1971
Initial thoughts
Entries in The Cooper Diaries
Holiday photos
The “Hängebrücke”
Souvenirs
Initial thoughts
The holiday itself, from Monday 13 September 1971 for perhaps 10 or 11 days, was not reported contemporaneously in The Cooper Diaries, although in October 1980 I did start to write it up and got as far as doing 13–15 September 1971. We stayed in two places: the first was Untermieming in the Tyrol, where we were based for most of the time; and the second, for only one night, or perhaps two, was in a village near Interlaken. In Untermieming, Chris and I shared a room, and his fiancée Pamela and her mother shared another. (The original plan was for Gillian to accompany me, but she and I finished going out with each other, and in the absence of a suitable replacement, Pamela took her mother along.)
Entries in The Cooper Diaries
All I wrote in my diary (D71) between the entries for Sunday 12th September and Monday 27th September was:
Holiday in Austria
is reported separately. —but writing that was over-optimistic, for I did not get around to the task of reporting it. In October 1980 I did start to write it up and got as far as doing 13–15 September 1971.
[D71, page 144A:]
Monday 13th September
I got a bus from the Coliseum, but fog and an accident ahead of us on the motorway necessitated delay and detour 
 [D71, page 144B:] and the bus arrived at Victoria Coach Station very late. So when I finally arrived, there was no one to meet me as arranged. I didn’t know what to do: I had no tickets and all I knew was that the holiday organisers were Blue Cars, and that it was in Untermeiming [sic] in Austria where I was supposed to be headed. I didn’t even know where I had to fly from.* However, across the road from the coach station was the BOAC office, so I went there, rather timidly, feeling a bit of a fool. There, it was suggested that it would be Luton Airport that I wanted; and they gave me instructions how to get there; so, feeling slightly less lost, and with a glimmer of hope, I took a taxi [D71, page 144C:] to St. Pancras station, and bought a packet of 20 Players for comfort; I bought a ticket and caught the next train, sank back into my seat, lit up, and had an interim “relax”: “interim”, for I soon began to tense up again — would I, could I, be in time for the flight? — and got on guard again as the train approached Luton — how would I get to the airport? Could I get there quickly enough? (Should I have got a taxi to Luton? Would I have enough money; how much would it have cost?) I got to Luton Airport somehow (taxi, perhaps?); located the Blue Cars desk, and learned that my flight had just left. I was relieved, however, to
* Chris had made all the booking arrangements, he had my tickets, and I had agreed with him that he would meet me at Victoria coach station.
[D71, page 144D:] be told that it would almost certainly be possible to get me on a plane tomorrow. Chris had left my tickets at the desk. Phone calls were made, a hotel booked, and I was off again (in a taxi?) to Luton town. By now it was dark.
(Written 2 Oct. 1980)
Tuesday 14th September
A bed in a clean, fairly modern hotel, a bite of breakfast, and a considerable bite out of my holiday spending money later, I was walking in Luton with a whole day to kill. I sat in a garden of bright blooms at the end of a busy street, walked around, saw some books by Enoch Powell in a bookshop window, and in the afternoon decided to go to the cinema I had passed earlier. “The Owl and the Pussycat” with Barbra Streisand and “A Severed Head” by Iris Murdoch, with [D71, page 144E:] Claire Bloom and others. I wasn’t particularly interested in the films, I only wanted to pass the
afternoon.
And so, eventually, to the airport. A couple of rums did nothing to quell the butterflies heralding my first flight. I was kept 
[D71, page 144F:] back, then allowed in last to occupy a remaining seat. This was next to the aisle* [near the rear]† in the smallish, ageing aircraft, and I sat next to a woman in her late twenties, quite pretty with short, dark hair, wearing a cotton dress which accentuated her attractively well-formed
figure; but I didn’t manage to get into conversation with her.
Eventually the plane started to accelerate down the runway, and with what force the aircraft accelerated! Once airborne I started to relax and even half-enjoy the experience of flight. Enjoy or fear, it was certainly exciting.
In little over an hour, the [D71, page 144G:] plane landed at Basel-Mulhouse airport, where I lost my silent travelling companion. It was dark. Once again, I was a bit nervous as I followed the crowd through customs and out of the airport building, where they started lining up for coaches. Fortunately, I saw a tour official, that is I spotted a man with a clipboard who appeared to be directing people; so I made myself known to him. He didn’t seem to be expecting me as I thought he would; but this didn’t matter as he quickly found me a coach to board.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
* With the aisle on my right, if I remember correctly [2002].
† I still have the impression of being near the back, and of seeing most of the seats in the cabin ahead of me; evidently, though, when I was writing this story, there was a nag of doubt which made me delete what I’d written [2002].
