What Were the Chances

By Mike Stovell

In this astonishing true adventure, follow two middle-aged, divorced pals as they embark on a journey that neither sobriety nor careful planning might have ever inspired. After reminiscing over drinks, a spontaneous decision takes them aboard a Philippine airline 747 in 1988, bound for Australia, to reunite with an old friend.

But to say ‘things didn’t go to plan’ would be the understatement of the century.

The series of unbelievable events that befall these audacious adventurers will leave you astounded, amused, and at moments, deeply moved. More miraculously, they lived to recount every twist and turn. Their tale not only evokes laughter and tears but also serves as a testament to life’s unpredictable wonders and the magic that can unfold when you seize the day.

Join these two endearing risk-takers on a whirlwind odyssey that proves sometimes, the best stories are the unplanned ones.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Dec 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9781035814312

Mike Stovell

Mike Stovell was born to a poor but loving working class family at the end of W.W.2. in the small Town of Rugby in Warwickshire. Educated at three Victorian state schools, caned on a regular basis mainly for showing off to his class mates. He couldn’t wait to leave school at the age of 15. He has lead an exceptional and varied working life, a fireman on steam engines, an overhead linesman on pioneering electrification of the railways, lorry driver, publican, market trader, art dealer, estate agent, and housing developer, making and losing millions. But still describes himself as a rich man, because he knows money isn’t everything. You name it he has done it and you will see once you’ve shared his adventures, he is truly a loveable chancer that inspirers hope and optimism in everything he does.

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About the Author

Mike Stovell was born to a poor but loving working class family at the end of W.W.2. in the small Town of Rugby in Warwickshire. Educated at three Victorian state schools, caned on a regular basis mainly for showing off to his class mates. He couldn’t wait to leave school at the age of 15. He has lead an exceptional and varied working life, a fireman on steam engines, an overhead linesman on pioneering electrification of the railways, lorry driver, publican, market trader, art dealer, estate agent, and housing developer, making and losing millions. But still describes himself as a rich man, because he knows money isn’t everything. You name it he has done it and you will see once you’ve shared his adventures, he is truly a loveable chancer that inspirers hope and optimism in everything he does.

Copyright Information ©

Mike Stovell 2023

The right of Mike Stovell to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781035814305 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781035814312 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

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Brief Description of What Were the Chances

This is a true story that happened to two divorced men, namely, me and my good friend Peter Dobbin, when we were on our way to Australia to see a friend of ours. This adventure was dreamed up by us both on a boozy night in the pub. Our journey started from Gatwick Airport in late February 1988. We flew with Philippine Airlines as it was the cheapest. We were full of excitement coupled with trepidation at what seemed to us at the time like an endless journey. We never did make it to Australia, we ended up getting off the plane at Manila in the Philippines, having been persuaded by our two lovely air-hostesses.

We soon realised that the exchange rate and the third world economy made us so much richer than our Australian budget. So, we moved into the Hilton Hotel which, amazingly, was no more than fifty yards from the infamous Mabini Street, the gateway to Ermita, the hottest spot in the Philippines. The stewardesses were quite right, the place was made for us. We soon got established using the Birdwatcher Bar as our HQ. The bar was managed by an out-of-control Aussie called Terry.

Booze, girls, and karaoke soon became our daily routine, Dob became the Karaoke King as he had a great voice. After a wild week, we should have rebooked our flight and continued on our journey to Australia. But that wasn’t written in the stars for us. One morning I was at a loose end and I decided to try and find a Filipino friend I had met in Athens while on Holiday ten years earlier. With a lot of tenacity and numerous phone calls, I managed to locate him. He insisted that we fly to his Island, Cebu, which we just managed to do the next day, and that’s when the dream began.

It turned out that he was a very rich and powerful man who whirl winded us on the most surreal and exciting trip of a lifetime. I have told lots of people the story of what happened on this crazy trip, which ended up with a life changing event for me. And they all say the same thing that it would make a great film or you should write a book. Well, I am now seventy-seven years old and I have finally gotten around to doing it.

I must apologise in advance for the bad language, but I thought I must tell it as it really happened.

What Were the Chances?

My story starts in the United Kingdom in the small town, of Rugby, Warwickshire, 1978 where at the time, I was the tenant licensee of a remarkably busy Town Centre Pub and Hotel called the Bull Hotel.

