3251

After a year without a holiday in 1977.

Oh, wait a minute, in 77, in the spirit of punk rock, I went to Holland on a school exchange trip.

Katwijk had just been made a twin town with Lowestoft, so we would be the pioneers of the new found friendship between these two seaside towns and fishing ports.

We went by coach, back down to Harwich, and on the ferry to Ostend, then up the coast into Holland.

I can remember very little of that trip, but one bright summer night, going to a small funfair set up outside the row of houses where my hosts lived. Going over and hearing Boney M blasting out as the waltzers waltzed and dodgems dodged, lists flashed and the music blared out. It all seemed so exotic.

As did the food. Lots of soup, roast chicks, not chicken, but chicks I passed on those even at 11 years of age. And sprinkles. Imagine, cake decoration as a sandwich filling. Lovely. I still like a good sprinkle sandwich.

We went to Amsterdam where I was left cold at the Rijksmuseum, though the Night Watch was impressive, if for its size if nothing else. We did the canal tour on a boat, when to the flower exchange, saw the cheese carriers and went to the top of the Euromast in Rotterdam, and then onto Madurodam model village where we wandered around stunned at the model railways. Or I did.

And we did the bulbfields and gardens at Keukenhof, where to my teacher's disgust I took 24 shots of the various flowers and landscapes. Which came out fine even on 126 film.

We were not learning Dutch in school, nor did we ever. I learnt very little Dutch on the trip, just amazement at the flat landscapes and blocks of colour of the bulbfields. I liked Holland, and still do.

As an aside, many years later, Katwijk ditched Lowestoft as a twin toen, as it was said my hometown was too boring. The cheek of it.

In 1978, the family went back to Scotland. By rail. By sleeper.

This time we went with Dad's Mum, Nannie, and I was to share a berth in the sleeper then a room in the hotel in Oban.

I again stayed awake all night as the train wound its way up through England, stopping an hour at Crewe to load up with mail bags, causing much banging and crashing.

Once in Glasgow, we walked to Queen Street to catch the train north, passing a drunk asleep in a doorway. I was told not to look

We caught the train to Oban, passing through the suburbs then out along the Clyde Valley, arriving in Oban just after lunch.

Oban was a fishing town, probably still is. We would go down to the pier every evening to see the boats haul their catch up, prawns and lobsters still alive. I didn't like then then, but they looked wonderful.

We stayed at a small hotel on a hill, I shared a huge room with Nannie while my parents had a tiny room at the back. Still, got to laugh. Not sure what we did most days to be honest, I know we caught a small boast over to Mull and visited the castle there, and Mum managed to rip her knee open slipping on the stone jetty and having to go to hospital once back in Oban. I was unaware as I was busy looking at the landscape, the jellyfish in the water, boats in the distance. As I always have done.

One evening we were having pre-dinner drinks in the hotel bar, when a highland band marched by, with a banner saying ther was a highland games nearby. We downed our drinks and followed the band to a sports field where we watched caber-tossing, highland dancing and the other things they do. We thought it wonderful, all on a warm summer night were midges feasted on plump English flesh.

Next year Goldenrail sent us to Aberystwyth. This is on the coast in mid-Wales, and its a long trip from Oulton Broad I can tell you.

This holiday was best remembered for two things: rain and the dreadful hotel.

Back in the 79s, customer service was an alien concept, when you would be kicked out of the hotel for eight hours, and have to find something to do. Worse was the weather, it rained almost the whole week, to the extent when we went on a bus trip to Caernarfon, where flood water climbed up the stairs of the buss as the driver steered us through flood waters.

At one point the driver said, on a clear day you can see Snowdon from here. He said the same about many things that trip, none of which we saw. And our time in the town was spent dashing from cafe to restaurant until it was time to catch the bus back.

The one fine day we had, we caught the train u the Cardigan coast to Pwllheli. It was a long trip by DMU, along a single track, over wooden brisges to a town that was mostly a Butlins holiday camp.

Can't remember much about the day, but best of all on the journey back, we bagged the front seats in the first class cabin, so could look out the front window as the train wound its way back south. Best train trip ever.

Back in Aberystwyth, the only other thing to really do was walk up Constitution Hill, or in our case, catch the hill railway up, and walk back down. We got wet.

And each night we looked at the slop the hotel served us, and we would go to the chippy two doors down. They did a roaring trade that year.

That my last holiday as a child. As next year I was Kevin the Teenager, and had fallen in love. And was in a moody state that can only be caused by unrequited love.