Holidays abroad

It was 1965, the summer that I'd just finished junior school when we went to Malta where my paternal grandfather hailed from, although he'd been living in Wimbledon since just after the first WW when my grand parents married. I do remember my granddad's foreign accent overlaid with London vowels.

We went ostensibly to see extended family but also for a holiday. I spent a lot of time with a second cousin who was roughly the same age as me. I remember their house in Sliema, because like many of the houses there it had a flat roof, sometimes in the summer when it was red hot, as it was in August I think we went for the whole month, she and her siblings would sleep up on the roof, I was allowed to join them one night, although we weren't actually staying with them, but we were nearby. I think it was a bit of a backwater island at that time, now there are umpteen articles about it as a place to go, quite a few films have been shot there such as Gladiator. It has quite an amazing history being at the crossroads of the Mediterranean, I was dragged round a lot of places of historic interest by my parents, some I found boring as you do at 11, I'm sure I wouldn't now. One memory, apart from the vivid blue sea and it being quite rocky, there aren't a lot of beaches, it was certainly quite unlike the Sussex seaside where my other grandparents lived. I remember the prickly pears that grew by the side of the road and grapes growing wild which I gorged on and got a stomach age as a consequence. It was my first taste of going abroad and I knew that I loved the warm balmy air that hits when getting off the plane and the different smells that come with being somewhere foreign. Couldn't wait to do it again, but wait I had to, I was 16 when I went abroad again.

We went to Alassio in Italy in 1963/4 two years running. My mum tried to introduce garlic into family meals and was met with huge suspicion by my dad! We went to Spain , Minorca and Majorca over the next few years, I didn’t realise at the time how lucky I was. My older siblings had only ever gone to Cornwall every year as money was tighter when they were small, but they have very happy memories of those holidays, 6 of them in total packed into a smallish car, no seat belts in those days!

My first time abroad was in the early 1980’s as an adult. Our annual holiday growing up was always 2 weeks at my maternal grandparents farm in the west of Ireland. My dad squirrelled money away every week from his wage packet into a holiday savings club at work. Enough to pay for our boat tickets and some spending money.

Happy days. We went every year and I continued the tradition with my own children. It was the only time my Mum saw her parents on that annual visit. So it always ended in sadness with tearful goodbyes for another year.

I first went abroad in 1963 when dad got a job in Trinidad. The flight was with BOAC, first stop beautiful Bermuda. Back then we were allowed to get off the plane whilst they refuelled. Next stop was Antigua, followed by Barbados (like stepping into a hairdryer).
In 1965, he took us to Kuwait, where he and the team built a desalination plant. We drove back to the UK by car.

My parents had both lived in France as students in the 1920s, so as soon as they could they took my brother and me to France and also Switzerland.

In 1953, when I was 13, we went to Paris and to the seaside resort of Quiberon in bBrittany. A couple of years later, 1955, we went to Paris again, and toured by car round the various places associated with Joan of Arc, with whom I was obsessed at the time. On this trip we also went to Strasbourg, and Geneva, Thun and Interlaken in. Switzerland.

I loved every moment, and continued to travel abroad, but without parents,

Our family used to go to Filey or other places for years, landladies, but when my mum also returned to work full time we went when I was 14 to the ring of Kerry in SW Ireland.

It was breathtakingly beautiful becuase to was before it become a big holiday destination. My memories are of sunsets over the islands off the coast
...and the HUGE slugs in the outdoor toilet.

then when I was 16 me and sis were sent to Paris to see friends of my. mums cos she accidentally spent the whole if WW2 in France having been trapped by the rapid invasion of northern France as the Maginot line totally failed.

After that...we are now in the early 1970's...hitch hiking with a much more confident boyfriend across Europe. People were so kind. I shall never forget the Italian lorry driver, stopped at the top of the Brenner Pass, the border between Austria and Italy, and he insisted on a glass of wine because his lovely country was spread out there before us, like a living map.

Having said that, I'm a home bird by nature unless I can travel with someone very confident. Even then I often want to go home before the hols end.

We went by channel ferry. Not by air. My father enjoyed planning routes and booking accommodation, s o if packageholidays were available then we didn’t use them. In fact I never have, except one to Russia where I wasn’t confident enough to make my own arrangements.

What an interesting thread with such a lot of lovely memories.

As a child we spent all our school holidays at my maternal grandparents’ home in York, which were always happy times.

The first holiday I had abroad was with my best friend when we were 9 years old. Her father took us to Norway as his sister had married a local and was living there.

We had to have skiing lessons before we went at a really basic dry ski school in Chester. Then the journey by ferry where my friend and I were seasick the entire crossing,

We had a wonderful time though. We stayed in a little wooden chalet which was reached by crossing the frozen, snow-covered lake by horse-drawn sled.

