HOLIDAYS 1963
It's 1963, I am 15. We never had family holidays when I was a child – my father was retired, my parents lived separate lives, and we were too poor. In September at school the other children would chatter about Bournemouth or the Norfolk Broads, or perhaps, amazingly, a package holiday abroad (just being introduced, the same price as a domestic holiday). Quite what I did when asked to write an essay on “What I Did In The Holidays” I can't remember – perhaps I was inventive? As a child you accept whatever your life is as normal, so I don't remember feeling particularly upset, I knew we were disadvantaged - but stoically accepted it as inevitable.
However, in 1962 mother became friendly with Len Earle, general manager of the company that owned the Caravan site, who lived nearby. He offered to let us have a week free at ‘Sunbeach’, their sea-side holiday site in Wales the next summer. This was exciting - our first summer holiday. Mother made up some ham sandwiches with Branston ‘Panyan’ pickle for the journey, and this became traditional in the future - whatever happened to Panyan pickle, it was delicious, I miss it.
Everything was new and strange, it was in the middle of nowhere but adjoining the beach - but forget sand, this was wholly composed of smoothed oval granite boulders with quartz inclusions, and the sea temperature was uninviting. The weather was generally grey, if not drizzling. There was a primitive flat roofed 'Clubhouse' made from asbestos panels, serving drinks; coffee; sandwiches - and a limited range of groceries, bread; milk; sugar etcetera. It had on the roof a huge sign saying “ESSPRESSO COFFEE” (really with it!), presumably designed to be seen from the road. There was an uninviting brick toilet block with basins. There may have been dancing in the evening, but that would not have been something we went to.
We spent the time exploring the local 'attractions'; drab seaside towns; damp green valleys hyped up as 'Fairy Glens'; an ex-mining narrow gauge railway. I particularly remember Harlech Castle, perched on a sheer crag above the sea, “Let's go up on the battlements!” we cried - but my God, the battlements had no crenelated stone parapet as one would have expected, the outer edge of the bit you walked on just ended in mid air and dropped vertically 200 feet below, with no protective barrier. We froze in horror and retreated - is it still like that? It may not have compared to the Costa del Sol, or even Bournemouth, but Hey! it was our first Holiday! It set the expectation that we would have an annual summer holiday.
And so, every January, mother scanned the papers for holiday brochures and sent off for them. Initially we went for caravans, but for the last two years we upgraded to 'Chalets'. We worked our way along the south coast (we had had enough of Wales!), going further west as we got more adventurous. Folkestone; Portsmouth; Isle of Wight; Bournemouth; Linton and Lynmouth; Paignton; Falmouth; Penzance. We saw the sights for about 30 miles round each one - quaint seaside villages; stunning landscapes; historic houses; neolithic monuments; mediaeval market towns; fish and chips; in Cornwall the nastiest Cornish Pasty I have ever had; and Angela Rogers telling us to move on from her public footpath (I see the Penrose estate is now National Trust; good).
It had to come to an end of course, I graduated from Manchester and went out into the world.