Today is Whit Monday. Did you celebrate yesterday as the Day of Pentecost, the seventh Sunday after Easter, when the Holy Spirit decended upon the disciples?
Well, if you didn’t – you have the opportunity to compensate for that today.
I have been remembering Whitsun holidays of my own past. In primary school (a very long time ago), the school parents association, of which my own parents were leading lights, organized the annual bus trip to Bangor. I remember long sunny days playing around Pickie pool
A dozen or more of us all together having sand picnics on the sand. The flasks with the hot tea and the plastic mugs with the orange juice.
The black bathing costumes and the flowery bathing hats all the girls wore. Parents and children together (or- at least – mothers and children).
This was the only trip away that many of the class/school got during the summer. And a wonderful day it always was. Finished off by chips down by the clock before wandering back to the bus, up by the railway station, collecting Bangor rocks and rock shaped, over sized dummies as presents for those unable to be there. And plates with sentimental verses for the grannies.
I remember returning to school the next day, sun flushed and energized, relating stories of having searched for crabs, clambered over rocks, swum in freezing sea, built the tallest sand castle. All attested to by the array of happy faces photographed by the ancient box brownie camera.
All simple pleasures which pleased enormously. We planned for this for months ahead, we talked endlessly about it in school. As the day approached, the excitement grew to almost unbearable levels. Bangor was obviously built purely as a Mecca for city kids. Or so it seemed. And when it was over, we started planning what we were going to do on the next years’ trip.
And not a visit to a supermarket nor clothes shop considered. Nothing other than food bought for ourselves. No trawlling round markets, no searching out tacky tee-shirts/hats. Ventures in to the penny slot machines had to be done very surreptitiously – frowned upon as they were by frugal parents to whom such gambling was wasteful.
Much simpler days. Much simpler pleasures. Producing such memorable and happy occasions.