Pass, here sit a plethora of Buddhist Stupa and myriad prayer flags, also a teahouse with views to the distant northern peaks of the Bhutanese Himalayas. Beautiful isn’t usually used to describe road workers, at least not in the UK. Here the road was being repaired with steaming tar, the two girls lugging the large vats of hot tar were undeniably beautiful, almost certainly Nepalese guest workers. The roads are maintained with Indian money and Indian Army expertise, the labour imported. India fears a Tibet style Chinese invasion and wants to be able to react quickly if one occurred. As recently as 2005 the Chinese allegedly made incursions into northern Bhutan, even building roads in Bhutanese territory. The Indian Army has a considerable presence in Bhutan.
After lunch we walked across paddy fields to Chime Lhakhang, the monastery of the Divine Madman. A Buddhist guru from the 15thC, his philosophy involved copious sex and gluttony … well for the Divine Madman at least. For a small donation one’s fertility can be enhanced by the Abbot; this involves being hit on the head by a wooden phallus. Enough to make you feel a right dickhead! For a small donation we sponsored some prayer flags, these were hung by tree climbing monks outside the monastery. The wind for next few years would release our prayers, anyway until time rotted them away.
The next morning we walked around Punaka market, a colourful affair where local produce is sold. A line of very rundown toilets advertised 5 Ngultrum for urine 5 Ngultrum for stool, probably wise not to sit on this though! The morning highlight was to be a visit to Punaka Dzong, perhaps the most impressive Dzong in Bhutan. For those unfamiliar, Dzongs are huge forts containing administrative buildings and a monastery. A place where the Bhutanese could feel safe in the 17thC when Tibetan armies attacked from the north. Auspiciously, and scenically, it lies on the confluence of the Pho and Mo rivers. In the monastery the monks were washing the floor with buckets of soapy water. A very impressive interior, but like all monasteries in Bhutan photos are not allowed inside buildings; the reasoning is that photos can be tampered with, this could desecrate the religious paintings and effigies photographed. Outside the Dzong a man was cleaning the silverware in the river using sand. Better than Brasso? 
The afternoon saw us climbing another pass to get to Phobjikha Valley, the winter home of the black crane, a very rare bird. We stopped at Nobding, a small village. The reaction of the children indicated few foreigners passed through, surprising considering the murals painted to enhance fertility that were liberally painted on walls and doorways. It was obvious where the knob was in Nobding! Rather than describe them, a photograph will suffice.
The night was spent in a farmhouse. The altitude here is around 10000ft, so no running up stairs, not that there were any, only ladders. Basic but comfortable, all Bhutanese farmhouses are similar in design; three floors, the lowest mainly for storage and animals, the middle for living and the loft for drying produce under the roof. They are substantial buildings that house an extended family. Wandering around the hamlet in the early morning sunshine was an added bonus; some monks wandered through, their reaction on being asked for a photo indicated this was a first for them. Alas no cranes, but a small carpet weaving enterprise was ample compensation. The rugs are woven by womenfolk, the whole process uses local materials, the wool dyed with local dyes. An appropriate souvenir of Bhutan!
The drive to Trongsa Dzong was long and winding, the scenery on a scale not available in Europe. We chanced upon a game of khuru, Bhutanese darts, being played at the roadside by a group of men. The target is around 3ins in diameter and about 30yards away, the dart being thrown javelin style. The accuracy is impressive, darts landing close to and occasionally on the target. The V-shaped valley leading to Trongsa is steep and wooded with sides around 5000ft high. The opposite side to the road, across a river, is untouched primary forest. The locals will not visit it. The Yeti is said to inhabit remoter parts of Bhutan, this forest could easily have harboured a few; if they exist of course!
