We woke this morning and opened the shutters to the bedroom window to wave at the car outside, as if greeting an old friend who’d loyally waited for us overnight.
Breakfast was a deconstructed cheese roll and a milky coffee which was simple, comforting, and exactly what was needed before a day that would be anything but ordinary.
We partially packed the car and set our sights on Detmold, about three hours away. My childhood town. I felt a strange mix of trepidation and excitement, like opening a long‑sealed box of memories.
As we approached, familiar buildings appeared unchanged silhouettes from decades ago. Matt’s GPS insisted on a different route, but I knew exactly where we needed to go: into the old army camp estate at Schillingsbusch, around to Allensbusch, and then Poggenpohl. The names came flooding back like old friends.
The estate felt smaller now, and more unkept than in the military days, but my feet remembered everything. They took me straight to the front of the flats stacked three floors high. Building 20, middle on the right. I could picture the living room, the kitchen, the hallway leading to the bedrooms, and the bathroom at the end. Forty‑plus years since I’d thought about it in that much detail. The balcony at the back. Sitting on my window ledge to read. It all came rushing back.
My feet knew the path to the back of the flats, to Ray’s fish and chip shop, he used to have a chippy van before the shop was built. The video store, the small clothing shop, the tiny corner shop. The cigarette stand and kids’ slot machines were still there, like relics refusing to retire.
Memories flooded in: Mum sitting outside the flats at the bottom of the gentle slope where we used to sledge in deep winter. The sledges stored in cellar cages in the basement. The play area long gone now, including the infamous death slide built by soldiers, terrifying, unsafe, and absolutely beloved. It would never pass modern safety inspections.
We walked the local area, up and across toward the old NAFFI and the primary school called the Hak, where four of my siblings attended. The building hadn’t changed, but the surrounding vegetation had grown wild, obscuring the view. We walked the length of the school perimeter, then into the woods back towards the flats. I recognised the roots of the trees. Childhood landmarks.
Back toward the army flats, one building had broken windows and was boarded up. The whole area now houses refugees, unkept and slowly decaying. I walked over the paths where I’d played hopscotch, marbles, and of course the ski slope.
We left Hak Hill behind and headed into town via the barracks, the barbed wire, guards, mirrors, and sticks long gone. Some new buildings stood among the originals, like a patchwork of past and present.
We stopped at a café for a feta cheese sandwich and coffee, a quiet moment after the emotional whirlwind. I rediscovered the walking route from the military base into town between the houses, only used by bikes and pedestrians.
After a refreshing break, we set off for our next hotel in Recklinghausen our last night in Germany. The motorways had several closed lanes and slow traffic, punctuated by cars whooshing past at up to 130 kph. The autobahn remains gloriously lawless. Matt saw a near-miss with a car and caravan vying for the same spot ahead of us.
We arrived in Recklinghausen around 4:30. After a small diversion thanks to another closed road, we tried to park. Luckily the hotel changed the sign from “full” to “enter,” and Matt parked the car. We settled in for the evening. Hotel parking wasnt guaranteed, and luckily we got a precious spot tucked below the hotel.
Our room is spacious with wonderful bed, sofa and at the end of the corridor.
We took a stroll outside and fell into TK Maxx, because of course we did and picked up another couple of Halloween decorations.
For dinner, we fell into another irish bar, and had fish & chips/burger and chips chased down with whiskey. A perfect, end to a deeply meaningful day.