In 1963, I would under no circumstances have been classed as a seasoned traveller. I did like salt though. I would not even have been classed as an unseasoned traveller, as the farthest I had been at that stage was the Isle of Man, and the trip from Liverpool to Douglas, Isle of Man on the packet steamer did not qualify me for a life on the ocean wave. The longest I had been away from home was seven days, on various holidays, and I always knew that me mam and dad would be waiting at home. Until 1963.

Now 1963 was to be a highlight in my life, though I barely realised this in January of that year. That was to be the year that Herself and I were to be married, the year that I shook the rain of the Old Dart from me wellies, and the year that I was to spend a whole month on board a vessel registered in Italy, with a chef who would not have known what a Yorkshire Pudding(note the capitals) was if it hit him in the eye. That vessel was the Sitmar Line's Castel Felice, the smallest of its fleet, and also the least known. Others, like the Fairstar, the Fairsea and the Fairsky, became famous, on the Australian route, and then the American cruise market, but the Castel? Now, my Italian not being the best, I may be wrong, but Castel Felice roughly translates as "Happy Castle", doesn't it? I missed most of the happy part of the voyage. Not that I was terribly sick, or anything, but it was a month at best forgotten. However, like all bad memories, that has been easier said than done.

Castel Felice, the smallest of the Sitmar Line Vessels on the Australian Migrant run.

But, I get in front of myself, as the saying goes, though I would think that is a pretty difficult thing to do. Back to the early part of the year, or even the last two weeks of 1962, and we find that Herself and Yours Truly have announced their engagement. That was on the birthday of one Pamela Wilson, on 21st December, after Yours Truly had to go through the purgatory of asking her dad, PC Joseph Wilson, for her hand in marriage(That is another stupid phrase, when you come to think about it, if you do; you want more than her hand, don't you?). Anyway, after putting myself through a lot of torture for quite a while, he said "Yes, well, we all wondered when you would actually get around to it." What did he mean, I thought, 'we all'? Had the whole of Kiveton Park been waiting for us to 'make it official'? Or was the 'we all' referring to 'the family'?

Just before the engagement date was upon us, the two of us, between us, in conjunction, decided that once we were married – at that time, not expected for another year, even eighteen months – we would migrate to Australia. We realised that the Australian Authorities would jump at the chance of getting their hands on two such upstanding young people, but we were not aware of the timing to be followed. The first obstacle, though was to break the news to Pam's parents, and we did not look forward to this. OK, we knew that my mum and dad would be pleased, as dad had told we three boys to migrate, but Bobby Wilson and his wife? Oh dear. When I bravely announced to the two of them what our plans were, they both laughed. 'There's something wrong here," I quickly thought to myself, as such thoughts usually are, "It's probably nervous laughter. I have heard about that in books." But, no the laughter was due to the fact that their decision had also been made; when we were married, they were going to migrate. The outcome, we both applied, and the authorities decided that we should travel together (I think someone got a discount, or something). So we married in less than six months, which probably set all the tongues wagging in Kiveton Park, which all the housewives would be pleased about (clothes would dry quicker) and in September, we set off from our idyllic pit village in South Yorkshire for a Land Down Under.