My earliest memories of holidays with Mum & Dad are day trips on the train to Blackpool or Belle Vue, Manchester. I clearly remember the train journey to Blackpool, and would always be on the lookout for Blackpool Tower soon after the train left Preston station. I can’t remember travelling to Belle Vue – perhaps we went by bus? – but I have memories (from photographs) of a model car track and a zoo. I have been told that the family also went on a day trip to Southport each year, but I don’t remember this, it was perhaps before my time.
My first time away from home was to Butlin’s holiday camp at Minehead in Somerset. Ernest was going with his family, and in July 1970 I was asked to accompany them. My mum gave me permission to go, and so I went to Ernest’s on Friday night, and we watched a TV programme called Jeux sans Frontières which was the European version of the UK show “It’s a Knockout”. Afterwards, we stayed up late, since we were catching a coach down to Somerset which (from memory) left Chorley at midnight. It was usual, then, to travel through the night since few motorways were built and the overnight traffic was quieter. The M6 ended at Walsall and the M5 only started near Halesowen and ended 36 miles later at what is now Strensham services. The 15 miles through the west of Birmingham and the 130 miles from Strensham were all on local roads. We arrived at Minehead in the early morning, at the start of a marvellous week. The atmosphere was still very much like Hi-de-hi, with tannoy calls informing campers that breakfast was being served, or that some game or competition was about to begin.
The food on camp was basic but hearty and the food hall had a very distinctive aroma, not unpleasant, but very individual. Occasionally I get a memory of it when walking past the restaurant at work in the early morning. I’m not sure what food preparation goes on at 7am, but the smell often transports me back to Minehead in 1970. The food hall was like a huge works canteen, where I think people picked up food in a similar way to a motorway service station today, although I can’t imagine there being much choice.
I also remember the monorail and the outside look of the chalets, which were two-storey structures, simply furnished. There was a great deal of ‘entertainment’, which, as an 11-year-old, I enjoyed. I believe that I saw Little and Large there before they were famous, but it might have been another comedy duo. Every day there were singing and dancing competitions to enter, knobbly knees contests, beauty pageants and, of course, bingo. It was very much as I imagine Disneyland to be now, although less sophisticated. I also remember having my photograph taken beside a man dressed up as Mickey Mouse [my memory isn’t that good – when I found the photograph, it appears it wasn’t Mickey Mouse at all, but a black dog!], which didn’t impress me.
I’ve never understood the popularity of Mickey Mouse – he isn’t funny, he’s no special powers and in the UK he doesn’t even have a TV show nor appear in comic books, yet people apparently adore him. I loved Disney films, but I could never see the attraction of the Disney characters and I still don’t. The best thing about Butlin’s was that once the holiday was paid for, that was it: everything else was free. I have a memory that the entire holiday cost £11 for the week, although I may be mistaken.
I also went on a camping holiday with Ernest and his Uncle Bill in 1972. Uncle Bill never held a car driving licence. He had a licence to ride a motorcycle, but the law then allowed someone to ride a tricycle on a motorcycle licence. A three-wheeled car was classified as a tricycle, and so Bill drove a Reliant Regal Supervan, which you may know as the vehicle driven by Del Boy in Only Fools and Horses. The three of us travelled to Scotland in this little van, with me sitting on cushions in the back (there were no rear seats – can you see a pattern emerging here?). We were away for seven nights and stayed at four campsites in Annan (near Dumfries), Newton Stewart, Stranraer and Ayr before returning home.
I have several fond memories of that trip. I clearly remember seeing salmon jumping in the River Nidd in Dumfries, and later, spotting planes landing at Prestwick Airport (we camped at Ayr racecourse a couple of miles south of Prestwick). We ate rehydrated food cooked over a camping stove, and occasionally we’d supplement these with potatoes we’d scrumped from a farmer’s field. On at least one evening, possibly more, we were told to keep out of mischief while Bill went off to the pub. He’d kindly left us a couple of bottles of pale ale to drink (I was eleven!). Another strong memory is of Bill scrabbling to get out of the small tent in the early hours saying in an increasingly urgent voice, “Let me out, let me out, I’m bursting for a piss!”. When we returned home, Mum often told the tale of how she was convinced that I’d suffered a dreadful accident because she saw Bill walking up the path carefully carrying a bundle which Mum thought was me. It wasn’t, it was simply my sleeping bag, which I could never wrap up properly.
