The rainbow never sets

community in the midst of a society still divided by a caste system and where the majority of people didn't seem to care for the poor and outcast.

From Amritsar I had to cross into Pakistan. The border is a few kilometers away from town, and Mrs. Bandhari's hire car took me right to the border. As the enmity between the Pakistanis and Indians since 'partition' had not abated, there was no communication between the two countries whatsoever. After finishing the usual border formalities on the Indian side, I had to walk to the Pakistani border post, a distance of about two to three hundred meters, carrying all my luggage without trolleys being available. I was glad to have followed Mike's advice, to send my heavy suitcase ahead to London. No porter was allowed to come with me. I was reminded of the many times I had crossed the border between East and West Germany illegally. What tragedy it is, if nations can't coexist peacefully. Several Indian and Pakistani people told me about their traumatic experiences during 'partition'. The sad thing was that even after twelve years they were still not willing to forgive and forget.

From the border it was not far to Lahore, where I was to stay the night and then catch the plane next morning to Rawalpindi. But my spirits were very low. I had worked very hard for the last week or so, and the heat and the food and lack of sleep took it's toll. I had to cancel the trip and went straight to Karachi.

There were only a couple of mills to be visited and in spite of feeling unwell I visited them. Then I caught the next plane to Cairo, where I had to visit the woollen mill at Mehalla Kubra, a distance of over 100km north of Cairo. The trip there along the Nile delta in an airconditioned taxi was very pleasant. The mill itself was huge. They were usually buying large quantities of wool, but unfortunately nothing at that time. However, they promised me to buy from us in future.

In London I was met by Alison who surprised me with the news that her mother was looking after our George, and that we had a couple of days in London for sightseeing, before going on to Goldstone. That was such a nice idea, and I couldn't have wished for a better tour guide than Alison. Names like 'Big Ben', 'The Tower', 'Westminster', 'St.Paul's' and many more became real places which had a long history.

In Goldstone I was to meet Alison's family for the first time. What would they think of their son-in-law? With some trepidation I went to meet them, but I needn't have worried. They welcomed me with open arms. It was most wonderful. Not only Alison's parents, but also her three brothers with their families. I felt I was warmly accepted in this large family. After the hustle and bustle of Asia, and the dirt and the heat, Goldstone was a real recluse. It was most relaxing to spend a couple of weeks with Alison in that peaceful surrounding.

The fruit farm had been in the family for one hundred and fifty years, when 28 acres were bought by Peter Chandler. He died in 1826 and was succeeded by his son Thomas. Since those days, each generation added

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