We didn’t go on holidays when I was a child. Well, apart from one holiday in Cornwall that I vaguely remember. I must have been four. We stayed in a white beach house with pale blue window frames. We went with another family, friends of my parents. We played in the sand dunes and Uncle Ken lost his glasses in the sea.
After that I suppose we didn’t have the money for holidays. Also my Dad was a home-bird. So we went on day trips.
I recently found some of my old school books. I wrote a news story, when I was seven, that made me roar with laughter. The gist of it was that we had gone out in the car one weekend for a drive around Luton ‘to see all the changes’. This would have been my Dad’s idea. I feel sorry for my Mum and my seven year old self and my five year old brother. A drive around Luton. Holy Moly.
We did have enjoyable day trips though. We went to the seaside, to a different town each year, in either Norfolk, Suffolk or Essex. My brother and I saved up our pocket money for weeks. We loaded up the car for the two hour journey. I tried not to be sick in the car – with mixed results. We all peered through the windows attempting to be the first to see the sea.
We went on the beach, ate ice creams, chips and candy floss, played in the amusements, looked in all the souvenir shops and had a nice meal in a restaurant before the long drive home. My brother and I would fall asleep smiling.
I want my children to have happy memories of family holidays. Now, where’s that road atlas? I hear there’s a new bypass opening in Bolton…