Sometimes it is the destination rather than the journey that is most important, writes Mary Hossack.
Similarly, my farming background taught that farming was the backbone of New Zealand and clothing had to be woollen.
With the former in mind, I spent most of 1973 trying to convince my husband, Jack, that a world tour should be on our agenda, with Britain as the main focus. The prospect of visiting England was awe-inspiring, promising as it did visits to the Royal Family's palaces.
Finally, Jack decided if we were to embark on such a journey, he wanted to go by sea. We duly did all the necessary bookings, which involved great excitement on my part. We set off from Dunedin Railway Station by train, took the interisland ferry from Christchurch to Wellington, and caught another train to Auckland.
For our first night there, the only accommodation on offer turned out to be a place of ill-repute, much to my husband's amusement at my then innocence.
We discovered that the ship Ellinis, a Greek Line vessel, was going to be two days late leaving Auckland. But we eventually set sail, farewelled from the dock by friends. Our cabin was like a florist's shop, with beautiful bouquets and many telegrams and cards from family and friends wishing us well.
I did not take to ship life. I found that being confined on board with a husband who had two left feet when it came to dancing and surrounded by crowds of strangers among whom I was a shrinking violet was rather daunting.
However, two English ladies took me under their wings and they became good company for both of us.
The numerous ports of call were interesting and the highlight of the trip was the entertainment provided by the shipping line while we were crossing the equator. Two days later, with pelicans flying quite close to our ship, we passed through the Panama Canal - such a feat of engineering.
During a two-day stop-over in New York we learned that the Ellinis was on a go-slow, having blown a turbine. We were to be a fortnight late berthing in Southampton. At the same time the ship's grapevine provided the unwelcome news that six people had died so far on our voyage. Morale was low. I was thoroughly sick of ship-life, as were many others.
When England finally came into view, on June 23, 1974, it was overwhelming, despite the day being grey and dismal. We took a train to London, arriving at Waterloo Station, after which I rang a friend, Rosemary, who asked where on earth we had been. She had expected us weeks earlier.
After lunch we strolled around parts of London, past Buckingham Palace and Clarence House. I had to pinch myself. It was really London.
My husband commented: ''Trust you to see the royal residences in the first hours we are in London''.
It was customary to have travelling money sent to a bank before leaving New Zealand. Arriving there as we did, at lunchtime on a Sunday, and scheduled as we were to leave for Scandinavia and Russia at 6am the next day, we didn't have a brass razoo between us. A jandal-wearing Australian man who was going on the same tour, and whom we had only just met, said he would lend us money. It was wonderful to be among people such as him.
The best day of my life was the first day I arrived in England, where a penny would gain admission to Kew Gardens and where I could see those royal residences.
• Mary Hossack is a retired mental health worker.
- Tell us about your best day. Write to odt.features@odt.co.nz or ODT Features, PO Box 181 Dunedin. We ask correspondents not to nominate weddings or births - of course they were the best days.
