[2004] FAMILY HOLIDAYS   

0082 - Holidays 1943-1947

One of my earlier memories - perhaps in 1946 or possibly even as early as 1943 - is the hotel in Llandudno in Wales where we went to on our first holidays after the war; when I was five or six years old. This hotel was on Llandudno’s West shore, right on the  unpretentious promenade. It was then owned by Prices, the company my father worked for.

It had originally been a convalescent home. Afterwards, for a while, it became a hotel where Prices’ staff were allowed to take their holidays. We took our first holiday there in 1943 – though I am not sure I can remember anything about that – and went there again in 1946. I can't remember much more from then, not even how big it really was for everything as a child seemed huge. But I guess it had 10 to 15 bedrooms. Even so it was a real hotel, and I loved the smell of Brown Windsor soup drifting through its dark passages as the lunch was being prepared. I don’t know why Brown Windsor had so bad a reputation, or why it later disappeared from menus.

I can especially remember going there when it was stormy and the waves were breaking on the beach. The spray was blown right over the promenade. 

Inside it was a wondrous place. Down in the basement they had a games room where you could play table-tennis, or at least as much as I could at that age.  They also ran some simple forms of entertainment. Rather than the now ubiquitous bingo, I can remember beetle drives - rather like playing hangman in groups - that they used to run in order to keep us busy in the evenings. I suspect that later, after the children were put to bed, they had whist-drives for the parents. There was, of course no television in those days to keep guests occupied. 

Llandudno itself was one of the favoured watering places of the gentry of the mill towns in earlier times. As a result the main part of the town, on the East shore, was very much a 19th-century seaside town; with all the gentile entertainments that might suggest. In contrast the West Shore was populated by 1930s villas, without any entertainments at all. As a result it was almost deserted, which made it ideal for swimming in the sea. We always did this when we continued to visit, albeit in later years just  for the day. The East shore was the popular place, though. It had the pier, for example, from where you could take the steamer to Liverpool. Precariously clinging to this there were a few amusement arcades. But nothing was too raucous of course, for alongside the pier - clinging to the side of the Great Orme was the best hotel. In better times it had been to hand ready for the gentry as soon as they had disembarked from the steamer.                        

The main town, was indeed built right up against the Great Orme, a massive rock several hundred feet high which reared up at the end of the penninsula. You could climb up this, to the grass covered top; which was then populated only by sheep and seabirds. Most of the gentility, who made up the majority of the holiday-makers, wandered around the bottom of it where there were attractive public gardens. These contained an open-air theatre where concert parties performed, which we watched – for free - from the hillside above.

I can remember going on the tram in Llandudno for, like many other seaside resorts, it had trams in those days; as, indeed, did the main cities – including Liverpool – where they were then the main form of mass transport.  In particular I can remember a form of tram which was deliciously different. It was called a 'toast-rack', and was a single deck tram which - with wooden seats - was completely open to the elements.  It was great fun to ride on this in the summer. 

Then, when I was seven, we went instead to Rhyl. This was a much more popular, more ‘downmarket’, holiday centre. There we had a chalet, not far from the beach, which we shared with my mother's friend Eileen and her family. It was located on a chalet park, with lots of other chalets surrounding it. These days you would have a static caravan instead.  But the chalet was an interesting building in its own right. Almost jerry-built, out of second-hand timber, it had a had an air of impermanence. The smell of paraffin permeated everything, for all of our food was cooked on paraffin stoves; though it had coal-fired stoves for heating. Eileen, who was quite well off (her husband was a cotton-broker), lost a diamond from her ring in the coal dust and she had everyone sifting through the coal until it was found. 

I spent much of my time there playing in the large grass field which was in the centre of the camp, just outside of our front door.  In particular I remember buying little balsa-wood planes, with a solid main body onto which you tied the flimsy wings by means of elastic bands. You launched them, as gliders, by hand and then chased wildly after them as they fluttered unpredictably around the field. Once, when I was ill, I was given the great treat of being allowed onto one of the horses which were brought there for the adults to ride.

From there every day we went to the beach. This was across the main road and then through the grounds of  a ruined old house. I guess it had been quite big house in the 1930s, but it was now an impressive ruin. Just the other side of it was the beach itself. This was usually quite empty, so we could swim there all day in peace and quiet.

Half a mile or so away, Rhyl itself was full of amusement arcades and all the rowdy fun of the seaside. Along the sea front there was the road on which were located most of the games arcades, full of slot machines. Between this and the shore there were carefully manicured municipal gardens, but no pier. Located amongst these gardens there was a roller skating rink, where I saw the little girl who became my first love.  I guess I must have been just seven at the time.  I thought she was wonderful, roller skating around in a proper skating dress. I used sit and watch her, my heart beating unmercifully, but I never dared to approach her. She was the first of many girls I worshipped from afar, but was always too shy to approach.

Most of it was, though, laid out to formal gardens where you could sit to enjoy the sun. On the other side of these was the beach itself. But we never used this. It was always too crowded.

Nearby, in the town, were the theatres. I remember being taken to one and seeing 'Hutch', who was at the time a famous singer with a rather hoarse voice. His full name was Leslie Hutchinson. I suppose I went to see him as part of a music-hall performance, which still represented the popular entertainment of the time. 

At the other end of the beach was the fairground which had all the rides that you would expect of a fairground at that time. But, in particular, it had a miniature steam train that went round a large lake. For me that was the highlight of a visit to the fairground.  You got on board the steam train and enviously watched the engineer at the controls while it puffed and panted its way round the great circle of track.

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