Holiday Memories

This includes memories of holidays up until 1993. Memories of some specific holidays are included elsewhere.

Up to 1968

In the 1950s, those with small children tended not to travel in the way that they do now and going abroad was rare for the average family until the advent of package tours in the late 1960s. My first outing in a car was what my mum described in my Baby Book as a trip to the ‘Surrey Lanes’, with ‘Uncle’ (Eric) John Golding when I was five months old. It seems that it was after my first birthday before I went on a train and this was just a short trip to Clapham Junction to visit my paternal grandparents. Diesel and electric replaced steam trains in the 1960s, so this would have been by steam train. On 3 July 1958, I first saw the sea on a day trip to Bexhill. Other summer seaside day trips were to Bognor, Littlehampton and Dymchurch. We also occasionally went to Chessington, or London zoos.

Littlehampton 1959

In 1959, we went on our first family holiday, together with my maternal grandmother, who accompanied us each year until her death. We stayed at Colwell Bay Holiday Club on the Isle of Wight, I think perhaps because my parents had honeymooned nearby. This began a lifelong love of the island. The club was run by Mrs and Mrs Hall, who had two young adult children. The complex consisted of a ring of chalets and a main house with a lounge and bar as well as a small shop selling daily essentials.[1] I remember walking there with my dad to collect milk and newspapers. There was occasional evening entertainment in the lounge. Probably things like Bingo and I remember a horse-racing betting game. Up to one side were tennis courts, with four additional chalets overlooking them. I think mum and I rented one of these when we stayed in 1971 but in the 1960s, we had what I think was number six at the top of the loop. When we visited, accompanied by my friend *, in 1968, we stayed in the big house. On that occasion, our train fares were 31/6 for an adult return and 15/9 each for the children, with an additional 2/- each to reserve our seats.

These holidays mainly consisted of trips to the beach. Colwell had very coarse sand, including a patch that ‘sang’ when you walked on it.[2] Visits to Carisbrooke Castle and Blackgang Chine were integral to our stay. We usually made friends with other residents and often corresponded afterwards. Children would play together in the grassy area in the centre of the chalets and I think there were also swings near the tennis courts. When I was small, I remember * and her family who, I think, lived in Peabody Buildings, not far from my paternal grandparents. Having been to Colwell Bay in 1959 and 1960, we branched out and went to Bognor Regis in 1961 but it didn’t match up and we returned to Colwell in 1962.

First Visit to Carisbrooke Castle 1959

Colwell Bay Holiday Club

1964

The death of my grandmother and the purchase of our first car, in 1963, led to a change in our holidaying. My father had learned to drive during the war but had not taken a test. He enrolled with Mr Brooks, who later also gave me lessons and then acquired a new, pale blue, Morris Minor 312AOY. This was fairly soon replaced by a white traveller version 936DBY, to allow for transporting things in the hatchback boot. In the years before seat belts, I often travelled in the ‘boot’ with Sparky.

1963 was also the year that we moved house and I moved schools. With the benefit of the car, we went to North Walsham in Norfolk, to stay with my Tenterden school friend, * and her family, who had recently moved there. I distinctly remember staying in her sunny bedroom, a long thin room with two windows at the front of the house and hearing collared doves calling. These, now common, birds arrived in the UK in the 1950s and first bred in Cromer. Cromer, along with Sheringham, Mundesley and Happisburgh, were beaches of choice when in Norfolk.

We went to North Walsham in 1963 and 1964, before my father died. Apart from trips to the various beaches, when we were there, * and I built dens in the garden, flew kites and visited her grandparents’ farm, where we could slide down hayricks. Less fun was being chased by the geese. It was also when in Norfolk that the incident with the stinging nettles occurred. I needed to find a convenient hedge, or for some reason, in this instance, ditch. Said ditch was full of stinging nettles, to which I have a particularly adverse reaction; I’ve not been a ‘behind a hedge’ person since.

In 1967, I went to stay in North Walsham alone, maybe my mum wanted to do her own thing, or couldn’t get time off work, or perhaps she didn’t want to go and stir up memories. It seems incredible now that, at the age of eleven, I travelled on the train by myself from London to Norfolk. I vaguely remember eating sandwiches as we passed Diss. I think the guard had been asked to keep an eye on me.

Probably desperate to find an ‘easy’ holiday venue, in 1966, my mum chose Butlins at Bognor Regis. Here, I learned to swim. I also entered the fancy dress competition as pirate radio, a pirate costume with an elaborately created radio mast on my head. I have no clue how my mum had transported the ‘ingredients’ for this edifice on the train. Each morning we were awakened by the jingle on the chalet’s tannoy exclaiming, "Good morning, good morning, it's another lovely day. When it's wet it's fine at Butlins, we never let it spoil your holiday." It doesn’t even scan properly. Our chalet was close to those occupied by some young members of staff and there was a certain amount of noise and comings and goings at night.

