AND FINALLY
Old holiday memories bring solace
AUGUST is my least-favourite month — because, as a child, I always found something disappointing about the time when the trees look tired and either dusty or dripping. By mid-August I was longing for school and friends. Old Swan public library in Liverpool was my mecca, while my brother made Airfix models and the flat stank of glue and Humbrol paint.
The days dragged with parents both at work, and I can count on one hand the occasions we went away for a ‘proper’ holiday. The Isle of Man was exotic!
As children we lived for days out at the weekend, and even if it was raining the precious time was filled with visits to Blackpool, Southport, Ainsdale, Hoylake, Helsby Hill, Delamere Forest, Rhyl, Llandudno… the wonderlands of Lancashire and Cheshire and North Wales spread out before us and reached by Dad’s old Vauxhall with its front bench-seat.
Salad sandwiches on sliced white bread oozing salad cream, Smith’s crisps with the elusive blue twist of salt, Crawford’s biscuits (Mum worked there), dandelion and burdock, flasks of sweet tea, and, as a very special treat, sausage, peas and chips in a cafe.
When it was sunny we turned scarlet with sunburn and were slathered with calamine lotion. When it rained, my brother and I dug wet sand on Ainsdale beach in macs and wellies.
I know that many of you will be saying ‘Yes!’ — recalling your own ordinary summers doing nothing very much. These things we can share. Of course, you also recall disappointing cold, rainy days, boredom, family squabbles, and so on.
Cherished recollection isn’t the same as sentimental nostalgia which pretends all was perfect. On the other hand, the past is a closely woven mat you can rest on when the going gets tough, whereas the future is full of holes. Memory feels stable.
So I make no apology for realising that the beloved dead are still dear companions. What’s wrong with taking comfort where you can?
Bel answers readers’ questions on emotional and relationship problems each week. Write to Bel Mooney, Daily Mail, 9 Derry Street, london W8 5HY, or email bel.mooney@dailymail.co.uk. Names are changed to protect identities. Bel reads all letters but regrets she cannot enter into personal correspondence.