MEMORIES
In what could well be a bumper year for caravan and camping holidays in the UK, Marion recalls the rough and ready caravan sites of former times.
DEAR Friends, as our beloved Queen said a while back when, in her usual discreet way, she commented on recent events, “recollections may vary” … and after four days in a caravan at Poole with my son and Number Three grandson Robs, a man of 30 who “dances to his own music”, I must agree.
Our modern caravan with all its amenities naturally took me back to my first caravan holiday in 1952 with my Mum and Dad and family.
Our ‘amenities’ consisted of a cold water tap and a Calor gas hob. No flush toilet – indeed no toilet at all – and if we wanted a shower, we went to the shower block with our towel over our arm and a bar of soap.
It was as well to have a caravan away from the toilets since round about breakfast time the ‘cart,’ known locally as the ‘jam cart,’ came to empty the chemical toilets!
Robs recoiled in horror until I reminded him that he once slept on a beach in Portugal with no mod cons. Well, probably more than once!
Nevertheless we loved it. We had our own beach, naturally shared with other caravanners. The men went fishing and caught loads of lovely mackerel which we cooked for tea, or there was locally caught cod and chips, plenty of cockles and mussels and the local pub.
Caravan sites were very low key; not only no loos but no organised entertainment.
However, first things first; we had to buy and send our postcards to relatives not with us, just to assure them we had survived our hazardous journey from Bristol to Weymouth.
There were usually a few people in front of the card stands having a good laugh. We could choose from views over the harbour or from the plentiful supply of ‘comic’ cartoon postcards, usually depicting a man called Willy or a lady with huge breasts.
Of course, I naturally chose the views!
The generated mail from all these holidays must have been a bonanza for the Post Office.
Then some time during the week we would visit a trinket shop to purchase the expected souvenirs which we would bestow on our poor families to their delight – hopefully!
In turn, we would receive souvenirs
from their holidays.
Years later, when George and I went to Newquay with our own family, there used to be a ‘craft’ shop on the corner of Trenance Road which my dear daughter Julie loved, and which she insisted on visiting every day.
One day she came back with two little vases called ‘Rings and Things’ that I still have to this day and treasure.
Much as we enjoyed our holidays, George suggested one year we have a change and book a ‘chalet’ in Hayling island, an area he knew well since his dad, a Royal Marine, had been based both in Portsmouth and Plymouth.
Mum was very much of a mind not to change, but George thankfully persuaded her – thankfully because when George went to get the paper one day during our holiday the pictures on the front of the newspaper showed a sight of devastation in our Weymouth caravan park, with caravanners being rescued in the middle of the night and caravans blown away.
From then on until my Dad died in 1957, Hayling Island it was, and every year we took out membership with the Yacht Club. That’s where Mum and I had our first Pimm’s, which I recall consisted mostly of cucumber.
When George and I had our own little ones, naturally we became caravanners again. And recollections may vary. As I said to Robs, we were never well-off in those days, but my son looked at me in amazement and said “Mum, we were very well off! I was the very first in my class to go on a foreign holiday. We went to Lloret del Mar!”
I guess we were both right, though we must have saved very hard!
All for now, God bless, take care. Love, Marion. Email: webbm373@ gmail.com