Escape To Benidorm

By Thomas Raymond

This is the account of a journey of five years, as middle-aged Ken adapted to being a widower after the death of his wife. A series of tales, some funny some sad - but all true - happened to him as he struggled to rebuild his new life and look to the future.
Did it all end happily ever after? You’ll have to see.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ken Walsh
• Release date: Aug 11, 2015
• ISBN: 9781783017867

Book preview

prequel.

CHAPTER ONE

After the funeral, Ken was in bits inside. He’d held it together for the children and everybody else. Held it in throughout. Now back at home in Lancashire at the tail end of all the sorting out – insurances, paperwork, and an infuriating building society – he felt the emptiness of the house. Alone.

Ken was used to being alone. Not alone actually but on his own a lot. Carole’s long periods of different illnesses had meant that going out to do the shopping, for a drink or just for a quick walk, he was more and more often on his own.

They had moved from the Leeds area to the Lancashire coast to a bungalow and somewhere flat, four and a half years ago, which had meant making new friends. Quite difficult when you are not very well. But there was a local pub just around the corner, with a host of new friendly faces. Ken had spent most of his time doing up the bungalow and garden which had taken nearly all of the first two years, and meant he was always close for Carole.

Although they loved their bungalow, holidays were their joy. The same criteria applied here too. Somewhere flat and by the sea. Carole loved the sun (when not too hot) and sea air but after a stroll on the prom or around the gift shops in a morning, that was enough. A quiet afternoon with a book on the room’s balcony or sometimes in the bar or sat in the shade by the pool was all she could manage before a siesta. A nice dinner and a quiet evening in the hotel. Or, laughing at the rubbish entertainers and clapping along to the slappers and clappers as they called the compulsory hotel flamenco show.

On good days, they managed a trip out in the evening to a comedy show – Rich Bitch was her favourite! Benidorm Palace was a close second. But all taken at a very steady pace. Not that this was a problem to Ken. Ever since he had been able to retire early aged just 50, in 2000, they had managed three or four or more holidays a year in between doctors and hospital trips. He loved Carole enjoying the good weather that seemed to do her so good. It was a good break for him too, from cooking and shopping and not just the heavier domestics, but any tasks that Carole found increasingly more difficult.

After doing lots of Spain, Portugal, Turkey and Greece with their friends in the past, their favourite choice became Benidorm for the two of them: flat but definitely not boring! With just a short flight from Blackpool, now their local airport and good medical facilities there, if ever they had been needed, Benidorm had suited them down to the ground!

Despite being well practiced for almost ten years, Ken now rapidly realised that On your own is very very different to Alone. He was always a fairly gregarious, outgoing person with lots of friends and acquaintances. Ken however had made very few really close friends and was quite individualistic and comfortable with his own company for long periods.

But now as he reflected, back in the quiet of home, it crept up on him and hit him hard. The realisation that he had lost his very best friend ever in the whole world.

After Carole’s death, friends in the pub had made him an honorary member of the 5 0’clock club – a group of mainly older customers who sat around a particularly large table and put the world to rights every teatime. This was a kind of putting arms around him and just being there. A gesture he gratefully appreciated, only to have to join in and do the same for another regular of the 5 0’clock club who lost his wife very shortly after Carole’s death.

Joan was a lovely lady who had been a good bit older than Carole and sadly had had more serious health problems – but her loss was just as hard to bear for her husband. Adrian (Aid for short, he preferred) was no spring chicken himself, and he had been a much more involved carer, for much longer than Ken. So the 5 O’clock club, now including Ken, got into gear to support Aid, a great little guy with a huge personality. He was a Liverpool supporter; Joan was Everton. Enough said.

At the funeral there was to be only one flower on the coffin – a blue rose for Everton. Unbeknown to anyone else, the 5 O’clock club arranged buttonhole flowers of the same blue for each member and one for Aid, presented to him as a token of love and support before we entered the Chapel to the strains of the Z Cars TV theme – Everton’s adopted tune. Steve, another 5 O’ clock member, gave the eulogy.

Many of the pub regulars, who were now rapidly becoming Ken’s good friends too, expressed surprise and some concern that Ken attended the funeral, so soon after his own loss, but it was kind of cathartic for him to share the grief and then the joy of the group remembrance of someone’s life.

A few also asked him if he would stay in Cleveleys, or go back ‘home’ to Leeds - Ken’s reply was that they had chosen to come here because they liked it and this was home. Besides, only Ken’s stepson, Steve, was back in Guiseley now. Daughter Michaela was married and lived in Barnsley. Son Richard was serving in Afghanistan and lived in Hampshire with his family. Ken’s brother and sister were in different towns in Yorkshire. Where was Ken supposed to go, to go home?

