I remember our holiday to Ibiza, I must have been about
seven. Mum, Zoё and I flew from Gatwick to meet Nana and Taid (our
Grandparents), Aunty Di, Uncle Steve and our cousin, Michael, at a villa that
Nana and Taid had booked for the week. At the airport Mum bought Zoё and me a Walkman
and said we could choose a tape each to listen to. Zoё chose Bros, I chose Five Star. I’m not sure I even knew who Five Star were. When we got to Ibiza there
were push-up ice-creams.
But most of our Summer holidays were spent in North Wales
with Nana and Taid (Taid being Taid and not being Grandad because of their move
from Chester). Mum says it used to rain in the morning and then clear up in the
afternoon and we would dash through the fields next to the house (down the
lane, across one field, through a gate, another field, another gate, a raised
path alongside a graveyard, past the primary school, down the road, past the
shop) to the beach to stay there for as long as we could. I’ve mentioned those Summers, that beach, here before and those stories are often repeated – the
rock pools, the games, the caravan, the old brass bed, the farmer down the
lane... But there is more, always more when I start talking to Mum and Zoё about
it, we fall down a hole filled with 'do you remembers'. We usually start with the drive, those 300 miles from Sussex which would
sometimes be interrupted with a stop in Chester, sometimes not. When it was we
would stay with my Mum’s eldest sister and spend a few days playing with our
cousins, mostly in the barn that belonged to the farm next door. We would build
dens out of hay bales and our cousins would scare me, the baby, with tales of
the farmer and his anger if he found us. We built a crash mat out of a pile of
hay to jump into in case he ever came. I think about this now and realise how
big a jump that must have been.
On the trips where we hadn’t stopped at Chester it felt like
the drive would never end. It was seven hours, three of those along winding
Welsh roads. When we started seeing places we recognised the excitement would
build, first Nefyn with its tiny Spar, then to Morfa Nefyn and the turning for
the lane to the house. Along the lane, past the farm, to
the house where Taid would have been watching out and where he would be waiting
for us with his arms held high. I remember the room we shared with Mum, a room
with a double bed and a little annexe off with single beds for us. It looked out
over the garden and sometimes we would wake up and go downstairs to find Taid
clearing out the fireplace from the night before, sometimes we would wake and
he would be knocking on the bedroom door, bringing Mum a cup of tea and a rich
tea biscuit. The room had green carpet with a pattern of big leaves and we
would leap around the room trying not to land in the ‘water’, we hung off
wardrobe doors, jumping to the bed, making our way round. I remember the small
outhouse attached to the side of the house where there was an outside toilet
that was full of spiders, from the front of the
house we would climb a wall and sit on the outhouse roof to watch what was
happening in the garden without being seen. I remember Taid’s constant
annoyance at Shandy, then Heidi, Nana’s small dogs. I remember the times when more
family arrived (my Mum is one of nine). I remember helping in the kitchen, peeling potatoes or washing dishes. I remember big roast dinners with
puddings which I invariably didn’t want to eat as I didn’t like trifle, apple
pie, crumble, Queen of Puddings and just wanted a bowl of ice-cream or custard. I'm sure I just waited knowing that Mum would pass me the pudding I wanted, as Nana asked if i was sure I didn't just want a little bit and I would shake my head. My great-Aunt, Aunty Hilda, recently said that
she remembered me as a quiet little thing with very big eyes. I remember
finishing dinner and the men staying at the table to drink brandy and smoke
cigars. I remember wanting a glass of milk and having to run through the cigar
smoke haze to the kitchen.
I remember a lot, I hope I always do.
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