Wednesday, 15 January 2014

1994 Cornwall again!

Clara had arrived in April so we thought it would be a good idea to head off to Cornwall again (not too far with a new baby).   We took Jim's mum along as she was widowed and didn't get out much.  We stayed in a family friendly hotel with children's activities.  As they go it was pretty good, but I seem to remember that breakfast was the best meal.  Dinners were geared to "nursery tea" so not really the long, candlelit, gourmet feasts one would wish for in a hotel.

I was suffering from post-baby elasticated waist syndrome...  Baggy T shirts over the waistband helped to disguise the fact that I still looked pregnant.  Ah the joys of the third baby!  Life just suddenly becomes too busy for Kegel exercises.  After George was born I still had this crazy idea that it wouldn't alter my physique being a second time mother.  I was deluded enough to try a cartwheel 12 weeks after he was born.  Oops.  Torn ligaments in the pelvis are interestingly painful, especially coupled with "You did what?  What were you thinking of?!" From the doctor.

Sam had developed the habit of trying to get George to do the things that he would be afraid to do himself.  George was so full of bounce and hero worship that he often didn't notice in time.  He loved Sam with a totally trusting and uncritical devotion.  How sweet.  It was bound to wear off eventually, but not yet a while.

Life gets incredibly more complicated with three children than with two.  Someone once told me it is because you haven't got enough hands to hold them all down at once.  I suspect that is part of it.  I felt terribly odd and even maybe a little bit guilty sitting in the jacuzzi while Jim (who still cannot swim)  watched them in the children's pool.  There were life guards as well so it was OK.  Jim's mum had the baby because she thought she had to sit down a lot with her angina.  Actually,  she would have been better getting a tad more exercise, but there you go.  Hindsight is a wonderful thing.  At the time we were under the impression that her heart had to be rested all the time.  We even took her to the beach and she sat in the car because the sea air was not good for it.

It doesn't always rain in Cornwall, even on our holidays.  We found a lovely sunny beach on the other side of the peninsula.  The beauty of Cornwall is that whatever the weather locally, you can generally find a beach somewhere within 20 minutes drive which is in sunshine.  I think it is something to do with the cliffs, which are up to 200 ft high, the Atlantic/English Channel on one side and the Irish sea on the other and the prevailing south westerly winds blowing in from the Atlantic.  Mixes things up a bit!

On the other hand, you can decamp to a gloriously sunny beach, settle the children, change into the swimsuit and break out the picnic, only to be deluged by a sudden squall which appears out of nowhere.  We used to take a huge plastic sheet and huddle under it until the rain passed.  It had the benefit of clearing the beach of all but the most hardened people - great for surfing just after the shower has passed, before the crowds return.  People have no staying power in my opinion.

A bit of rain never hurt anyone...

Friday, 27 December 2013

A dreadfully wet July 1993 in Cornwall.

Jim was an excellent cook.  He made a good stew, but not often with turkey.  I have no idea what he put in it apart from turkey, but it was very tasty.    My sister was terribly determined to be cheerful on this holiday, despite the fact that it rained and was cold every day.  She only joined us for a week at the start, but as it was so wet, she decided to extend it to the full two weeks on the grounds that it couldn't possibly keep so cold for that long.  It did though! I remember her squelching down to the end of the lane in the mud to the telephone box to call her boss and extend her holiday.  Mobile phones were only available on Star Trek, and the cottage had no phone line of its own.

It seems unbelievable now, but when we married in the mid 1970s, we had no telephone and no television for at least the first year.  Life was very peaceful and slow paced compared to now.  The only interruptions were by letter or visitor!  Jim was quite keen to have a TV, whereas I wasn't so bothered.  One day he came home from work with a small TV and that was that.  Before that we used to mainly listen to the radio...

Carol had just extended her holiday when we saw this weather forecast.  In the 1990s the forecast for a maritime climate like ours was notoriously unreliable, so we watched it and then decided to hope for the best.  Unfortunately it was totally correct.  It really rained every day from then on.  The cottage we stayed in was dank and dismal, so we went out anyway with the boys, and sat on cold windswept beaches and drank lots of hot drinks to keep warm.  The photo below was taken on a cold grey day!  Sam went an interesting shade of  air force blue in low temperatures which used to cause comment from passers by. He didn't have to be that chilly for it to start, but it was quite spectacular!  He was wearing a t shirt, jumper, windproof jacket,  hoodie and a towel, but his lips were still blue!  George is sitting there with his little bare legs out and his hands in the clammy wet sand.  He just looked red and healthy!  The wonderful sandcastle was built by Mummy and Auntie Carol.  (Children are rubbish at building sandcastles).  They did sit in it until the tide came in and washed it away, then we all went home to have a hot bath and soup.