As soon as he could see clear water out of the mire of bills, claims and arguments with insurers and the building society, he was going to escape to sort his head out. Where to go? Well, there was really no argument – Benidorm. He needed a place he knew, but a place that didn’t know him too well. He’d had enough of people treading carefully around him.

Benidorm was the last place they had visited together – in the June of 2009. They’d gone specifically to look out a hotel for the Christmas holidays. The one they had booked at this time was a 4 star and they hoped it might be the one for Christmas too. Disappointingly, this was not to be. They had an OK stay but looked for something better for Christmas.

They scouted around and found another, ideal in every way, nearby. Calling in for a drink, they talked to the staff; even got to view a room. It was a smashing place. It ticked all the boxes. Clean and modern smart rooms. A good smoking area for Carole and on the level with the main streets, fairly close to the promenade. - And above all they knew that the food and service would be excellent as they had stayed in hotels of the same group, Servigroup, before.

That was it - that’s where they’d do Christmas. They booked and sorted it immediately they got home! And as they talked about it, decided to book up for another break there as well, in early October!

And this was one of the hassles after Carole died - Insurers. What a pain! Cancelling the holidays with the travel company was not a problem and their part refunds under their terms came back quickly. The remainder was insured. Two holidays cancelled meant two separate claims even though the reason hence the claim was the same. The Christmas one involved only the loss of deposits. The earlier one, being closer to the departure time, involved a much bigger loss. Ken decided just to claim for this to cut down on paperwork, thinking he was playing pretty fair with the insurance company.

Because Carole’s passing had occurred at home, it had been required to hold a post mortem. This, even though the GP had been called out to her at 5am that very morning and Ken had phoned again to say Carole’s symptoms hadn’t improved, requesting a return visit. Ken was checking her every few minutes as he was very worried about her deterioration. When he discovered her not breathing, he cleared her airway then commenced CPR. Quickly realising it was ineffective, he grabbed the bedside phone. A doctor was actually arriving on the doorstep for the earlier requested visit when Ken, still giving CPR, was still on the phone to 999 - and the ambulance siren could be heard approaching. She was very reluctant to maintain CPR which bemused and angered Ken. As a first aider of many years experience, he had always been trained to maintain resuscitation until paramedics arrived. Anyway, they did arrive at that instant, but it was to no avail. Carole had gone.

The GP however, wouldn’t take responsibility for the certification of her death since she hadn’t been the doctor who visited earlier and hence the post mortem procedure was required. Total jobsworth in Ken’s opinion.

So, when filling in the holiday insurance claim forms, seeing as the actual cause of death had been determined by the pathologist and recorded on the death certificate, and these matched exactly the pre-existing conditions which had been declared to the insurance company each year for years, there seemed to be no reason to bother the GP with a myriad of papers, since their input was superfluous. And Ken didn’t know if he could keep his anger with them under control if he had had to approach them at this time!

Everything was completed and sent off. About a week later, Ken received a letter which contained another GP report form and saying it needed to be done before the claim could be considered. Ken erupted at this point and telephoned the company to complain. After much to-ing and fro-ing, they agreed that it was unnecessary in this case and would pay up. He wondered why they put people through all this at a time when they really don’t need the upset?

However, this now being resolved, and all the rest of the b***-s**t progressing ponderously and not needing his input any more, Ken could finally book a break.

Ken Walsh, 59¾, retired for nearly 10 years; footloose and fancy-free?

– Didn’t much feel like it!

CHAPTER TWO

October 2009

Getting ready to fly off for a well earned break, Ken had booked a Benidorm hotel he’d seen before, but not been inside – The Rialto. It was Servigroup, the same as the hotel Calypso where they had spent the previous Christmas and also the hotel Nereo, which Ken had just had to cancel. The Nereo was the hotel they had booked for October and this coming Christmas and although Ken had really fancied it, it was a bit too soon to have memories reawakened. He would love to stay there sometime, but just not yet.

The Rialto was just a street up from the Nereo but when they were looking around previously the steep slope to it had ruled it out for Carole. It nearly proved to be the undoing of Ken also…..

As the date to go approached Ken was all ready to go when he was struck with a waterworks problem - couldn’t stop peeing! Too late to get a doctor’s appointment at home. Not likely to get any help from a British chemists. What to do? He couldn’t cancel another holiday and claim on insurance. Was it an infection as he suspected? Or was it just nerves like his IBS sometimes seemed to be?

There was only one solution - fasting until he got there, then go to seek a Benidorm pharmacy for advice. They would dispense antibiotics if needed. Yes that’s what he’d do. Nothing to eat or drink from now until he arrived at the hotel. Could he do it without embarrassing himself?

