Do you have any childhood seaside memories ?

We live in Margate, about 5 minutes walk from the beach and also have a beach hut
We love spending the day at our beach hut and you can’t beat a beach walk when it’s bleak and freezing cold.
I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else

Camping........with lots of ex WD equipment........we were quite the talking point on many a campsite.

Oh yes, yes,yes. I grew up in the most beautiful place in the world (prejudiced ofcourse 😂) with the Arabian Sea all around . Picnics on the beach and moonlight strolls were part of growing up. Life was one long seaside holiday. Idyllic. As it is, I don’t live too far from the seaside now, but definitely not the same.

My first holiday at the seaside was in a rented caravan and I was bitten by fleas presumably from the blankets! We counted 99 bites and then I was stung by a wasp, making 100! Not funny.

Yes, my parental Granny used to live in a cottage, one of a terrace, a hop, skip across the road, down some steps to the beach. We used to spend days, with the occasional week with her, just us children. I went fishing with a local man, catching eels and flounders which granny cooked. Cockling with my younger siblings, eaten later, there was a small river into the sea, hours of fun, with food and drink just across the road. I learnt to swim there and remember the mortification years later when my dad swam in his white y fronts.
It’s still there, but very popular now with car parks, a cafe and nearby camping.
I still love the seaside at any time of year.

Paris, your posts are so therapeutic. It's lovely to share memories when (like me) you no longer have anyone to share them with in real life. They are just trapped in your head or on faded photos that only you will ever look at.

As a child we would always holiday in the West Country as we lived near Bristol. So Weymouth or Bournemouth were favourites where we'd stay in rooms usually above a pub which suited dad.

If we couldn't afford a holiday mum would arrange day trips often by coach and we'd go to Porthcawl, Barry or Weston super Mare. Always armed with a picnic and flask of tea. Swing boats, donkey rides and of course the grand old pier at Weston.

Then in 1966 dad won £100 on the premium bonds, which was a fortune, and my parents bought a caravan on a site in Charmouth Dorset. It was the oldest van on the site, probably 1940's, with gas lighting and lovely wood panelling.

The site didn't have a club house or anything other than a shower block and a small shop selling essentials including sweets and ice cream!

I would spend my days playing with children from other caravans down by the River Char or wandering up Golden Cap. I made a lot of friends to whom I wrote for many years. I still think of one girl in particular from Birmingham. Her mum was French, which was quite exotic back then. Rosemary Jones are you reading?

We went to the caravan at every opportunity, Easter, summer, weekends but after 4 seasons the site owners said we must buy one of their new vans. We couldn't afford it so that was the end of that. The poor old van was probably scrapped.

After that we holidayed at Three Cliffs Bay on the Gower where a colleague of dad's owned a chalet and we got it cheaply. By then I had my beloved dog with whom I'd wander the gorse covered cliffs or the beach.

I remember a very old couple in the next door chalet who had retired there from the Valleys. He was an ex coal miner and they really were the salt of the earth. His name, I will never forget, was Archie Bottle.

One day he lit a bonfire and a strong wind whipped up. It scorched his garden to a cinder and nearly burnt his and our chalet down. He stood there with a blackened face poor old man. Dad did what he could to help but thereafter he would sing the "poor old Archie Bottle" song that made me giggle no end. Weren't we wicked!

Paddling in perishing cold sea, losing site of where mum and dad were sitting on the beach, panic!🙀

This was then followed by a shivering me being given an “exfoliating” rub down with a sandy beach towel and told to “toughen up”
Possibly a meat past sandwich (sometimes) with added sand
and a nice cup of tea from a flask. Happy days😆

Grandmabatty

Scarborough in the late 60s. We had always holidayed closer to home ie Scotland. We stayed in a b and b for the first time. The weather was hot and sunny and we were on the beach most days. The lovely park was a favourite too (forgotten the name) I think there was a boating pond. It was glorious spending time in the sunshine and running into the sea. A haar came down which we ignored and we ended up sunburnt. We played at cricket outside the b and b which was exotic to us scots. We loved it so much, we went back the following year.

It was Peasholm park they had little boats you could take out on the lake and staged a " battle at sea " with canons etc. on the lake once a week .

FloraDora I had forgotten the sea battles! It was great fun.

North Wales, Bournemouth, Blackpool and Cornwall! 🙂
My first holiday was in Blackpool when I was a few weeks old.
There were donkeys on the beach at Blackpool.

I remember one year we went to Colwyn Bay and there was a shoal of jellyfish so we weren't allowed to go in the sea.

