Dad's Summer Holiday by Jennie Hart

Throughout my life with my parents, I do not remember a family holiday. Mum owned a shop selling groceries and sweets, open every day of the year except Christmas Day. She was a hard worker and only when I was old enough to manage the shop in the school holidays, did mum take a break with her mother, my grandma.

My dad was not the kind of person who ever went on holiday; he was small in stature and elegant, a working-class man who also enjoyed life’s luxuries. He dressed in suits from Austin Reed and bought Sobranie Black Russian cigarettes with their dull black covering and exotic gold tips. He was especially fond of Glenfiddich scotch whiskey. Sometimes he told of memorable experiences when he was stationed in Gibraltar during the war. Once, having watched his army pals swim in the island’s harbour, he was envious of the fun they were having, so jumped in, off the harbour wall too. He couldn’t swim and nearly drowned but was fortunate to be rescued.

Throughout my life, dad was nervous and a little unworldly; he rarely travelled far from home. A day out for him was taking the bus or train to Kingston upon Hull, twenty miles away. It was therefore a surprise one particular summer when dad announced he would go on holiday to Coventry to stay with brother Cyril. I was not fond of this uncle, a creepy, intrusive sort of man who occasionally came to stay with us.  Years later, when I told mum about his behaviour, she confided that he was predatory with her too. She disliked his visits intensely.

Mum helped dad plan his journey to Coventry, beginning with a train from Driffield where we lived, to Hull, followed by a connection to Birmingham New Street. Cyril had assured dad, that once he reached Birmingham, the bus station was nearby and he should find a bus to Coventry. He told dad the number to look out for. Once in Coventry, he must stay on till the terminus, then a taxi to take him to Cyril’s home in Marlborough Road.

Dad accomplished the journey to Birmingham successfully but then became flustered and uncertain; instead of taking the designated bus to Coventry, he missed out that step in the instructions and took a taxi from Birmingham to Cyril’s Coventry door. The fare was exorbitant and cost him all of his holiday money.

 Dad never went to Coventry again!