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Harold Taylor continues his memoirs:-
The question of transfer placed me in a considerable dilemma. I first of all appealed against the transfer, but only got offered the Hanois instead. Pay wise this would have left me in exactly the same situation as Plymouth, except for 3d per day R/T money. The other factor was that I would have had to transfer the entire family there as there was a house to go with the job.
It was out of the question to resign, as I had started to get annual increments, and the jobs around were still not paying much. There was always the choice that I could do more work whilst on leave. I was already doing one weeks work on leave which gave me enough money to pay for and execute work on decorating and improving the home.
The wireless had gone on the blink, and I had resorted to using Bert's portable set, which I had been given. We did not have television at that stage. In fact I believe it was about then we got it in place of the wireless.
Two events have slipped my memory.
One was when Bob and I were due to go off to Bardsey, I cannot recall the time of year, but I think it was about November 59, or perhaps in the Spring, the weather was not very warm. For some emergency reason, the Argus, the depot tender could not carry out the relief, and it was decided that we should go overland. This necessitated us making a hurried departure to the railway station to catch an infrequent train to Pwllheli.
The depot staff assisted, but in the rush along the platform, some of my gear fell off the trolley and my binoculars got damaged. This was not discovered till sometime afterwards. At Pwllheli, we got a nights accommodation, and whiled away the evening with a picture show, which was a newish film called 'Tom Thumb'. This was after we had a rather intriguing journey across North Wales by single track railway, followed by a walk around town, which was not very inspiring.
The main feature seemed to be the Butlin's Holiday Camp. The sea front was set a long way from the town across a stretch of inland water, and was approached by a viaduct. On the sea front there were several quite impressive Victorian houses, on an Esplanade which gave the concept that it had never been finished, or enthusiasm ran out.
The following morning we were taken by taxi to Aberdaron, where we awaited the island boatman. We were in luck and the weather was suitable for him to come across and pick us up from the beach. Capt. Jones had been put in charge of our reception and I think we used his landing stage for the transfer of our gear. Bob as I have said before, was not a good sailor, and the journey was hell for him.
The next incident was not so funny, or pleasant. It was about the last turn off I did at Bardsey, probably the one before I left, excluding to sojourn to the Smalls. The relief was due, and for some reason we were not done first. All the lights south of us were relieved and they were brought back and then our relief was completed. The Argus, Capt. Lawrence on board, took the ship into Aberdaron Bay, where we were told we would be unloaded as the ship had urgent work elsewhere.
We and our gear, that is seven of us, were loaded into the launch and we headed for the beach, but despite Capt. Jones's landing stage being in the water, the launch turned off and headed for a little cove called Porth, normally used by the island boat. Despite pleas to be landed on the beach, the Cox'on said his instructions were to land us in Porth.
There we were deposited on the shingle beach, with little idea where we were or where we had to go. I knew from visitors to the island that there was a way to the road, but how far that was away, was anyone's guess. We made our laborious way up this muddy track and after about half a mile we came to a road, with no houses in sight. I also knew that visitors to the island congregated at a house called St. Mary's Well. where they would wait until a boat arrived from the island, but in which direction that lay, I did not know.
Being the only one with any idea at all as to where we were, I was sent off to find this house, and call for taxis. The house I found, only to find that they did not have a telephone, nor could tell me where the nearest phone was. I returned to my hapless companions, and decided to walk in the other direction this time.
After about half a mile I came across a small cottage which had a phone. The very old lady could only speak Welsh, her elderly son could not speak much English, or was a half wit, or both, but they invited me in to use the phone.
I ordered two cabs from Pwllheli, the nearest station. Having done so I found I was invited to a big cooked breakfast which was already cooking on the stove. Whilst I wanted to and tried to refuse, I had to remain and consume this very welcome meal, wondering all the time whether the taxis had arrived and left without me.
Having in the end thanked Mrs Roberts and her son most profusely, I made my way back to the lads. One taxi I discovered had arrived and left and was coming back again, whilst the other taxi was standing waiting for me. By the time we got into Aberdaron, I discovered that Arthur, my P.K. had decided to take the offer of a lift by Capt. Jones to be transported to the nearest bus for Holyhead, Bob Heriot an S.A.K who had to report to South Stack Lighthouse for duty went with him.
We other five went on to Pwllheli, where we had two or one hour to wait for the train, both of which went to the same destination. Stan Booth, Basil Owen, and myself went for the earlier train, whilst Mike Matthews and Malcolm Lyons opted for the later train to give them more drinking time.
Our train crawled its way down the west coast giving us some spectacular views, until we got to Barmouth, where we found we had an hours wait. From there the train cut across country, past lake Bala before arriving at Ruabon, where we changed to go our respective ways. I cannot recall which direction I took after that but I vaguely think I passed through Cardiff before heading down to the south coast
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