My slumbers on board the “Pride of Rotterdam” were interrupted with the message across the ship's tannoy system, saying that breakfast was about to be served. Yikes, it was only 4 hours ago that I made my way to bed. Hopefully, the shower would wake me up. It did, a bit anyway. Then it was off to the restaurant to get into gannet mode – there's something about a buffet that converts us into gluttons. Fruit juice, yes. Cereal, yes. Yes, I'll have eleventeen slices of toast. Oh and half a dozen cups of tea.
Before long, it was time to make my way to the car deck. As I was one of the last to get on, the same rule applied to getting off, sorry, disembarking, we're all nautical here! Then another queue to make your way through passport control. Do you get nervous, wondering whether Immigration will take exception to your beard or moustache? “You look like a Russian spy, you pig-dog!” Not to worry, “enjoy your trip”, he says, then waves me on.
Then, with the sat-nav warning me to drive on the right, I make my move. For a second, there's that moment of doubt, “is their right on the same side as ours?” But no time to dither. The previous night's internet search had decreed this would be a radio anorak day. First on the agenda is the Philips Museum in Eindhoven in the south of the Netherlands, then the Radio (Broadcasting) Museum further north in Hilversum.
So it's the Dutch motorway system – I'd forgotten how, once you get out of town you hit a motorway. Everything is motorway, motorway. The service stations are not the huge concrete monstrosities we have in the UK – they're much smaller affairs, with a load more character and soul. They seem to be dotted about every few miles, quite often individually owned, rather than by the corporate monoliths in the UK. By mid morning, it felt like mid afternoon – well, that's what happens when you breakfast at 6:30!
First pit-stop was Motel Gilze. A bit early in the day, so no-one was eating or drinking outside. Pop into the loos (20 cent honesty dish outside) then into the café. A delightful place with a mix of a few business folks conducting their commerce, a middle-aged group and a few tourists. Place my order for a “groote kopje koffie en een amandel brootje” (large cup of coffee and an almond pastry). The pastry is tasty. By God, that coffee will drag yer fillings out – the three cups in the pot seem to provide the necessary caffeine injection and in a short period of time, I'm feeling pretty refreshed and ready to resume the journey.
After about a hundred miles, the sat-nav finally tells me I've reached my destination, but I must have blinked a tad longer due to sleep deprivation, as I can't see it. I drive to the end of the street and round the corner before doing a turn in the road and retracing my steps. Then I see it, a narrow drive in between two businesses and a sign announcing Philips Museum.
Now you must be thinking what kind of nutter drives a hundred miles just to see a museum and one of electrical and electronic goods? C'est moi! To understand why, we need to turn the clock back the best part of 50 years. When we moved from Warrington to Manchester in 1952, my dad bought this superb Philips mains radio, a model BG514A, no less. Covering long, medium and short wave, this was my introduction to the wonderful world of radio. It had one of those green “magic eye” tuning indicators – the eye closed when you tuned into a station correctly – the fuller the eye, the stronger the signal. In addition to marking out the various broadcasting bands, the tuning dial listed all these exotic locations, Beromunster, Lille, Athlone, Allouis, Luxembourg and Hilversum – the latter was probably the first Dutch word I learned, the media city that houses all the big names in Dutch broadcasting. The second Dutch word I learned was probably Eindhoven, home of the massive Philips Electronics Industry combine.
The Museum traces the growth of the company, from its roots in making the new-fangled electric light-bulbs in 1891, through gramophones, radios and TVs, not forgetting specialised medical equipment, such as MRI scanners and the humble electric shaver. For an electronics buff like me, this was a fascinating journey down memory lane and reinforcing Philips tremendous name in the industry as an innovator - did you know it was Philips who invented the CD? There were countless exhibits tracking through the evolution of the company with the various products bringing it all to life.
One part of the exhibition is particularly poignant for me. They've devoted a small section to Eddie Startz, presenter of the “Happy Station”. I came across this programme, broadcast by Radio Nederland when I first got hooked on short-wave radio in 1962. It has the honour of being the longest running short-wave radio programme, running from 1928 to 1995 – Eddie presented the show from its inception up to the early 70s. He was my radio “uncle” - I wouldn't mind betting there were thousands of other “nephews and nieces” of his all over the world. He was knocking on a bit when I was a listener from 1962-70, but he had that knack of bridging cultures, nationalities and age gaps. I wrote to him a few times and each time got a nice reply and a mention on his show. A genial host who was a great ambassador for his country and is responsible for introducing me to things Dutch and to the Netherlands, my favourite European country. A true gentleman and a radio legend.
I am so pleased to have seen this exhibition.