He even thought about ‘TenaMan’ he remembered he had seen in the supermarket when he’d been doing Carole’s shopping. At the time he’d thought bloody typical! All the women’s personal items in one place. And Men’s toiletries in another aisle. What would be the most embarrassing thing for any bloke to buy but an incontinence product – but where was it? Right there alongside the women’s’ things. No wonder they didn’t appear to have caught on. Perhaps there was indeed a need for a man’s caught short product, but the presentation of it was rubbish!

Anyway, he’d decided - ‘Yes, you’re going, come what may’. And off he went. An easy drive to the airport and park the car. Queue for check-in. No problems so far. The strangest thing this time was that after check-in, Ken didn’t have to wait in the cafeteria area near to the entrance of passport control and the departure gates. He could go straight through passport control and then relax in the departure lounge. They used to have to wait until almost the last minute, so Carole could have her last cigarette outside the airport. He used to hate having to rush to get through to passport control and into the departure lounge when the flight was called, just because of a last cigarette.

Now he had a twinge of regret that he had always been nagging at her to hurry up. It brought it home to him that he was off not just on his own, but alone. He would have given anything to have her there with him, cigarettes or no cigarettes. After all, he had been a smoker also, having managed to give up almost 10 years previously.

Unbeknown to her, Carole had helped him do that too. He had realized that if he didn’t stop there was no chance he could possibly persuade her to try. And he knew he probably hadn’t the willpower to do it for himself. He was always better doing things for others. He told himself he was doing it for her - and it worked! Ken always regretted that Carole couldn’t find it in herself to stop and she really should have stopped for her health.

However, he had an uneventful flight, on time into Alicante Airport. He got straight through there, with a quick toilet stop and on to the transfer bus for the hour long run up to Benidorm. He had thought of not getting the bus, just telling them he was getting a taxi for the quicker journey to the hotel. But no, the bus was already paid for and he should be OK for that length of time. And he was. So far so good, although dehydration was probably setting in by now!

He checked into the hotel. It seemed an excellent place. Small, quiet and friendly. Ken was looking forward to something to eat and drink at last but first, off for a quick walk around the locality to see if a pharmacy was open anywhere. It was late on Saturday afternoon and he knew that some worked a rota system on a Saturday. There was a 24 hour one down the hill and away along the road called Mediteraneo, but it was a bit too far to chance walking there and back. So as he walked around more locally, his disappointment grew as he found one, then another closed. And Ken needed to get back to the hotel and quickly! Damn this infection or whatever it was. As he headed back up the hill to the hotel, he was trying to remember where the foyer toilets were and weighing up whether they were the best option, or to get the lift back to his room. Just made it. Panic over.

Ken thought about all the Benny Hill and Carry On type sketches and jokes about old men’s problems and realised they just weren’t as funny as they used to seem!

Anyway, it was time to get ready for a drink and dinner. He hadn’t had anything since the previous evening. Now it was time to relax for a bit. He knew he’d be OK for tonight in the hotel. On the following morning, Sunday, he’d get a taxi from the hotel to the 24 hour chemist and back and then see how it went for the next few days.

He was now convinced it was a water infection, given the frequency and extreme immediacy of his problem. He’d never had anything like this before and anticipated strange looks from the pharmacist when he explained the symptoms that sounded, to him anyway, like an STD or STI, as they called them nowadays. He laughed to himself and thought ‘chance would have been a fine thing’. Anything like that had been stopped years ago, with all Carole’s problems. And that’s when they’d grown more close than ever, as best friends - been there, done all that, got the T shirt – and still in love more than ever. How he missed Carole.

Not that Ken wasn’t still in fine working order. And quite low mileage for his age, he thought! He smiled to himself as a fleeting thought occurred to him that perhaps Carole had visited this problem on him from above, to keep him in check, when on the loose for the first time, in Benidorm!

However, next day things went OK – taxi – chemists - short course of antibiotics to take and the taxi waiting to take him back to the hotel. Getting the first of the tablets down him and relaxing in the hotel for a quiet Sunday reading his book - bliss! And a bonus - there was football on TV or later too! He would up his water intake too, to flush out whatever was causing the problem.

After a good night’s sleep and breakfast, Ken was feeling much better by Monday morning. Some of the urgency had gone and a short walk seemed possible. This bit of Benidorm up the hill was fairly new to him because, as previously said, Carole didn’t do stairs and hills very well. Off to the right of the hotel Ken could see some shops and cafes. To the left or forwards, both downhill was the busier centre of the Rincon area. The nearest pub was the White Horse, down to the left and near the bottom of the slope, where he and Carole had called in once on their last visit, in June.

And that set the pattern for the next few days of Ken’s holiday break while he got better. He just took short trips out for newspapers or a bit of shopping for essentials. Sometimes watching a football game on TV in the Drop Inn, a friendly café bar just a couple of streets up to the right. Or a pre-lunch drink in the White Horse, which Ken little realised, would become centre stage for his future, frequent holidays to Benidorm!

