The persons referred to in this narrative are real. Any reference to them, their activities and varying state of health is purely intentional, but hopefully will not lead to recriminations or legal action. That football matches took place was merely coincidental - not to say remarkable - and was at no time allowed to deflect the party from the main purpose of the visit.

By 9:30 pm on Friday 25 May 1990 the party had assembled at the Club, but since the coach had not arrived departure proved difficult. However, by 10 pm all was packed and fond farewells made to loved ones - the Banks's mild, snooker tables, etc. Leave was then taken of wives and families and we set off for the first comfort stop - The Rose and Crown. Unfortunately, Bill (the driver) missed the turn and we ended up at Toddington at midnight. By this time all the main facilities on the coach had been tested, the odd tube consumed and much money had passed hands in the card schools. It was during this stop that Paul Hughes gave the first indication of potential irresponsibility by refusing to telephone the incoming Chairman of the Land and Buildings Committee to communicate vital information regarding the old pavilion roof.

Dover was reached at 2:30 am and there was then time to sample the delights of 'Barnacles' (PH again refused to telephone Gordon Hodgkiss). The ferry was duly boarded and it was generally agreed that we should have crossed with the little ships in the previous day's Dunkirk reunion. Eventually people settled to sleep or played cards (for a change) while Dave Winzor organised the breakfast team. in the event he withdrew having watched Ian Ross stoically battle with a fried breakfast, first cooked on the ships maiden voyage and subsequently reheated on a regular basis. As Ostend approached some brave souls went for a bracing walk on the ship's sun plank, but soon withdrew to the relative safety of the lounge. Doc Cole wandered in searching for a policeman, wishing to report the loss of 4 hours of his life. (I was proceeding in a northerly direction, Your Honour, etc).

By 10 am we were free, which was more than could be said for a certain gentleman who had requested a lift to Germany but was politely removed from the coach by customs officials and was last seen heading for an uncertain future. The long drive started and may have proved less tiresome had Germany kept still long enough for us to get a bearing on it. In fairness changing road numbers does cause confusion and navigating by the sun has its pitfalls.

At last Haselunne was reached and the Hotel and its setting surpassed expectations. However, little time was available before the first match and so hasty room allocations were made, short straws drawn and Smithy won Andy. Paul Hughes face registered disappointment; he thought he and Andy had this 'arrangement'. Mike and Megan Hughes arrived at approximately the same time having flown by plane and car. Since Bill had driven all his allowed hours it was decided to walk to the pitch. The ground was easily located since, at every fork in the road, Krafty was consulted and the opposite direction taken. Perhaps this should have been tried earlier?

A friendly welcome awaited as the party staggered in and soon those fortunate enough not to be playing were politely forcing down the first of several drinks. The match should have been won within the first ten minutes but the forwards appeared intent on not giving offence to our hosts by shooting at them. During the second half John Turvey, at last, scored a fine goal which only served to encourage the Germans. Ian Ross paced the touchline muttering 'they're going to score, they're going to score'. Sure enough, a long far post ball eluded everyone until Stewart Ross rose like a salmon and powered a header past the on-loan goalkeeper (Herman the German). Brotherly love became a thing of the past and Stewart was substituted and off the field before the net had finished billowing. Apart from a Paul Hughes header which was slightly misdirected (more chalk Paul) and an Ian Wellings shot, play was fairly even and a winning draw resulted. It must be said that we had youth on our side but after such a long journey and little sleep it really was a creditable performance.

The after match barbeque and refreshments were greatly enjoyed and eventually play moved into the Clubhouse. Ian presented our gift of a yard of ale complete with the appropriate beer, smuggled in by Mick Hughes, in order to make the demonstration or competition possible. John (Mick Jagger) Smith was selected to perform and swathed in a towel, gently and magnificently drained the tube. Thunderous applause erupted and Smithy rose and left the room - clearly a man with a mission (or emission). However, all was well, the report came back - only a burp and a pee. Our hero reappeared to renewed applause while our hosts sensibly conceded victory.

Breakfast was a challenge. Andy arrived gently massaging his wrists, trying to recover feeling where the straps had been. Smithy's only words had been 'I could drink a yard of tea' but he finally appeared and recovered well after two breakfasts. After a stroll around the lake, the afternoon was spent at Cloppenburg, where the guide's initial explanation clearly astonished Gibbo who audibly expressed his surprise. After the evening meal we descended on the skittle alley and after much practice, competition started. A tie between Ian and Tim was settled by a play off won by Tim and the Ladies prize was won by Lilian. Helen defeated her opponent in a play off for bottom place.

The party returned to the Hotel and found Bimbo and a couple of friends insisting that they knew of a little bar in town. It was decided to accept the invitation and the brave band set off through the village. As the group weaved its way along the road Andy Goodwin unaccountably launched into 'It's a Long Way to Tipperary'. Nice one Andy. He was quickly persuaded to stop and did so to the relief of all. Bimbo's garden was reached and in pitch darkness an attempt was made to quietly get to the house. This proved difficult as the garden appeared to consist of holes joined together by other obstacles strategically placed to cause the maximum damage to life and limb. We were in the only anti personnel garden in Germany. Most discomforted was the oldest member (and I chose my words carefully) of the group who, having survived near decapitation by a low flying branch, collided with a waist high gate and was seen to stumble away muttering sadly something about having been on a promise.

