1968

In family terms '68 was probably the most significant year to date. We emmigrated!

I'll deal with the "whys" etc another time.

People usually open something like this with: "The day dawned....." well, I can't remember the dawn of April 4th 1968 at all. It was, by odd coincidence, my ninth wedding anniversary.

We headed eastwards from Blackpool in a hired mini-van (or some-such). The driver plus mother-in-law Rena and Andrea, Glennys, Mitchell, Martin and myself (and as much luggage as regulations permitted) made up the load. Quite a lot of humanity and 'stuff', all hurtling towards Manchester airport.

I remember nothing of the road journey or the ticketing etc at the airport. Andrea disappeared (was she with us at all?) and the remaining five of us sat and waited and waited. Our aircraft had a fault and departure was delayed. Very delayed in fact and we all sat and cooked in the departure 'lounge' which was solar heated, on a very sunny day.

Eventually a replacement aircraft was flown up from London. I remember walking out to the aircraft across the tarmac. A B.O.A.C. Boeing 707 carried us aloft and westwards; not quite, but nearly, into the setting sun ... well it sounds right.

Must have been a wrench for us all.

We arrived something like seven hours later and five hours late at Montreal's Dorval airport. The people who should have met us had long gone home and we found our way, somehow, by taxi to some 'self catering' place on the slopes of Mount Royal.

The Hutton tribe had arrived in the New World.

Perhaps a short write-up for such a memorable event but it seemed to happen like that somehow: all in a rush.