A few years ago my sister Barbara and brother-in-law Lindsay moved into a very big farmhouse two miles from a seaside resort on the North Wales Coast, and very sportingly offered to have us all stay with them for a week, thus giving us our first real holiday for many years.
After several weeks of frantic washing, ironing and packing we lined up the family for their anti-travel-sickness pills, re-checked windows, doors and baggage, and piled into the car. We were on our way.
Three hundred and fifty miles is a long way, especially to the younger ones and after only one hour of travel a little voice piped up "Are we nearly there. Daddy?" "We'll soon be on the M1" says Ron. We've always found it a bad policy to say "No, there's a long way to go yet.' James had only previously seen pictures of the motorway and so he was quite content to sit back with the rest of us and watch for the big signboards. "YOU ARE NOW APPROACHING THE M1 MOTORWAY" said one sign. Up and around the clover-leaf we went and soon we joined the traffic on that super highway. Counting the bridges kept my children occupied, and my eyes away from the speedometer needle which was hovering between 70 and 80 m.p.h. most of the way. Even at that speed we were being overtaken by Jaguars and other high powered cars, and the children found it a thrilling experience, where I found it hair-raising.
Outside Coventry we pulled up for our sandwich lunch; it was raining cats and dogs, so we were thankful that we'd kept the food box in the car. With the windows open the rain poured in - with them shut the steam was unbearable. The children were excited and beginning to be impatient - everyone's elbows were in everyone else's way and more food finished up underfoot than inside tummies. The situation wasn't improved when one bottle of pop unstoppered too quickly and shot it's contents all over the occupants of the front seat. It would be as well to draw a veil over the next two hours on the road - let me just say that we arrived at Barbara's tired, sticky, hungry but undaunted and without further mishap.
One would imagine that ten children, five of whom were almost complete strangers to the other five, would be nigh on impossible to control under one roof, but no, in less time than it takes to tell they had got together in groups, some to disappear into the furthest reaches of the farm, some to ride the pony, others to play in the barns, and the youngest three lost no time in starting a campaign to plague the poultry nearest to the house. 'Ffrith Wen' stands firm and high on the side of the mountain overlooking Colwyn Bay with the Island of Anglesea in the distance, and the sea as blue as anything the Mediterranean has to offer.
To a 'Townie' like me this view was breathtaking, but my pleasure was shortlived. There below me in the field nearest the house I caught sight of Hilary Jane at 2.1/2 doing her darndest with the help of her cousin Zoe, also 2.1/2, to climb head-first into a large water storage tank. PANIC STATIONS, until gasping from the unaccustomed exercise of running, I gathered them up and brought the pair of them back over the rough ground into the fold, feeling that I'd narrowly snatched them from a water grave - to be greeted by a loud hail from Lindsay in the stockyard assuring me that the tank was never used for water - just a play-place for the children.
Never have children had such complete freedom as mine had there. Nowhere was out of bounds, not even the egg packing shed, and the older children were soon clamouring to help with the feeding of the animals and poultry, and the hundreds of other jobs on the farm. Long before the week was out Malcolm, Gay and Paul had graduated to the egg collecting and stamping department and miraculously there were few breakages. Considerable credit for the happy holiday must go to the Dads - a couple of Trojans. Indeed, lesser men would have jibed at many of the tasks the youngsters set them - one in particular - canoeing!
This involved securing the canoe to the luggage rack of the car, quite a feat in itself, with plenty of grunts and groans and "This way a bit" and "Where's the end of the rope?" until it was firmly fixed. Then driving two miles to the shore, untying it and carrying the craft half a mile to the water's edge to spend a further hour or so supervising the would-be sailors. Afterwards the whole thing in reverse - this being the trickiest part because the canoe usually shipped a certain amount of water and the two lifting it rack-wards were invariably soaked.