I decided to take my then wife, Pat and my father, Tom, on a trip to the Greek Island of Crete. The idea was to take my dad on a nostalgic trip to see where he was captured by the German Army in 1941, which incidentally was the biggest single airborne parachute attack of the Second World War, never to be repeated because of the high rate of German fatalities. My dad spent four years as a guest of Hitler at Stalag 8B in Poland.

We had a wonderful holiday and towards the end we visited the regimental graveyard where some of my dad’s mates had been laid to rest. Needless to say, it brought tears to his eyes and mine. I remember thinking, If my dad was in here, I would not be here today.

My dad always saw the funny side of things, when writing in the visitors’ book which had comments from other visitors like, A most peaceful place, and beautifully kept. R.I P. Dad.

My dad wrote, Tom Stovell, glad to be an outpatient.

That was typically Tom, God rest his soul.

On our return flight we encountered a fault on the aero plane, so we were forced to land in Athens, where we were put in a hotel for the night as there wasn’t a plane available until the next day. That evening in the hotel bar, which was very busy, I decided to play a game of backgammon with my wife, on our newly acquired board that I had bought in Crete. After playing for about an hour my wife and I became aware of a gentleman wearing a garish Hawaiian style shirt, staring at us. He walked over and introduced himself, Hi, my name is Manny.

I replied, introducing myself and my wife Pat. Manny asked us what game we were playing, as he had never seen it before. After explaining the game to him, I invited him to try his hand to which he replied, No thanks I would rather have a drink at the bar. Would you and your wife like to join my wife and I for a drink?

As I have never been known to turn down an invitation like that, I of course, accepted!

A couple of drinks later he invited us to dinner in a restaurant just around the comer from the Hotel which he said was excellent. As we had not eaten and thinking this Hawaiian tourist seems like a nice guy, I accepted. When we got to the restaurant, which turned out to be Cantonese, not Greek as we had expected, we walked in and were shown to a nice table near a window overlooking the sea.

We sat down, Manny spoke to the waiter in Cantonese and then disappeared into the kitchen with the waiter. On his return he announced that he had told the Chef what to cook for us. After about thirty minutes, out came a magnificent banquet of Cantonese cuisine; enough to feed a small army, but the waiter only brought two plates to the table. When I asked Manny why there were only two plates, he said they had dinner there earlier! I couldn’t believe the amount of food he had ordered for just the two of us! It was absolutely delicious, but needless to say, we could only eat about a third of it.

My wife asked his wife, Pinky, who was a beautiful woman with tanned skin and jet-black hair, if they were from the Hawaiian Islands as they both appeared to have American Accents. Oh no, we are from the island of Cebu in the Philippines, Pinky replied.

I must confess I felt a little embarrassed at having thought they were Hawaiian; it must have been the shirt. Never judge a book by its cover, my dear old Mum used to say (and she was right of course, as Mums always are!)

On our return to the hotel, we found my dad had decided to have an early night and the two ladies soon retired to their rooms, saying they were tired and it had been a long day.

However, it had not been long enough for me and my new mate Manny. We went straight to the bar and after too many drinks and a lot of small talk, it was time to try and make the stairs and get to bed, I said Good night my old mate, and if you ever come to Rugby, you and your wife will be guests of honour at my humble Hotel.

That would be great, he replied, We are on a trip around the world, but we are not visiting England this time.

We shook hands and said goodnight. Never expecting to see each other again…

The next morning, nursing a hangover, I managed a cup of coffee, a slice of toast and a bollocking; I expect Manny had the same. We left the hotel, made our way to the airport on a coach organised by Olympic Air and boarded our plane for England. On my arrival at the Bull everybody was buzzing round doing their job. It was a usual busy lunch time, as we had forged a great reputation for homemade meals, and we served them fast, giving the customers plenty of time to eat and drink inside their one-hour lunch break. That was the secret of our success, quality coupled with speed and good service.

About two weeks went by, our holiday almost forgotten, I opened the hotel bars at 11am as usual and after a few minutes in came a telegram boy. Good morning, I have a telegram for a Mr Stovell? the young man enquired.

Yes, son that’s me.

I signed for it and gave the lad a two-bob tip and off he went saying, Thank you Sir, I hope it’s not bad news!

Nervously I opened the Telegram as they were nearly always bad news, mainly used in an emergency situation as they were the most direct, but most expensive way of sending a message and because you paid per word, they were invariably short. However, this one, it was like a letter; it must have cost a fortune! It read-:

"Hi Mick, it is your friend Manny, I have decided to come and see you at the Bull Hotel. Can you pick me and my wife up at Gatwick Airport? Our flight number is BA375 and we will be landing at terminal 1 at 10-30am tomorrow, looking forward to seeing you, by the way I bought a backgammon board, we will have to have a game when we get there. Kind regards, your friend Manny."