Despite the occasional cold and the lack of proper sun, I still love the English seaside, especially Cornwall.  When the sun shines like it did last year, it is far lovelier than anywhere else in the world, and when it rains it is wild, rugged and more beautiful than any other place on Earth.  I love the fact that walking a few hundred yards will bring you to a stretch of primevally unspoilt beach - hard wet sand running down to a bracingly cold and rough ocean, with not a soul in sight.  Total bliss.  Thankfully however, not everyone agrees with me!

Saturday, 7 December 2013

Cars and money pits.

Back in the day, cars had exhaust pipes which rusted and fell off with monotonous regularity.

We had bought this car secondhand a few weeks before the holiday, thinking it would be just the thing for trouble free travelling. It was a seven seater Montego estate with fold down rear facing seats.  The garage must have seen us coming because it turned out to be a money pit.  We got to know the Britannia rescue call centre people quite well during the three years we had it.  The exhaust was the first in a long line of faults which cost us about £3k.  The wiring caught fire on the way to scouts one evening, the rear tailgate piston broke one afternoon in the supermarket car park, the suspension went, the brakes failed, we had a fuel leak etc etc etc.  Finally we gave in and bought a newer and more reliable car.

Paul loved his cars and was always terribly disappointed when they were broken, as they always seemed to be.  We always seemed to get cars that had been made on Friday afternoons when no one was trying!

Mobile phones were in their infancy and only a few people had them.  The young man who arrived to tow us home had a very low opinion of the phone he was provided with. My sister was in the business at the time and she tried phones as a chat up line. Young men still have low opinions, but phones are generally better.  Carol was unlucky, the chat up didn't work.    She said later he was too young, but I think it was just sour grapes.

George the risk taker, a child with his glass always nearly full, found the whole thing a big exciting adventure.  Sam the worrier, who really took after his dad and had his glass permanently almost empty, worried about the car falling off the back of the tow truck, the fact that he had a lap belt on, the fact that Daddy couldn't do up his seat belt and the possibility that the young man might exceed the speed limit.  I said to George that it wasn't exciting, but actually I did find it rather fun.  It would have been most unwise to admit that to Jim and Sam though, so I kept quiet.

Cornish people are generally very friendly unless they happen to live in a picturesque town and have to put up with dozens of tourists tramping through the town wanting souvenirs.  Londoners feel the same when someone asks the way to the Tower of London for the 47th time when they are just trying to get to work.  I suppose that it is the same in any major tourist centre, although I have to say that Americans pretend to like tourists in a very believable way.  Maybe the American accent  sounds sincere to Brits - I understand that some accents are regarded as more sincere than others, so it might be that.

So anyway, Jim's day got a bit difficult, and he had to complain to the garage where we bought the car, as the exhaust was held together with duct tape and paint when they sold it to us.  I have tried this subsequently and it never works for long.  We got home safely and it didn't snow, for which we should be grateful.  It doesn't snow in July usually, but you never know.

Thursday, 28 November 2013

St Michael's Mount. A toilety day.

This is a day trip we had to St Michael's Mount in Cornwall.  Such a beautiful place to visit, and very interesting.  My sister pointed out afterwards that the young man on the boat to St Michael's Mount was quite handsome and rugged.  Personally I hadn't noticed!  I think I was  busy not dropping the children in the sea!

Sam did his thing again, panicking that one of us would miss the boat, or take too long or something of that nature.  He was such a worry-guts.  George, on the other hand,  seemed to be collecting toilets, or maybe he was affected by the sound of the water, whatever the reason, he needed to go again.  I was meanly making Jim take them to the toilet.  After all they could hardly go in the ladies, could they? (Actually I didn't tell him, but that's where they usually went when he wasn't there).  Consequently Jim was spending more time than he wanted to in the rather sandy and smelly public toilets that seemed to be available at the time in Cornwall.  They are better now thank goodness.

We had a lovely walk around the castle on St Michael's mount - the views are spectacular and - every small boy's dream - there are cannons!

Jim had been to the toilets with the boys and found that they were not terrible.  He had a nice walk and stretched his legs.  He enjoyed the view and altogether he felt the day had been pretty good.

It didn't last.

Children go through many phases as they are growing up.  Working out what presses their adults' buttons is their main aim in life.  As soon as they have worked it out, they press them unmercifully.  Jim always wanted everyone to have a good time, particularly when food was involved.  The boys knew this, so only ever really complained about the food! They didn't do it to me.  I was always a bit of a dustbin, so they knew if they didn't like their food, I would probably eat it, at which stage they would suddenly find it much more appetising.