Then it was time to set the sat-nav up for Hilversum, the Dutch media city, some 60 miles away for the Radio Museum. By now, it was mid-afternoon and I was hungry and thirsty. I found the street where the museum was located but decided to postpone that – a food pit-stop being the priority. So I made my way towards the centre of the town, aimlessly driving around, not knowing where I was or what I was looking for. Eventually, found a supermarket-linked underground car park. I should have taken the sat-nav out of the car and use it as a hand-held navigation device, but, being a newbie, that idea didn't occur to me. More aimless walking, getting more hot, sweaty, hungry, thirsty and irritable, until I went the other way and stumbled on a pedestrianised area with loads of cafés. By now, exhaustion was leading to indecision and more aimless wandering around. Then I saw a place that grabbed my eye, so went inside, liked the look of the place and the food on the menu – I proceed to order to be told that the kitchen didn't open until 5pm. It was now 3:30! B*gg*r!
So, it was a matter of traipsing round some more. I'm outside a café reading the menu, when I'm accosted by a young waitress. Maybe she's taking pity on a weary traveller, maybe she just wants me to spend my money there, but who cares? She's very helpful, asking me what type of things I like to eat. I ask what she'd recommend on the menu – she points to some items under the heading “italiaanse bol”. She tells me it's a sort of bun with a filling and recommends a beef bol with a spicy sauce. Sounds good! Done! I go inside and park my weary bum, ordering a BIG iced tea with LOADS of ice. By the time the food has arrived, I've already shifted one iced tea and need another. What can I say about the food? Absolutely divine. Tender beef in a spicy sauce inside this bol with some melted cheese. Wanna know more about bols? It's not advocaat but a seasoned crusty bun with a tasty filling. Never seen anything like this over in the UK, but next time you're in the Netherlands, go for it. Yummy, Yummy, Yummy!
Then, it's back to the car to find the Radio (Broadcasting) Museum. Well, this must rank as one of the most frustrating hours I have ever spent. Drove up and down the street it was supposed to be on, then I find numbers 121—131 are down this narrow drive. At the end, there are half a dozen buildings. No-one knows anything about the place. I rapidly run out of time and, in the end, give it up as a bad job. I am so disappointed as this was supposed to house broadcasting equipment from the very early days in the 1920s to the present day, (Postscript, looking this up further on the net, there are three different addresses listed on various websites – I guess the answer is to do your homework more thoroughly and maybe use the VVV – the Dutch Tourist Board).
By now, I am wiped out and decide to make my tracks towards the final destination of the day, the old Radio Veronica studios, now home to Hotel Lapershoek. I punch the details into the sat-nav and after driving what seemed like ages, the system tells me that I have reached my destination. Only problem is that there is nothing I recognise. Mind you, the one and only time I was there was in September 1973 with my best friend, Peter, when we visited the studios. I conclude I must have missed it and decide to turn around when it's safe – ah, there's a round about ahead, I'll turn round that. Hey!!!! Bingo!! There it is, on the corner. I have to say that I still don't recognise it, but it's definitely the place from photos I've seen on the net.
“Heb je en kamer voor eeen persoon?” (Have you a room for one). “Ja” is the answer. It's a top notch hotel - Hotel Lapershoek, so the tariff at €110 exclusive doesn't surprise me. Media City Hilversum as a location must also bump up the prices, as this is clearly a major conference location with a special block at the back of the hotel. On a nostalgic kick, I tell the receptionist about my previous visit to the place – yes, she knows about Radio Veronica, but tells me that she wasn't even born in 1973, LOL. The room is nice and comfortable, facing the road roundabout. Wi-fi is free downstairs in the lobby, but €15.95 in your room. A rip off really, but blow it, nothing like the convenience of the room, plus the laptop will need charging.
After freshening up, it's out for a meal – more of that later – then back to the room about 11ish to unwind and attack the internet!;-))))) After a while, I look at my watch and realise it's 12:45 and the bar shuts at 1:00. I bomb downstairs to find the liughts down low as the bar staff are having a drink. One of them tells me they're closed - “no bl**dy way you're closed at €110 a night” is the thought whizzing around my head. I tell him it says the bar closes at 1 and it's only 12:45. He realises his bluff is busted and asks for my order. I decide to continue my nostalgia kick by ordering a bacardi and coke - I'm told I'll have to drink it in my room. Well, that was my plan anyway. I retire back upstairs and toast my absent friend, Peter – how I wish I could tell him about me staying in Veronica's studios. We were oddballs together in life, hard duty anoraks - radio, music, films, photography, folk music, Scotland. We shared those interests. Alas, Peter died from cancer in 2001, aged 51 – we'd known each other for forty years from our start at Grammar School, even though we were never in the same class. Peter, this to you. Hardly a day goes by without me thinking of you. Wish you were here sharing these moments with me.
Alan in Hilversum reporting for Radio Veronica “een-negen-twee, goed idee” (192, good idea) – that was the station's strapline in the 60s, the reference to 192 being their wavelength.
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