Snapshot: At Butlins with my brother in the 1950s
The 1950s were probably the heyday of the holiday camp phenomenon before travel abroad became the norm for ordinary folk. In 1958, our family went for a week’s holiday to Butlins in Mosney, County Meath, Ireland. The comedy television series Hi–de-Hi captured the atmosphere of those camps very well.
Each family had their own little chalet. We were awoken every morning by an announcement on the public address system, complete with xylophone, “Good morning, campers, this is Radio Butlins …”
Events were organised throughout the day, and campers were encouraged to take part.
We were shepherded by the Butlins Redcoats, helpful young men and women who wore red blazers. To us children, they were adults, but they were probably in their late teens.
My younger brother and I were members of the junior club, the Butlin Beavers. This was overseen by a couple known to us as Uncle Jim and Auntie Joan.
The photograph shows my younger brother Patrick (right) and myself on a boat and was taken in Mosney. I was 10 that summer. It was a great adventure for us, and though I remember the photograph being taken, I have only a dim recollection of that week, hazy as a dream, as much of childhood tends to recede into the obscure past of all our yesterdays.
But time marches on and my little brother is now a grandfather several times over. It is only with hindsight that we realise we once inhabited the magic land of childhood to which we can never return.
However – like HG Wells’s time traveller and his flower – I still have the little blue enamel badge issued to all campers, with the emblem of a leprechaun and the inscription “Butlins Ireland 1958” as a token to remind me that it really did happen all those years ago.
Ken Sheehan
Playlist: The day the music stopped for me
Sunday Girl by Blondie
“I know a girl from a lonely street / Cold as ice-cream, but still as sweet / Dry your eyes, Sunday Girl”
I will never forget the moment that my mum and dad told me that they were splitting up. I was 10 and I was recording that week’s chart. In 1979, this involved pressing play and record at exactly the same time on my ancient tape recorder. I was just about to press the two buttons to record Sunday Girl. I loved Blondie and wanted to be Debbie Harry, my favourite singer. My parents came to my room looking serious. So serious that I didn’t press the buttons. I just knew something terrible was about to happen. “We have something to tell you,” they said in unison. Then Mum said, “Me and your dad don’t love each other any more but we still love you.”
I still remember those exact words. Now I feel that they couldn’t have put it any better. But at the time the bottom of my world fell out.
And I didn’t record any more of the pop charts that week.
Deborah Walters
We love to eat: Scotch pancakes at home, wherever it is
Ingredients
120g self-raising flour
1/2 tsp cream of tartar
A pinch of salt
30g caster sugar
1 egg
1/4 pint (140ml) of milk
This quantity is for a one-egg mixture – I generally make twice as much for our family of five. Sift the dry stuff, and then mix it together. Slowly add the wet stuff and combine well (I use an electric whisk). Heat a frying pan or two (or a griddle if you’ve got one) and pop some oil on. When hot enough, tip excess oil out (I keep it in a ramekin), and spoon dessertspoonfuls of the mixture in. I can usually fit about four in a pan – as in my photograph. When you see bubbles form in the pancakes, turn them over with a fish slice. Once browned on both sides, pile them up on a plate and then eat them!
You can spread these with all sorts of things. We love chocolate spread, butter, marmalade, and maple syrup. Wrap any left over in kitchen towel and pop into the bread bin. When cold, they are delicious with butter.
Nine years ago, when our first child was a baby, my husband applied for a management training programme with an energy company and was accepted. It meant moving several times while our family was young and growing. The first move was from Edinburgh to Saxmundham in Suffolk, where we knew no one. When we left, a friend gave us this recipe.
I cooked the pancakes most Saturday mornings – see below – to remind us of home while we were so far away. We made new friends and had two more children, and in all the places we’ve lived over the years, the pancakes have reminded us of home.
My husband’s work moved from Suffolk to Essex, and then back to Scotland. First we were in Moffat and most recently moved to Largs. He finished the training programme and we are happy to feel like we’re finally home and settled. But on Saturday mornings, the smell of the pancakes cooking still gets everyone out of bed.
Cara McKee
We’d love to hear your stories
We will pay £25 for every Letter to, Playlist, Snapshot or We love to eat we publish. Write to Family Life, The Guardian, Kings Place, 90 York Way, London N1 9GU or email family@theguardian.com. Please include your address and phone number