The causeway we are standing on is only usable at low tide, which is why we had to get on a boat on the way there. In our teens, my sister and I swam from the beach at Marazion to the quayside on St Michael's Mount.  The Cornish sea is not for the fainthearted, being rather chilly even in the height of summer. (After all, it is the Atlantic).  We had a boat as an escort in case we ran out of puff half way, but we made it, despite the strong tide and cold water.

Somehow, looking at it with more adult eyes, we didn't like seeing all the strange creatures and deep dangerous looking rocks which had been underneath us in the water when we swam.  They were always there, but we had pretended they weren't!  In consequence, we both felt quite proud of ourselves, but we never wanted to do it again.

I see Jim is about to have to find another toilet.

Watch out for the next instalment where his life is about to take a bit of a downturn.  (Nothing really serious, for those of you who don't relish cliff hangers with stress!)

Friday, 22 November 2013

The Poldark mine - getting small children out of the house

I don't know about anyone else, but it used to take us ages to get going.  Someone always needed a wee at the last minute when you had just locked up and put their seat belt on properly, or had forgotten some vital piece of equipment George had a stick which had to go everywhere with him - clearly a vital accessory to every outing.  It was invariably unaccountably lost in the garden and like Ratty in Wind in the Willows, he "won't have any other".  In the end we painted it bright red on one of our art days.  He chose the colour and painted it on himself.  At least it was easier to find in the woods.

My sister, being single, had no idea why we took so long and seemed so hopeless and indecisive.  She was very brave about it and only moaned a tiny bit in the privacy of her own bedroom.  Despite her verbal forbearance, I could still hear her thinking!

 I remember Sam being a liability with that fishing net.  He only wanted it with him in the car so he could poke George with it to ease the tedium of the journey.  I put it firmly in the boot - I knew what he was like!

Boxy jackets were in that year I see.  I remember the boys both had little sailor style jackets and blue and white stripey t shirts.  So cute.

Looking at all the moans and groans which I have drawn, despite the fact that we are on holiday, I perhaps ought to explain that we were still in a state of shock after Sam's hospital stay, and although we didn't realise it at the time we were quite low and stressy most of the time.  So was Sam.  He was so keen to pack every experience in and miss nothing.  He was terribly worried that we would be late, or left behind, or miss out in some way.  I suppose now you would call it post traumatic stress, but we didn't notice and just thought we were normal.  We really weren't!

It certainly was a very wet holiday.  Everywhere we went was muddy and as George was still a little unreliable in the toilet department.  We constantly had our eyes peeled for the next facility!

George was totally intrepid in those days.  He still thought he could do anything and would try every activity with total confidence and abandon.  Such a joyful child!

This was the best that we could find in the way of family entertainment in wet weather at the time. It was all outdoors but at least  you could keep your clothes on and get a cup of tea.

George had no notion of steering, but he could sit on the bike and watch people whizzing past and that was enough for him to be ecstatic and want to do it again.

My sister was footloose and fancy free.  Anything in trousers - honestly!


Sam was always keen on the water.  He also had a good sense of things that would hurt if he fell off.  He didn't fall well.  They wouldn't let George on the boats because he was too young. Probably just as well, he wasn't able to swim at that age, and he definitely would have fallen in. Just saying.

The best bit of the visit was the actual mine, in my opinion, but tastes differ and the children preferred the rather insipid fairground style amusements to trekking along in the dark underground.  The mine is still open and is now a part of the Cornish mining world heritage site.  It is also much more visitor friendly.  The horrible amusements have been replaced by interesting children's activities which certainly seemed popular last time I was there.


Saturday, 16 November 2013

A Cornish tale - sunburn and showers

In 1993 we decided that Cornwall would be a great place to return to for our holidays.  I spent two weeks there almost every year from the age of two until I left home at 18, and quite a few times after that with Jim before we had children.  My sister Carol came with us for a week.  Our shared experience as children meant we both loved sea bathing, especially on the north coast where the surf can be amazing and the cold water is - shall we say - 'invigorating'.  Jim was not a swimmer then, and is still not a swimmer, despite my best efforts.

The first problem was that the house was dark and damp and Sam was afraid of the bedroom.  Children take against rooms in my experience.  There's no fathoming it.  I was apparently inclined to scream (as a baby) whenever I was taken into the front room of my parents' first flat.  When they changed the curtains I stopped screaming.  Mum was convinced that the black cartwheels on a red background looked like spiders, but why would a babe in arms be afraid of spiders?  As I said, there's no fathoming it, although they were horrible curtains.

The second problem was that it rained.  Constantly.

The boys were terribly excited.  Especially Sam, who had been too compromised by his health to really take part in any kind of physical holiday much before.  George was always terribly excited so you couldn't really see much difference.

