We’re off to Porthcawl, we are. Nan has a caravan there. She bought it with some money she had when she stopped working at the steel works – she worked in the canteen, not as a welder.
It’s an overcast day, but the weather looks promising or at least that’s what I heard Dad say to Mum as we were packing our toys this morning. I love Lego, Dad not so much. He says there’s nothing more painful than standing on a block I’ve not tidied away. Mum disagrees, and says she can think of something much more painful but that Dad couldn’t possibly understand. I don’t understand either.
Nan’s arrived with Ganka (that’s what we call our granddad). He’s dropping her off so we can go straight on the motorway, Mum, Nan, my brother Alex and me. We’ve been loading the car up all morning – or so it seems – with stuff. There’s the cream and red cool box packed with weird blue ice packs and bacon and things. Dad’s stuck the lid down with brown tape “to be on the safe side”. The safe side of what I’m not really sure. It’s just one of those things that adults seem to say. Then there are folding deck chairs, they’re on the bottom of the boot. A leather suitcase with Nan’s clothes in. Ours are in black bags, Mum says it’s easier – Nan thinks it’s terrible.
My Mum’s car is a Mini Metro. It’s beige, a bit like the colour of chicken soup – although Nan calls it fawn. My brother and I climb in over the bits and pieces crammed behind the seats. My feet don’t touch the floor anyway and this way I get to put my feet up.
We’re sitting on top of three blankets, they’re woollen, itchy on my bare legs. They are in fact a similar colour to the car, only with a bit of orange satin on the top. I wish all the blankets were smooth like that. I have my pillow, just in case I get tired. Anyway, Dad pushes the front seat back so Nan can get in. She reminds me a bit of the Queen because she’s always wearing pearls and carries her handbag everywhere. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen my Nan without her handbag, not even on the beach.
We set off waving and beeping the horn at my Dad outside the house, and crane our necks to see out the little bit of window still visible at the back of the car over the coats and whatever else is in the boot by now.
We’re on the motorway. It’s fast. I like going on the motorway. We have to help Mum look for cars coming as she can’t really see out the windows now.
“Are we nearly there?” I ask. “We’ve only just got on the motorway,” says my brother. He’s older than me and knows everything. “Let’s count the tourers,” says my Nan, “All these people with their caravans have been in Porthcawl and they’re going home. See how many you can count coming the other way.” One, two, three… twenty five.
“Why don’t you sing a song?”, says Mum. Nan starts without being asked. We all know what she’s going to sing, it’s the same song every time we come to Porthcawl. “We’re all going on a summer holiday,” We join in, and follow it up with a song from school, Magic Penny, and then the theme tune to Neighbours. Fifty seven!
“Are we nearly there yet?”
“See if you can spot the first sign to Porthcawl” says Mum. Alex says he spots it but I think I do. Ninety eight, ninety nine…. A hundred. “That’s a camper van”, says Alex getting a look in the rear view from Mum, “But I suppose it counts”
We drive a bit more and then I see it. Those two magnificent words… Trecco Bay! We’re here! Past the chip shop, the launderette and the caravan sales office. And there it is, Nan’s caravan, white with two yellow stripes at the top and bottom. It’s beautiful! I ask Nan if I can open the door, and she gives me the biggest key I’ve ever seen. I climb the steps and twist it in the lock – click! But now I have a problem. The door opens out but that means I have to walk down the steps to open it, but then I can’t reach the handle. Nan’s hand appears above me and says, “Mind out the way”. As the door opens, white and yellow ribbons fly out. They’re there so the bees don’t come in. Nan’s terrified of bees. If one gets in the caravan she screams and runs to the bedroom and locks the door. The problem is the ribbons also keep the bees in.
The caravan smells like our attic, but I like it, because it also smells like holiday. We unpack all the stuff from the car and then it’s over to the big tap three caravans down to get some water. Nan lights the hob to make tea, while Mum lights the mantles as it’s dark inside. It looks like rain. I like it when it rains in the caravan though as you can hear the pitter patter of the drops on the roof.
It’s fish and chips for tea! Although I have a sausage in batter, and Alex has a rissole. Nan butters white Braces bread to make chip butties and we eat them around the table. Nan insists on plates.
Once everything is tidied away it’s off up the fair. Half-price on Fridays. Aunty Den comes along too, as neither Mum nor Nan will go on the rides. Aunty Den isn’t scared of anything. In fact she scares me a bit. She told us that she’s not really our aunty, because she’s Nan’s sister, so she’s our great aunty. And I think she is great, so I call her Great Aunty Den now whenever I see her. We go on the little dragon ride, and the teacups and then Great Aunty Den says she’ll take us on the water chute. I’m not sure, it’s a bit scary. Alex and Great Aunty Den go on and I watch as the water splashes us as they come down from the top. Maybe next time.
We get back to the caravan and then it’s down to the toilet block with a torch. The seats are cold. We come back and Nan and Mum make the beds, me and Nan on the settee seats in the living room and Mum and Alex sharing the double bed – made by flipping up the leg of the dining table and sliding it between the two benches.
Next morning Mum boils the water on the stove and we have a wash in the sink. Nan makes tea and toast. The teapot is stainless steel and so is the toast rack. It’s the only time we ever use a toast rack, in the caravan. The teapot falls off the wrought iron stand and Nan swears. We laugh, because it happens every time she makes tea.
It’s sunny and we’re off to the beach. Newton. We get in the car and drive through the site and park at the top of the cliff. We climb down the stairs, loaded with deckchairs, buckets and spades, towels, a windbreak, a cool box, and Nan with her handbag. We ask Nan where she wants to sit and she points. We put the deckchair up for her which she then moves by two inches. She does this every time, too. We play in the rock pools and build sand castles and play grandma’s footsteps.
Finally, Mum takes us down to the water. It’s miles away. Before we start the long walk, I’m plastered in sun cream by my Nan, who seems to think that by rubbing it in harder, it will make it work better. I take my bucket to bring Nan back some water for her feet. Nan’s toes point to the side. She says it’s because she has something called ‘onions’ on her feet. I pour the cold water over and she makes a funny noise and I laugh. Mum tries to wash our hands while Nan makes crisp sandwiches. They’re crunchy, but I can’t tell if that’s the ready salted crisps or sand. We drink fizzy pop from little bottles that mam filled up from a big flagon in the caravan.
Mum says it’s time to go back to have a rest before we go out in the night. We usually go to a pub or up the centre to the amusements. Nan plays bingo and we go on the two-p machines that make lots of noise when the coins fall. Once we’ve used up our two ps, we head across to the phone cabin to speak to Dad. He says he’s having a nice time at home without us, and I tell him about Nan swearing at the teapot and how Mum nearly drove into a post in the Safeway’s car park.
When I wake up, Mum is already packing the car and I can hear the seagulls on the roof of the caravan, they stomp around like my brother. Nan washes my face and hands. She scrubs hard with the flannel and is so thorough, I think I’m going to lose an eye. Then she combs my hair. She uses her comb – it’s blue and has a long thin handle that Nan also uses when she’s putting her curlers in. She parts my hair, and tells me I look clean. I don’t like my hair parted. Mum puts gel in in the mornings and lets me have it ‘slicked back’ as she calls it. It looks cool. My teacher said so.
“I don’t want to go home,” I say, as we say goodbye to the caravan and Nan locks the door with the big key. “We’ll be down again soon,” she says. We climb in the car and seem to have more stuff than when we came. Nan’s starts playing I-spy. She always picks hard ones. When we’ve all had a go, she starts singing. We all join in. “Show me the way to go home. I’m tired and I want to go to bed.”