My first overseas holiday was to Gibraltar to see my sister Pauline whose husband was posted there with the Royal Navy. Geraldine and I flew out from Manchester in September 1979, which was also my first time on an aircraft. The runway at Gibraltar is unusual in that half of it is built on a causeway, and due to restrictions at that time about over-flying Spanish airspace, the aircraft had to fly in from the sea, and turn sharply just prior to landing. As my first experience of flying, this was interesting, but the bumpy landing was more due to a careless pilot than for any other reason. Our first time in Gib was very relaxing (we were there for two weeks), with many walks up the rock and around the town. We enjoyed swimming in the sea and in an outdoor pool. Our favourite beach was at Catalan Bay on the east side of the rock, which was perhaps a two-mile walk from Pauline’s flat. We enjoyed walking, so it was no hardship. We have since revisited Gibraltar, and I have to admit that the beach really doesn’t have much to offer, and the walk to it is uninspiring at best. The rock itself is spectacular, and to see the barbary macaques was a delight.
We thoroughly enjoyed a day trip to Morocco on that holiday. A rather tatty ship (the Mons Calpe) left Gibraltar for Tangier each day, carrying people and goods between the two continents. Consequently, the ship was full of Moroccans carrying their wares, which included in some cases, live poultry, and of course, plenty of leather goods. The odour was noteworthy, and even now, the smell of Moroccan leather whisks me back to that time and place. We took a bus ride into the mountains near Tangier where a guide had a few camels waiting for the tourists. I personally didn’t have any problem with the camel handler, but apparently he had a unique way of assisting women into the saddle which involved a helping hand placed in a rather personal location. After the camel ride, we then wandered round the town picking up souvenirs, and being harassed by the street traders.
We returned to Gibraltar the following year since we were to be godparents to Pauline’s son, Mark, who was born in July 1980. We went to his christening and enjoyed a great reception afterwards at HMS Rooke, the land-based ship in Gibraltar. This time, we flew out from Heathrow, since Geraldine was based in Heyes at the time, and so we had a place to park the car for the fortnight. This trip was not quite so exciting, and we seemed to spend a lot of time pushing a pram around the local Alameda gardens.
To our children’s annoyance, (I think), we saved money on holidays throughout their childhood. I still believe that we made the right choice, although I sometimes wonder whether our children missed out on certain things; I think they felt they did, which is much the same. Our first family holidays were either in self-catering cottages or static caravans in the UK. This meant that we could afford to spend two separate weeks on holiday (August and October, usually), and occasionally got away in May, too. We also enjoyed numerous day trips out, making frequent visits to the Lake District, Yorkshire Dales and North Wales and also visiting local attractions. For about five years, we also did the Center Parcs thing which everyone does.
Center Parcs typified our cautious approach to spending. We first booked a long weekend for Laurence’s 2nd birthday in December 1995. It was inexpensive in early December, and we hired a villa as far away as we could get from the swimming pool and facilities. We also hired bikes with kiddie seats and/or a trailer, and our typical day would be for us all to dress up in warm clothes, cycle to the pool, swim for a while, cycle back via a different route, have lunch in the villa and then repeat the process in the afternoon. We rarely ate out, and didn’t book any additional activities, such as horse riding, bowling or tennis. The children were too young to notice our thriftiness, and even today, they both look back with fondness on the five holidays we took at Center Parcs.
We certainly spent money, though. There was one memorable occasion when I splashed out and bought the children helium-filled balloons just before we left the complex to return home. It was a frosty day in January, and by the time we’d reached our car, the balloons had deflated so much that they no longer floated, but hung limp. I marched back to demand a refund, but as I re-entered the warm building, the balloons re-inflated! I then used my understanding of thermodynamics to work out what was really happening – the drop in temperature increased the density of the helium so that with the combined weight of the balloon, it was unable to support its own weight. By the time the car got warm, the balloons were floating once more, causing a distraction all the way home.
We all enjoyed the relative freedom of holidays taken in static caravans. They were much cheaper than cottages, and usually sited in popular holiday areas, and the sites had all the facilities we required. Over the years, we have taken holidays in Chichester, Christchurch, Poole, Bridport, South Devon, St Ives (x3), North Devon (x2), Weston-Super-Mare, Tenby, Windermere, Western Scotland, Edinburgh, Northumberland, Norfolk and eventually we hired a caravan abroad in Brittany. There may have been more, but they aren’t springing to mind.
If we were travelling a long distance, we would often leave on Friday, stay in a hotel part way to our destination and continue the journey refreshed the following morning. Not only did this break up long drives, it also allowed us to visit places of interest en route. I don’t consider the M6 and M5 places of interest. We would often take with us boxes of food and frozen meals so that we didn’t spend our precious holiday time wandering round Tesco. We may have eaten out once or twice during the week, but mainly we would eat in the caravan, enjoy a bottle of wine and watch TV. All the locations were at or very close to local attractions, so we would visit these and go for walks on most days. When the children were young, there was nothing they liked more than playing on the beach before returning to spend time in the pool, or on the playground equipment. We’d also go out on three or four day trips during the week.
