Our first flight was to Majorca in August 1994.
We booked a package holiday through a travel agent in Havant. The agent gave us a brochure, quoted the price and explained what was included. Alan asked about transfers, insurance and baggage. I watched the total increase as each sensible question found another item.
The holiday was still more expensive than anything we had booked before. We had cleared the worst of the debt, I was working at Eastbrook and Alan’s hours were steady. We paid in instalments and kept the receipts in the account-book drawer.
Claire was eight. Michael was five. Neither had been on an aeroplane. Neither had a useful understanding of how early we would need to leave home.
The flight was from Gatwick. Alan planned the route and a second route in case the first road was blocked. We left Havant before dawn with paper tickets, passports, travellers’ cheques and a borrowed camcorder that was nearly the size of Michael’s school bag.
The children slept in the car. Alan and I did not.
At the airport, the departure boards, check-in desks and luggage trolleys made sense separately. Together, they produced a lot of standing still while checking documents we had already checked.
Alan weighed the cases at home using bathroom scales. At check-in, one was still heavier than he expected.
‘Their scales must be different,’ he said.
The woman behind the desk had probably heard this before. She attached the labels and sent the cases away.
Michael watched the belt carry his case out of sight.
‘How do they know where we’re going?’
‘The label,’ Alan said.
Michael looked at his own name tag.
‘Mine says Havant.’
We explained that this was for the return. He remained doubtful.
Security was less elaborate than it became later, but we still queued, emptied pockets and kept the passports ready. Claire carried a small bag with books, sweets and a disposable camera. Michael carried a plastic aircraft bought at the airport after asking for it at regular intervals.
In the departure lounge, Alan used the camcorder. The first recording is mainly floor, shoes and a close view of my coat because he had not removed the lens cap at the beginning and over-corrected afterwards.
I said I was not nervous.
I was not frightened of flying in any organised sense. I was aware that we were about to enter a machine, leave the ground and trust people we had not met. This seemed worth noticing.
The children wanted window seats. We had four seats across two rows, so Claire sat beside me and Michael sat with Alan. During take-off, Claire gripped the armrest and said nothing. I watched her rather than looking outside.
When the aircraft levelled, she turned to me.
‘That was all right.’
‘Yes.’
We both spoke as though we had assessed the pilot.
Michael wanted to know when the food was coming. Alan pointed out the wing, the clouds and the view. Michael asked again about the food.
The meal arrived in small containers. The children opened everything at once. Alan kept the butter because nobody wanted it, then forgot he had put it in his shirt pocket. We discovered this after landing.
Majorca was hot when we left the aircraft. The heat was literal and immediate. We collected the luggage, found the holiday representative and joined a transfer coach with other families carrying the same envelopes of travel documents.
Our accommodation was a modest apartment near Alcúdia. It had two sleeping areas, a balcony and a kitchen with enough equipment for breakfasts and the meals we did not want to buy out. The children saw the swimming pool before anything else.
The first afternoon, we changed money into pesetas and bought water, bread, milk, fruit and cereal. Alan compared prices using a conversion he had written inside the brochure. I told him we were on holiday. He said this was when prices required most attention.
We spent a week swimming, walking, taking buses and deciding how often we could afford to eat out. Claire learnt to put her face under water. Michael wore armbands and moved through the pool by kicking hard enough to affect nearby families.
The camcorder came with us on two outings. It recorded the children, the sea, several bus windows and a long section of pavement after Alan thought he had switched it off. We watched the tape at home and kept all of it.
One evening, we ate outside at a small restaurant. Claire ordered chicken. Michael chose the same, then wanted Alan’s meal when it arrived. I had fish and spent part of the evening removing bones while everybody else finished.
Nothing important happened. That is one reason I remember it.
We had gone abroad. The children adapted at once. Alan understood the bus timetable by the second day. I stopped checking the passports each time we left the apartment and began checking them only before bed.
On the return flight, I looked out of the window during take-off.
Claire was busy with her book. Michael asked whether the food would be the same.
We arrived at Gatwick late, found the car and drove back to Havant. The house had been empty for a week. There was post behind the door and no milk in the fridge.