Ges on the Box; Monkey business on safari

IN the days before DVDs, w used to have slide nights in — father would set up the projector, cursing, while mother taped a white sheet to the wall, filled jugs with orange squash and Hoovered.

She always Hoovered, no matter what the occasion. If the doctor was coming she also cleaned the windows.

Anyway, us three girls would sit dutifully on the sofa, as father did the commentary: “Ah, here’s one of Geraldine and a monkey. The monkey’s the one on the left,” and he’d roar with laughter. It was on the right.

I found that slide the other day, I can understand his confusion.

I seem to have inherited all the slides taken while we lived in Aden. There’s only so much sand one can get excited over, I’ve found.

But there are a few gems. Like the 500 slides he took on our two weeks’ holiday in Kenya. It sounds grand, but it wasn’t. The RAF flew us free to Africa in an Argosy. It was a plane more generally used to transport vehicles. But they bolted in some seats, acquired a tray of boiled sweets from somewhere and Bob’s your uncle.

And it beat a fortnight at my gran’s in Birkenhead hands down.

The monkeys were pretty tame at Silver Sands in Mombassa. We fed them and they stole anything they could get their hands on. It was a holiday camp in the sun — little round rooms with thatched roofs.

While the parents and my elder sister went sight-seeing, little sis and I roller skated. Yup, a fortnight in Kenya, one of the most beautiful countries in the world, and we spent it roller skating.

Apart from one memorable trip to Tsavo game reserve in Nairobi. Too tight to book us on to a proper safari, father decided to DIY. So we saw an awful lot of antelope and other little jumping creatures, a handful of vultures and very little else.

No lions, no big game, no giraffes, no polar bears. We did, however, see a herd of elephants.

All around the park were notices instructing us to “stay in vehicle”, but father decided the only place to photograph a herd of elephants was on top of a little hill.

They charged. He shot his film. Mother screamed.

He dived back into the car and we sped off, a cloud of dust where the elephants now stood.

I’d show you the slides, only he forgot to take the lens cap off.

Ah, memories. All brought flooding back by Stephen Tompkinson’s balloon trip over Namibia.

At least he had the good sense to hire a guide, so at last I saw my giraffes and lions.

No polar bears though.