[D71, page 144H:] “Untermei'-ming,” I replied.
“Oh, Un'-termieming,” he corrected me.
So I boarded this coach, sat near the back beyond the people on board who “belonged”, and the coach set off.
I remember that we headed for and went through Basel — street lights and traffic lights, [which seemed to go on & on] and more lights in the dark night.
There was a man sitting nearby, a relief driver perhaps, and he indicated to me how I might pull out the two aisle seats so they would be close together, then I could lie right across the aisle and get some sleep. I nodded my thanks, and did this.
(Written 2 Oct. 1980)
[D71, page 144I:]
Wednesday 15 September 1971
When I looked up again after sleeping the sky was still dark, but it was blue-black as opposed to everything else which was black.
Then, when I fully awoke there was a grey dawn — and the sight that greeted my eyes! Huge, towering mountains! The tallest I had ever seen! I had seen pictures of such, but never the reality.
What a surprise! I had gone to sleep with dimly-visible and unimpressive scenery outside, and had awoken to this splendid view.
It did not seem long before we stopped at a hotel, a 
[D71, page 144J:] “proper” chalet-style place — which after all you would only expect to see — where we had continental breakfast, rolls and strong coffee.
“In Austria, vee don’t like SOFT coffee!” announced a middle-aged man, in a heavy accent, by way of explanation. It was sevenish o’clock.
Soon a man came, seeking “the one for Untermieming”; I went with him to his car, and after a few minutes’ drive we arrived at a village with a tall, spired church, a hotel, and a shop, which was, I was surprised to note, a “Spar” [D71, page 144K:] shop. This was Untermieming. On the way I had been a bit worried, wondering, “Does one tip?” But on arrival it didn’t seem to matter; so I took up my suitcase, thanked the man, and entered the hotel door.
So it was that Chris, in his pyjamas, opened the bedroom door and, to his pleased surprise, saw me.
(Written 2 Oct.
1980) It is evident from one of the postcards of Stams (see
“Stams”)
that on this very day, Wednesday 15 September 1971, perhaps at the suggestion of
Klara at the hotel (see “Klara
and Vroni”), the four of us — Chris, Pamela, her mother, and I —
walked from the hotel (“Gasthof–Pension–Café
Neuwirt”) across the Mieminger Plateau and down the forested valley-side
to a suspension footbridge across the Inn
(see “The ‘Hängebrücke’”). Beyond the bridge was a
waterfall, where a photo of Pamela and me was taken. Across the bridge was the
way to the village of Stams,
which we visited.
Holiday photos
Chris and Pamela had a camera and took pictures, but the only surviving photo is a theatrical pose of me and Pamela at the base of the cliff
in front of a little waterfall at the base of the cliff on the bank of the Inn,
near the “Hängebrücke”. In it, I am acting the part of a silent-movie wicked suitor and she
is fending me off. (This photo survived because Janet, whom I had not yet met, saw me in it and requested a copy.)
(I wore that T-shirt with the red star when we went one day to
Innsbruck (see “Innsbruck”). A man started jabbering to me in German, only one word of which I could understand, spoken in a questioning tone: Kommunist? Two young ladies stood at a street corner spraying passers by with perfume: “Chanel,” they said — “for MEN!”)
(I also wore on that holiday a green T-shirt with the number “13” emblazoned on it.)
Photo taken on the Isle of Man, 1973
Janet and I revisited this location on Monday
3 July 2023 (well, I revisited it; for Janet it was the first time); and it
occurred to me then that, as well as the “Hängebrücke”, Klara
must also have told us about the “Wasserfall”: for, being some 300 yards
beyond the “Hängebrücke”, we wouldn’t have stumbled across it by chance
on our way down; we must have been looking for it. Janet and I couldn’t get as close to
the waterfall as in the 1971 photo, though, because it was now a torrent not
just a trickle.
The “Hängebrücke”
Near where
the photo of Pamela and me was taken in front of the waterfall (see “Holiday
photos”), was the “Hängebrücke”, spanning the Inn and leading to the village of Stams.
The way to it was along a narrow gravel road or farm track on the plateau
through fields, then down the steep wooded side of the Inn
valley. It was very hot and sunny when we went. I remember seeing a motionless
small black snake on the path. The field was bounded by a low wire fence —
electrified by the look of it; but when I touched it, I got no sensation. There
were big grasshoppers chirruping in the grass, though; as I bent down to try to
pick one up, my upper arm touched the wire, and immediately when the back of my
fingers touched the grass I received an electric shock. On the steep forested
descent to the valley-bottom, I’ve got the vaguest memory of a fat German
woman dropping her pants to answer the call of nature behind a barely-concealing
nearby bush. This may have been on a second occasion when, going down there, the
near-kiss with Maureen
occurred (see “Maureen and Maureen”).
