It had begun with a simple letter and now, more than 50 years later, it was time to do what we'd always planned. By Christine Giera, 63
As my English teacher spoke, my hand was the first to shoot into the air.
She’d just asked if any of us wanted a pen pal, and I said: ‘I do, Miss!’
It was 1971 and I was 11. I got writing to a girl called Barbara who lived in Germany.
She was a similar age to me, and our conversations revolved around hobbies, the latest fashions and school.
Barbara wrote in English really well, but was keen to improve.
Can you send my letters back with corrections? she asked me.
So I began marking her letters in red pen like a teacher and sending them back with my replies.
Over the years, Barbara became a close friend.
Even though we’d never met, I felt I could tell her anything.
When we both turned 16, I wrote to her and said: You should come and stay here.
But Barbara’s dad wasn’t keen on her flying on her own, so we put that idea on the back burner.
Decades flew by and we continued to write to each other every few weeks.
By now, our letters were all about new jobs, new homes and eventually marriage.
We never missed sending each other a birthday card, and I could guarantee Barbara’s Christmas gift would always be the first to be delivered, come December.
Then, when we’d been corresponding for an incredible 50 years, I got an iPad and we finally switched to email.
It was so much easier to keep in touch and we were able to send photos.
Although we’d sent each other a few snaps in the post, it was the first time I’d seen what Barbara really looked like.
She was tanned with a long, brown bob and a warm smile.
Seeing her made me think: I must get round to visiting her.
I talked about going to Germany such a lot that, for my 60th birthday, my work colleagues gave me some euros.
'It's so good to finally see you!'
But it wasn’t until I retired that I got serious about it.
Unfortunately, by then Covid had struck and we were in lockdown, so I had to put my plans on hold.
Then, the week before I was finally due to fly out to Stockach where Barbara lived, I was doing some last-minute shopping, when my passport and £650 cash was stolen from my handbag.
How will I get to Germany now? I fretted.
The incident made me feel so vulnerable, I questioned whether I was safe travelling out there on my own.
But I’d waited so many years to see my wonderful friend, I decided not to let one horrible thing ruin things.
Next day, my grandson whizzed me from my home in Southend, Essex, to London to get an emergency passport.
Then, a week later than originally planned, I finally landed in Germany.
At the airport, I spotted Barbara straightaway. She was grinning from ear to ear, and around her neck was a London-themed printed scarf I’d given her years earlier.
We threw our arms around each other.
It had been 52 years but finally we were together.
Having only seen Barbara in photos, I was surprised by how petite she was.
‘It’s so good to finally see you!’ she said.
We both had tears in our eyes.
On the drive to Barbara’s home, we couldn’t stop talking.
And from the moment I stepped through the doors, I was treated like a pampered princess.
Each morning, we sat overlooking the garden to have breakfast.
As the sun shone, I ate home-made bread made by Barbara’s husband Franz, topped with jam made with fruit from their garden.
But the treats didn’t stop there. There were day trips to cafés for coffee and gorgeous German pastries and cakes.
‘I’ll miss this when I go home,’ I said, tucking into an apple strudel.
One morning we headed out early to Lake Constance, where we spent the day hopping on and off the boat to visit different towns. And on another day, we crossed the border into Switzerland to explore the mighty Rhine Falls, the most powerful waterfall in Europe.
Barbara had thought of everything.
Knowing I was a huge fan of Liverpool football manager, Jürgen Klopp, she even took me to a posh restaurant that he and the team had visited just a few weeks before.
‘I don’t want to leave,’ I said to her when we had to say our goodbyes a week later.
‘We can’t leave it so long again!’ she replied.
We still email regularly, and we’re already planning our next get-together.
Perhaps I’ll show Barbara around London if she comes to the UK.
Our friendship has spanned over half a century, and meeting face to face has only made it stronger.
Barbara’s not just a pen pal, she’s a pal for life.