From My Notebooks In 1974: Campo Stella, Villaguay, Entre Rios

I started my journey with two canvas bags slung across the tank. Apart from catching fire off the exhaust pipe, they could obviously be improved upon.

In Nairobi I got two leather boxes made – better, but still not great.

In my mind I designed bags that would really fit the contours of the tank and carry much more. Argentina seemed like a great place to have them made.

Thursday, September 26th

Weather was fine, Friday too. We went into Villaguay to buy things, to take Stella to the hairdresser and to see about leather bags. First leather shop was rather smart and formal looking, and I was quite glad when they said they couldn’t start for a fortnight. We went to another, called Quiroz, which was exactly what I had imagined. A workshop full of bits, straps, saddles, boots, scraps of leather, gaucho belts, all higgledy-piggledy. And old men with aprons and Dickensian faces surrounded by Dickensian machinery for stitching and punching.

Quiroz said he would do the tank bags in a minimum of 15 days. I knew it was foolish to involve myself in such a long wait, but I couldn’t refuse. He too my cardboard model and struggled with it My experience warned me that he would mess it up in my absence, but intuition made me feel safer with him than usual. He said he would probably charge 50,000 pesos. Or about £12.

On Saturday it was still fine and Clinton went in again with Babs to get more maize seed. But the weather was still fine, and Babs didn’t take her things with her.

On Saturday the storm started all over again.

We were cut off once more, this time for a full week, while about 4 inches of rain fell. One of Clinton’s bulls ws killed by lightening. (Last year a neighbour lost 32 cows all lined up against a wire fence and fried by the same thunderbolt. The whole village came out to carve them up). One of his pedigree bulls, the new one, developed a hernia. A milk cow gave birth far too young – still born, and possibly made cow sterile. Other minor irritations. Considering Clinton is going to have the top of his leg cut off as well, I think he puts on a good show. [I assume it was a hip replacement.]

We had some rousing discussions about “foreigners,” “communists,” “negroes,” good families and snobbery. Babs offered her creed in loud and no uncertain terms, continuing to the end whatever the interruptions and finishing up with a ringing “WHAT!” She is quite clear that anything disturbing politically is “the communists.” And anything else is the “parvenues,” like Armenian-Turks “who sell alcohol neat to Indians.”

The week is clouded for me because the irritation in my right lung persists unchanged despite having given up smoking. When I think about it, which is quite often, I cannot see why it shouldn’t be cancer and in consequence an early death. This is something so difficult to deal with at the conjectural stage that I shall write no more about it, but it is a heavy burden on me now.

Have been riding round the camp on “Negrita” – another dream come true. Second time much better than first, and I galloped. Picking mushrooms, opening and closing gates, watching the plovers defending their nests – divebombing, pretending injury, the full frontal frighteners, with red machine guns menacing from the crook of the wing. Name in Spanish is “Tero.”

Saturday, September 28th

Roads have dried out at last, but morning looks stormy again. So we all rush to Villaguay, me following after.

So begins a day of folly, gratification, pain and pleasure.

On the road out of camp I have my best bang to date. In a rut, going too fast, yawing left and right, then off, and the bike instead of sliding as usual, does a somersault and I can feel it going over me. I lie there thinking that this time I’ve really done it, in fact I say it out loud. “Christ, You’ve really done it,” in bitter distraction, sure that my leg must be broken. But I get up and the bones are intact. Not the muscles however, which are badly bruised. My belongings are all over the road, both boxes badly damaged, and emptied. Bike lies like an upended beetle, sputtering futilely. I switch it off and look at it. Lights destroyed, handlebars revolved through 90 degrees, but worst of all, the forks are twisted – rideable, but for how long. And there’s something odd about the cutch cable movement. Considering the havoc it doesn’t take too long to lash everything up so that I can go, cautiously, on to Villaguay.

There Clinton is waiting at the confiteria and starts immediately to tell me what’s on his mind about arrangements, not noticing the state of us until he sees me limping. We stand outside the coffee place for ages while he reads out letters that they’ve written (so kindly) to the porter, the maid, etc. [I will be staying at their flat in Buenos Aires for a bit.]

Quiroz, he says, is waiting for me at the shop – to try out the panniers. But I get a coffee after all and then go to Quiroz. He’s wonderful. I’ve made a mistake with legroom, but even so he says he’ll try to finish them by tomorrow. I have to go back at 2pm.

The afternoon was great. I got another piece of leather – the cow’s rump – which he says is particularly strong, and while Q was making the bags I made a new saddle cover, and finished it, with his help and advice, by 6pm. Marvellous. The hide cost 90,000 pesos (£2) and I still have half left.

Sunday September 29th

The idyll continues. Spent the whole working day with Q. He was actively encouraging me to make things. Gave me scrap canvas, more advice, and took me to his home for lunch. Wife is fat, youngish, Italian origin. She was a bit tipsy (on gin, I think) and had a mouth full of biscuit meal. She thinks that language difficulties can be overcome by getting very close and shouting. Has pretty daughter and handsome son-in-law, and doll-like grandson.

The sports reporter of the newspaper El Pueblo came into Q’s shop and gossiped knowledgably about ERP [The People’s Revolutionary Army attacking Argentina’s institutions] and how they were getting their arms and equipment into the country – including ist class medical stuff. Has myopic eyes, neat moustache, sports jacket, florid complexion, player running to seed.

Wanted to buy an entire cowhide for 70 pesos, but price turned out to be 70,000 pesos, or 700 new ones i.e. £15 – £20. Too bad. [I did buy one when I went back, 26 years later.]

At 4.30 Cinto’ arrived with Stella, only to give me a letter and my screwdriver and postcards.

The Plaza – church, post office, hotel, police station, restaurant, confiteria.

At 6.30pm police station unusually alert after the assassination at the hotel. Fat policemen in Khaki drill with sub-machine guns, standing to salute the flag as it’s lowered. At night the police whistle to each other across the square at half hour intervals.

Quiroz made the two boxes, still on the bike today, and I made the saddle cover.