Trongsa Dzong is the primary Dzong of Bhutan. It sits astride the ancient west-east highway and until the modern west-east road was constructed a door within the dzong had to be passed though by all travellers. The steepness of the valley made bypassing this door ‘not an option’. The Penlop (the local ruler) of Trongsa wielded much power, and thanks to charging a toll for passage became very rich. After a civil war between the rival Trongsa and Paro valleys in the late 19thC, Ugyen Wangchuck, the Trongsa Penlop, was unanimously chosen as the first hereditary king of a unified Bhutan by leading Buddhist monks, government officials, and heads of important families. His great grandson Jigme Singye Wangchuck, aged 16, became King in 1972 and has proved a benign dictator putting his people first; he invented gross national happiness as the government’s main target. The king abdicated in 2006, aged 50, in favour of his son. The first parliamentary election s took place in 2008, the optimistically named Bhutan Peace and Prosperity Party won taking 45 out of 47 seats. Will Bhutan change, only time will tell.
On the archery field next to Trongsa Dzong a contest was taking place. Archery is the national sport in Bhutan; their leading archers made the last 32 in the 2004 Olympics. This though was not Olympic archery! The arrows are shot at targets around 130 yards apart, the odd one hitting, this elicits a dance of victory from members of the same team who are confident enough of their colleagues ability to stand within yards of the target when the arrows are shot. As far as I know deaths are rare! Female followers watch from nearby knolls; it’s OK to put your opponents off, but this contest seemed to be held under Queensbury rules with no apparent barracking. Trongsa Dzong is a sprawling affair slung precariously on the hillside, in my opinion not as impressive as Punaka Dzong. 
After crossing another pass on the road eastwards, this time in cloud, we entered Bumthang Valley for a three night stay in Jakar. Our room had a wood burning stove for warmth (vital) with room service provided by a gentleman wearing a gho. The secret to lighting the wood quickly appeared to be the astute use of resin from off the wood; a good tip for any boy scouts/girl guides amongst you!
We had struck lucky. The next day the Tsechu Festival was taking place in Jakar Dzong; everyone, of all ages, attends, quite a throng in the Dzong. The main event for them, apart from dancing monks and ‘interesting’ music is the annual outing of the Jakar Thanka. This massive religious painting is hung from one end of the inner courtyard, the crowd, the youngest school kids included, slowly edge past kissing the Thanka before most make a donation to the monastery. The odd attendee prostrated themselves in front. We reluctantly left before the end, this involved pushing, literally, through the heaving throng to exit. A few spots of rain began to fall. We had a day trip planned to the Ura Valley, situated the other side of the Shertang Pass and little visited by tourists. The journey up afforded some great views when the cloud allowed, which wasn’t too often, alas.
On the outskirts of Ura village a field was being ploughed by a team of zho, the useful Scrabble word that defines an animal that is a cross between a cow and a yak (why not a cak or a yow!). Ura was poor but fertile. It started to rain so our picnic lunch was in jeopardy, Karma, our guide, got us invited into the dry of a large local farmhouse. We sat around the wood burning range in the kitchen, only their cats between us and the warmth of the fire. This visit proved providential for the family. One of our group was heavily into fabrics so she asked if they had any kira (the intricately woven female dress) she could look at; the family air looms, much worn, appeared and were sold for $190. This it turned out was enough to pay off their mortgage from the government that had enabled them to purchase the farmhouse. We left a very happy family behind us as we returned to Jakar. 
The next morning we visited nearby Tamshing Monastery. A run of the mill old Bhutanese monastery. Outside by the courtyard a group of boy monks were chanting their prayers, some rather reluctantly I thought. A bell rung, the boys jumped up and started to play in the courtyard, fighting and generally mucking around. Somehow this looks a little incongruous when the participants are wearing monks habits.
After a leisurely afternoon we had planned to go to see a film in the hall of a local school. The school was solidly built, the classrooms probably better than some in the UK. Education is a high priority, the pupils are taught 50% in Bhutanese and 50% in English, hence many kids speak good English. Higher education takes place in India, this of course requires fluency in English. The early showing was overrunning, we missed our film show. Surprisingly, there is a thriving Bhutanese film industry. In Thimphu later on I went to the ‘National Cinema’ and can testify to the high quality of Bhutanese films. Bizarrely the sound track was in Bhutanese, but the sub-titles in English!
We headed back west to Thimphu the following day, a long, tiring, but scenic drive. This time the Duchu Pass was covered in cloud, I now realised how lucky we’d been on our first traverse. The next day we returned to Paro and had time to visit Paro Dzong; this is another vast building that combines monastery with administrative buildings, including the local court. Many novice monks were milling around, some doing their homework. In Bhutan, as in many Buddhist countries, boys from very poor homes end up in monasteries where they get fed, clothed (in a habit) and educated. At around 18 years old most leave, so the ratio of young novices to older monks is high.
