Storytelling Sunday

You know what it's like when you're three and you're on holiday.  You've had an overnight drive from darkest Essex to glorious Cornwall, fighting for prime position on the back seat of a Humber Super Snipe with your sister.  You've got a bucket and spade, and a pack of flags to stick on the top of your sandcastles.  You wake up in the morning and you're wide awake and ready to go.  You're sharing a strange bedroom with your big sister.  She seems to still be asleep.  But is she?  Better check to make sure.
"Gillian" .... "are you awake?" {whispered}
"Gill.I.An.... are you A.W.A.K.E?" {not quite such a whisper}
"Gillian, can we get up now?"  probably shouted and accompanied by a shake of the shoulder.  From a sleeping 11 year old's point of view, it might possibly have become annoying after a while but she was nothing if not a good actress and not so much of an eyelid would flicker.
Hmmm - wonder if Mum and Dad were up?
And so started the holiday ritual of poor old Dad having to get up early every holiday morning to keep the pesky youngest daughter quiet.  We would get dressed quietly, buckle up my sandals, put on my cardi and possibly anorak depending on the weather and walk down to the seafront.  Down the cobbled streets, in time for the newsagent to open and buy a daily paper and walk down to the sand.  My dad would then do his expert weather prediction.  Now, Britain isn't known for it's balmy weather normally, but no matter what the weather was at that time of day, he would find a way to see a sign that at some point in the day, the sun would break through the clouds and we would have fun on the beach. 
'Ah, you see those shapes of clouds there?  That is a sign that probably after lunch, the sun will come out'.  'Look where the tide has brought the sea weed in, that's a sign of good weather later on.' 
' See the white tips to the waves?  A sure sign of a sunny day.'
Now at this tender age, I didn't realise that in the UK you can have every kind of weather at some point during the day so his predictions were normally right, and so Super Dad-Hero status was maintained.
A slow walk back up the hill, stopping to stroke random cats and dogs or admire people's flowers (probably under the instructions to keep me out the holiday cottage as long as possible so everyone could wake up in their own good time) and back in time for breakfast. 
This is how I remember all my young holidays - and how I loved those precious hours of having my dad to myself first thing in the morning, with our secret routines and conversations.
A little while ago I posted a photo of me showing the beach fashions of 1961 in this post , then on Friday another post with a hat theme, so just to complete the set, here's another

Pop over to Sian's for more stories on a Sunday!