To the seaside: the journey

Some time during the school break we would go on holiday to the seaside.  It was never referred to as the coast, always the seaside.  I remember holidays in Sidmouth, Swanage, Whitby, Bridlington, Cromer.  When I was about eight we went to Cornwall, a journey so long that we took two days in the car.  

The roads were far less busy those days.  Some friends would go on holiday by train and how I envied them!  That seemed much more exciting than the car.  

My parents also suffered in the car, probably even more than we did.  The cry "Are we nearly there?" would start within minutes and continue all day.  There were, of course, no entertainments other than those we made for ourselves.  "Green grow the rushes, O" anyone?

I couldn't read in the car without feeling sick so that was banned.  We would look out of the windows to find a black cow or a green gate.  Red Lion and White Hart pubs were sought and points awarded.  No prizes, just the honour of winning.

Our family had a small stove which ran on methylated spirits so we would find somewhere to stop and fry sausages to be eaten in buns. This was to remind Father of his days in the Boy Scouts.   They were a real treat.  The sandwiches which Mother used to take sometimes were very boring in comparison and the stove and sausages had to come out at least once every holiday. Very occasionally we would buy food en route.  Here I am wearing one such purchase to the amusement of my Mother and sister.