South Yorkshire Times, August 11th 1933
Out Goes Peter
Wombwell Boy’s Holiday In Rhineland
Lone Traveller At 11
Peter is a Wombwell boy of eleven. At present he is spending a month’s vacation in the Rhine Valley. Last year he toured Germany with an adult. This year, being a little more grown up, he wanted to travel alone. His parents were diffident about permitting a boy of his tender years to go alone, but, yielding to his importunity and realising that world travel is one of the most effective methods of acquiring knowledge, they decided to let him go. He had saved nearly enough in a year to pay for the trip, and on his assurance that he would be a good lad his parents provided the rest. Now Peter is at Worms with a German student, who will return to Wombwell with him. He is too young to bother about political questions, and such international issues as cause wiser people to fall out and lose sleep. but he has a story to tell which might interest those who have never experienced Continental travel. He writes: —
In Three Countries
“On hearing that I was to be permitted to visit Germany I was very excited. I had thoroughly enjoyed my previous visit to Germany, so naturally I was looking forward to a second visit. I left Wombwell at 7.45 am. on Saturday. July 29th, and arrived at Worms, my destination, at 1-30 o’clock on Sunday afternoon, having travelled about seven hundred miles in three countries—England, Belgium, and Germany. I was feeling quite fit on arrival, and not nearly so tired as I thought I should be. Crossing London was easy by ‘bus. Nothing eventful occurred on the short voyage across the Channel from Dover, although there was a fairly thick fog and the sea was choppy. A rather heavy swell caused many passengers to go sick, but fortunately I escaped. At the quay at Ostend were many Belgian porters, all anxious to carry our bags. One of them took my luggage through the Customs, and then escorted me to a buffet, where I had tea and changed a ten shilling note into German marks, getting the worst of the bargain. Having had my baggage taken to a platform where the Cologne express was waiting, I went for further refreshments. A gentleman paid for me a glass of lemonade, saying I was very plucky to travel alone. It was 10 p.m. on Saturday when I said ‘Goodbye’ to this friend and boarded the train. I made several attempts to get to sleep before the train started, but the mosquitos were troublesome in the hot air. For cheapness I travelled third class, and was not impressed by my first impression of the train. The Belgian trains are just as badly fitted and dreary looking as those I had previously seen in Germany. To travel a mile on one is tedious enough, but a journey of 350 miles without a change is almost beyond endurance.
Bed On Floor
With four other British people I made a bed as comfortable as possible on the wood seats. The other occupants were very good, and one lent me his coat to put my head on. When the train started there was a terrific jolting and jarring, and we had not gone far before we discovered it was impossible to keep on the seats. Those who have not travelled third class on continental railways will not readily understand the conditions. The wood seats are straight at the back, like the most uncomfortable pews, but they are not very firm. Moreover, the lights are only very dim and the windows rattle like badly fitting artificial teeth. You have to be very tired to sleep under such conditions. We tried on the seats and again on the floor, where we had spread newspapers, but eventually I gave it up. My chance for a nap came at a railway station where the train pulled up and stopped for half-an-hour. At 4-30 I was awake again and decided to spend the remainder of the night exploring the train. The great difference between British and Continental trains is that one stops frequently for only brief intervals, the other seldom stops, but remains standing for a long time. At Aachen, the frontier town, I looked for the person with whom I was to stay, but saw nothing of him. We reached Cologne at 6 o’clock and had to wait until just after nine. In the meantime, I walked into the city, had a peep at the Cathedral, and then found a comfortable seat in the Bahnoff Mission (waiting room). On the train to Worms I found no English people to talk to, but many of the German people showed a great interest in my school badge. After we had been moving a quarter of an hour a gentleman came down the corridor and asked, in not very good English, “Are you Peter?” I knew immediately he had come to mee me, and we shook hands warmly. He was kindness itself. He gave me biscuits and chocolate to “fresh” me, as he said, gave up his seat so that I could lie down, and took from his pocket a small cushion for my head. Knowing that I was now in safe hands. I went to sleep and knew nothing more for four hours, waking eventually to see a glorious picture of the silver Rhine, with high mountains rising in the background. On top of one of the mountains was a beautiful castle, which reminded me of the fairy castles in the nursery books. Worms, as far as I could see, is about as big as Barnsley in population. It is a very ancient city, with many fine buildings and a wonderful history. Most of the people live in flats, which are very high and accommodate a number of families. Alter eating a German dinner I went to bed and remained there for the rest of the afternoon. Returning to the station later in the evening I saw a number of German unemployed coming from the labour camps. Most of them were playing instruments, and all seemed to be happy and having a good time.
Floral Paradise
On Monday morning I spent some time exploring my surroundings. I went into the garden and was amazed at the profusion of flowers, many of which I have never seen in England. There were some magnificent gladioli and sunflowers a foot across. Later in the day I went with my German boyfriend for what they called a “stroll” in the boats on the Rhine. We went up stream in two boats, and as the current at Worms is very strong, we did not make much headway. About a mile upstream from Worms the river turns a little. There I had my first real thrill. We were going up the East side of the river where the water shot off the bank at a terrific rate. We had come to the wild water and had almost passed through it when the other boat came toward us like a torpedo and struck us in the middle. We took on tremendous list, but eventually our boat levelled out and I breathed freely again. The lessons I had had at Wombwell baths might have come in useful. My German friend, who is a strong swimmer, thought nothing of it. We eventually reached the Altheim, the old course of the Rhine, where the current is not strong, and had a lovely trip. I ought to mention that rowing is a great sport in Germany. and the smallest children can manage boats very skilfully.
Shopping” By Water
Tuesday gave me the opportunity of another enjoyable outing, a “shopping” trip on the Rhine. My friend’s father instructed him to go to a village called Harzheim. (20 kilometres: 12 miles) away, to have a cask filled with wine. We left at three and reached our destination at five. At the house we were visiting I was quite alarmed to see a wolf in a cage. There was no top the cage, so you can guess I kept my eye on it. Fancy seeing a wolf in a house In Wombwell. The wine vendor was a very kind gentleman and took the greatest interest in his English visitor. He showed me his cellars and told me as much about the wine as he could make me understand. There was enough wine in that cellar to make the whole of Worms tipsy. On the way home we inspected another wine making establishment. We were shown wine twelve years old. and I asked the price. The proprietor said it was 1 mark 90 pfennigs per litre (about 2s.) The return journey to Worms closed a most interesting day. So much for the present?” Peter closes with an intimation that he will tell our young readers more about Germany as it looks to a visitor.