Other jaunts were less hazardous, for instance the day we visited THE FETE. Ron had read the notice about a village garden fete ten miles or so away and we piled into the two cars and set off. Well, it took us an hour to find the site and when we did it was only to discover that the fete had been held the day previous, and the folk who were at the field were preparing for a Gymkhana to be held the next day.
Barbara and I saw the funny side of that and when we had recovered from our hysterics the men decided to salvage the rest of the afternoon by taking us all to the Children's Pleasure Beach on the way home. After an expensive but good time had been had by all we dragged the children away and climbed back into the cars.
The seven elder children showed a healthy regard for the animals but the younger ones were quite fearless - toddling amongst the cows and calves, stroking them and talking to them and altogether getting too pally for my peace of mind. Knowing how my Hilary is fascinated by the tail of the family cat I rather feared for their much more impressive 'swishes' and wondered what the consequences would be if and when she decided on an experimental tug.
The ground behind the house rose steeply, being on the side of a mountain, the green grass was long and lush with a good sprinkling of weeds and nettles, and the branches of the nearest trees almost touched the walls.
One morning whilst I was in the bathroom I heard stealthy rustling noises outside the window. Hastily grasping a towel for cover I crept across the room and waited. I could hear more furtive sounds and now HEAVY BREATHING so, mustering all my courage I peeped out and found myself face to face with an enormous cow. There and then I decided I just wasn't cut out for country life and mentally awarded my sister another medal.
During the whole seven days there was only one real mishap and that was a laugh. One of the heifers added a spot of terylene to her diet, by pushing over the childrens' tent and chewing a large portion from the sleeping bag.
Preparing meals for fourteen three times a day for seven days sounds awesome but in actual fact was fun. The chores slipped easily by as we talked our way through them - and talk we did - so many years of gossiping to be made up.
A slight water shortage towards the end of the week was welcomed by my youngsters all. A mere lick and a promise morning and evening contributed more than somewhat to making theirs the happiest of holidays. I didn't tell you, did I, that Barbara uses spring water, so soft to use and pleasure to drink - very different from mine in East Anglia which puts coral-like stalagmites into a kettle after only six months.
The sun shone almost every day and Ron and I often took the four youngest children out and about to the beach or the zoo, or the beach or the river, or yet again the beach. They never tired of the miles of clean sand, especially my kids who are accustomed to the tar smeared pebbles of the East Coast, where to find enough sand for a castle is the exception rather than the rule. Our day of departure arrived all too soon.
How is it that luggage rack and boot comfortably loaded on the outward journey are totally inadequate for the homeward run? Someone some day will find the answer to that one - surely it wasn't due to nineteen sticks of rock? Or the beach ball and buckets and spades? Come to think of it, we had collected quite an amount of extra paraphernalia, not to mention three dozen new laid eggs! It was a very healthy bunch of rose-cheeked kids we herded into the car on the morning we left, and when the regretful goodbyes were said, we moved off.
Morale had been boosted all round, especially mine, by the promise of a meal at one of the M1 restaurants. Travelling mid-week we made good time and the lunch was excellent. The children enjoyed spending their remaining holiday money on sweets to be consumed en route.
Once again the M1 vanished under our wheels until the time came to turn off to the Bedford Road. The speed dropped - 60 - 50 - 40 - 30 - 20 - we turned the corner and after only a few yards BANG. We scudded to an undignified stop with the nearside back tyre in ribbons. With great trepidation and a resigned expression Ron opened the boot. Yes, we could see the spare quite clearly - standing on its side amidst the muddle, but of course it was bolted firmly to the bodywork and needed jack, wheelbrace as well. It goes without saying that both these items were underneath everything.
There was nothing for it but to unpack almost the entire boot. The older children helped - putting things into manageable heaps on the narrow grass verge. During this part of the operation we were the object of great amusement to many passers-by, sympathy and offers of help from others, and genuine consternation from an ambulance driver who obviously thought that we'd had an accident.
Within a half hour we were on our way again and for the rest of the journey I know that Ron was offering as many silent thanks to Providence as I was myself.