Holiday romance! We met at Club 18-30 and we’re still married 45 years on!
Club 18-30 holidays have a saucy reputation for sun, sea and (shhh)… sex! But, when Hilary Sugden went on a package deal in the 70s, she found true love
It was 1973. I was 18. My bikini was packed and I must have checked my passport was in my handbag at least 20 times. After months of saving my wages from the bank where I worked, along with my friends, Jenny and Barbara, I was planning my first holiday aboard – without my parents!
Booked by the travel agent near my home in Lancaster, the Club 18-30 package to Majorca cost £40 (about £500 in today’s money). We were promised a young person’s paradise… day trips, barbecues, parties on the beach…
Strolling across the tarmac at Palma Airport, a wave of heat hit us. And a handsome, tall, tanned man greeted us.
‘I’m John – John Bond,’ the Club 18-30 rep introduced himself in a strong Canadian accent. ‘I’m here to make sure you have fun in the sun.’
How cheesy… but he was good-looking!
From day one, the trip was better than we could have dreamed of. We spent our days visiting local sights and playing games on the beach, and we sampled the local nightlife after dark.
All we did was laugh and giggle. And John, 22, was always there…
‘John’s good fun, isn’t he?’ I mentioned to Jenny and Barbara. They looked at each other and laughed.
About halfway through the first week, we were enjoying a barbecue on the beach. The local Cuba Libres – or Bacardi and coke – were flowing, perhaps a little too freely…
I started to feel quite light headed, and Jenny ran off to get me some water. Suddenly, John was at my side.
‘Think you’ve had a few too many of these,’ he said calmly, picking up my glass. ‘It happens…’
Next morning, I had a horrid hangover, and then I remembered the night before. ‘ What will John think?’ I mumbled into the pillow. In fact, Canadian John, with his gentle manner and handsome smile, was in my thoughts quite a lot…
I’d dated a bit at home but there was nobody special waiting for me. And, the next night, John played some songs by the sea on his guitar, by one of my favourite musicians at the time, Gordon Lightfoot.
As I watched him singing and strumming away, I couldn’t deny that flutter of attraction. Yes, there was no pretending I rather liked him.
And I wondered if it was mutual. John always made a beeline for me. One night,
after dinner, he suggested we popped to a bar. ‘Just the two of us,’ he smiled, shyly.
The next day, we slipped away to his balcony for a cold beer, and he serenaded me with his guitar.
Jenny and Barbara started to tease me. ‘The love birds,’ they dubbed us.
But there was no denying it. It might have been the sun, the sand, the Cuba Libres, but I was in love.
‘Be my girlfriend,’ John whispered into my ear one night, as we stood on the beach, listening to the waves crash on the shore and sharing a kiss. ‘Thought you’d never ask!’ I grinned, slipping my tanned arms around his neck. When the holiday came to an end after two weeks, saying goodbye was hard. ‘Come back and work here,’ John suggested. Back home in rainy Lancaster, I had to go back to my job in the accounts department at the bank. Oh, how I longed for the sunshine, the smell of sun lotion and, yes, my John.
And so, I got up the courage to tell my dad I wanted to go out and work in Majorca for the summer.
‘It all sounds very unusual…’ my father muttered. However, he reluctantly agreed to the plan, after I explained the bank were prepared to take me back in September.
Before I knew it, I was back on the tarmac in Palma, and in John’s arms.
We had the summer of our lives – working hard, playing hard, and exploring the island on our days off.
As our golden time together on the island drew to an end, I struggled to think how I would go back to ‘normal’ life. The idea of waving John off to Canada hurt, too.
‘If only you lived in England,’ I moaned.
That final goodbye was really painful.
Moping around at home, going to work in the cold and rain every day, instead of enjoying the sunny beaches and sunsets of Majorca with John, my beloved John.
Was it just a holiday romance? But it had felt so real. Every time Gordon Lightfoot’s songs came on the radio, tears slid down my miserable face. I lived for John’s phone calls. I wondered if his calls would trail off, but they didn’t. And, when we spoke, the 6,000 miles between us disappeared.
After four weeks, he had a big question for me. ‘Marry me?’ he asked. ‘I can’t live my life without you.’
‘I feel the same,’ I agreed. And that was that. John moved from Canada to the UK to start a new life with me.
We were married the following February. And, that summer, we went back to Majorca as Mr and Mrs Bond, Club 18-30 holiday reps.
We’ve been together ever since, and we’ve always shared a passion for travelling. In fact, John became a travel agent! I worked with him for a while, before going on to teach tourism and travel.
We have two wonderful grown-up children – John, 41, and Julie, 40. Earlier this year, we celebrated our 45th wedding anniversary.
The children laugh about the way we met. But I know. deep down, they find it sweet. They’re for ever telling our holiday romance story to anyone who’ll listen.
‘After four weeks, John had a big question for me. “Will you marry me?”’