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District Diary August 2007

As I write, the long awaited summer holidays are about to start. Children coming into the Post Office are buzzing with excitement, whilst mums are praying for a decent spell of sunny weather to keep the children from under their feet. During a rare sunny day (it seems to have been raining all Summer), I was talking to people of a similar age to myself and the subject of holidays came up. Despite the fact that we were from different parts of the U.K. our memories of childhood experiences were very similar. We all seemed to agree; the magic of the summer holidays started well before school broke up. Normal lessons would finish about two weeks before the end of term. There would be organised games outside in the school yard and the occasional school trip. Teachers known for their discipline (and that meant more than the odd ticking off) would mellow; a relaxed aura would descend, and even school dinners seemed to taste better. We would talk about nothing else but the holidays, discussing what we were going to do and where we were going. During the last few days in school, desks would be polished, notice boards cleared, whilst paintings and art creations would be taken home to gather dust on the mantelpiece or decorate bedroom walls. When the bell went for the last time on the last day, the feeling of freedom was indescribable; no homework, no teachers, and no need to even think about school, at least not until September; paradise!!
The first two weeks of the holiday would be �wakes weeks� when all the factories and cotton mills would close down, as did most of the shops. Blackburn became almost a ghost town as a mass exodus headed for the Lancashire coast. Trains going to Blackpool would be pulling so many carriages that they just about fit along the station platform. Vehicle ownership was becoming quite popular and the roads would jam with traffic of all descriptions. �Boil ups� pulled over onto the grass verges kept the AA and RAC men in their motorcycles and sidecars, very busy. All the way along the coast from Lytham St. Anne�s (if you were posh) to Morecambe, mum, dad and the kids would enjoy a week or two together. Fuelled with regular infusions of fish and chips, gritty sandwiches and jugs of strong tea, they would engage in all the fun and activity these jolly seaside towns had to offer. By half past ten on sunny mornings, you couldn�t fit another deck chair anywhere between Blackpool�s south and the north piers. When it rained, there was Blackpool Tower which housed amongst other attractions, a zoo and aquarium filled with exotic marine creatures. If you fancied your chances, there was row upon row of penny slot machines to part you from your hard earned cash as you tried to win a fortune, and who could forget the Tower ballroom, where Reginald Dixon would play the organ? The dance floor would be filled afternoons and evenings as couples of all shapes, sizes and dress, enjoyed a waltz or a quick step and for the more adventurous, a little bit of rock and roll.
All too soon �wakes weeks� would be over and life would quickly return to normal, though tales of holiday experiences would be the sole topic of conversation over tea breaks in work places all around Lancashire for the next month or two. As for us kids, the remainder of our six week break would seem to fly by; we would play football, and cricket, or spend hours around the farmer�s pond with a homemade fishing rod and a tin of worms trying to catch those elusive roach and perch. We were growing up fast, and in our early teens we would catch a bus to town where we could listen to music through huge headphones in the record stores and later, pay a visit to the Wimpy bar where a very expensive coffee could be made to last an awful long time as we exchanged shy glances with the girls. Then, all too soon the bubble burst and it was time for school once again.
Today, the anticipation surrounding holidays starts when we glance through a brochure or take a virtual tour through your chosen resort courtesy of your computer screen. We jet off to destinations al around the globe, but the very mention of (in my case) Blackpool or your more familiar Barry Island spawns images of family holidays in the past; simple pleasures, trams, sand castles, the pleasure beach, donkey rides, Punch and Judy, Nan paddling in the murky water, simple pleasures but long lasting happy memories.

PHIL THE POST
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