Sands of Time

Me at The Isle of Man

Whenever we go for a walk on the beach with the dogs, I'm often reminded of my childhood.

The earliest holidays I can remember were spent at a caravan site just outside Blackpool. My mum's parents and brother often joined us; as did friends of mine and my sisters. In the case of Blackpool this usually meant two caravans; with no hot water or toilets and gas lamps. We had to catch a bus into the centre of Blackpool; which we did every day. Most days were spent on the sands with me digging in the sand or pestering the adults for a go on the donkeys.

Sheila(Wendy's friend) me and our kid. (Mum said I'd grow into my cardigan that she'd knitted.)

These were always holidays on the cheap and a ride on a donkey was a "once a week" affair...if we were good.

Blackpool was blessed with at least two Punch and Judy shows and I was always desperate to be allowed to see one. I did manage to see quite a few but I never managed to see the end of a show. My grandad would keep one eye on me and Wendy(my sister) and the other eye on the man collecting money in his hat. As soon as the hat appeared we were dragged back to base to avoid having to pay. Base was always the same. A group of hired deck chairs facing the sea with the remnants of sandcastles scattered around. Gran and grandad wrapped up against the weather watching us; mum fussing over cups of tea from a large flask and dad helping with the sandcastles and rubbing us down with damp sand encrusted towels. Sandwiches were always either potted meat or sandwich spread.

Base Camp on Blackpool beach.
Grandma, grandad and dad with Uncle David our kid and me on the airbed.

Dad must have gained a promotion at work, because we progressed from caravans in Blackpool to chalets on a holiday camp in Douglas, Isle of Man. The Island is my second favourite place I've ever visited; New Zealand being the first. This warrants a posting devoted entirely to my memories of this special island at a later date. The same crowd usually went and I remember my cousins and aunt and uncle joining us from Newcastle one year.

My earliest memories of these holidays were that the policemen wore white helmets, there were lots of motorbikes around and it rained most of the time...but I loved it!

Further promotions at work led to us holidaying "down south" when we stayed in B & Bs in Torquay on at least 2 occasions. Same gang(plus further aunts uncles and cousins), same base camp on the beach and same weather.

Later on we hit the heady heights of holidays at 3 Butlin's holiday camps; which I loved. On one occasion the gang expanded to include a couple of families living on our street and dad hired a coach to take us all there. Butlin's was a great experience with loads of things to do. I suppose that these were my first holidays where a bucket and spade weren't needed.

As we got older our family holidays got a bit posh as we travelled abroad to several of Spain's most popular resorts including Benidorm and Calella. By now beer was my main motivator and sand was something you lay on, plastered with lemon and oil until you turned painfully red.

I could go on, as holidays have always played an important part in my life; but I'll stop there.

As a footnote I'd like to finish with a story of something that happened to me at a very early age, that I have no memory of, that could have put me off sand for life; but gladly it didn't!

When I was born we lived at No 29 Grange Drive in Backley, Manchester. When I was 2 years old me moved to a larger house, not that far away, at No 35 Grange Drive.

As this move was to a house 3 doors away my mum and dad managed to rope in help from neighbours and family.

It took all day but eventually everything, including my dad's precious piano, were home and dry and, of course, mum put the kettle on for a brew.

Sandwiches were eaten and tea drank and, as it was getting dark, people were saying their goodbyes and mum and dad were thanking everyone for their efforts when mum realised something was missing. When I say something it was really a someone....ME!

"Where's our Michael?" House and garden searched and thoughts were turning to searching the fields at the back and the surrounding streets when my dad found me. I was still playing in the sand-pit at No 29 where they'd left me happily digging that morning! Imagine getting away with that today.

So sand has played quite a role in my life at times. People born in Southport are known as "Sandgrounders". I suppose I could class myself as a "Sand-digger".