Holidays

We usually managed to go to the seaside for a week each Summer when I was growing up. Usually Western Super Mare and once or twice to Llandudno or Rhyl.

It was always a big palaver. There was no internet browsing so brochures for tourist boards were ordered and poured over.

It always had to be a self catering apartment because of Mothers dietary needs and the fact that making it down to breakfast before lunch time would be beyond her. The car was loaded up as if we were a family of 10 not 3 and she would have a complete new wardrobe to go with. On arrival she would do an appraisal and if things weren't to her liking Father would be for it and there would be the start of the holiday row. It was pretty boring, I took a selection of books to read and as I got older I was allowed to go for a stroll about and explore the shops which I enjoyed but mostly we sat about waiting for her to appear around midday, drink tea, doll herself up, change outfits a few times until we finally made it to a country pub for a very late lunch. Then there would be the obligatory afternoon nap and then an evening stroll along the front with drinks in a seafront hotel were we all had to play along with the charade of what a wonderful time we were having, all beaming smiles and her actress voice at full volume. Holidays were a perfect time to strike up conversations with unwitting strangers and present herself as charming and gracious, exaggerating and boasting and holding them captive whilst my Father fetched her Martinis and nodded obediently to her storytelling.
 I remember one time we arrived at a little holiday flat and to her absolute horror the room with the double bed in was quite small and dark whereas my room which had two singles in was very light and airy and was decorated in florals and lace and had pretty dolls sitting on a window seat. She was so jealous I had ended up with the best room and tried to get my Father to agree to swap which for some reason he wouldn`t so she was particularly snappy with me all week while I danced about the beautiful room imaging it was mine forever. 

We would only go places where you could drive your car onto the beach as she didn`t want to walk or carry anything. Father would then set up a selection of chairs for her and arrange and rearrange the windbreaker under her close instruction. She would read and nap and eat ice-creams and as soon as she was bored it would be time to pack up and head back to the apartment. I don`t thing we were ever there more than a couple of hours.  It was never really my or my Fathers holiday we were more just part of her travelling entourage. We could only ever briefly relax when everything was arranged to her liking. On the last day there would be a postmortem of where all the money had gone with Father tentatively mentioning the car would need filling up with fuel for the journey home. Depending on her mood the holiday spirit may linger with her wanting more evenings out when we got home so she could get a good wear out of her new Summer wardrobe. If her mood dipped we would drive home in a depressing silence and she would need a few days in bed the following week as she was worn out.

When we were first married we had the offer of a chalet near the sea for free and when we told them about it Mother was very keen for them to come too as my Father could no longer drive that far himself so they had not holidayed for a while.

When we got there though we had a shock as it was in a terrible state and you can imagine my Mothers reaction. We complained to the owner of the place who said it wasn't her responsibility but she did have a much better chalet of her own that was vacant. Our funds were very limited and we suggested going home but Mother leapt on the chance to flash the cash and stumped up for the cost. Naturally though it put us all in her debt and she made good use of that power over the weekend we were there. She stayed in bed until lunchtime while we all waited about for her and then controlled and complained about everything we suggested doing. She was only interested in going out for dinner and drinks so there was hardly any point in coming away really.  And the fact she bailed us all out was of course dragged up regularly whenever she went off on one of her rages.  

As we drove through the countryside on the way to that ill fated `free chalet` weekend, my Father and my Husband enjoyed the passing scenery while I took a turn in the drivers seat. They chatted about crops in the rolling fields, the beauty of the English countryside, quaint cottages and farmhouses, wildlife in the hedgerows and tried to guess the age of huge old oak trees standing majestically in the middle of some field as we passed by. I glanced in my rear view and noticed my Mother engrossed in some tawdry tale in her magazine. Remember this was the woman who asked so pitifully if there would be room for her and Father as it had been so very long since she had had a change of scene and a little holiday.  `Isn`t the scenery beautiful Mom` I asked quite loudly. She looked up sharply and glanced about bewildered for a moment and then realising she needed to feign some sort of interest waved her magazine vaguely in the direction of an abandoned barn and exclaimed "Oh Yes !! Just look at that !!" before returning to the riveting article. I smiled to myself and shook my head. She was as empty headed and oblivious to anything of beauty and value as always.

In later years she always wanted to know all the details if I ever went on holiday, her face becoming pinched with envy. I was careful to play it down in case she got triggered though when we returned invariably she would have been ill or there had been some other drama to rake over rather than hear about my holiday. I love the seaside but always feel a little melancholy when I`m by the sea, it was never a carefree place to visit, just a home from home minefield to navigate as usual. 

 In the years when I had endless miscarriages we were always too afraid to book a holiday never knowing how things would be with the pregnancy so when we at last had children it was magical to go on holiday with them.

 After my Father died she became even more intrusive over every move we made and when she found out we were going on holiday one Summer she pestered me for all the details interrupting with a sad pout that she hadn`t been away for ages and she didn`t know how she would ever manage it on her own unless she asked the home help to go with her. Long expectant pause.....

I had already been warned by Husband that there was no way she was tagging along to ruin the holiday for the children, not that I needed warning, I had already thought it through. "Well" I said, gathering myself "There wouldnt be much room in the car for us all, or the boot with the pushchair in and I doubt you`ll want to spend all day on the beach or do much walking and we won`t be out late at restaurants or pubs with the children in tow either"....she screws her face up, wrinkles her nose and smacks her lips in distaste. "Ohhh no, that wouldn`t suit me at all" she says, her voice now a completely different tone, realising with the children to now consider they had upstaged her in order of priority so it could not be all about her. Had she been a different type of Mother then naturally we could of all rubbed along together and had a lovely time, but that would never have happened with her. I could imagine her needing to be driven home mid week over some instant illness if the itinerary was not to her liking.