Holidays nostalgia during Covid restrictions
It’s easy to get nostalgic about going on holidays when you can’t go away. I watch the Covid news and sigh. At the moment in the UK we have a traffic light system showing which countries are considered safe for travellers but none of them are where I’d like to go. Actually, I wouldn’t go anywhere this year but I will plan something for next year.
My mother was a great one for planning holidays and I have years of holiday memories to make me smile. Some of them are a long time ago. When I was a child in the 1950s most people I knew didn’t expect to go very far. You could book a coach trip for a day at the seaside and a whole week in a boarding house at the coast was a real treat.
I’m the lucky kid in the middle in possession of the bubbles. I look to be about five or six years old and, although I can’t remember exactly, it may have been our first holiday away from home – all the way from West Yorkshire to Morecambe!
When I was a little older we ventured further and in Cornwall I learned to swim. No chance to swim in the picture below on a day trip to Blackpool.
Saving for the yearly holiday
The annual summer holiday came during what was called the Feast Weeks – the last week in July and the first in August when all the mills and factories used to shut up shop. Coaches and trains were full of Keighley folk setting off for the much longed-for break from work for which they’d saved the whole year. But my mother, bless her, had got the travel bug and wanted to see other countries.
Each winter she took me to see travel films in the co-op hall. She pronounced it ‘kworpall’ as if it was all one word. That darkened room up the stairs in a building somewhere along Hanover Street is where I caught the bug myself.
Yes folks, that’s what the streets and cars looked like when I was a girl. The dairy chimney and all those old buildings are long gone but I’ll never forget the fascinating films of far-flung places I saw in the ‘Kworpall’.
Holidays to plan for
Our first holiday abroad was to Belgium. I think it would have been all my mother could afford. We booked through Althams, a local travel agent and I remember her feeling proud that we were flying for the first time.
The coach took us to Lydd (Ferryfield) airport in Kent for our short flight to Ostend. This is the kind of aircraft we flew on. I thought it was enormous and wondered how it would ever get into the air. The cabin windows were tiny portholes and the seats were leather with a damp smell. The ride was cramped and uncomfortable and it put my mother off flying for the next 25 years. Watch the video – it’s only a minute long. You might have to turn up the volume. This old film will make you laugh but it makes me realise how brave and forward thinking my late mother was. This first flight to Ostend was the beginning of many more foreign holidays – but all by train.
I bet she worried about the flight home but you wouldn’t think so in this photo from an excursion to a beer cellar.
For our souvenirs that year we bought tiny Delft ceramic clogs and clockwork dancing dolls in national costume.
Viva España
The following winter back we went to the ‘Kworpall’ to see more films of enticing holiday destinations. My mother researched at the library and went to the travel agents to find ways to travel avoiding flying. In the meantime, we had staycations in Cornwall and Wales.
In June, 1960 the UK government signed a treaty with Spain to abolish the visa requirement and the very next summer I was twelve years old when my mother first took me to Spain.
The overnight train through France was exciting and my first experience of Spain was mesmerising. Civil guards were everywhere watching everything. Bikinis were banned. Public displays of affection were not allowed. Mum and I saw young Spanish couples walking together, not touching, chaperoned by two elder females following close behind.
I loved the small fishing villages with their ancient streets and buildings with balconies. I loved the mountains and the sea. And the music. Oh, the music. On a special excursion we saw the celebrated flamenco dancer Carmen Amaya. It must have been one of her last tours as she was already ill. The passion in the music and dance enthralled me. Flamenco guitars tugged at my young heart as the floorboards vibrated under her feet. Next day my mother bought me a pair of castanets and I remember the hotel staff encouraging me to learn. (I still have those castanets but my fingers are not so flexible now)
How memories get into fiction
I feel privileged to have seen the ‘old’ Spain. Unfortunately I don’t have any photographs of my teenage holidays abroad. Mother had developed an interest in photography and bought a good camera so she could have her pictures developed as slides. I don’t have any of them but I have so many vivid memories I could write a whole book.
My memories of people and places do sometimes find their way into my fiction. In Patterns of Our Lives, I first used my childhood home town as the setting and called it Kingsley. You can click on the link to read a sample.
In my most recent novel, A Measured Man, I’ve used places I know well here in Norfolk.
I hope you’ve enjoyed this short read. I enjoyed re-living holidays past. Please visit my author page on Amazon and use the ‘Look inside’ feature to read samples of all my work. I love to hear from my readers.
