Well, unsurprisingly, I have written about our move here. I’ve written about most things. Here you are http://razorbladeoflife.co.uk/uncategorized/30-years-on/.
As I said, I’ve lived here more than half my life, but I have lived in five other places, though I hardly remember the first.
I know I have written before about my parents’ hotel just outside Weymouth. It’s gone downhill, I’m afraid. It was bought by Fred Pontin and run as a holiday camp for many years, then sold on a couple of times – I’ve just looked up reviews and they aren’t great. But the hotel itself is spectacular, and here’s a link to the Wiki photo of it. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Riviera_Hotel,_Weymouth#/media/File:Uk_dor_bowleaze.JPG
Isn’t that an amazing example of Art Deco? My mother used to say that the ballroom was the biggest unsupported (by pillars or walls) of any room in the country at that time. I don’t remember it, though. I was a small child when we left. I remember the drive outside, which was gravelled and I got my tricycle stuck. I pedalled away, and the trike didn’t move.
Most of what I know has been told to me. Like the 1947 floods, when a lot of holidaymakers in caravans on the hill behind the hotel were flooded out. They took refuge in the hotel, where my parents looked after them. It was the off season; March, and there was still rationing and stocks were low, but they gave everyone a room and food, though the hotel itself was flooded too. Afterwards, everyone was very grateful, but no one was asked for any money. They received two letters of thanks afterwards, one enclosing a cheque, though they’d looked after hundreds of people.
My father wasn’t really cut out to be a hotelier. He was much better as a host. My mother said that she’d done every job in the hotel except barmaid and he’d done every job except clean the rooms. It wasn’t unknown, after licensing hours, when he could no longer charge for any drinks – giving them away was fine, of course – for him to pile the stalwarts down to the kitchen to carve slices of ham and make midnight sandwiches.
They were both acutely interested in food and cookery and great fans of Elizabeth David, whose first book was published in 1950. All my childhood, we were the first to try any “new” food – which includes such standards (nowadays) as aubergine, avocado and muesli, but also dishes such as jambalaya and gumbo, pad Thai and ceviche. It was a family hotel, which didn’t stop them doing quite adventurous food, for its time. My father bought my mother a sewing machine once. She wanted a basic Singer, but he loved a good gadget and bought one that did embroidery and all sorts of things. He used those gizmos; she made straightforward clothes and curtains. Once, they were doing an elaborate Chinese meal and he obtained a bolt of cream-coloured silk. He looked up the Mandarin characters for ‘bon appétit’ and cut up the silk, hemmed them and embroidered the characters in red. We only had a few of these napkins left when I was a child, though he’d made 100 of them, and I haven’t any of them now, to my regret. I couldn’t find any after my mother died.
My father had a motorbike, when there was petrol rationing, though he once came a cropper along the half-mile drive from the road to the hotel, and broke his arm quite badly. My mother had tried to ride it, in the huge ballroom, but couldn’t get the hang of the handlebar controls and crashed into a pile of chairs at the end of the room. No harm done, but she never tried again. She always claimed to be hopeless with anything mechanical, though she acknowledged that she chose to be unable to cope with a job she really didn’t want to get stuck with forever.
My parents didn’t take a salary, just their board and lodging. In theory, they took the profits, but in fact, though they made good money in the summer months, they lost it in the winter with the unavoidable overheads. They kept on their best staff, though only had occasional events to be catered for, and they were fairly naive about business.
I’ve always been a bit hazy about my age when we left, I was either three or four. My sister was left behind to start with, as she was settled and happy at school, but eventually she joined us at my father’s family home in Oulton Broad.