This was a bit of a shock as I never expected to see this guy again. Me and my big mouth! This is not going to go down well when I tell the Mrs the news that I have got to go to Gatwick and pick Manny and his Wife up, plus tying up one of our letting rooms free of charge for I don’t know how long! I was right, and predictably, things went a little quiet between us for the rest of the day.

Anyway, the next day I climbed into my XJ6 Jag and drove to Gatwick.

After parking the Jag, I made my way to the arrivals area, wondering if I would recognise these two in a crowd, I shouldn’t have worried, Manny recognised me and rushed over. On greeting Manny and his wife Pinky, you would have thought I had known him for years! He threw his arms around me and hugged me for an embarrassing amount of time. Pinky was less passionate thankfully, just a kiss on the cheek and a Hello, telling me Manny insisted on changing their flight plan to come and see me.

I’m glad he did, I told Pinky, It’s great to see you both and welcome to England!

I grabbed a trolley, loaded the cases and we made our way to the car. Driving back, there was lots of talk of where they had been and what they had seen; the Swiss Alps, the Italian lakes, Venice, Paris, the list went on. When we finally arrived at the Bull I parked outside the front entrance and ushered them in thinking I hope they aren’t disappointed, this isn’t the Ritz by any stretch of the imagination!

Manny and Pinky soon settled in. I think they were enjoying the feeling of feeling genuinely welcome, not just welcome for their money. They were fascinated by the English way of life and the pub in particular.

They even had a spell behind the bar. I remember thinking, my customers don’t realise that they were being served by somebody who could never have dreamt he was serving behind a bar in a 300-year-old pub in Rugby, England.

Manny and Pinky stayed with me for two weeks at the Bull, by which time we had become great friends. I took them on the grand tour of Stratford, Warwick, and, Bourton on the Water, amongst other places.

Whilst at Stratford on Avon, we visited many attractions, but at a small but nevertheless interesting, automotive museum, Manny and I stopped at one of the vehicles that was on loan to the Museum from Lord somebody or other. A D-Type Jaguar. As we looked at it, Manny casually said, I have got one of these at home, my mother bought it when she was on vacation in America, and had it shipped home to Cebu.

I turned to him and said, Are you sure it’s one of these? They’re quite rare.

Yes, I am sure it is, he replied.

Wow, that’s amazing, do you drive it Manny? I asked.

No, I used to, but it broke down a few years ago and nobody on the island knows how to repair it. We just covered it up with a tarp and left it in the corner of our garage.

I said, That’s not surprising, it’s the twin overhead cams, that take a lot of skill to set up that’s usually why the average mechanic can’t fix them, you could get it done over here.

Well, if you get it shipped over here you can have it.

I wouldn’t know how, I said and left it at that. To me at that time, it was just a broken-down old Jag that was on the other side of the planet.

It wasn’t until a couple of years later when I heard on the TV that a D-Type had been sold for over one million pounds. It was at that point I realised what a bloody fool I had been not taking him up on his offer! Anyway, back to reality.

At the end of a most enjoyable fortnight, we ended up doing a tour of London. We stopped at the Tower Hotel, next to Tower Bridge for two nights at Manny’s expense, which seemed fair to me as I had not charged him for his stay at the Bull. I thought two nights at the posh Tower Hotel would cost more than two weeks in the Bull Hotel. It was a very smart place, but not mine or Pat’s cup of tea.

After a hearty breakfast on the second morning, we booked out of the Hotel as it was time to drive them back to Gatwick to get them safely on their flight home. We drove to Gatwick through the heavy London traffic and dropped Manny and Pinky off. Following some big hugs and getting a bit tearful, Manny thanked me for a great stay in the Bull and for showing him around England, I told him, Any time Manny, you know where we are now if ever you come to England!

Manny thanked me again and said, If you ever come to Cebu, you will be my guest! I would love to show you, my Island.

Thinking to myself I’ll never get to see this man again, I told Manny, I don’t think that will happen any time soon, I am too busy running the Bull but you never know, maybe one day, who knows what the future holds?

Ten years later, in 1988 with two expensive divorces behind me and two businesses down the drain; I have now gone into partnership with,