Memories of childhood summer holidays
Kath Williams has worked in sales, education, social work and programme writing. She is currently living in Nelson, New Zealand, with her partner, Peter, and works in mental health.
Remember when you were a child what fun it was to be told you were going for a holiday? It didn’t matter how far you were going; just that you were going. Mum always asked before every road trip, “Do you need to go to the toilet before we leave?” The answer was always “Nooooo, mum.”
If we were going a long way from home, we would play the inevitable car games before we would start asking, “Are we there yet?” To which Mum always replied, “Just up the hill and round the next corner, dear.”
Do you know how many hills we went up and how many corners we went around before we finally got there! But the car games were a great distraction.
The beach holidays were traditional Kiwi holidays. Holiday clothes were t-shirts, shorts and a pair of jandals (or thongs for the Aussie readers), or just bare feet. However, the bare feet, as we all found out, was not a good option when you had to run across the boiling hot black sand to get to the water. We all tried putting the towel down in one spot, stand on that, then the next towel down, stand on that until you got to the water but no, that took way too long so it was a mad sprint. “On your marks, get set, go,” and away we flew, yelling at the top of our lungs until we hit the water. I swear you could hear the water sizzle when your feet hit it.
Toys were the customary buckets and spades and anything else you could find on the beach for your sandcastles. Food, blanket and the beach umbrella, and that was all you needed.
For many who either owned or had friends that owned a bach, it was an idyllic way to spend the summer days. The iconic beach bachs weren’t flash back then. They were very humble dwellings, often with the marks of the home handyman and painted in bright colours. It had old furniture and fading photos, along with collections of shells, discarded jandals, beach equipment and fishing gear. And more often than not, the toilet was outside, and you slept in bunks.
Kids will be kids
One favourite spot was a place called Kaupokonui Beach. It had a swing bridge so as kids we would wait in the middle of it. Then when the adults got on to come across, we would rock the hell out of that bridge, ran as fast as we could, jump off the end into the sand and hightail it into the sand dunes.
Who didn’t love finding the flattest smoothest stone for skimming across the water? Whoever got the most jumps across the water, won.
Well, my brother and I took this to a whole new level when we went on holiday. I remember when we all went to Oakura for a holiday and we stayed in a place called Cabana Court. My brother and I were coming back from the beach and thought we would throw stones as we were walking up the hill over the tops of houses on the left. Well we did that, but ah, one particular stone thrown by me (of course) went straight through a house window. We ran like buggery back to where we were staying and waited for some to come knocking on the door. We didn't tell Mum, and luckily for us, no-one did come and so we got away with it. Man, we sweated for a day or so over that one. Never again did we throw stones over houses. Lesson learnt!
“Mother knows best”
One particular holiday trip to Paraparaumu for me, was memorable for all the wrong reasons. Being a redhead, I had very fair skin; well, white really, sprinkled with freckles which my mum used to tell me was from the sun kissing my skin. Hah, she lied!
And like all teenagers, we didn’t listen to our parents when it came to giving us advice or really telling us what to do. So after repeated attempts to get sunscreen on me, my mum gave up and said, “You will be sorry later on!”
But I didn’t listen. I felt I won that round and off I went to the pools to sunbathe and get brown so all the boys would notice me.
I swum in the pools and lay in the sun for a number of hours. Got back inside our unit, had a shower, ate dinner and then off to bed. Well not long after that, up I went racing to the bathroom. My skin was bright pink, already starting to blister and I was so very, very sick. The boys noticed me the next day for all the wrong reasons. Not a good look I am sad to say. Sunstroke, my mum said, I had and that was another lesson learnt.
So the moral of the story is mother really does know best.
Kath William’s book Growing up in Taranaki in the 1960’s is available for sale. Filled with memories such as these, anyone who grew up in the 1960s will relate to the harmless shenanigans and the carefree lifestyle captured in this book. To find more details email Kath at: irememberwhen60s@gmail.com
Related links:
Remembering all that mum did during my childhood
I tracked down my father-in-law’s long lost brother
Connecting children with the natural world