It was the first time taking our own car on a continental holiday. To get to Spain we had to drive across the UK to Plymouth to the ferry terminal. All was well until we arrived in the UK early on Easter Sunday in 2002 and realised that we had not factored into our journey the incredible volume of traffic on the motorways. We met with holdups from several accidents and also tailbacks , sometimes miles long. To compound our woes the radio was not going to provide us with entertainment as the programmes were playing solemn music all day because the Queen Mother had died.
And so we arrived in Plymouth hours later than expected and started looking for the hotel where we were due to overnight. This was long before we all had sat navs. It was called Plymouth Hotel and we were assured it was near the Ferry Terminal which would facilitate our early morning departure. We could not find it. We asked for directions on three occasions, and still could not find it. We were delighted when we saw a police car pulled up at an ATM cash point and thought well who better to ask directions from than local policemen.
One of the two policemen was out of the car and was using the cash point so we waited for him to finish his business before I rolled down my window and asked him for directions.
“Excuse me” I said, and as he turned to look at me I realised that he was wearing a full flak jacket and had a serious looking gun slung from his shoulder. I asked him for directions to the hotel and explained that we had been given several conflicting directions already. He walked over to our car slowly with the gun now gripped firmly. He took a note of the registration number and slowly walked down the passenger side
and around the back, ending up at the driver’s window. We knew what he was thinking. An Irish registered car during troubled times. He leant down to talk to David , the gun still firmly gripped.
“Step out of the car please sir”. David got out of the car slowly not making any sudden moves. The other policeman had also got out of his car and was watching us intently. David placed his hands on the top of our car and spread his legs in the classic search position. The policeman did not search him. “Turn around sir”. David turned slowly. “Can you read that sign across the road for me sir?”. David read it. It said Plymouth Hotel.
The two policemen erupted with laughter. This was a highlight of the day for them and they would get great mileage from this story back at the station. Our reaction was a little more muted. Overwhelmingly, we were relieved that we were not going to be brought in for questioning as suspected terrorists and relief that we had found the blessed hotel after a very long and fraught day.
We declined supper and went straight to bath and bed. Our sleep that night was peppered with dreams of anxiety and panic awakenings. We left the hotel before first light next morning and were first in the queue to board the ferry to Santander. We watched the port disappear as we sipped tea and then headed to our cabin for some sleep.
Oddly, we have never returned to Plymouth.