We went to Weymouth in August 1972 and stayed in a boarding house near the seafront. The week was wet often enough for the rain to become part of the daily planning, though not enough for Dad to admit the holiday had been affected.
Breakfast was served at eight-thirty. The landlady asked the evening before whether we wanted fried eggs or scrambled eggs. Dad always chose fried. Mum changed her mind twice and was treated as though she had altered the booking.
Our room had a double bed for Mum and Dad and two smaller beds for Peter and me. There was a washbasin in the room and a bathroom along the landing. Mum kept our towels separate because the landlady had a system and Mum did not want to be blamed for disturbing it.
On the first morning, we went to the beach. Dad carried coats because the sky looked doubtful. Peter said it would clear. It did not.
We stayed until the rain became steady, then moved under shelter with several other families who had made the same decision at roughly the same time. Mum handed out sandwiches. Dad said the weather might improve after lunch. A man beside him said it had been like this since Tuesday.
Dad did not ask whether the man meant this Tuesday or Tuesday in general.
We visited the shops, walked along the front and spent time in an amusement arcade. Peter wanted to use his money quickly. I wanted to watch other people first. Mum said neither method made the money last.
One afternoon we went to the harbour. Dad explained boats to us in more detail than the boats required. He knew electrical systems from the Dockyard and considered this close enough. Peter asked questions. I looked at the names painted on the sides and chose the ones I would have kept.
Our clothes did not dry properly between outings. The landlady allowed coats near a heater downstairs but said shoes had to remain by the door. Each morning, several pairs were still damp. Mum put newspaper in ours. Dad said they would soon dry once we started walking.
This was technically true and not much help.
There were dry periods. We had ice creams during one of them because Mum said we should take the chance. Mine began melting before I had decided how to eat it. Peter finished his and offered advice.
The family photograph from that week shows us near the seafront. Dad is wearing his coat. Mum has her handbag under one arm. Peter is looking somewhere else. I am holding a paper bag and squinting. Nothing in the picture proves we were having a good time or a bad one. We had gone to Weymouth. We did what was available.
At the end of the week, the landlady asked whether we had enjoyed ourselves.
Mum said, ‘Yes, thank you.’
Dad said we had been lucky with the weather on Thursday. Mum said it had rained before lunch. They were still comparing versions when we left.