On that final leg of the journey so far, the Rutherglen three were introduced to the dubious delights of strong French espresso coffee – those little bombshells of thick, concentrated caffeine that would blow your head clean off and keep you awake for a month. The guys thought it was rank; but you can’t escape the whimsical thought that if Jim McGuire’s van had been lubricated with espresso instead of standard engine oil, that piston might never have ruptured the engine and this story would have unfolded very differently.
In the Capital, Billy and his pals seized the opportunity of some overdue rest and refreshment before embarking on the next stage of their rocky road to Lisbon. Remarkably, despite all their tribulations, they were well down that road before Jim Gracie and co had even got on the bus in Hamilton. It was only Monday 22nd May.
A quick check on the French transport network told them they had to take the Metro across Paris to the Gare d’Austerlitz, the rail station from which they could make a direct connection, via Spain, through to the Portuguese Capital. At that terminal, despite the language barrier, they somehow made the acquaintance of a lady who was there to see off her 19-year-old son, Serge. He it was who acted as ‘interpreter’, with his broken English. He was bound for a career in the merchant navy, due to join a boat in … where else? … Lisbon. Well, as you would expect of an instinctively hospitable bunch of Celtic fans, the trio of friends took the young mariner-in-waiting under their collective wing, promising his mother they would deliver him safe and sound to his port of embarkation.
That 1960s French train can only be described as a cattle wagon, packed to the gunwales, as they say, with only the most basic of facilities. For the sake of the squeamish, a veil should really be drawn over the toilet facilities, in particular – suffice it to say they were totally insanitary and wholly inadequate for the needs of the heaving mass of humanity on board.
The on-board catering was scarcely any better. Consequently, the entire trip involved regular lightning hops on and off for food and toileting, as and when station stops allowed.
Somehow that perilous travel ordeal was negotiated successfully by the party, which was now restored to its original number of four, with the addition of young Serge; and they duly crossed over from the French SNCF network to the Spanish RENFE system on 23rd May, then onwards into Portugal on the 24th. They had made it – and with a day to spare!
