As a family I don’t think we ever went to the cottage on our own. Holidays were always shared with uncles, aunts and cousins on Mum’s side, either Emlyn. Lu and cousins Alan and Grahame, or Uncle Geoff, Auntie Molly, Peter and Pam. Nana, of course, was usually there as well. One of the very few photos that have survived shows the whole family together (Dad was usually behind the camera).

There were other visitors. On what was possibly the third in 1954 we were joined by our neighbours in Rudston Road George and Mabel Parsons with their children Lynne and Roger, who were about our age. The only photos from that holiday are those of three children riding a hay wagon and I’m pretty sure that the description that follows of our journey there included them. Cousin Alison from the Headey side of the family was there for one, and I remember Uncle Griff (Mum’s uncle) and Auntie Mag there, though I’ve no photos of them.

Getting to the cottage in those days was a long day, and a long way. We may have been taken there once by Emlyn in his Humber (in those days you could pack as many as you liked into a car; there were no seat belts), but the only memories I have are of public transport, and that meant buses, lots of them. We certainly went through the Mersey Tunnel, so that meant we must have started from the big bus depot in Edge Lane, a few miles away. How did we get there? Taxi maybe.

The bus would have gone from Birkenhead to Queensferry, crossing the Welsh border and the River Dee in quick succession, and then on to the North Wales coast road though towns like Holywell, St. Asaph and Abergele to Conway. Most of these places were bottlenecks in those days so it was a long and tedious morning. The bus’s destination would have been Caernarvon, because that was the only break I can recall in the journey. I remember the imposing castle and the statue of David Lloyd George in the town square (not that I knew who he was but I remember being told my name had a connection to him) .

At least two bus journeys awaited. The first, packed with holidaymakers would have taken us away from the coast and south to the seaside again at Criccieth, where some passengers would have departed with suitcases, buckets and spades for their holidays near the golden sands. But not us! We continued a few more miles until Butlins’ Holiday Camp east of Pwllheli came into view.

The excitement on the bus was palpable and as the bus pulled alongside we could see funfairs, swimming pools, water slides and dozens of happy faces. The bus emptied of holidaying families and we were pretty much the only ones left on. We looked out longingly as the friends we’d made began their week of fun while Mum and Dad (certainly Mum) let it be known that this was NOT the sort of place we’d be spending the summer!