Door's open, walk through.

It’s Sunday, 10th May and I’m sat in a Luton Van, on the forecourt of a garage in Germany. Kevin pays for the diesel and carefully makes his way over, with two large takeaway coffees.  As I bring up the livestream of Boris Johnson’s latest announcement on my phone, I wonder if I’ve enough data to watch the whole thing. Potentially, the rest of my year, rides on what he’s about to say. I post on Facebook in case I need the gaps filling in. 

What am I doing in Germany? Excellent question?

As for so many of us, the past couple of months, in fact all of 2020 thus far, has been a series of unexpected events, and some yes, unfortunate. 

Dad’s workshop is now clear of all trace of him, aside from a small patch of wall where he wrote down someone’s address. Wherever he lived, you could tell which was his workshop, literally from the writing on the wall. Whether it was measurements, addresses or names, his writing stood out above all else. 

Now I have done my daughterly duty, I have only a few choice items and my memories to take with me. Ordinarily, this would be the time I would pack my suitcase and head for the hills. But we are still in the midst of lockdown and frankly, I don’t think I’m quite ready to leave just yet. 

I’ve been staying with my Dad’s mate Jim, and his family since the lockdown began. Hero’s come in many forms and sometimes quite unexpectedly.  It’s safe to say I’ve met one in Jim, who’s consistently been in the thick of it with me. He took me to identify Dad in the mortuary, listened to my stories, cuddled me when I cried, put up with my drunken ranting and regularly helped me lift, disassemble, and transport the small warehouse of Dad’s vast collection of stuff. Jim was not the only one, there were many hero’s, but Jim was my “go to” who spoke to me like Dad did, and in a strange way brought him back to me, at least for a little while.

Now, all the work was done and I wanted to return the favour as best I could.

Jim owns a transport company, which during lockdown, runs European house removals. He needed a porter to go with one of the drivers for a couple of jobs in Germany. It was time to step up.

I’d never been to Germany, nor had I been to Dover. I was excited. On the road, I found myself thinking about Dad all the time, every single lorry was his, He’d stopped at every single garage and ate in every single cafe. And as we pulled up to the white cliffs, I couldn’t help but feel sad that I wasn’t doing this with him.

The English Channel, France, Belgium and the Netherlands flew by. Kevin and I told our stories, talked about books and sang along to old favourites on Spotify. We hit Germany late at night and stopped to sleep before the drop off in the morning. 

The hospitality of the people at each job blew me away. After loading the belongings of the first customers into their parents attic, we were treated to the most gorgeous breakfast which consisted of a selection of breads, meat and cheeses. With fresh coffee, sparkling water and a tip. The second young couple the following day, put music on for us while we packed (they couldn’t for insurance reasons) and bought us lunch. I ached all over but it was totally worth it.

Heading back to Blighty with the weekends work finished, it was now time to tune into what Bozza has to say.

To be perfectly honest, I’m pretty happy with the outcome and it’s what I expected. At Dads funeral it was indicated to us that the UK would start to put the wheels in motion in the next few weeks or else the nations GDP would fall through the floor and there would be no way to recover.

So now I can start to form a plan to Wwoof again, horaay!. Clearly I can’t go to Scotland, at least for a couple of months, but English hosts may start to welcome volunteers again. Let’s see what we can do.

Fast forward to May, the 29th and I’ve two hosts in the pipeline. The first on the 1st June for six weeks in Shropshire, the second in Derbyshire for four weeks, then I’ll be knocking on the bonny castle doors. 

The fun starts now.