Sand, Sea and Sunshine....sometimes (Childhood Memories)

Member Name: Shazzy

Product:	Childhood Memories
Date:	27/08/02 (176 review reads)
Rating:

Advantages: I was younger, summer seemed to go on forever and brown envelopes were never addressed to me

Disadvantages: I couldn't stay out as late as I wanted to

Memories of days gone by. In my case, long gone by. So many memories, so little space.

I can’t possibly tell you about every important memory from my childhood, it would simply take too long and I’m not planning to write a book just yet, so having thought long and hard, I've decided to stick to holiday memories. You don’t mind, do you? Holidays were always the highlight of the year, and although we always seemed to be struggling for money, my parents always made sure that we had at least one good holiday a year. Getting away from it all and living it up for a week or two was what made the rest of the year endurable.

I’ve got a few vague memories of very early holidays, but my first clear memory is of a holiday in a caravan at Clacton-on-Sea, on the good old Essex coast. I was about 6 at time.

We’d arrived during early afternoon, and to keep me occupied while the rest of the family dealt with the unpacking, Grandad engaged me in a game of chase around the outside of the caravan. We’d been running round for a while, and I was finally gaining a few yards when we rounded the corner and started up the long side for what seemed like the hundredth time. There were several windows along this side, one of which my mother opened just as we approached it. I ran straight under. Grandad, on the other hand, being unable to stop in time, was hit straight in the face and wallop, was knocked flat on his back, clutching at his broken nose.

Off we all trooped to the hospital (or horse’s spittle, as Grandad always called it), spent most of the evening in casualty and only just got back in time for the men to have a few pints at the clubhouse before turning in for the night.

The caravan wasn’t very big, so Grandad slept on the floor next to Mum’s bunk. Now my mum, at 16 stone, wasn’t exactly a lightweight, so when nature called during the night and she trod on Grandad’s
face, it wasn’t without consequence. The next morning we all trooped off once again, this time to the dentist, to have Grandad’s broken teeth fixed.

Luckily, the rest of the holiday passed uneventfully. That is, if you discount the fact that I squashed my finger in a deckchair and the car conked out on the way home!

My grandparents often came on holiday with us, which I thought that was great, although I’m not so sure my Dad would agree. He didn’t get along too well with Grandad at the best of times, and being cooped up in a caravan or chalet for a week or more was probably a test of patience for them both. Grandad would be up at 6am every morning, holiday or not. By 6.30 he’d be banging on doors and shouting for us to get up and get some breakfast inside us. Eggs, sausages and bacon would be fried and regardless of the previous night’s alcohol intake, it was expected that we’d all eat a healthy portion. By 7.30 we’d be outside, relaxing in deckchairs, watching the rest of the camp come alive. Dad would moan and groan and pass comment about having to get up early for work the rest of the year and wasn’t this meant to be a bloody holiday, but Grandad was never deterred. Those early morning hours, as far as he was concerned, were the best of the day.

One year, when I was about 9, we swapped the caravan sites for a hotel on the Isle of Wight. To me, staying at a hotel meant we’d somehow managed to climb a rung or two on the old social ladder. We may have had an outside loo and no hot water, but hey, we holidayed at a hotel! In reality, it was more a guesthouse than a proper hotel, but having no previous experience of such establishments, it was hotel enough for me. I can even remember Grandad smoking a fat cigar in the bar, and if that wasn’t posh, what was?

I felt I’d sort of grown up somewhat that year. For the first time, my parents allowed me to go down the s
treet to the shopping parade, all on my ownsome lonesome! I had a pale blue beaded purse with my very own money in and spent hours gazing the shop windows, trying to decide which bottles of coloured sand most deserved to adorn my bedroom windowsill.

Whenever I look back on holidays “way back when”, I tend to think of them as all filled with laughter and sunshine. That wasn’t always the case though. I can remember one particular holiday when it tipped down pretty much endlessly for an entire week. We were at Mablethorpe, I was 13 and my friend Kay had been allowed to come along to keep me company. Not only did it rain all week, the camp was pretty dire too. We ended up spending most of the week sitting at the caravan window, flirting with the boy in the caravan next to us. Fortunately, we’d already spent the previous week in Yarmouth, where the weather gods had been much kinder to us. If I’m not mistaken, it was a Ladbrooke’s camp, and the entertainment for teenagers, which included a disco and a humungous selection of pinball machines, was brilliant.

Kay was something of a tasty bird. Slim with long, dark hair and massive knockers. The type of girl that gets chatted up left, right and centre. Well, just as all the tasty girls have a plain friend, so do the blokes, and that suited me just fine. Most of the time they were nicer than their flash mates anyway, and it was during this holiday that my snogging technique was refined.

It wasn’t all footloose and fancy free though. One day, whilst whiling away some time in the gift shop, looking for the obligatory pieces of tat to take home to friends, I glanced across to the window only to see my dad on the other side of the glass, looking straight at me. Nothing wrong with that, you might think. Ha! I was holding a lit cigarette at the time, and what’s more, had it in my mouth, taking a long draw on it. The scene that followed was far from pleasant,
and at one point I honestly thought he’d make us all pack and head back to London. I spent the rest of that afternoon crying in the bedroom, mostly because I believed I’d spoiled Mum’s holiday, he relented and said we could stay if I promised never to smoke again. I suppose I gave the fags a miss for a couple of days, but these things soon get forgotten so it wasn’t long before I once again found myself putting money in the cigarette machine and extracting 10 Player’s No. 6.

The following year was a bit of a soggy biscuit as far as the weather went too. Our family had rented a house in Hastings and my friend Gill had been invited along for the week. Not wanting anybody back home to know about the lack of sunshine, and take the wee-wee out of us for it, we decided to “fake” some pictures. We chose a day when the rain was of that fine, almost invisible type, bought a black and white film for the Polaroid camera and headed for the beach. We figured that by using a monochrome film, nobody would know that the sky hadn't really been blue. Jackets came off and snaps were taken of us “lapping up the sunshine” at the water’s edge. The fact that there was no bugger else on the beach at the time could’ve been a giveaway, but if anybody noticed, nobody said anything.

Hastings must’ve been the resort of choice as far as my parents were concerned, because that’s where we headed the following year too, only this time we stayed at a caravan site (I believe it’s still there, now owned by Haven). I was 15 by then and my best friend, Carol (you’ll find here on here as Barbieblonde), had come along to share the fun. The weather had finally decided to be kind to us and we were enjoying that long, hot summer of ’76. I was in the throws of a holiday romance and generally having a whale of a time when disaster struck. Carol and I were sharing a double bed, and I’d ha
d one of those “think you’re sitting on the toilet” type dreams. Needless to say, I soaked the bed and at 15, that’s just about the most uncool thing that could happen. What’s more, the following day, she told “him”. Mega cringe! Funnily enough, I bumped into him a few years later and had a couple of dates, but as he’d become incredibly boring, I decided I’d probably had more fun wetting the bed.

Yes, holiday’s were great, rain or not, and now I’m looking forward to yet another holiday with Carol next year. We’re having a week on a canal boat. It’ll probably rain, but what the heck… that’s what rain jackets are for isn’t it? We may not be kids anymore, but we still know how to enjoy ourselves!

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