We did a lot of skiing, caught trout from the lake after first having to smash through the snow and ice, and played with my friend’s baby cousin.

We flew home which was the first time we’d been in a plane.

The following year I went with the same friend and her parents and little sister to France and Spain. Her father had a Jaguar car and the two of us sat in the front seat together with her mum and sister in the back. No seat belts! Can you imagine!😱

We towed a caravan behind which her father had rented from somewhere in Belgium, then drove through France and ended up on the Costa Brava. It was beautiful and there weren’t a lot of tourists. We were free as birds, swimming and snorkelling, hiring pedaloes. The downside being that nobody had heard of sunscreen and I got badly sunburned with nothing but Nivea cream to ease the pain.

My first holiday abroad with my mum and sisters (father died when I was 9) was to Malta when I was 12 . We came for a month, gosh how hot it was! No a/c in those days but the island was unspoilt and we enjoyed it on the whole.

Little did I think I’d be back some years later, meet my husband and end up living in Malta for over forty years and counting!

Very few children in my South London primary school in 1950s had holidays abroad, if any. We were no exception.
At my secondary school my best friend was a doctor's daughter and went to Italy every year and stayed in hotels. I was quite envious. It sounded glamorous compared to our week or worse fortnight in a tent in Devon or Sussex.

The first and only holiday abroad with my family was in 1967. I was just 18 had passed my driving test weeks before and shared the driving with my widowed mum and my sister's boyfriend. 5 of us squeezed into the VW beetle, camping gear on the roof. We drove all the way from London to Yugoslavia camping in France, Germany and Austria on the way.
It was fabulous, romantic and funny. I still look back on those 3 weeks in August as one of the best holidays ever.

Little did I think I’d be back some years later, meet my husband and end up living in Malta for over forty years and counting.

That sounds quite romantic in a way.
Sort of similar to me in Brittany at 14 or 15. Except although I live here for some of the year, I ran away from the big plunge!

Lovely thread reading everyone's special holiday memories.

In 1970 7 of us went to Tossa de Mar on 18-30 holidays which had not long been in existence.£35 for 2weeks full board with wine.Great time had by all.

In the early 60’s we regularly toured Europe with our camping gear. I have happy memories of many out of the way places that we might not have seen had we been on a package tour.

Just finished reading all your holiday experiences which were all interesting.
Ziplock you asked where I went. I also read about one who went to the west of Ireland, so read on.
From 1950 to 1954, while living in Northern Ireland my brother and I were taken to Connemara. All so wild in those days with mainly white Celtic houses with a lot of chickens running around the houses. Also a lot of donkeys with baskets on their backs taking the peat that was dug up for electricity.
We rented two houses, one had cockroaches all over the floor, the other had a front door that had broken but in those days one got away with renting such houses. We would get our food by fishing and pawning when there were a mass of prawns around.
My first trip abroad was when we moved to Kent in 1954 so my father was able to take us for day trips to France. In 1956 he took us to Brittany for a holiday. Then to the south of France where we rested houses. In 1962 I was taken to Switzerland skiing which I loved. Then in the winter of 1964 to San Juan near Alicante in Spain when it was a wild place compared to today
I believe I have already mentioned in a previous message that in 1966 I went on an exchange visit to Jijona near Alicante. Finally in 1969, for our honeymoon we went to Benidorm when it was a small place with very few tourists.
Since then all over the world.

No one I knew went abroad on holidays. Flying was completely out of the question for most people.
Family holidays for me were 3 nights in a boarding house in Margate where you had to leave the house after breakfast snd were not allowed back in til the evening.
It often rained. I was never, even once, taken to a cafe and we ate soggy homemade sandwiches on the beach. Luckily these ‘holidays’ were not every year. They were not happy times.

When I first went abroad in the early 60s I went by train tryo Germany with a friend. First flight was to Spain late 60 s on my honeymoon.

As a family no it was Cornwall or Pembroke plus relatives in North Wales. First experience of abroad was a school trip by train in 1962 to Switzerland, we were very lucky then, now children go skiing regularly. We have revisited several times it hasn't changed at all, it doesnt have to be expensive, book an Airbnb, self cater weve has some lovely places.

Ash a similar holiday to mine. We’re the same age!
1965 travelled by coach to Austria with mum, dad, auntie and cousin. I seem to remember it cost £15. No over night stops , just coach all the way.
It was magical and like a fairy tale in a beautiful, foreign land.
Duvets to sleep under and strange food. The smell of everything - so different . I was 15.

Yes, Gingster, our Austrian holiday involved 36 hours (I think) travelling on the coach. Tiring! We’re both the same age as Princess Anne! I wish I had her stamina!

