A caravan summer

1955 Caravan Holiday camps

 

As a cheerful welcome representative of “Sunny Side Caravan Park”, Natalie escorted the Phillips family to their regular trailer. So darn cheerful that Hazel wanted to choke her. When the nubile sweetie enthusiastically bounced off to greet other campers, Hazel cursed her with obesity and a jiggly butt.

Jimmy Phillips was already in his swim togs, snagging some biscuits on his way to the brisk northwestern English sea. Running over the rock and pebble beach, Jimmy was the vision of joy.

Husband Roddy had headed to the “Bully Bar” barely after the car door had slammed, and was well into his second pint.  Same old, same old.  

But, Hazel stood in this worn moldy caravan where her family spent every single summer holiday for the past 15 years, and wished to be under sunny skies, somewhere, anywhere but here.

Her laser eyes mentally scorched and eviscerated every other old campers as they settled in their own mouldy caravan. Do you hate this as much as I do? Where did we go wrong? 

Every now and then, she met the eyes of other mothers and communicated the same thoughts they had. Oh, how I hate this. I hate this so much.

Her caravan was sandwiched with other caravans in a field of domino caravans--rusty moldy chipped-paint caravans filled with their own Jimmy or Roddy people.

Stifling a scream,Hazel pulled a bottle of Jameson from her bag, opened it in a panic, which she glugged down 1/3 of it.  Her second bottle was tucked away now behind the biscuit tin. 

As sunset folded into dusk, Hazel strolled to the dining hall, where tea/supper was being served.  As the alcohol gave her a warm fuzziness, Hazel smiled. Same old, same old. 

Hazel hoped she had remembered to bring the vodka.

An old friend Hazel told me about this every summer, putting a smile on her face but panic and anger in her eyes. God bless her, Hazel managed to hold her family together during these holidays.

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