Backpacking Europe '94: Aunt Sybil's "Bootcamp" & The Making of True World Travellers

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This is part of a blog series commemorating the 30th anniversary of a life-changing backpacking tour of Europe I experienced with my friend Joey.

In the last post, I wrote about my aesthetically transforming encounters with real art while travelling through Europe. In this post, I want to reflect on how my Aunt Sybil helped Joey and me become bonafide world travellers.

Jeremy (the author) and Joey in Aunt Sybil's Austin Mini in Wetherby, West Yorkshire.

With our gear rammed into rucksacks, my friend Joey and I boarded a KLM flight to begin our journey to Europe. We flew from the Great White North on Tuesday, September 20, 1994, and crossed the pond to England’s “green and pleasant land.” Our flight plan was from Toronto, Canada to Manchester, England by way of Amsterdam, The Netherlands.

Lost Luggage

Our UK destination was the industrial city of Manchester. Upon disembarking and setting foot on English soil for the first time, our enthusiasm was soon diminished by the fact that our luggage failed to appear on the carousel. Over the PA system, a voice declared: “KLM apologizes for the delay. They are experiencing technical difficulties. Your luggage will be available shortly.” Shortly came––and went. It turned out that the cargo doors wouldn’t open, and our backpacks were stuck in the belly of the plane (along with everyone else’s luggage). The airline assured us that our belongings would be shipped to our destination as soon as possible… 

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  Pints, pubs, and fish ‘n chips

While we were sorting out our luggage situation, Paul Hartley, my cousin (twice removed), was waiting patiently to pick us up at the airport. After a couple of hours delay, we finally exited the airport and met Paul. He cordially greeted us and drove us the hour-and-a-half trek back to the quaint market town of Wetherby in West Yorkshire. It was with Paul that I tasted my first authentic English fish ‘n chips… (though I may have desecrated it with ketchup). I also had my first British pub pint in The Black Bull–​–the first of many more pubs and pints to come.

​The airline’s “as soon as possible” timeline was slightly longer than anticipated. I didn’t get fresh undies or deodorant until Thursday, September 22, when a delivery van pulled up to 11 Walton Road in Wetherby and unloaded our packs. September 22 also happened to be my 19th birthday, so this turned out to be a very timely birthday gift! An even greater gift, however, was staying with my Aunt Sybil (Paul's mum, and my grandmother's cousin, making her my first cousin twice removed–​–or someting like that!). Aunt Sybil was a spunky, good-humoured, and generous matriarch who had no qualms about speaking her mind or whipping into shape two Canadian “yobs” under her tutelage!

Aunt Sybil in her Austin Mini!

Aunt Sybil’s Bootcamp

A Google Streetview of Aunt Sybil's "warden's cottage" in Wetherby as it looks today (c. April 2024).

A “yob” is a British slang word for a loutish and uncultured young person. Although she never called me or Joey that, I am sure she thought it! Early on in our stay in Aunt Sybil’s cute stone cottage, we had a penchant for sleeping in and watching British TV. In other words, we had literally travelled over 5000 kilometers just to vegetate in front of the boob-tube. One particular day, Joey was curled up on the lounge chair, and I was sprawled on the floor watching a hilarious BBC television show called Red Dwarf. Aunt Sybil marched into the sitting room and gave me a firm kick. “Come on,” she said. “What are you two doing sitting in front of the telly? You didn’t come all this way to watch television programmes!” With that, she dragged us out for a walk in the beautiful town filled with stone buildings, ornate street lamps, old-fashioned shops, green shrubs and trees, cozy parks, and a charming arched stone bridge over the River Wharfe.

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Screenshots from the BBC sci-fi comedy series, Red Dwarf, (1988 - 1999; rebooted 2009- 2020). Joey and I travelled over 5000 km to watch TV...?

The day was idyllic: the sun shone, the markets bustled with people, and children played European football in the park. Aunt Sybil spoke about the town's history and various buildings, and other interesting and odd features and facts about Wetherby. Through this experience, she taught me to truly see the unique sights and sounds right before me. She showed me that I needed to make the most of my time while I was in Europe. These were valuable travel lessons, and they were valuable life lessons as well. She also broke me of my TV habit. I had been a television watcher for most of my life. With that swift kick from an elderly woman, I was able to kick the habit, too.

Aerial view of the 13-century Wetherby Bridge over the River Wharfe.

​Our “Get Going” Guide 

Aunt Sybil also kicked us out the door to other nearby places. She showed us how to use the buses and sent us to York––the majestic Medieval walled city with its glorious cathedral, York Minster. Out of all the places I have since visited, York remains my favourite and most beloved town. I have visited York two more times (so far). She sent us hither and yon to discover nearby ruins, explore the shops in nearby towns, and even to go to an auction (where I successfully bid on a few items that still adorn our home). Aunt Sybil also took us to the Yorkshire Moors with its ancient hills, vast openness, and blooming purple heather. She sent us to Leeds with its Victorian glass-vaulted arcades, and Harrogate with its stunning historical structures. She brought us to Nottingham, the stomping grounds of Robin Hood, and to Fountains Abbey, one of the largest and most beautiful monastic ruins in England.

Jeremy (the author) outside of York Minster Cathedral in the Medieval town of York.

Aunt Sybil with Joey at Fountains Abbey.

Jeremy (the author) roaming amid the ruins of Fountains Abbey.

Aunt Sybil took the time to fill me in on family history and she brought us (maybe dragged us?) to see some of my English relatives. I recall having a splendid high tea with family, which included lamb, mint sauce, and roast pheasant. Her father Rowland was the brother of my great-grandfather William Ratcliffe. In their younger days, both brothers made the trek to Canada to start a new life. My great-grandfather, William, ended up staying, but Rowland returned to England. This is why our two families remain separated by the Atlantic. Aunt Sybil also gave me a pair of sheep shears that belonged to my great-grandfather. This is a precious gift, which I still cherish today.  

Aunt Sybil's father, Rowland, with his brother (and my great-grandfather) William (c. 1897).

Sheep shears that belonged to my great-grandfather William Ratcliffe, given to me by Aunt Sybil.

I am incredibly thankful for her generosity with the time and energy she invested into Joey and me. We only spent about a week with Aunt Sybil, but her contagious spirit of adventure, her firm guidance, and her inspirational promptings to explore certainly laid the foundation for our travels in the subsequent weeks and months ahead. ​She prompted and prodded Joey and me to “get off our duffs” and explore the world around us. She helped us sort out how to travel... she showed us what to look for, what we shouldn’t miss, what we can overlook, and how to get there. In short, she taught us how to be true world travellers.

In Joseph Cambell’s theory of the hero’s journey, he includes an archetypal character who prepares and prompts the hero for the adventure ahead. Neither Joey nor I were “heroes,” but we were setting out on an adventurous journey. In famous myths and movies based on the hero’s journey, wise mentors like Merlin, Gandalf, Dumbledore, and Obi-Wan Kenobi fill the “prompting and prodding” role. In many ways, Aunt Sybil was my Gandalf-like guide, the grande dame of exciting exploits. Besides being a generous host (who cooked up splendid British fare), she nudged Joey and me across “the threshold,” and helped us set out on the host of adventures that lay ahead.  ​

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At the time, it never occurred to me why an elderly woman living alone would be willing to take in two rough-and-tumble teens from Canada. Yet, she did. Perhaps she was having a little adventure of her own! Whatever the case, I am very grateful that she took us in and showed us the way to adventure!

Aunt Sybil Hartley passed away on July 9, 2016 (Photo: Paul Hartley, Facebook)