As we had been bumped off our flight to Kolkata the next day, we visited Haa Valley, the valley to the east of Paro, well off the main tourist track. To get there we crossed the Chele Pass, ascending towards it there were inspiring views of Chomolhari and Jichu Drakey, two of Bhutan’s highest peaks. On the pass, by now above the tree line, a notice proclaimed 3988m. A little higher, a short walk upwards, lies a sky burial site, here Edelweiss, a brilliant violet, carpeted the ground. No bodies now, in bygone days it was a clean way to dispose of the dead. Flags en masse sit astride the pass, as they flap prayers are released for a loved ones. Gone but not forgotten. There is a large Indian Army camp in Haa, also a monastery, Lhakhang Karpo, where we had a look see into the temple; a carpenter showed us a traditional Bhutanese window he was constructing, a kind of assemble it yourself kit, hand cut, not out of a box. Very skilful. The journey back to Paro, via a different route, proved very scenic. Indian migrant workers repairing the road seemed surprised to see foreigners passing, the school kids, in their school uniform ghos, also waved as if it was a rare sight. One group of kids appeared to be Monty Python fans hopping around on one leg as in the Long John Silver impersonators club sketch. The next morning we left for Kolkata and the mayhem that is India; quite a contrast to laid back Bhutan.
Bhutan is unique, mainly because it has been isolated from outside influences for so long; TV was not allowed until 1999, the first murder ever recorded soon followed. Buddhism is all pervasive, the first general election was put back to 2008 as 2007 was considered inauspicious by leading monks. Mobile phones are now common, even the odd drunk is evident on the streets of Thimphu where karaoke bars with pool tables can be found. My advice is visit soon before it changes … !!
PRACTICALITIES:
I travelled with www.globaldrift.com.au run by Ian Marsh from Cairns, Australia, on an exploratory trip to find out whether to have regular trips to Bhutan.
LINKS:
This time last year I was given the idea of travelling along the Silk Road from Istanbul to Pakistan. Central Asia was somewhere I had never even considered visiting but the idea grew and grew until I just had to do it.
Fortunately I got the eight visas I should need before I left home and what a to do that was. How could I possibly tell when I would be where and in the case of Turkmenistan I not only had to adhere to the date but the time of day as well! But on the 27th March I flew out of T5 on its inaugural day and was one of the very few lucky ones whose flight took off (five hours late) and whose luggage arrived too.
From Istanbul I bussed it to Antakya which I was sad to find was a dismal town, made more dismal by the rain and from there into Syria and the magic of Aleppo then on to Hama for the Norias, Palmyra in the desert and a real sand storm and of course Damascus. I had hoped to catch the train from there to Tabriz in Iran, but despite being told to the contrary beforehand that I would be able to change Travellers Cheques in Syria, this proved not to be the case, so I returned to Turkey and entered Iran in the shadow of Mount Ararat.
Despite all the Foreign Office advice about travelling in Iran, I found it incredibly easy. Everyone was so helpful, making sure I wasn’t too diddled with taxi fares, feeding me on bus and train journeys and even paying my bus fare or museum entrances if I wasn’t looking. Two weeks was barely enough to see the highlights of Persepolis, Esfahan, Yazd, Shiraz and Mashad, let alone Tehran but it’s good to think I have enough left for another visit.
Turkmenistan could not have been more different and I am glad to have seen Ashgabat but glad I was only there one night. The long drive through the desert with the guide I was obliged to have before a visa would be granted (at huge expense) was interesting for the first 3 hours but less so for the second 3 as the scenery didn’t change. Arriving at the ancient site of Merv though was well worth it. This is a vast site and just could not be done on foot and luckily the guide I had had a passion for archaeology and history which made the vast mud structures come alive. One night there and another long drive through the desert to Uzbekistan.