Days out as a child included visits to Keston Ponds or Horniman’s Museum, with its dinosaur bones. At the age of ten or eleven, * and I got Rover tickets that allowed you to travel on buses and the underground and had fun trying to reach the northernmost point on the network, which I think was Cockfosters. Today’s children are denied this kind of freedom but in the late 1960s no one thought this was risky. When we visited my paternal grandparents, we went to Battersea Park and saw the clock that had been installed for the 1951 Festival of Britain. Battersea also meant the funfair.

1969-1982

In 1969, we went on a boat on the Norfolk Broads with the * family. This was great fun and we enjoyed rowing the dingy and mooring up each night. On one occasion, we must have been on a tidal part of the broads and misjudged how tightly we moored, as we ended up half stranded in a cow field. The following year, we spent two weeks on the Isle of Wight with the *s, staying in Lake.

By this time, I was holidaying alone at guide camps and camps run by the Christian Union at Croyde in Devon. The latter were advertised through the school and I went with several school friends, staying in huge bell tents and listening to Christian messages in marquees that smelt evocatively of naptha lamps. I went in 1969, 1970 and 1971, visiting such places as Clovelly, Lundy and Saunton Sands, which are now all close to home. One year, I went pony trekking on Exmoor. My pony liked to be directly behind another horse and when the one in front stepped aside, mine took off at a gallop to reach the next closest horse, who was some way away. This is the only time I have fallen off a horse and although I was unhurt, I broke my glasses.

By 1971, we were friendly with a group of boys, who came to camp nearby while we were there. This caused a bit of concern and I chose to absent myself from the issues by going on a three day hike, sleeping in barns on local farms.

These camps led to spin-off weekend trips to the Westbrooke Christian Centre at Seaview on the Isle of Wight. I had to leave school early to attend one of these, missing one games lesson. The headmistress was not amused, writing a letter to point out that I had already had one unauthorised absence during my school career, on the day my friend * emigrated.

Mum and I went on several day coach trips after my father died. These included one to the Wye Valley and Symonds Yat[3], one to Slimbridge Wildfowl Trust, somewhere that I still like to visit and one to the Isle of Wight. On that occasion, I was wearing an emerald green, long-sleeved, hand-knitted, roll-neck jumper, that I’d made myself. It was September but boiling hot. In an attempt to find alternative attire, we managed to acquire two Isle of Wight tea-towels, which were pinned on like a tabard with safety pins handily located in mum’s handbag. I don’t know why we didn’t just buy a t-shirt, maybe the coach didn’t stop at a suitable t-shirt buying spot and it was before the era of souvenir t-shirts. During these trips, I usually recorded the names of all the pubs, trying to collect as many different ones as I could, something not possible with today’s motorway travel. In 1970, we took a day trip to Boulogne, my first overseas visit.

As a teenager, I went on day trips with friends, including the boys that we hung around with. These involved outings to the beach and again, the ubiquitous Rover tickets. Something that has stuck in my mind, as we sat on the upper deck of a Greenline bus going through the Surrey countryside, was * turning to *’s younger brother, * and saying, ‘when you grow up *, there won’t be any grass’.

By 1973, my holidays were often tied up with volunteering, taking me to Folkestone and Maesteg, as well as for weekends away.[4]

In 1974, John and I spent the first of three short Easter stays at Upper Mount bed and breakfast in New Street, Sandown. We paid £1.50 per room per night for four nights in the two rooms. We went again in 1975 and 1977. I also went to the island in the summers of 1974 and 1975, staying with Mr Dobson at Adgestone Camp Site. On one of these holidays, we took a bus to West Wight. Returning at dusk, a bat flew in the window of the upper deck. Fellow passengers included several burly marines who were cowering under the seats. I tucked my waist length hair under my velvet jacket, picked up the terrified bat and put it out the window.

On the Isle of Wight 1974 and 1977

In the 1970s, our holidays were always on a budget. Camping meant self-catering with the occasional ploughman’s lunch or fish cake and chips. We allowed ourselves one ice cream per holiday.

In 1975, I was invited to make up a four to tour Europe by car. It was a good way to see several countries, including Germany, Switzerland, Austria and Northern Italy. We travelled through Luxembourg but didn’t get out, so this probably doesn’t count as visiting Luxembourg. A week of the holiday was spent on the island of Rab in what is now Croatia but was then Yugoslavia. There was an incident when I tried to get out of a dingy and ended up lying horizontal, with my feet in the boat and my hands gripping the jetty, as the boat drifted out from its mooring; laughing made this more difficult. Other memories from this holiday, include meeting some German medical students and trying to teach the owner of our accommodation on Rab to boil breakfast eggs for somewhere between twenty seconds and twenty minutes. Being driven at night, at breakneck speed on hair-pin bend roads that were, I think, in Northern Italy, with Night on a Bare Mountain was blaring on the radio, was a nerve racking aspect of this holiday but we survived.