One year we went to Cornwall to stay in a caravan; unfortunately the site had only just been set up and the caravans were old but renovated. The paint was still wet in ours when we arrived!
The caravans often had gas lamps in those days.

Sometimes we stayed in boarding houses.
If we went to Cornwall we went by train, changing in London and the taxi driver used to stop at Buckingham Palace so we could watch the Changing of the Guard.

Sunday school trips were to Alton Towers way before it became a theme park.

We stayed for 6-7 consecutive years in a little bungalow on top of the cliff at Scratby, which I think is in Norfolk. We were allowed one day (usually when it rained) in Gt Yarmouth when we played in the penny arcade ate fish and chips and went on some funfair rides. When I was about 6, my parents let me go on the roller coaster, thinking it would put me off for life. They were shocked when I asked to go again! (Wild horses wouldn't get me on one these days!)

Some mornings I would climb down the cliff from our cottage before everyone was up and walk along the deserted beach. I was about 7. Total panic when they all got up and found me gone. I can imagine my 5-year-old grandson doing that - wandering along a deserted beach with the sound of the sea, totally absorbed in his thoughts.

There were of course, wet cold cotton swimsuits, sand sticking to everything, slimy seaweed underfoot all over the place, oily Nivea LPF zero suncream, hard uncomfortable plastic sandals with buckles, sticky orange squash, fish paste sandwiches, jelly fish and rainy days. But that didn't seem to bother us.

My parents often often invited friends and relatives along with us so sometimes there were other children to play with. My parents were very sporty and would always play badminton or other ball games, although I remember my mother mainly in the primitive kitchen making sandwiches and dinners which we must have devoured after a day at the beach.

Primrose valley ,Filey. We would spend all day on the sands playing cricket with my Grandad. I still have a picture of him with rolled up trousers and a fag in his mouth.

There were of course, wet cold cotton swimsuits

Knitted swimsuits 😁

What a lovely thread ..... I am really enjoying all these seaside memories!

I can recall family expeditions travelling on steam trains to Southport where the tide never seemed to come in.

Unfortunately family outings were often spoiled for me by my mother having one of her "wobblers" (panic attacks) if the least thing went wrong. Inevitably these were my "fault" for arguing with my younger sister. The day was spent treading on eggshells and I was lucky if I got to the end of it without a slap from my father.

For many years we spent a week in the summer in a white bungalow in Hayling Island. My paternal grandparents would come for some of the time. It never rained back in the 50s and 60s and we spent all day on the beach - except when we went to Portsmouth for the day. Then, when I was 10 we stayed in a hotel in Llandudno! My younger sister was allowed to ring the dinner gong. My parents went abroad to places like Majorca but my brother, sister and I stayed with relatives. I remember my father going on a cruise to the Canary Islands on his own, to recuperate from jaundice. But was he on his own, I ask myself!? He had a mistress for most of his married life.

We occasionally went to New Brighton on the Wirral for a day out I was always travel sick. Sunday school trip to Southport again travel sick I didn’t like fairgrounds. I hated them in fact apart from the rock and candy floss treats.
I wouldn’t say they were happy memories I preferred staying at home being surrounded by fields and farmland at the time.

Another memory I'd almost forgotten is day trips to Scarborough with my grandad. He would park his car on the marine drive in Scarborough and make hot drinks and bacon or tomato sausage sandwiches on a primus stove he'd set up in the car boot. When the tide went out he'd take me to play in the rock pools.

My mother always made the same sandwiches on holiday: primula cheese, tomato and sand. They were always gritty.

We went to Morecambe for a whole week and stayed with Mum's aunt. We went by train the whole 20miles! That fact escaped me and I thought we were travelling half way across the world to this exotic paradise of chip shops and candy floss.
Mum knitted us each a new swimsuit every year, bless her.

Oh Salti, that brought back some memories. My dad was very fond of Exmoor. Lorna Doon was one of his favourite books. We used to go there for day trips and he or mum would cook something on the primus.

I remember the big end (whatever that is) went on our car as we were descending Porlock Hill on one occasion. Fortunately my dad and brother were good mechanics.

Yes, lovely S coast seaside holidays, going by train in earlier years. Parents used to rent a house near the beach and usually an aunt and at least one granny would also come - at least partly to help with the costs, I suspect - money was always tight.

One such house at Littlehampton when I was quite small was called Winker’s Cot - immediately re-named by my father as Widdler’s Pot - entirely typical of him!

We usually had a beach hut for all the paraphernalia, and for one of those mini stove things, for a hot cup of tea after a chilly swim.

We would always be at the ‘quiet’ end of the beach, well away from the pier, if there was one - so I was very grateful to the granny who enjoyed some bright lights and raucous fun as much as I did, and would take me to the pier.