Over the border and narrowly avoiding getting arrested because in my frustration I cracked a joke which was misunderstood – great mistake – and the first place I made for was Bukhara. From there another long drive through the same desert to Khiva and back to Bukhara before a train to Samarkhand. All these cities were just wonderful. So much to see and experience, but of course the jewel was Samarkhand. A few days spent in Tashkent and I was off to Kyrgyzstan
I took to the air and flew into Bishkek only to find accommodation at a premium and I ended up spending the night in a flat in the most unsavoury part of town. So unsavoury that not only was I advised not to be out after dark, and to lock the flat door twice, but at the end of the corridor there was a cage door which also had to be locked. One night there and I was off to Karakol on lake Issy Khul in a minibus. For what reason I do not know, but I didn’t take to Kyrgyzstan, so cut my visit short and headed down to Osh on the Chinese border. If only I had wanted a hat and if only I’d had some room in my rucksack, I could have bought any number of wonderful hats in Osh Market, but I hadn’t so I didn’t!
I shared a car ride with a young American lad who had been teaching English in Japan for a year and spending some time travelling around Central Asia before heading home. As the journey took two days with an overnight stay on a cold concrete floor in Sary Tash, it was great to have some company. The ride up through the Pamir Mountains was wonderful and dotted all along the route were yurts where the herding families had moved up to the high pastures for the summer.
We rose at 4.30 to drive the rest of the way from Sary Tash to the Chinese border and the Milky Way was beautiful, I felt as though I could just reach out and touch it. As the sun rose it turned the snow capped mountains a real Barbie pink and I am sure these memories will far outlast those of extremely bumpy roads, no food, cold and a car which had to stop every few miles to have cold water poured over its engine.
It took five or six hours to cross the border as my companion had a Lonely Planet guide book with a map of China which showed Taiwan, so we were asked on several occasions to have our bags searched. Also coming through at the same time was the night bus and that had several thorough searches, but we got a lift through to Kashkar on it and met two more fellow travellers with whom to share news and tales.
Kashgar’s main square had been taken over by hundreds of school children all practicing their various performances for when the Olympic Torch was to come through the town, all under the watchful gaze of Chairman Mao’s huge statue. This city was a lovely mix of very old and very new, with, of course, the world-famous Sunday market and best of all for me by now, after what seemed like months and months of nothing but boiled rice and chewy fatty lamb and hard bread, a wonderful choice of food at John’s Café. Egg and chips had never tasted so good.
Another two day bus ride and an overnight stay, this time in Tashkurgan on the way to Pakistan. The bus passengers were a mix of Chinese workers on their way to widen the Karakoram Highway, Pakistan business men returning with their wares, a Swiss woman, a young Englishman, a French Algerian an Italian and me. The ride up into the Karakorams passing yaks, marmots and eagles was spectacular. I could see glaciers and the mountains just got bigger and bigger. Crossing the border at the Khunjerab Pass, the highest paved border crossing in the world was a great experience albeit tinged with a little altitude sickness. The road on the Chinese side was well-maintained and we drove at a steady 30 miles an hour but the moment we crossed the border all the Pakistanis on board gave out a wonderful cheer, the un-maintained road became bumpier and bumpier and the driver put his foot on the accelerator and we drove at an horrendous speed down the KKH with frightening precipices. From this description you will have gathered that I am a coward and don’t do mountains and twisty turny roads with big drops, so I got off the bus at Passu and thought I had landed in Heaven.
I stayed at a modest Inn where the owner cooked delicious dinners, I could pick handfuls of deep red cherries and the views and peace were wonderful. But too soon it was off down the dreaded road with eyes shut tight and fists and teeth clenched to Karimabad. As with everywhere in the Hunza Valley I encountered only hospitality and kindness tempered with good humour. A jeep ride to see the sun set behind Rakaposhi and the Ladies’ Finger was made all the more enjoyable by giving a lift to two women who had spent the day toiling in the fields and although weary were still full of fun and full of questions and laughter.
After several happy days staying at the Mulberry Tree I travelled once again down to Gilgit where I met up with the other travellers who had been on the bus from Kashgar. Samosas at sunset by the rushing Gilgit river, card playing with locals in the hotel, haggling in the bazaar made the days rush by. My dread of the twenty hour overnight bus ride down to Islamabad along t he Karakoram Highway and in view of the fact that flights were being cancelled due to bad weather (not that flying from Gilgit was much of a more attractive alternative), decided me to try to find another way south.
