Childhood summer days

 Childhood and summer days

So here we are on the threshold of the great school summer holiday period for millions of allegedly bored and irritable children who always find ways of occupying their time quite constructively but then decide that there's nothing to do. We know this to be not the case since of course there are loads of activities they can engage with and participate in. It may be the time of the year when every mum up and down the country privately dreads. But then again they must be ready and prepared for the great onslaught of youthful complaints and disgruntled kids wishing, quite ironically, that the six week summer break would last for ever. 

For as long as you can remember now, children love to get up to mischief when mum and dad aren't watching, sneaking into private property, climbing trees, trespassing on forbidden territory and generally creating mayhem. Now though of course they don't have to worry about what felt at the time like comfortable familiarity. You spent all day on your bikes, cycling frantically through dense forests, woodlands, back roads and main streets, doing wheelies as they were called if memory serves you correctly, then running across verdant parklands, chasing each other constantly and then pausing for breath. 

There were those of course who loved nothing better than to nag mum persistently and, quite possibly annoyingly for ice creams, money for the summertime pageant of movies and cinemas and so much more. Then we'd get back on our bicycle, pedal at some phenomenal speed before stocking up on innumerable bottles of Tizer, endless helpings of burgers and chips before embarking on another exotic expedition. Eventually we'd end up at our local Lido or outdoor swimming pool and by now we were totally exhausted. 

But almost 50 years ago, some of us were privileged to witness the hottest summer in England since records began. At the moment, Britain is basking in the kind of glorious summer heatwave we all love to embrace but in 1976, we felt as though we'd literally hit the jackpot. Before 1976, your wonderful parents had already given you a revealing insight into the newly emergent tourist industry and Spain. You could hardly believe the Mediterranean charms of Majorca, Benidorm, the Costa Del Sol and Costa Brava. It was the epitome of cool, seductive and quite the most exciting childhood adventure of them all. 

Now though in 1976 we didn't need to go to Spain for fiestas and siestas, sombreros and donkeys in shopping bags. There was no necessity whatsover for flamenco dancers, intrepid bullfighters with swaying capes, sangria by the bucketload. In Britain we had it all. There were blue skies every day and after an early May spell of breath taking warmth and heat, it just kept going and going. Throughout the whole of June and into July, we must have thought the warm fronts and isobars were destined to stay for an eternity. 

Throughout the land, parks and gardens began to resemble brown haystacks on English farming land, once green grass now burnt and parched by the relentlessly beautiful sun. Our family garden certainly looked like a concrete bowl with only straw rather than the grass we'd become accustomed to. But you didn't particularly mind because, in a way, you hadn't really experienced this climate before but we had because as children, subconsciously perhaps, we do remember a time when the sun always shone. Nothing mattered though because we spent all day at Valentines Park lido jumping into a light blue coloured swimming pool for weeks and months on end, oblivious to the tempestuous wars and politics in our peripheral vision. 

We would jump, dive bomb, slide, scream and shout, dive athletically once again just to impress our friends. We would then just spend hour upon hour, absorbing the healthy and invigorating atmosphere around us. And then we'd notice that we were in water that was positively freezing and that if you didn't know any better, you'd have sworn you were floating in huge blocks of ice from the kitchen freezer. Those days of simple, innocent pleasure and fun packed hours, weeks and months would simply fly past and in no time at all we were back at school, the academic toil and drudgery of swotting for exams still in front of us. 

But from the end of July to the whole of August time seemed to go on interminably and so blissfully. By  the end of the 1976 scorcher in Britain, we were still bathing in the reflected glow of hose pipe bans, people lining up in suburban streets with buckets and water now rationed. We still had huge gatherings of storm flies next to our kitchen boiler that were constantly sprayed with white powder by your beautiful, much missed and loved mum. We still watched Wimbledon tennis in our garden, exploring thick clumps of green leaves in what can only be described as some dreamland of bushes.

Then in both 1977 and 1978, although your adolescence and teenage years were lonely and introspective ones, you could still relate to the outside world. You watched your mum lovingly pruning our immaculate rose beds, secateurs merrily clicking away and then you discovered that the outside world wasn't quite as intimidating as you might have thought it would be. There were still the cinemas to visit, cafes to drink and eat at, scenery to admire and somehow a sense of liberation we'd never felt at school.  

At the local picture house there would be the record breaking, blockbusting Saturday Night Fever, a film so immensely enjoyable and feelgood that we must have thought we'd never ever see a film like it again. It was stunningly produced and directed, wonderfully choreographed and just delightful fun. It starred the then unknown John Travolta, that smart teddy boy dressed teenager who wows the girls with his flash dance moves, terpsichorean fleet of feet and then frequents every nightclub and disco with his extrovert bolshiness and flamboyant demeanour. Saturday Night Fever epitomised the American disco at its headiest and giddiest high.

The following year Travolta returns to the silver screen with some good, old fashioned high school rivalry and fierce competition. In Grease, Travolta swaggers into high school, cocky, arrogant, leather clad, conceited and full of rebellious intent. But then he meets and falls in love with the sweet, winsome, cute and innocent Olivia Newton John. The now sadly late Olivia Newton John falls in love with Travolta aka Danny and then goes through the familiar routine of flirtation and adoration and then wrapping his loving arms around his sweetheart at a movie drive in against a cartoon backdrop. 

So there was the summer of your childhood or maybe it was completely different and of course it probably was. You were never really aware of what the future held for you because none of us are. Chilhoods were voyages of discovery, rites of passage, inevitable adolescence, learning how to cope with the world at large and addressing the gauche awkwardness of teenage years. But if you're on your school summer holiday, you'd be well advised to just go with the flow, enjoying the summertime festivities and remaining upbeat, healthy and happy. And never forget your mum and dad.