Once I was in early teens the seaside holidays stopped - my folks’ idea of a good holiday was driving around Scotland. I was constantly exhorted to get my nose out of that dreadful comic and look at the beautiful scenery! At that age I gave not a toss about scenery - I wanted some fun and action.
I still won’t consider any holiday that largely consists of driving around anywhere - was put off for life.

I lived within about 5miles of the sea as a child and miss it now in my landlocked (though stunningly beautiful) area.

As a child my brother and I used to go every summer to Lympstone, a small fishing village in Devon where my grandmother lived. We had extraordinary freedom there - we would set off to the tiny station on our own and catch the train to Exmouth, where we went swimming in the pool, riding on hired tricycles round the playpark (which had small roads and traffic signs and zebra crossings laid out), going on the boating pool and fishing off the pier with a crude string wound round a little wooden frame - we never caught anything! We would have been about 7 and 9 - imagine children having that level of freedom today.

I used to go with my step grandfather to the water's edge in the village and we would collect muscles, and he would drop them in boiling water and pickle them with vinegar.

This is my poem about those memories - who remembers the News Chronicle and Lobby Ludd, and the Robin and Eagle comics' children's games and competitions on the beach?

Sand creeps up my bottom,
My cheeks grating together as I bustle down the beach.
Sand creeps into the sandwiches,
My teeth grating on the grains as I eat.
The wool of my costume sags penguin-like to my knees
Laden with salt water.
The sharp metal spade stabs my toes.
The sharp shells cut my feet.
Don’t be such a baby, my mother says
As I whine my way across the shingle.
The donkeys are warm, their carpet bristles stiff under my bare brown knees,
Their steaming turds like flying saucers in the sand.
Punch hits Judy with his truncheon.
And little Robins and Eagles cluster in their corales.
And Dad reads his News Chronicle, scanning the horizon for Lobby Ludd.
Harassed fathers with curious drooping packets in their knitted trunks
Fight with deckchairs
And wind breaks,
And women in ruched costumes wring out trunks,
Towel children, rub scraped knees,
Issue warnings, and long for the comfort of home.
The sandcastles vanish, and the tunnels collapse.
But the carousel is turning, and the horses are dancing.
And there is music.

Lucky to live in part of the East Midlands, near a beach that was not on the usual tourist hit list. Cycling 20 mins took us to this ideal place, rock pools, sand dunes, sandwich spread butties to eat, pop in little bottles,, air raid shelter to explore. Now a haven for visiting migration of birds, it is still beautiful.

My early secondary school years (circa early 50's) my Mum & Dad would rent a place in Jaywickfor four weeks,. None of these rentals then had indoor plumbing, Loos were chemical at bottom off small yard and spider ridden, water for washing etc hand to be collected from standpipe on corner of each road.
As my Dad could only afford to take one week off work, he would return to London. One of my cousins, same age as me was taken each year and I could choose a friend from school to come with us, so I had company.

We had a wonderful time, beach was minutes away, the sun always shone (in my memory). We were supposed to help my Mum (collect water etc.), but often did not It could not have been a good time for her, the only adult entertainment was at the local social club - and my Mum never there as she disapproved of women going into anything like a pub and did not drink herself. Evenings were spent playing board games -again she rarely joined us, but did do a lot of knitting.

My "holiday place" was rural Wales, just a few hundred yards from the beach. I went on holiday there first as a baby and have photos of my "first steps" there.

Subsequently my parents bought a hand-made caravan in a farmer's field and we went there every school holiday thereafter - sometimes just me and mum or me and a friend and their mum, and later as young adults just me and a friend.

I worked every summer from about aged 13 in the local restaurant in the evenings.
Eventually I was paid 41p an hour but there were plenty of tips.
Even then it wasn't a lot but it was enough for eggs, milk etc and of course Mum and/or Dad would arrive for a few days with provisions from home.

It was the same for quite a "gang" of us young people - many families bought old cottages there as all the work had moved into the towns. I think it would be different now and quite rightly these properties would be bought by locals (fingers crossed).
We were very friendly with local youth and many of us exchanged letters and had holiday romances from year to year.

When we were in our teens we sometimes visited friends from the summer for a few days... Liverpool, Shropshire, Manchester, Cheshire - and of course in our lovely Welsh holiday area.

Happy days.

My friends from those long summer holidays still pop into my thoughts now and again. We lived there for a few months with our own first-born before we moved to America and holidayed there on our return. My parents retired to a cottage there and subsequently died there.

Very dear to my heart.