Sylvia's Journal

We probably last saw each other in 1964 and then our paths diverged, running on parallel lines – public sector/private sector – for, what, 45 years? Facebook brought us back together, not once but twice. We met in person because J.  lives in Scotland with her husband, not all that far from where we are staying. 

We drove to meet her. I was curious, would we recognize each other when we last saw each other when we were teenagers? We did, and we re-counted old stories, perspectives told from two different sides. She felt the odd ball out, I thought she was so exotic. I told her about an odd present she gave to me at my birthday party, a 10 year old girl. It was a red enamel saucepan. It was odd at the time, but that little pan traveled with me to Leiden, to Beirut, to Dakar, to Brooklyn, to West Newbury and finally to Manchester by the Sea. It is only recently that it went to a landfill because holes in the bottom had made it useless. It is the only present I remember from that time, 58 years ago. 

J and her husband completed careers with Shell while I also worked all over the world, with governments and NGOs. She had collected all the KLM houses from traveling business class all those years, then sold them for 9 or 10 pounds apiece. I never got the complete collection, business class not allowed unless you were lucky, which must have happened a few times, since I have about one and a half meter of them.

Although the contexts in which we worked were as different as nigth and day,  we did the same thing – helping people fulfill their leadership potential. When J. led me into her study I saw a bookshelf that could have been mine. 

Our hosts took up golfing when they retired with a nice package from Mr. Shell. They live on a golf estate. The place is awash in golfers and places to practice the sport. We visited the mecca of golfers, the St. Andrew’s old link. We tried to be in awe of all this hallowed ground but we have never been bitten by the golf bug and didn’t feel the need to have our picture taken on a popular bridge with another enormous clubhouse as a backdrop.

Foreigners who want to play here have to put their name in a hat, draw the right lot and then pay a 250 pound for a round of golf on the oldest of public golf courses (or any of the 6 other courses). Our friends get the insiders price, 400 pounds for an entire year to play on any of the these links 7 days a week. If you are a fanatic it may pay to move here.

We then ambled over to the university where one of Tessa’s friends studied, past the coffee shop where Kate and Will met and then on to another hallowed ground, the remnants of the ancient St. Andrews cathedral with its stunning bacdrop of the North Sea.

We had lunch in our friends’ club (for golfers of course), high on a hill with another spectacular view of the coast line veering west than north. And all the while the sun was shining.

We drove back the 70 or so miles home, me driving as I have now mastered the challenges of driving on the left and am familiar again with the stick shift using my left hand. Axel was the navigator with Google’s assistance. We drove back via Dundee. When we hear Dundee the word marmelade automatically pops up – the marmelade that came in white ceramic jards with nice black letting. Noone here seems to have the marmelade association, funny.

It was too late to see the new V&A museum on the inside. We got a glimpse from of the outside since the road home led straight past the museum and as well as the ship on which Scott sailed to the Antarctic. They will have to wait for a next visit.