Mum and I took two oversees holidays together, going to stay at Hotel Melia on Tenerife in 1977, arriving four days after the world’s most serious air crash occurred there, killing 583 people. As this was my first flight, it was a little off-putting. I remember sitting by the pool, riding on a camel and getting sunstroke; not all at the same time. The following year, we went to Maiori, not far from Naples and were able to visit Herculaneum and Pompeii; I preferred the former. Other highlights were visiting Capri, where my dad had spent time in the war and braving my fear of heights to travel in a chair lift up Vesuvius, with my feet brushing the lemon trees below. This visit coincided with the assassination of the politician Aldo Moro.

1976 included two trips to stay in *'s family caravan at Shoeburyness, paying visits to the Kursaal fun fair at Southend and a trip to a camp site in Totland with John. There was an issue with the site toilets, which could not be used. This meant that, first and last thing each day, we had to walk down to the public toilets. It was a week of ploughman’s lunches at the High Down Inn, which is where we later booked a honeymoon. That never happened as I was suffering from measles.

In 1979, John and I spent a week in a guest house at Penzance. This was memorable for whitebait being served for every breakfast. The following year, we went camping in Weymouth, this time taking our bikes. This involved loading two two-man tents and all our gear on to the two bikes and then riding from Sandown to Ryde. This was a real effort for me, as my bike had no gears and I was awarded a medal for bravery on the bicycle, made from a tin foil dish, afterwards! Once in Dorset, there were some interesting places to visit. We accidentally left a pub near Moonfleet without paying for our pizza. I am ashamed to say that, when we realised, we did not go back.

1980 was the year I made my first, solo, visit to Cargreen, to look for Braund relations. I was staying at a bed and breakfast in Saltash, arriving late on a Saturday. There were no buses to Cargreen on the Sunday, so I decided to walk. It was seven miles and I swear that Cornish miles are longer than others. At a time when lone females in pubs were unusual, particularly in rural areas, I bravely went to the pub and asked for any Braunds and was introduced to family members as a result. John and I returned to Cornwall later in the year staying at Carnon Downs campsite near Truro.

In 1981, we went to Guernsey, staying in room 6 at Wyndham's Hotel on Glategny Esplanade in St. Peter Port and visiting strawberry and tomato farms, as well as walking along the coast and talking trips to Herm and Sark. Chris and I returned thirty six years later, spending a week on each of Jersey and Guernsey; this time the Guernsey visit involved family history, searching for John’s ancestors. I kept a proper holiday diary of the latter trip. We much preferred Guernsey, finding Jersey too glossy and ‘grotty yachty’.[5]

Holidays 1982-1993

During our few years in Buckinghamshire, holidays meant returning to the Isle of Wight, staying with friends, or, in 1983, 1984 and 1985, renting a caravan at Fort Caravan Park in Sandown. By 1983, of course, we were a family of three and mum accompanied us all to Truro to stay at Pencowl Guest House. Truro provided another chance to explore some Cornish family history. The main memory of this holiday was the temporary loss of ‘Rescued’, the teddy. We returned to Pencowl in 1985, with a side trip to the Braund reunion. That year, the Braund dinner was arranged in tables of eight. Our table had two spaces and we shared with two other adults, one of whom was vegetarian and another toddler. With two small children and two vacant chairs, there was plenty to eat for the rest of us, as we were provided with the same amount of food as tables with eight adults. We probably didn't leave much!

Other holidays in this era were, in 1984, eleven days in Barnstaple, staying at Midland Caravan Park, again incorporating a Braund reunion. * thought we were going to Bouncing Ball, so we had to buy her one on arrival. We went back to Midland Caravan site in 1991, this time I drove. The most memorable day of this trip was a visit to Bodstone Barton farm park and being followed for the whole visit by Barney the chocolate labrador. To our delight, he was still there when we visited again in 1994.

In 1987, we had a strange holiday in an apartment in Plymouth. There was a lot of noise at night, with people doing drugs deals in the hallway, The upside was that we paid by credit card but the payment was never actioned, so the holiday was free.

Family history conferences have been a feature since 1983. In 1990, we extended the one at Hendra Caravan Park in Newquay, Cornwall into a family holiday. This was my first drive on the mainland. I had *, aged eight, as my navigator. John and * went by train, as I didn’t think I could cope with all four of us aboard and John particularly liked train travel. I was trying to avoid the motorways. We got a bit lost round Exeter and saw Bradninch and Silverton several times but I made it. I only made three mainland trips with the metro and I think it was this one when I flooded the engine by leaving the choke out too long and had to be pushed on the ferry. Our final family holiday was just before John died. This time we stayed in Caistor, Norfolk, again with John and * travelling by train. The highlight of this trip was our visits to Pensthorpe Wildfowl Trust; I returned there with Chris in 2021.

[1] See Clothes Memories for a photograph taken in the circle between the chalets.

[2] See Clothes Memories for a photograph taken in this area.

[3] See Clothes Memories for a photograph taken at Symonds Yat in 1968.

[4] See Memories of Volunteering.

[5] There are memories of the Channel Islands here.