I got the names and addresses of Texan Newspapers and Radio Stations from an American friend in Florida called Martin Sommers, and wrote to them asking for help in finding Lily Chavez.

About three weeks after that - my telephone rang, and an American man's voice said:
"Is that Mr. George Evans speaking?"
"Yes!" I replied.
"Well Mr. Evans...” he continued..."We have found your Lily Chavez for you! She is Mrs Lily Martinez now. Would you like to say something for our readers?

Of course, I said some very nice things about Lily 'Martinez' in particular and the American people in general. It was all very enjoyable. I got a lovely letter from Lily shortly after that. Her first letter for nearly 50 years! She included a photograph of herself - she looked FABULOUS! My wife Clare and I invited her to come to Britain and stay with us anytime that she wanted to, and we were delighted to get another letter from her saying that she would fly over to Europe with a female friend on Wednesday the 22nd of October 1997 and spend some time with us.

The Arrival Wednesday the 22nd of October 1997. 8am

I had to leave my home in my car at 6pm to arrive in time to meet them, because the traffic is very busy in the morning time, with all the rush-hour commuters hurrying to work! As I drove along the still dark roads of South West Lancashire, I went over in my mind the unfolding events of the last few weeks, and the particulars surrounding Lily and the background to our impending meeting. Her invitation to us to stay in her home in El Paso - the fact that she is a millionaires! Her Real Estate businesses all over Texas! God knows what she would think of my modest little British Semi-detached! They will be comfortable and relaxed here, but by American standards - and particularly by Texan standards - our house is very small. We are vegetarians, but we can promise them some delicious meat-free meals. Our home is typically British, and our three bedroomed home is the standard British size and layout. Like most British houses we have only one bathroom/toilet, and the front and rear gardens are minuscule compared with US homes. As you know - on this overcrowded island of ours, we just have not got the space for generous property proportions. Having said all that - to live with us will be a completely unique experience for them. I told her that she was free to bring a friend, and she had written to say that she was bringing a female companion. I had written to tell her that to wander around as a tourist, gives one a completely erroneous impression of a country and its people - quite apart from the expense. Here, they will mix with real Britons as a friend and member of the family. They will not find us 'old fashioned' or 'overly conservative' and I am sure that we will all get along like a house on fire! We are not rich and not poor - just average Britishers. We are sensible, trustworthy, and, I had written to tell Lily that she could assure her three sons and daughters-in-law, that she will be safe! Here, we have no need for armed guards on the gate. A woman can walk alone without fear, although prudence must always be exercised. Regarding her question about the besime of year to visit Britain, I told her that probably September is a good time. The trees take on that beautiful quality of golden and russet maturity, the colours of our countryside become muted and pastel hued. The heat is not burdensome, and the whole atmosphere is less frenetic. October can be tricky though - in fact British weather is always uncertain - that is why 'the weather' is customarily a topic of conversation here - for it can be so capricious. There is a lot to see, and she can examine the British Real Estate practices while she is here. Of course I can give her as many free facials as she likes!

The Meeting

The Passenger Arrival concourse at Manchester Airport was a noisy melee of transitory humankind. At regular intervals, a new plane arrived, and yet another flow of sunburned humanity was released into the overcrowded hall. Many new arrivals fell into the arms of waiting friends and relatives, while others walked - with eyes that looked neither left or right - towards the exits doors and out into the cold autumnal morning air. Courteous, turbaned, Sikhs jostled with lithe, blue-eyed, Scandinavian 'back-packers'. Identically dressed Japanese tourists bowed their way to the passage out, as be-suited European businesspersons hid behind the 'Financial Times'. Animated children played chasing games around the ever-changing Flight Arrival Board, their screams of excitement drowning out the frequent disembodied announcements, which old-folk strained to catch in the noisy, unfamiliar, unnerving space.

People glanced curiously at the small group of men standing near to the arrival door. One man cradled a TV Camera on his shoulder, another carried sound equipment, and a third had cameras slung about his neck. The fourth man held a black plastic bag. They all had that slightly crumpled look about them that all reporters seem to acquire. Who they were waiting for? It had to be somebody important? Perhaps a person from show business? A visiting politician maybe? Suddenly, as a new tide of travellers flowed through the open portals, an elaborate bouquet of flowers appeared from the black plastic bag in which they had been concealed, and with the cameras whirring - the man hurried forward. An extremely glamorous blonde woman was pushing a loaded luggage-trolley, accompanied by a strikingly attractive brunette with the widest grin and smoothest skin you have ever seen! There was a mutual, somewhat nervous smile of recognition, followed by a warm embrace and friendly kiss. Miss Lily had arrived!

The 10 hour, 5,048 mile flight was over, and... I was the man with the flowers!