Photos by ©JKr
I’d forgotten about the Hängebrücke, but Chris wrote on 13 September 2011: “Do you remember that group of rather loud Germans on the Hängebrücke who, on noticing that we were Brits, started saying things in English, like, ‘Oka-a-ay, let’s go-o-o-o!!’?”
This was in reply to an email I sent him, which included some random recollections of the holiday:
…“One of those dreadful Berni Inn places!” Wasn’t that some guy on our Austria trip?
That trip would be worth piecing together in writing. I only have fragmentary memories.
There was an attractive black girl in the other party. And there was an Iranian, whom I later saw in Blackpool.
Feldkirch: “That must mean the church in the field.”
And a restaurant with an entrance-hall full of clocks. No prizes for guessing what Connie said!
And “Pole”: “Now you know what it was like to be in the Lencarsters!”
How much did he want for the loan of his shaver-cord that would fit Austrian power-sockets? Or was it Swiss? “Ten Frencs!” Fixed vacuous smile with hand extended palm-up.
We passed through a village called Braz where there was a monkey or monkeys in an enclosure, the “Braz monkey”, quipped Philip. Was that his name? “Philip, love!” Chris wrote, actually on the 40th anniversary of the start of the Austria trip:
Yes, those “dreadful Berni Inn places”. That was a strange comment to make, because I thought they were pretty good, actually! Anyway, like you say, that was certainly a holiday with its fair share of characters: I can still picture “Pole” with his mum. “Oooh, look at all the clocks!” said Connie, as the guy standing next to her started to cringe, just waiting for her to say it! Do you remember that group of rather loud Germans on the Hängebrücke who, on noticing that we were Brits, started saying things in English, like, “Oka-a-ay, let’s go-o-o-o!!”? Maureen
and Maureen
Coincidentally, Chris’s colleague Maureen
Hume and her friend, also called Maureen, went on holiday to Austria at
about the same time, to a nearby location, and Chris and I met up with them one
day. I remember, we were walking along the path which led from the village of
Untermieming, down the steep, wooded side of the valley of the River Inn. We
were all in fairly high spirits. Maureen and I had just separated ourselves from
the other two, but when I leaned forward to kiss her, suddenly a gust of wind
blew a lock of her abundant hair between our mouths. This made us giggle, and
for some reason the kissing wasn’t resumed.
Maureen Hume,
September 1972
Chris added further details an e-mail of 16 August 2023:
- As I remember it, my colleague from Tradax, Maureen Hume, was also staying in the area at the same time as we were there. She had booked a holiday in Pfaffenhofen together with her friend, also called Maureen, and they came to Untermieming while we were there. My memory of the occasion is a bit vague, but I can recall our walking down the hill with them, crossing over the Hängebrücke and bringing them back to the station in Stams.
Maureen and I used to work together in the back office at Tradax, and I’m now surprised that we were allowed to take leave together! Maybe we just overlapped by a couple of days, and we could get away with it that way.
I’ve already mentioned (“The ‘Hängebrücke’”) that Chris wrote on 13 September 2011: “Do you remember that group of rather loud Germans on the Hängebrücke who, on noticing that we were Brits, started saying things in English, like, ‘Oka-a-ay, let’s go-o-o-o!!’?”. In an e-mail of 18 August 2023, these had morphed into a couple:
- Another incident which I now remember about that visit is that on the walk, either from or to the railway station, we were confronted on the Hängebrücke by an older man with his wife. As we were crossing over, the guy suddenly started to shake the bridge quite vigorously. Probably having heard us speaking English, he then shouted, “OK— let’s go, let’s go!” I don’t think they were locals and could have been German tourists (who also have a tendency of being loud!).
I have no memory of going anywhere on that holiday by train, and the only memory I have of this occasion is of going
down the side of the valley. In an e-mail of 21 August 2023, Chris suggested:
- It is possible, by the way, that I went alone to pick them up. I remember, now, that Maureen had given me the name and address of their hotel, which was not far from the railway station.
On 29 August 2023 I commented:
- Your suggestion that you went alone to pick them up… fits in with all my memories (or, I should say, lack of memories) of the occasion. Because I’d paid out unexpectedly for a night and a day in Luton I was having to count
die Groschen. When the time came at the end for tipping Philip [the tour manager], I was embarrassed because I had nothing left.
Holiday in Austria (2): Souvenirs
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