One such trip was when we visited the Isles of Scilly whilst on a holiday in St Ives. We only spent a day there, but we packed lots in. The 9.15 flight from St Just airfield took just 30 minutes in an eight-seat plane, with the children sitting in the second row of seats just behind the pilot. I’m not sure how much Emily enjoyed the flight, since she had an uninterrupted view of the co-pilot’s controls (because there was no co-pilot) and she didn’t appreciate seeing all the dials and flashing lights. Geraldine wasn’t too keen either because the aircraft had barely left the ground, when the cliffs fell away beneath us and suddenly we were over the sea flying at around 1,000 feet, over the Longships lighthouse.
There is a conventional runway at St Mary’s, but the pilot gave me a shock when she decided to taxi straight off the tarmac and across the grass to park just 50ft from the terminal building! This was quite normal, apparently, but it took me by surprise. Having taken a taxi down into town, we decided that a boat trip round the islands would help us get our bearings. This trip was wonderful, taking us amazingly close to seals and sea birds. We landed on Tresco, and were told that the boat back to St Mary’s would leave from a jetty at Old Grimsby on the other side of the island. This was rather un-nerving, since we had no idea of the layout of the island and hadn’t a clue where the ferry would leave from. We needn’t have worried since Tresco is only tiny (you know the size of the island in a typical boating lake? That’s Tresco) and even I found it difficult to get lost.
We walked the length (or width, who can say?) of the island, spent an hour or two in the Abbey Gardens (a magical place) and then had to rush to the jetty to catch the St Mary’s ferry. We managed to squeeze onto a small, but very full, boat in time for a quick walk round Hugh Town before returning to the airport for our flight home.
The airfield at St Just near Land’s End is just that – a field – with no fancy navigational aids. We were warned in the morning that the return flight might be cancelled since poor visibility was forecast, but thankfully, the pilot risked it and we arrived on the mainland just 10 minutes before a heavy rain storm. The alternative would have required a taxi ride to the port, a 2¾ hour ferry to Penzance, and a bus ride to the airport, adding at least 4 hours onto the return trip.
I am satisfied that the children have seen much of what the UK has to offer, although sadly, they don’t seem to remember much of it. Despite this, I still maintain that we did the right thing. If we’d splashed out money we could ill-afford to go on holidays in Spain, Italy, or the USA, the chances are the children still wouldn’t remember them once they reached adulthood.
When the children were a little older (and we were more comfortably off), we did start going abroad, firstly by car to Brittany in 1998. This was not a success. The lowlights included; the car being bumped two days before the trip; refuelling the diesel car with petrol the day before departure; miscalculating the ferry crossing duration (we went to bed after midnight, and were woken up at 5am (French time) to disembark!); arriving at the site eight hours before we could occupy our property; miserable weather and to cap it all, having a car crash on the way home. It was very memorable, but for all the wrong reasons. We have never returned to Brittany.
In the summer of 2005 we flew to Nice, hired a car and drove to a village called Aups about 60 miles north-west of Nice, and 40 miles from the sea. Geraldine’s work colleague owned a small cottage there and he had kindly lent it to us for a week in July. The town was in a perfect location to explore the region which boasted the Verdon gorge, the largest in Europe, and a splendid azure lake ideal for swimming and/or pedalos. We were also within an easy drive of St Tropez which quickly became Emily’s favourite resort. As she said at the time, “It knocks spots off Blackpool, doesn’t it?”. We also visited Monte Carlo and were in awe of the yachts and fancy cars on display.
On this holiday we also learned something about the French attitude to vehicles. When I picked up the hire car from the airport, I pointed out a couple of scratches on the doors, which were duly noted. I failed, however, to notice a large gouge in the bumper, which I only saw after a day. This worried me for the rest of the week, and I was convinced the hire company would insist in keeping my €600 deposit to pay for its repair. When we handed in the car, I dutifully reported the damage, explaining in schoolboy French that I had not been the cause of it. The lady asked me to show her the damage, and then simply shrugged (as only the French can) and said “But it’s the bumper – it’s what they’re for!”. I should have realised; it would have saved so much anxiety!
