Do you have any childhood seaside memories ?

Growing up in the Midlands - literally the furthest place from the sea, I have memories that are treasures beyond measure of family holidays to Cornwall.

My parents didn't have much, but were hard working and saved up every year to take us for a caravan holiday to St.Minver.

We used to go to the beach every day, have lovely picnics and went to the holiday park clubhouse in the evenings or stayed in the caravan playing board games.

Simpler times, happy memories and I must go back to Cornwall sometime to see it now.

We often went to a caravan site near Conwy. Dad on the train with the dog and us 3 girls with mom on the coach. One year the wind was that bad that some peoples tents blew away. The caravans were tethered by steel wires. Us two eldest girls went out all day "up the mountain" . It was quite remote and noone worried about us, such a wonderful change from living in a town.

Growing up in Liverpool the seaside all had a promenade.
Ferry to New Brighton Train to West Kirby. Summer holidays in Morecambe
Countryside of North Wales
When I was about ten we visited my aunty in Plymouth
I can remember standing on a beach with the country behind and being absolutely amazed.
I can still picture in my mind where it was. Well maybe

We went on a seaside holiday every year either in a caravan or,(when dad got a better paying job), a chalet.

Holidays meant a new cardigan for best and last years now outgrown cardigan for the beach. I also got a new plastic mac (just in case). We had a windbreak for Mam and only two folding chairs. Children sat on the sand not in chairs.

I'm amazed when I think how much freedom children had. I used to wander all over on the beach. Dad would point out something that was near where they were and I'd use that as a guide to find my way back. Sometimes it was harder to find them than others. Mam and Dad sat reading papers and books. I don't think it crossed their minds to play with me although Dad did take me rock pooling (he liked winkles). I was an only child.

When I was little (3 or 4) we went to Thornwick Bay. Caravans didn't have bathrooms so we had to go to the toilet block. My older sister (7/8) went with me and I somehow managed to trap myself in the toilet. I couldn't undo the bolt. I was hysterical and a lady on the other side of the door was so nice. My sister ran to get my mam. She arrived to find half a dozen ladies trying to help me to open the door. Mam snapped my name and told me to shut up. I shut up instantly and eventually they got me out. Then Mam told me off for causing a fuss.

I also suffered from sun burn because it was pre-factor days.

But my worst incident was somehow walking into some fly papers and getting them (along with a million flies) stuck in my hair.

We never knew if we'd be able to stay the full holiday because Dad had to phone the office every morning at 9am and there was always a possibility that we'd have to go home so that he could go to work.

That said, holidays were amazing and wonderful. We counted the days to them and loved every minute. Sand, sea, ice cream and trips to places we'd never been.

Oh yes I forgot, family holidays to Ingoldmells, Skeggie. What fun we had, no expectations other than what we got.

Oh yes! Walking to Hawthorn Hive beach with my dad and our dog on a lovely warm sunny sunday afternoon. Taking a little picnic. Building a fire on the beach. Eating our crisps, chocolate and drinking the pop with my lovely dad. The dog loved to swim in the sea and he would be exhausted when we finally got home. Mam would have the kettle on and we sometimes had jam roly poly with custard or some rice pudding. Sadly dad died when I was 19 years old but i will always have those special memories.

I was horse mad and fondly remember donkey rides on the beach in blackpool when we did a day trip there. Then one year we took a cottage in Cornwall when I was 11 and Dad hired a pony for me which I took over some little jumps in the field. On one it threw back it's head and hit me on the face causing damage.. I had to have plastic surgery when I returned home. It didn't put me off riding though.. and I got my own pony at aged 14..

We went to various seaside towns on holiday, but my favourite was Scarborough. Up and down in the cliff lift, I think the fare was 3d return. Lunch in the Peasholm Pantry, my youngest sister would only order egg and chips.
Sunday School trips went to Seaburn, Whitely Bay or Morecambe.
I remember one trip to Whitley Bay. We sat on the coach and watch the lightning flashing over the sea, and torrential rain pouring down in the car park. We got off the coach and went to the swimming pool, none of us swam, we just sat in the gallery and watched the swimmers. It was the worst day trip ever!

I was born beside the sea in the North West and always thought there were mountains on the other side like we had.
We went to Blackpool with family and unfortunately so had half of Cumbria it was "Stop Fortnight```',at the pit. My father vowed never to go back as he did not work at the mines and every other person we passed we seemed to know.
The Next venture was to Butlins at Ayr in Scotland my mother cried for two days she said it was like a concentration camp and she did not like joining all the activities. I was left in a chalet with cousins whilst our parents went out dancing and we had a big fight which was announced over the tannoy in the ballroom by the babysitting patrol, so of course we all got a smack.
My father gave up on extended family holidays and we used to go to Oostende in Belgium my memory is of eating chips with mayonnaise, not fish and the Belgian and Dutch beaches..

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

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.

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

There were of course, wet cold cotton swimsuits

Knitted swimsuits 😁

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.

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.

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.