By great good fortune I met with a young jeep driver who was going that way and we set off at 5 am at 5.30 as the sun was rising behind Nanga Parbat or Killer Mountain we came to the point where the Karakorams, Hindu Kush and Himalayas meet – just magical. The route he took me was over the Barbusa Pass which was just the most amazing, action-packed 23 hour journey you could possibly imagine. Climbing high above the snow line, for the most part traversing tracks barely wide enough for a jeep, being stopped by cattle, Kalashnikov carrying tractor drivers stuck in the mud, driving through Osama Bin Laden supporting Afghan refugee tent cities, stone throwing children running along side, work men rock-blasting causing land slides and so much more. All the while going from magnificent mountains down into heart-achingly beautiful valleys. Just wonderful.
My last few days were spent in Rawalpindi staying in a hotel run by Hunza people and my Hunza jeep driver showed me around the city. I had been travelling for three months and not once did I have an unpleasant experience. Yes, a few dodgy taxi drivers and maybe I paid over the odds a few times but that’s part of the fun. All the peoples I met were kind and welcoming but the people of the Hunza Valley were unbelievable. Their honesty, hospitality and warmth were such that I have already arranged to return next year and this time will stay for several months. In Sha Allah.
What a really great end to a really wonderful journey along part of the old Silk Road.
Do you think you have what it takes to make the next Planet Earth?
BBC One is looking for nine people to take part in the experience of a lifetime. Encountering extraordinary animals in amazing locations and testing yourself to the limit, this series will culminate with one exceptional individual securing a year’s placement at the BBC’s award winning, world famous Natural History Unit.
Would your holiday of a lifetime involve seeing one of the big five in their natural habitat ? Maybe you long to get off that beaten tourist track ? Do you get up at dawn to hit the mountain before anyone else ? Or do you live for adventure?
Peter Salmon, Chief Creative Officer, BBC Vision, says: “This is an exciting collaboration. The first of its kind in the BBC, a marriage of two in-house centres of excellence, responsible for current hits Last Choir Standing and Lost Land Of The Jaguar. Further proof, if any were needed, that our programme-makers will go anywhere to win a commission, even To The Ends Of The Earth…”
If you are over 18 years old and can illustrate your passion for the natural world we want to hear from you. To apply, please email your name to endsoftheearth@bbc.co.uk and an application form will be emailed to you.
Successful candidates may spend up to ten weeks away from home in spring 2009.
Deadline for applications is 26th November 2008
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egular contributor Mac ruminates on the world of travel & some of his adventures along the way This time round he’s reading and enjoying A Sense of Place , Great Travel Writers, Talk About their Craft, Lives and Inspiration by Michael Shapiro.
Here are some of Mac’s favourite excerpts when the author is interviewing english writer Eric Newby of A Short Walk in the Hindu Kush fame:-
We had an interview with Mr Nehru, India’s first Prime Minister. He gave us a wonderful letter … [however] At Christmas time … most places were closed. They went to the Kanpur Club to see if they could be put up for the holidays showing them Mr Nehru’s letter. They were told Mr Nehru is not a member of the club !
The Libya Embassy told them they could not go to Libya. Newby’s Wife Wanda suggested he write Kaddafi … He received back from Kaddafi a huge envelope saying “Please be our guest.” But when they wanted to go there was an assassination attempt on Kaddafi and a Libyan assassinated a police woman in St James Square, London !
Newby in WWII spent thirteen months as a prisoner of the Germans in Italy before escaping in Sept 1943. A sympathetic Italian commandant let him go and the Germans beat to death the commandant. A Slovenian couple with anti fascist sympathies sheltered Newby, who in turn became infatuated with their daughter Wanda who was trying to teach him Italian ! When it became unsafe for him to stay there he found shelter in the maternity ward of a nearby hospital. When the Germans closed in, Wanda’s father risked his own life taking Newby to a mountain hideout. Ultimately Newby was recaptured and returned to prison but survived war. After the war Newby returned to thank the family, court Wanda and they were married & settled in England !!
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