At last the house was reached and the party halted while Bimbo discussed the position with his Frau with whom he lived a life of perfect discord. Then we were in. So this was the little bar in town - his own cellar and, one suspects, refuge. There was drink, music, hunting trophies and dominating it all a magnificent stag's head. The stag's face wore a somewhat bemused look, suggesting that it had been doing a hell of a lick when it came through the wall and hadn't yet come to terms with its new station in life. After an hour or so information reached us that Frau Bimbo was beginning, as it were, to tense up and we decided that a tactical withdrawal would be appropriate. We were assured that events like this helped to bring Bimbo and his wife closer together, but this could only mean that the amount he drank on such occasions so reduced his escape velocity that he came within throttling range. Retreat through the garden was somehow achieved and the party returned triumphantly home, the path lit by John (Glow-worm) Turvey, about whom Jane was heard to say, sadly, "he's free to a good home".

Breakfast was a challenge. Dark glasses were a necessity especially when Gibbo arrived clad in shorts and shirt which brought to mind the classic Jeeves comment - 'a trifle sudden, Sir?' That we were late departing for the shopping trip seemed irrelevant - we had not been on time yet. Smithy didn't make it. His only words were 'Bring us something nice', before again slumping into unconsciousness.

It became fairly obvious to any onlooker which of the party had to buy something for loved ones back home. These motored from shop to shop in a frenzy, buying everything in sight, whilst the unattached or "I'll buy it on the boat" brigade, hit the nearest bar only to reappear just before departure time. John Evans' purchases of a toy bow and arrow and back firing water pistol can only mean that the British army is in a terrible state!

A sight seeing tour of I B Berentzen, a bottling factory of both booze and soft drinks, took place in the afternoon. All that can be said of this is that having seen how much they produce of the former you understand why people kept falling over, or was it because we had arrived?

A further football match took place that evening with the same result only our hosts did manage to score this time. Our forwards had been instructed to shoot on sight which they did - bringing down branches from surrounding trees, bloomers off far flung cloth lines, etc. This time Haselunne scored first, only for Dave Winzor to equalise with a superb header from a corner. Those again fortunate not to play were treated to ale and schnapps type drinks, which was just as well as alcohol had not been consumed for at least half an hour and withdrawal symptoms had set in. This was further put to rights by more being provided and gratefully guzzled in the changing room.

Now it was on to the final challenge - a 'traditional dinner in Burgmannshof' back at the bottling factory. In truly magnificent surroundings, the hall dating back to twelve hundred and frozen to death, we descended. After short speeches and presentations of Grammar School pictures, etc, the food was despatched and our hosts did their level best to keep us supplied with liquid refreshment. (Failing on occasions).

Much debauchery, dancing, daft party games followed a rather broken rendering of 'Jerusalem'. Paul 'Buffalo' Hughes carried the battle to the foe and was seen on many occasions to show the person who had lost just how the forfeit should be drunk - which is just how Krafty ended up, a real 'flower power' person (others spoke the truth) at some stage in the evening he was crowned 'Queen of the May' - or should it have been 'King of the couldn't possibly'. Many things took place on the return to the Hotel, but suffice it to say, Helen did have a nice shower, Tony did not have his trouser legs tied together and it was the gentleman that perpetrated a histrionic effect at Cloppenburg that locked the door taking away the key only to return it later. (It is hoped that this clears one or two people).

Breakfast was a challenge. The final morning departure, much to the relief of Bimbo, was effected around 10:30 ish and Haselunne disappeared behind us. It then appeared to the side of us then to the other side and then in front. It would not go away. Eventually a cunning plan was tried. First of all we hid in a disused railway siding, then while it wasn't looking, we made a dash for the only road we hadn't tried, drove on the left for a while to completely confuse it, and escaped. A complete tour of the northern parts of Germany then took place before Holland was eventually found.

A meal stop took place at the Dutch equivalent of a 'Happy Eater' at which we eat them out of steaks. This, coupled with the aforementioned whistle stop tour, meant that new boat crossing times had to be negotiated at the French border.

Driver Bill, to prove it was no fluke, promptly went the opposite way to Calais and we were taken on a conducted tour of some industrial French town - the locals having a bet from which direction we would appear next. Having reversed further than going forward, the road to Calais was found and the port reached without further incident - the journey passing nearly as quickly as the many bottles of schnapps.

A super boat meal and crossing then went ahead the only thing marring the proceedings being Krafty, dressed like a burke in shorts, t-shirt, sunglasses, etc, being the only person stopped at customs (one wonders why).

Bill, now on home soil, surpassed himself and found the M1 in one.

The Club, with its own scent of Banks's lingering round it, was reached at 2:00 am ish. Fond farewells were said to old mates, everyone's wife, girlfriend, Bill, everyone's wife, girlfriend, the coach, everyone's wife, girlfriend, etc, etc, and vowing further to be as many reunions and, of course, the next trip away in 1993.

So there you have it. If you don't mind having your integrity destroyed, your sanity questioned, your drinking capacity tested to the limit and your reputation shot to hell, get your name down now for 'Haselunne - Part II'.