My sister is not a morning person, but as we all know, children are.  She bore it bravely.

Her legs are that interesting shade (no exaggeration in the picture) because she determinedly sunbathed even though she was and is a true blonde with very fair un-tannable skin. Sunburn arose, even though it rained, because it was fitfully sunny and windy the first day.  You can get a really nasty sunburn on a Cornish beach in July even in cloudy weather.  Not sure why. Every year she would lie in a state of undress on the windy beach trying to tan, and every year she "overdid it on the first day" and all the other days, if memory serves.

In those far off times, a tan was the thing, and pale skin regarded as sickly and unhealthy.  Mrs James whose boarding house we stayed in for many years, used to look in horror at my naturally rather pasty father as he arrived after a long and stressful drive.  "Well midears" she would say conspiratorially, "us'll soon 'ave 'n lookin better". (Apologies to any Cornish people if I have remembered this incorrectly). She nodded happily as soon as his cheeks became suitably weathered. Tanning lotions were merely oils to fry in.  SPF was not involved.

My poor mum who blistered in the sun, being if possible even blonder, used to sit on the beach sulking under towels and a giant sombrero wearing full length trousers, shirt and socks.  Even then she got a burned nose from the reflection from the sand.  As children we regularly got quite painful burns from the sun.  I am still waiting to see if I get skin cancer!  I was so much more careful with my kids, big swimsuits, sunblock etc, but my sister was incorrigible.

Jim and I insisted on a cup of tea in bed while the boys rushed around playing "ogres and controls" or "brave knights"  which they were deeply into at the time (hence the swords).

The house was a bungalow so there was nothing for George to fall from, except the bunk bed, so he did that.  Fortunately no harm done.  We needed the bedroom lights on even though it was high summer - light at 4am and properly dark only after 10pm.  The house was surrounded by large trees and dripping wet leaves were the main view  a few feet from any window.

Ah! The joys of an English holiday!

Thursday, 7 November 2013

Tea time and the 3 Amigos

Here are Sam and George having tea.  George was a messy eater and hated the thought of becoming sticky.  I seem to remember thinking that I could wipe skin or put him in the bath more easily than washing a bib!  I also seem to remember that we got him a rather natty bucket shaped bib which was made of plastic and could be washed up like a plate.

Sam had strange tastes in food.  Garlic pitta bread?  For pudding? I suspect Jim was cooking that evening!  After all, he was home early.

By the way that is a plastic tablecloth.  As my mum would say, probably invented by a woman...

We have redecorated the dining room and gone all blue and white.  I still like blue and white all these years later. The carpet is now in the guest room (of a different house to that one) where Sam now lives as he is back from university and has not found a good job yet. Teenagers are a bit like boomerangs.  You think you have got rid of them but they keep coming back.

When the children first saw the Three Amigos it was an instant hit.  They still laugh at the jokes.  We were surprised to find that my friend's family also loved it as children.  Walking home from work together recently my friend and I suddenly found ourselves bursting into song at the same moment.  The song?  You guessed it -  "My little buttercup". I was even more surprised to find that we were in the same key!

The boys could procrastinate for England.  They would do anything rather than what they had been asked to do.  I suppose most things are more fun than putting on your pyjamas.  George was still addicted to "milk-in-a-bottle-and-warm-please"at this stage.  He was about 3 years old in this cartoon. His bones needed food.  He certainly has a fine crop now.

We had lovely new sofas made (we thought) of leather.  They were in fact not leather, but some awful product called rohide which did not take kindly the counsel of the years.  By the time we moved a few years later, they had become torn and rough textured.  I was so disappointed.

I have since found that no sofa takes our life kindly.

Sam was always a bit lippy.  This was a usual rant.

He had a great thirst for getting every possible activity done, maybe because he had experienced not having enough energy to do things when he was younger. He so hated to wait, that we used to hide the fact that we were going on holiday until we were about to leave.  His face when we woke him in the middle of the night to go to the airport was a picture.  It saved endless questions for weeks in advance - "how many more sleeps until we go?"

George went to bed like a lamb having tired himself out like a puppy on a mission. (Oh dear! Too many similes!) He once saw an episode of Sooty and Sweep about safety.  In it Sweep the dog, who could only squeak, got his ear caught in a door through "running around and being silly".  George was horrified and took it greatly to heart.  He was closely interested in the bandage on Sweep's ear and would react very positively if we told him he was running around, or indeed, being silly.  Sadly he was always getting some part or another caught in doors.  Still does.

So by one stair at a time, up to the top of the house; where they went to bed, and so subsided, to quote Dickens. 

And relax.