In August 2007, we went on a family holiday to Sorrento, revisiting the town Gee and I had enjoyed 25 years earlier. We were a disappointment to the holiday rep since we shunned all her suggestions but instead did our own thing and jumped on trains, boats, and buses to reach the various destinations she had proposed but for a fraction of the cost. We visited Capri, Mt. Vesuvius, Herculaneum, Amalfi and Positano. It was very exciting at times (if you’ve ever ridden graffiti-covered Neapolitan trains, you’ll know what I mean!) and far more fulfilling than taking a guided tour. It may have helped that I had been attending Italian classes for a few months prior to the trip. Although, I could better understand what was being said, as soon as I uttered a word in my best Italian accent, the locals would respond, “Oh, you’re British” and reply to my carefully crafted Italian phrases in perfect, unaccented English.
We went to Sardinia the following year, but this was less memorable (well, I didn’t enjoy it as much) but the trip back to Gibraltar in 2009 was great. Whilst there, we took an organised tour to visit Tangier and Tetuan in Morocco since Geraldine and I were keen to revisit the country with the children. The day started with a 30-mile coach journey across Spain, then a 1¾ hr ferry crossing from Tarifa to Tangier. We then rode down to Tetuan where we enjoyed a guided tour of the city and a marvellous lunch before returning to Tangier for a walk round the souq and an opportunity to spend some cash. The children were at the right age to appreciate what they were seeing, and I was amused that whilst walking along the narrow alleyways, Laurence found himself wearing several watches that the street traders had clipped to his wrist, hoping that he would buy. He didn’t, but he did come away with a fez (which he’s never worn!). In Gibraltar, the children grumbled when we made them walk up the Rock rather than taking the cable car (saving money again!), but seeing the macaques made them forget their complaints.
Our last overseas family holiday was 2010 when we visited Nerja in southern Spain. The children were 18 and 17 and went off to do their own thing in the evenings. In 2016, the whole family visited relations in Galway and enjoyed gorgeous weather. We were only there for a short visit, but we all had a wonderful few days.
Other memorable holidays are when we all went on a trip to the north of Scotland. Gee and I had been as far as Ullapool in June 1991 and still had fond memories of this trip and I was keen to revisit the region. In 2006, we had decided to tour the country, staying in youth hostels, since the children enjoyed the freedom that they offered, and I enjoyed the beautiful locations in which they were situated. We had glorious weather, especially at Achmelvich beach where one balmy evening we watched the sun set over the pristine white sands whilst eating local smoked salmon on oatcakes and drinking crisp white wine. We made our way back via Edinburgh, staying in a city centre hotel. It was festival time, so the town was heaving, and to this day, I don’t know how we managed to book rooms in such a great location for the price. The children enjoyed experiencing the fringe festival and we returned after a terrific week.
I have also enjoyed visiting youth hostels with the children, on our bikes or walking. Our first trip on bicycles in 2004 was to our closest hostel at Slaidburn. This was a 65 mile round trip, which went down very well, so later in the year, I booked a three night visit to Hawes in North Yorkshire. It was a wonderful break which, for me, brought back memories of my teenage years, and for the children, it may have given them something to remember in later life. I’m sure Emily will long remember her spectacular high-speed fall into a grass verge on one steep descent. I was several yards behind, and panicked when I saw her fall, but she somehow managed to avoid any injuries greater than nettle stings. Laurence was some way in front and couldn’t understand why we took so long to complete the descent. We didn’t tour on that trip, but stayed in Hawes and took day trips out.
Laurence and I later went on a 140-mile tour up to Hawes for him to try out his new road bike in 2007. We stopped at youth hostels there and back, spending the first night at Stainforth, which was the first hostel I ever stayed at back in 1975. Sadly, the hostel closed later that year so we can no longer follow that route. The following year, we stayed in hostels in Cornwall and went on day trips on our bikes or went walking. In 2011, we had a wonderful holiday touring north-west Scotland again. By this time, Laurence was learning to drive, so he drove all around the country, becoming very skilled at judging which passing place to nip into on single-track roads. We both did a bit of cycling and walking. Well, I say a bit of walking, but Ben Nevis was actually quite a challenge for me. The weather was good overall, with just one very wet day when we visited Iona in the south-west of Mull. I’d long wanted to see this place, but being so remote, I didn’t think I’d ever get there, but since we were staying in Tobermory, it was just a two-hour journey round the coast. The scenery was spectacular even in the rain and there was barely any traffic.
Our holidays in recent times have been with just Gee and me and we have got into the habit of taking short breaks of three or four days using Easyjet. The process is so simple, and since we want the freedom to go when we like and once there, do just as we like, the process suits us fine. Gee also manages to get away abroad with a close friend every year, as well as a few weekends away in the UK with other friends. You’ve already read about my guilty secret, going to Mallorca on a cycling holiday in spring, and in 2016, Laurence accompanied me, and we had a great week, and may have started a tradition, since we have also booked for 2017.