I never went abroad until I was 18, when I went to Spain with my fiance and his family. As an only child, we had very few family holidays and if we did go away, it was always to stay with relatives, usually my aunt, who lived in Hertfordshire. My dad worked with British Rail, so we got free train travel and I remember our luggage would be sent on ahead. I'd spend the holiday either with cousins (who were all a lot older than me) or the children who lived in the same street as my aunt - trying to make them understand my Scottish accent!

It’s been so interesting reading of all peoples so widely different experiences.

There are such big gaps in age here so no doubt that has an effect and a very diverse set of backgrounds and parents job roles.

We always went on hoilday normally IOW but my first holiday abroad was in Spain in 1971 it was my the first time on a Plane.. We hit a thunderstorm on the return flight, we were all terrified!

Holidays for us in the 50s & 60s were always last week in July/first week in August - factory shutdown or wakes weeks as some called them in the North West.

We were very lucky as my canny Nan had a caravan in Towyn, North Wales so it was pile on the train, arrive wild with excitement, and straight on to the open top deck of the "sunny bus" as we used to call them.

Gas mantles popping, rain drumming on the roof, the trek to the beach...we loved it all even my other Nan (on holiday with us) embarassingly forcing me and my Sis into the talent contest on the neighbouring campsite. We sang lollipop lollipop ooh lolly lolly but got pipped for 1st place by a lad singing Jailhouse Rock. Our consolation prizes were a foam backed hairbrush & a packet of crisps...probably about all our performance was worth.

First holiday "abroad" was our honeymoon in '71 - magical Venice, a hot hot beach at Lido di Jessolo, first taste of proper pizza, lifelong love of Italy and all it's culture followed.

I didn’t go abroad until I was over 20. (Early 70s.)
U.K. seaside holidays were what we mostly had, and we certainly enjoyed them.

Cousins who were a lot better off did go abroad to e.g. Italy - to us it was very swanky then!

My parents didn’t have a foreign holiday until I was early 20s, but after that there was no stopping them. Apart from the cost, it transpired that my DF had been afraid of flying, apparently ever since a ‘loop the loop’ small plane ride at a display, pre WW2.

He was apparently ‘cured’ after absolutely having to attend a work meeting in Scotland, to which - due to circs. - he had to fly, in a (then) modern passenger plane.

In 1964, when I was 9 and my sister 7, my father followed the advice of a friend and we went camping to France. The friend had lent us a large tent, made of canvas with wooden poles, which must have weighed a ton. Goodness knows how he got it on the roofrack. DF made a kind of kitchen dresser specifically for the trip. And of course we had cooking equipment, airbeds and sleeping bags.

I remember my mother loving buying the delicious fruit and veg on local markets but I'm sure the conditions for washing and cooking weren't much fun for her. A few cold taps over sinks in the middle of the field, a wooden shack with a chemical toilet right over the other side of the field were the "amenities" on offer.

My Aunt was with us, so there were 5 of us in our estate car (DF's company car).

I remember silly details such as the yellow stickers for the headlights, and my aunt coming out of the toilet hut and running right across the field being chased by a hornet. I can't remember if she was screaming, but she probably didn't want to draw attention to herself while she was still pulling her knickers up. That was the first time I'd heard of hornets.

She was very prude and I was standing at a pedestrian crossing in Royan with her waiting to cross when the elastic in her slip went. She was totally mortified and went bright red as she stepped out of the little pile of pink nylon - probably no one even noticed.

I also remember being on the ferry but otherwise I don't remember much. I certainly don't remember the earth-shattering thunderstorm that descended on the campsite one night. I woke up the next morning to find a ditch dug round the tent and the trees dripping water - I had slept through all the excitement.

By coincidence, on our honeymoon, or rather our way back to Germany from England, where DH and I had got married, we passed through - and stayed at - many of the places I remembered from that holiday. In retrospect, that was 1977 - only 13 years later!

First time abroad was 1964 I was 16 went with a friend to Austria skiing. It cost £130for 10 days including ski passes and ski hire. We went on the ferry and then mini bus to the Tyrol. I remember being so excited as I worked at C&A and bought my ski wear and knitted a red sweater with white snowflakes round the bottom I wonder what happened to it! We had a fabulous time with the locals eating and drinking.
Family holidays were in caravans at Selsey I think my Aunt had a caravan there.

As a family, we all holidayed in Devon in a caravan either hired or owned by a member of the extended family. I remember only too well the days of driving around in the rain with my parents, walking with cagoules on, eating damp sandwiches, the flask being brought out with tea in it. On the journey back, would the car get us back home without breaking down? Not always! Those were the days.