CHAPTER THREE

For his ten night holiday Ken had booked full board. Mainly because it was only few pounds more than half board and he knew from experience it is sometimes more convenient to eat lunch, rather than dinner, at the early evening time hotel dinners were usually available. As luck would have it, as his health picked up and he did more walking out and exercise, he found he was hungry for both lunch and dinner!

The holiday was good. Strange, but good. He was out early on a morning, with his new camera, stretching his legs and gradually expanding his distance travelled. Benidorm has some spectacular scenery and sites. Beautiful beaches, parks and gardens. The local flora, growing wild, is interesting if you are into plants and growing things as Ken was. Plus - people never seemed to question someone with a camera! A man fishing at a lakeside will often get asked about their catch; no one seems to bother the photographer or indeed an artist with a sketch pad or an easel set up. Of course, these days, one must avoid photographing children. Although after travelling abroad, one realises that it is only Brits who are so paranoid, fuelled by irresponsible media, ‘elf and safety and ‘uman rights to a ridiculous degree that far outstrips any reasonable, rational behaviour.

The reason that there is no dialogue in this book so far is just that! - that’s it! On one’s own you find that you actually talk to people far less than you would if you were a couple. Strange though it may seem, it’s true. So, so far there’s been nothing to report, just a few normal short conversations about getting things, asking things etc. Ken hadn’t had a good natter with anyone for ages, he realised. It would however soon be put to rights.

His first venture into the White Horse began the process. Getting a beer and bar-leaning, as was his wont, left him standing next to a lady who appeared to be also on her own, but part of the company of the bar crowd. These were apparently mainly regulars who were gathered around the bar, just to one end. The lady next to Ken seemed to be of an age with him, possibly a little older. From her accent he discerned that she was from Yorkshire, probably the Bradford area that he knew so well.

For years he had been good at recognising accents; ever since his time as a tutor at the BT training college where there had been engineers attending from all over the UK, and the North in particular. He had developed a nack of spotting accents and dialects, sometimes even to the village they hailed from.

Christine, in this instance, was from Bradford, the Birkenshaw area. When he got talking to her he found out that she had formerly lived in East Bierley, a picturesque village just a couple of miles from Birkenshaw where she lived now. Ken asked about the cricket club he knew there and Christine knew it well. Ken said A friend of mine used to be on the committee or something there. - Les Hudson?

Christine reacted with surprise The City Gent! she exclaimed. Yes Ken replied, John-Leslie Hudson. He used to work for me and he was The City Gent! This title applied to Bradford City football club season ticket holders some time in the past, who had gone the extra mile as ambassadors of the club. John-Leslie certainly fulfilled that role and carried the sobriquet with pride for years! Ken explained to Christine how he had come to know Les – through BT at Bradford. Ken had been apprentice and engineer in Bradford and knew Les, before leaving to be a trainer. After his seven years as an instructor at the training school, Ken returned to Bradford as a manager of engineers. Les was foreman of a cabling gang, one of the work teams that Ken took over.

A bit of a Jack the lad, Les had attracted some perhaps unwarranted attention from Ken’s predecessor, Trevor (who had himself moved up and was presently Ken’s new boss) Trevor seemed to have had a bit of a down on Les and some of his antics. However, Les was Ken’s problem now, not Trevor’s. And Ken found that when prodded in the right direction, Les was a good worker and didn’t need the attentions of Trevor, who was a bit black or white and didn’t accept any shades of grey. Ken always took a more pragmatic approach and more or less harnessed Les’ exuberance and directed it into work. He also motivated Leslie’s gang members a bit more to make the team a lot more positive. Result - they all produced more and were more focused and Ken hoped, happier in their jobs. They made a good team.

All this was a long time ago, but possibly shows Ken’s compassion and affinity with the ordinary team member. It certainly had produced good results over the years. However all that was in the past.

He had enjoyed talking to Christine and it got him talking to the others around the bar. The White Horse bar is a replica of an older British pub and has lots of wood and stools and high tables. Around the corner of the bar where Ken was standing was the epicentre for a bunch of individuals having a drink. A small brass plaque screwed to the bar announced Bull Shit Corner. When Ken noticed this and experienced some of the regulars there in B-S Corner, he realised it closely resembled the 5 0’clock Club in his own local, the Sandpiper, at home.

After breaking the ice with the Bull Shit Corner crowd, Ken had started to feel very comfortable with Benidorm, being on holiday and with the White Horse in particular. Some customers were residents. Some long stay tourists and others were holidaying for just a short time. Albeit all of them seemed to be well known each other, and soon Ken realised he had dropped in on a quite exclusive club